"Sam, down!"

Dean fired off a shot at the massive form that was moving way too quickly toward his little brother.

Sam bent low, narrowly avoiding a face full of rock salt.

"Son of a…."Furious that his first shot had been off, Dean hastily reloaded the shotgun.

"Where the hell'd it go?" Sam yelled.

Dean scanned the surrounding landscape of grey headstones - hunter skills on full alert. He could barely see through darkness and falling rain.

Things were not going as planned.

Not that they ever did.

"Dean, behind you!"

Dean heard his brother's warning and raised his weapon, but it was too late. He caught a glimpse of a skull-like face and enormous set of horns before the shotgun was knocked from his hands. A violent blow to his chest sent him flying, his body hurled through the air and slammed violently into a tall, stone crucifix.

A sharp crack echoed through the night as Sam fired off a round.

Dean watched as the shot went wide. The beast turned his head sharply, angered by the salt spray – it's cold, empty eyes fixed on the youngest Winchester.

Dean tried to warn his brother, but he couldn't move, couldn't yell. Something was on top of him, crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe. Dean started to panic.

Sammy. He needed to get to Sammy.

The spirit let out a cry that filled the night. From out of the gloom, the pack of spectral dogs appeared, their red eyed burning in the dark. They formed a circle around Sam.

As Dean watched helplessly, they began to move in closer.

And then they attacked.

Dean woke with a start.

His chest was on fire and he was covered in sweat. He took a deep breath to calm himself and instantly regretted it.

Okay, so breathing's definitely out, he told himself.

Pushing down the memories of the nightmare, he tried to focus on where he was. His eyes took in the peeling wallpaper and dusty windows.

Ah, yes…Hank's Hellhole.

A glance at his watch told him he'd been out for a little more than an hour. Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean cracked his neck slowly, trying to ease away the stiffness. The panic from the dream had begun to subside.

With the pain in his chest down to a dull ache, he attempted gingerly to swing his legs off the bed.

"Son of a… ," he hissed.

Curling his arm around his taped and bandaged torso, he worked his way over to the bathroom. The memory of the dream gnawed at him.

It wasn't like this was his first nightmare. With what he and Sam dealt with every day it was inevitable that they would have bad dreams now and again. But this time had been different. This time he'd felt so…helpless.

Dean turned off the faucet and was just finished toweling off his face when Sam returned.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam said as he placed two coffee cups and a bag of doughnuts on the shabby table.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean snarked. He made a beeline for the much-needed caffeine.

Sam rolled his eyes and handed him the cup. Dean took a long, grateful sip and lowered himself stiffly back onto the hideous floral comforter.

"So I did a little digging while you were asleep," Sam started.

"And?"

Sam dug through his bag. "Turns out this hunter may have been more of a stowaway."

"Come again?"

Sam pulled out a folded paper and brought it over to the bed so his brother could see. The computer printout showed what appeared to be an ivory Celtic Cross. From the ornate carving and detailed craftsmanship, Dean guessed it was pretty old.

"Great, another cross." Dean winced at the memory of his last encounter.

"Looks that way." Sam tried to hide his smile. "Seems Atlanta is home to the High Museum of Art, one of the largest museums in the Southeast. This year, they began a partnership with the Louvre in Paris. They're going to be displaying selected pieces from the Louvre's permanent collection."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "And that helps us how? France may be in Europe, Sam, but it's not exactly part of the British Isles." He gave Sam his sweetest look. "Or did you skip Geography at Stanford?"

Sam gave a curt smile. "Funny." He snatched the printout from his brother.

Dean sipped his coffee. "I thought so."

Sam pointed at the picture. "Look, according to the provenance, this particular piece wasn't originally from the Louvre. They acquired it two months ago," he explained, "from the Museum of London."

Dean eyes met Sam's. "Well, that part certainly fits. But it still doesn't explain why our psycho friend is tied to an ivory cross."

"Because," Sam finished. "It's not carved out of ivory. It's carved out of bone."

a/n- Okay a short chapter but wanted to give a tease of the story while I work out the next few chapters. Let me know what you think!