Sam gasped a breath and sat up straight, the shadows playing on his startled and tense features. Jessica roused from her slumber and put a hand on his heaving chest. She sat up more quickly when she realized her boyfriend's distress.

"Sam? You okay?" She asked. He nodded, despite the evidence to the contrary.

"Another nightmare?" she asked worriedly. He'd been having disturbing nightmares with more and more frequency as of late. He always brushed them off, said it was stress, or something to that effect, but she knew that they were more than simply stress. She knew with a woman's intuition, and with the knowledge one has when you love someone.

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep." He said and forced a smile.

She wasn't going to take the brush off this time. She turned on the light beside the bed, and turned to Sam. "You need to talk to me." She said sternly.

"I'm okay Jess. I didn't mean to wake you up." He said as he patted her leg and turned his body to escape the bed.

"No. You aren't Sam." She paused for gravity, and then continued. "Look at you. You're sweating. Your pupils are huge and," she paused and gestured towards the pacing man. "Now you look like a caged animal who needs to run. What is going on?" she asked gently.

"It's just a bad dream Jess." Sam tried again.

"And that was enough for me a month ago when they happened once in a while. But now, this week, they've happened just about every single night, and sometimes twice a night. Sam. What are you dreaming about?"

Sam paused for a moment and considered what he was going to say, and then finally came out with it. "I've been dreaming about my brother."



"What happens in these dreams?" she asked softly.

"I keep dreaming that…." How did he explain without sounding like a weirdo, that he kept dreaming that Dean was getting killed by a monster. Well, the monster doesn't kill him in one fell swoop, no that would be too kind and too gentle, the monster rips a chunk out of him and lets him lie on the ground and bleed to death alone and scared.

"I keep dreaming that my brother dies." He finally said. The sanitary version wouldn't get him locked up in the crazy bin or warrant Jessica to dump him and find a nice safe sane man to love.

Jessica's face became a mask of concern and worry. "Is that the same dream you have every single time you have a nightmare?" she asked softly. Sam nodded quickly.

"It's only been like this for the last couple of weeks."

"You've had a lot of bad dreams in the last couple of weeks."

Sam sat back down on the bed. "You're right I have."

"When was the last time you talked to your brother?"

"Jessica…" She held up her hands defensively.

"I know. I know. That subject is off limits. But this isn't about me wanting you to be on speaking terms with your family. This is your health. You aren't sleeping Sam."

"I'll go to the clinic and get something for insomnia."

She shook her head and sighed. "No. I don't want you to take something that will just blitz you into unconsciousness. I want you to be healthy, I want these nightmares to go away."

Sam shrugged and turned to face the woman he wanted to marry. "But what will calling Dean and arguing with him accomplish other than both of us being angry, and me not sleeping because I'm furious? Besides, it's just a dream."

She put a hand on his arm. "I don't always believe that. Especially when it comes to family."


"Bobby?" Sam asked when the grouchy hunter answered the phone.


"Yeah, hey! How are you?"

"Fine as a hair on a frog's ass. But you didn't call to see how an old grump like me is feeling or doing. What's the matter? Something bad going on up there by you?"

"No. No." Sam paused trying to find the right words. "I, uh, well, I've been having this dream."

"A dream huh?" Bobby asked speculatively.

"Yeah. Dean is hunting something, I can't get a visual, and he gets his guts exposed."

"And what does this dream have to do with anything son?"

"I've been having it night after night for about two weeks."

"And you're worried?"

"Yeah, I'm worried it might be some sort of…" Sam struggled for the words and came up empty handed.

"Afraid that it might turn out to be some kind of psychic vision?" Bobby supplied for him.

"That sounds worse when you say it out loud."

"Well, it ain't as dumb as it sounds boy."


"No. There are cases all over the world of twins being able to sense something that is about to happen to the other one."

"But we aren't twins."

"Might as well be, the way you two were before Stanford."

"I've been gone for three years now Bobby, any spidy Dean senses I had are now gone."

"Then search me what the dreams are about."

"Are Dean and Dad together?"

"No. Your brother, last I heard which my intel is kinda old at this point, was up north Minnesota, I believe."

"How old is your intel?"

"About two weeks."

"Do you know what kind of job he's working?"

"No idea. Kinda keeps to himself anymore. Your best bet would be to call him."

"I can't do that."

"Of course you can't."

"It's been three years Bobby."

"And one more day ain't ever going to make it any easier. You boys are as stubborn as they come." Bobby sighed. "Let me call a few guys, see if I can find your idjit brother, if I get some good intel I'll call you."

"Thanks Bobby." Sam said relieved.

"The things I do for you stubborn stupid Wincheste…"

"Bye Bobby." Sam smiled as he hung up on the old grump who was still grumping as he turned off the phone. He would just have to wait, it was that simple, yeah right. The nagging feeling, the images of Dean being gutted and being alone in the woods yelling, whispering, begging, for someone, anyone to come and help him and then his body just giving out and his last breath being expelled, and his eyes wide, glossy, and dead…those images didn't go away, didn't matter if he was awake or asleep.

He went to bed that night, dreamed it again, refreshed the images, just in case they hadn't been seared into his brain, and he looked at his phone, willed Bobby to call and tell him where his brother was.