Dean was a little disgruntled when Jonathan dismissed him from the backyard. He was glad his brilliant plan succeeded – he believed with all of his heart that Jonathan would be able to help Sam, he wasn't sure how but he knew the older man could do it. But that left Dean with nothing to do. He hated being bored.

It was bad enough being bored in your own home, but at least in your own place you knew were everything was. Being bored in someone else's home was torturous. Even as Dean wandered around Jonathan's home in the back of his head he was thinking don't touch that or don't break that. Dean had very little understanding of Native American artifacts, but even he realized that certain items in Jonathan's house held power, and Dean was leery of disrupting any protections that Jonathan had set up. There was a knife displayed in a case in the dining room that particularly drew Dean's attention; he couldn't explain why. But eventually staring at the knife became boring as well and Dean drifted away.

Dean took Jonathan at his word about helping himself to food. Although Jonathan had fed them when they arrived, Dean grabbed some chips and a beer. He wandered back to the living room and decided to kill some brain cells watching TV. There was really nothing better to do. He wasn't a reader like Sam, so the boob tube would have to do. But even the TV couldn't keep Dean's attention for long. He stared unblinking at the Weather Channel and wondered what was going on in the shed in the backyard.

Could Native American mysticism really help Sam? Was this journey of self what he needed to do to beat the nightmares? Dean wasn't sure if what they were doing out there would eliminate the nightmares completely; after all, this thing with Jess was only the most recent manifestation of an ongoing problem. Sam had been prone to nightmares his whole life. Dean knew; he was always the one who helped with them.

It had been different when they were little. Sam didn't remember the dreams then, not like now – sometimes he didn't even wake up. "Night terrors" was what Dad had called them. And there had been nothing he or Dad could do for Sam then either. Dad had never been a big hugger, so there was no one to comfort or cuddle Sam when the nightmares came. Dean did what he could by sitting on the end of Sam's bed close enough that Sam's feet rested on his leg. Dean wasn't sure if Sam knew he was there, but he always seemed to quiet down faster when Dean was close by. And if, on a particularly bad night, Sam wormed himself around until he was curled in a ball under Dean's arm, it didn't really qualify as a hug.

Dean shifted on the couch pulling one leg up to stretch out while leaning back against the pillows piled near the arm of the couch, and thought about his brother. Of course Sam would be traumatized by Jess' death. Of course the image of her would haunt his dreams. But to Dean, it seemed like Sam's nightmares were getting worse. Something had changed and Dean couldn't put his finger on it.

Dean started slightly when he realized he had almost drifted off to sleep. He knew that remaining in his prone position would only invite sleep; and though he tried to rouse himself, he couldn't manage to get himself off of the couch. In the last few days Dean had gotten about as much sleep as Sam – which was to say, very little. Being in Jonathan's house gave Dean a feeling of safety. And knowing that Sam was with someone who would look out for him just as much as Dean himself would was very reassuring. The combination of the two factors was just too much to resist, and Dean allowed himself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Before he had roused to full consciousness, Dean sensed he was in trouble. This was what he knew – he was no longer alone, he wasn't safe, and he had no weapon. But he knew where to get one. He didn't need to think it through; he allowed instinct to take over. Blindly, Dean jackknifed into a seated position, hurled himself off the end of the couch and made a run for the dining room. A grunt of surprise indicated that his sudden movement had taken his attacker unaware, but Dean's advantage was short lived.

Though he was full of adrenaline he was not quite awake, and his grogginess rendered him unable to navigate Jonathan's unfamiliar house as quickly as the thing that was after him. Dean cursed his foolish decision to fall asleep even as his assailant tackled him to the floor of the dining room. Dean twisted trying to avoid being pinned. He landed a solid hit or two, but whatever grabbed him didn't seem to be fazed by his blows.

Dean managed to get to his feet and lurched further into the dining room. Although the knife on display was the weapon he was attempting to get his hands on, he wasn't above using the chairs or anything else he could lay his hands on to keep his attacker at bay. Even as he struggled to stay out of the reach of his attacker, Dean attempted to figure out what it was. Definitely not a ghost – not a whiff of ozone in the air. Dean thought whatever he was fighting had a human shape, but he couldn't get a look at its face. While what he was fighting looked like it could've been human, it moved with inhuman speed and had incredible strength.

Dean grunted as a flying chair clipped him on the side of his head and drove him to his knees. Damn copycat he thought can't even come up with his own moves…

The blow from the chair had set his head to ringing and his vision faded to grey. Dean struggled to get back on his feet, but he was out of time. His attacker pounced on him from behind. One arm encircled him from the left, pinning both his arms to his sides, and lifting him off of his feet taking away his leverage. The other hand crushed his airway. Dean struggled frantically for any way to break out of the creature's grip, but all of his efforts were fruitless.

Dean fought for air as the creature carried him through the dining room; he tried to impede their progress by kicking or tripping him up, but it was useless – his limb were less and less responsive as they were starved for air. Black stars bloomed in Dean's vision as he was carried out of the house and down the porch; he had never felt so helpless in his life. He could feel conscious thought slipping away, but snapped back to awareness when he realized the creature was talking about Sam.

Sam! Dean's eyes darted around the yard, but there was no cavalry coming to his rescue. He tried to stay focused and listen to what the creature was saying, but it was hard. His attacker seemed to sense Dean's renewed attention and loosened his grip on Dean's throat. The sweet intake of air was as painful as it was gratifying.

"You need not struggle so." The creature's breath was hot on Dean's face as it leaned in to speak to him, as though telling him a special secret. "I have no desire to kill you." Dean didn't believe its words for an instant, and he increased his struggles against his captor. But its next words made him freeze. "Your brother will come for you, and then I will have what I have sought for so long."

Sam! This thing wanted Sam! And he was the bait.

"No!"

"That's what your father said too. 'You can't have Sam'" the creature mocked in a sweetly falsetto voice.

Dean was so enraged by the idea that this thing was talking about killing Sam, and bringing his father into it that he managed to yank his left arm free and use it as leverage to loosen the creature's hold on his throat. The creature still had a grip on Dean's right arm, but that didn't prevent Dean from making an all-out assault on it. Kicking, punching, screaming, Dean drove the creature back toward the porch. What infuriated Dean even more was that the creature seemed to be indulging him – like he was some four year old having a tantrum.

All Dean could think of was how he could break away and warn Sam.

Suddenly the creature had had enough. One solid blow to Dean's chest knocked the air out of him. The creature spun him around and pulled him close to its chest. The crushing grip on his throat was reestablished and this time it didn't let up. Dean struggled to the end, but it was to no avail. After a minute or two his struggles ceased and he slumped in the creature's grip. Satisfied that Dean would no longer cause him any difficulty, the creature slung him across his shoulders and headed off into the woods.