Ch. 1

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked while throwing a flashlight to his younger brother, "You've been dragging your feet all morning."

"Nothing." Sam mumbled irritably, stowing the flashlight in his duffle bag. It had to have been the fifth time in the past day that he'd been asked what was wrong in one way or other. If it weren't for the fact that something about this hunt felt so terribly wrong he would have been jumping down his big brother's throat by now. "And it's Sam."

Sam could see out of the corner of his eye, as Dean paused in his packing to lean back against the counter of the cramped motel room they had stayed in the night before. He could feel Dean's eyes on the back of his head as he turned to put the canister of salt in the duffel next to the flashlight. He was being observed.

"The tone says it all, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes at the emphasis on his name, "Really Dean," He plastered a slightly forced exasperated smile on his face and turned around to face the music. Dean stared him down, arms crossed, waiting for him to spill, "I just have a bad feeling is all."

"About the hunt?" Dean asked with a confused frown.

Again Sam had to roll his eyes, "Nah Dean, about that movie you have been talking about all week," he drawled, laying the sarcasm on thick. At his brother's annoyed glare he burst out, "Yes, of course about the hunt!"

"Dude, just because your super smart geek boy who instantly understands everything, doesn't mean anyone can understand you." Dean quipped following the 17 year old out of the tiny kitchen and to the door, after hoisting his pack onto a shoulder.

Sam ignored him having heard some variation of that particular jibe more than a few times in the past. He stepped outside on the cracked sidewalk of the Maloney Inn and into a bitter cold wind. Both the a and the l of "Maloney" had flickered out and died long ago and the sign above the grungy building looked more like Money Inn. Sam had been so tired when they had pulled up the night before, he had burst out laughing to his brother's amusement, for no other reason than that if there was one thing the motel needed it was more money.

Sam pulled his jacket closer around himself, while waiting on Dean to finish locking the door behind them. The chilly winter breeze was strong enough to brush Sam's light brown bangs off his forehead. He shivered. This was going to be one miserable hunt.

Dean threw him the keys to start the car and get it warmed up, while Dean checked them out. As he was sitting in the car, rubbing hands together to get the warmth back in them, the anxiety Sam had been feeling all week started to creep back up on him. The nerves made him a little jittery. He shook his head trying to shake the feeling. This wasn't a good time to get cold feet. Figuratively and literally, but there wasn't much he could do about the weather. He ended up watching a couples spat from room 112 as their argument brought them outdoors. The short stick thin woman, who looked to be in her 30s, with brown hair that nearly reached her feet stormed out with a backpack slung over only one shoulder. It was only half zipped up, and in her angered haste, a pair of underwear and a bottle of something fell out of the main pocket.

Sam watched as she shouted something into the opened doorway, before cursing and picking up her stuff. Sam leaned his head against the cold window, eyes starting to droop, as he watched the fight play out. The woman stomped over to a busted up dark blue Saturn with chipped paint and a donut on the front right wheel. Suddenly a tall slightly built man with short stubbly blonde hair flew out of the open motel door.

Sam couldn't hear much of what they were saying through the windows and doors of the Impala, but from what he gathered the car belonged to the guy, but she had his keys and was determined to take it. They yelled into each other's faces for a while, and the distraction their fight was allowing Sam started to lose its power.

Suddenly he felt an overpowering and irrational fear, so heavy it was borderline panic. Outside the wind whipped up and the sky darkened threateningly. His headache from last night was back full force, as Sam spun around in his seat. He started to breathe harder, eyes scanning the parking lot around him for someone or something he didn't have a name for. Where was Dean at anyway? Maybe it got Dean! Just like in his dreams. Dean was dead. Dean was dead.

Sam was beginning to hyperventilate. The impala's usually comforting walls, now felt like a coffin. He reached for the door handle to get out, but the car was locked and no matter how much he struggled with the little knob by the window, it just wouldn't budge to unlock the door.

Sam pulled his legs up into his seat. He focused on staying calm, and keeping his breath from sawing in and out as he attempted to pull in enough oxygen. His head pounded along with each frantic breath. Wild eyes searched out the front window for someone to come and help him but no one was there. All the windows were now pitch dark, as if no one had ever been there. As his eyes passed over the room right in front of him he froze.

He pressed back in his seat slightly and his breathing stopped altogether.

There standing in the darkened window of the room they were just in, was a man. He was about average height, average build, with sandy blonde hair, and a condescending smile. His eyes glowed out of the dark room, a bright disturbing yellow. As Sam stared back at him in shock, the man's smile became wider.

"Sam!" a voice called out. Sam whirled back around to look in the back seat. There lay Dean, his big brother, with a couple of deep gashes across his chest, deep enough to cause blood to seep out of his mouth. There was a cut across his face as well, completely destroying his right eye. The gore of it was enough to make Sam sick, but what really got him was the other eye. There was no life there. The spark that was Dean was gone, glazed over, cut down. The hazel orb stared up at the ceiling of the impala.

"No." Sam whispered. Not again. The same thing every time. Dean always died with the same exact injuries. As Sam stared in frozen horror, Dean's mouth moved, "Sammyyy"

"Hey Geek boy!" The mouth gurgled blood, but the voice was crystal clear Dean. Sam turned back around to stare back at the man in the window. Yellow eyes winked at him, and then slowly walked backwards until he faded into the dark. "Saaaaammmmm."

"Sam wake up dude. You're starting to freak me out a bit."

Sam jerked up out of his seat nearly bashing Dean's head against the dash board. "Woah, Woah!" Dean held both arms out in front of him, eyes slightly unbelieving. "What was that all about geek boy?"

Sam shuddered, "don't call me that." He quickly glanced over to room 113. Of course they got the room with the number 13 in it. Winchester luck didn't need any help. The window however was still closed off on the inside by a vomit green dust covered curtain. Dean followed his gaze to their old room, then turned back to Sam confused, "you all good?" Sam swallowed nervously and nodded. Dean pulled himself into his seat and swung the door shut.

"When we get to the site Dad is meeting us at, we'll see if he has some ibuprofen you can take for that headache of yours."

"How did you know?" Sam asked only slightly surprised Dean picked up on that.

"Big brother intuition."

Sam just rolled his eyes. As they pulled out of the drive way, Sam couldn't help notice that the couple that had been fighting moments before, were now practically laid out on the hood of the Saturn making out. The discarded back pack forgotten on the floor still leaking the women's underwear for everyone to see.