A/N: This is my first Supernatural story, so I hope you like. There's a bit of Sammy angst in here, as every good story needs, so please R&R with questions, comments, and suggestions. Thanks for reading, and here's Chapter One.
Sam Winchester was having a dream. Not any ordinary dream, though. It was a nightmare within a dream, about himself. Why was this happening to him, anyway? What had he done? Sam had gone to college, tried to live a normal life, and was even going to propose to the most beautiful girl on campus, but all that changed. She had been killed – after he had dreamed about it for days before – by the same thing that had killed his mom. His father was missing, so his older brother Dean had come to scoop him away from college life and take him on the road.
Now they did their job, saving people, hunting things, the family business. But sometimes that just wasn't enough. Sometimes Sam would have these dreams – nightmares – and then they would come true. So, anytime he had one, Sam would let his brother know where they needed to go next, and that would lead the trail away from their father on occasion. Why did things have to go so wrong sometimes?
However, he wasn't in the car asleep, no, he wasn't with his brother at all. There he lay, in a cold metal box that was almost too short for him to sit up in, and barely long enough to lie down upon. Sleep had taken him once more, away from the pain of reality, and the worry of what might happen next. This was no ordinary nightmare, not even for him. Sam was being held captive by … something out there. He didn't even know what for sure.
He was dreaming, sure, but within the simple dream – where he was in his brother's old Impala – there was this nightmare, about where he was, and who was after him. Sam feared that he might not make it out alive, and he was even starting to wonder if he wanted to live anymore. What was there to live for? A missing father? A girl-crazy brother? The knowledge that everyone really should be afraid of the dark?
Dean ran one hand through his hair as his car sped down the road, nearing 85 miles per hour in a 55 zone. No way was he slowing down. He had to get help, someone, anyone. But the first name he had found and called from the journal wasn't just anyone, it was a telepath, someone who could see the future at times, and was a bit like Sammy. Oh, Sammy. Why did this have to happen to his baby brother?
Just a couple more minutes on the road, and he'd get where he was going, unless he got stopped by a cop first. If a cop went after him today, though, he'd better have spike strips. No, that'd hurt the car. Maybe a good blockade. Yeah, that'd work.
His mind had drifted away now, off his brother for the tiniest fraction of a moment, as it seemed to do sometimes. Dean jerked his thoughts back on track as he took the curve in the road and then turned off the road, heading towards an old log cabin. He had been told by the voice on the phone where to find her, and Dean could only hope that she really was there.
Dean's '67 Impala seemed to slow itself down as it approached the vaguely familiar home. It was as if the car knew it was time to stop there and have a little chat. Finally putting it in park, Dean grabbed the bag where he had packed the laptop, dad's journal, and Sammy's notebook. He slammed the car door without much love and stormed up the broken steps to the opening door.
"He's gone," Dean announced, pushing through the doorway and into the house. A shadowy figure behind him closed the door quietly before joining the older man's trek to the living room couch to talk.