Author's Note: To everyone to reviewed my story-thank you! I don't own Supernatural/Sam/Dean, nor Google or yahoo which I'm mentioning in this.

For a moment Dean stood transfixed.

It rose away from Kevin, from the burning books, from the black flames. Than Dean grabbed his gun and shot-but the bullet went right through it, making no mark on the thing. Than it burst open, wind spraying all around, circling Sam, than disappearing as quickly as it had came. For one brief moment, Dean thought that perhaps the thing had left Sam.

He should have known better.

Dean raced over to Sam, shaking him several times. Nothing. Sam turned around to his other side, his breathing shallow and fast. Then Dean raced over to Kevin, kneeling down and checking his pulse. Don't let him be dead, Dean urgently thought. Don't let his family go without a dad 'cause of me.

There was a pulse, slow and steady.

Dean let out a sigh of relief. Kevin was in a coma, but he wasn't dead. Yet. After a quick 911 phone call, Kevin was brought to the hospital after having a strange "stroke." And Dean was alone again, without the myth book to help him. Sam's the one to research. Dean thought bitterly as he turned the laptop on.

A quick Google search led to nothing, so he tried one on yahoo. Out of interest he clicked on a college essay on dream myth. Dean read through it slowly, trying not to miss anything. Than he saw a reference to the Catcher, a small but helpful one:

As you can now see, most dream spirits have a shape, a weakness, a job. According to the few legends and books on this matter, there is only one that stands out. Nicknamed Catcher by George K. Jimson, it had no shape or weakness. Its one of the few that can be defeated with words, not fists.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his feet pushing on the legs of the hotel desk. This was not like any of the jobs he had done before. It wasn't just personal, it was rare. He flipped through the journal, looking for anyone he could call, any of Dad's friends. But the only one listed was Kevin, who couldn't exactly help right now.

Then he remembered what Kevin had said. How to talk to Sam. I'll start there, he decided. He approached Sam's restless form.

"This has to be the corniest thing ever," Dean muttered, placing two fingers on his heart and then on his forehead. Dean than placed the two fingers on Sam.

"Sam, can you hear me?" he asked in a strong voice.

Sam struggled to lift himself off the muddy ground. And when he did, he saw someone he didn't want to see.

Jessica.

But was it really Jessica? She wasn't wearing the kind of pajamas she wore around Sam. She had a long white nightgown, tattered at the bottom. Blood covered its middle, dry, horrible blood. Her hair rippled down her back, out of her face yet framing it at the same time. But her eyes. Her normally beautiful eyes seemed empty and dark.

"It's your fault Sam," she hissed. Hissed? Jessica didn't hiss. "You left me and this is what happens." Sam stared, horrified yet not wanted her to leave. He wanted so much to kiss her, to hold her. "You can't hold me, Sam. Never again." He felt his legs give out, he sunk to his knees and had difficulty pulling himself back up. She laughed as she watched. "You never could take responceibuilty for your actions.

"I had to leave," Sam whispered. "I didn't want to. I had to."

"You had to, Sam?" Jessica asked. "You had to let me die? You didn't even find your dad that weekend! You killed me for nothing." Sam was on his feet now. He turned around to walk away, run even, and she was there, pressed up against him. But it didn't feel warm, it didn't feel right. It just felt cold.

She had on the same outfit she had on when he left. The seductive pj's used to lure him in. This wasn't Jessica though. Was it? Sam's thoughts were going crazy, they were jumbled.

Jessica would never but you killed her this isn't her cant be could be you deserve it run. run. leave.

Sam took off running, a storm filling the sky and sending flashes. He stumbled and kept going, finally stopping behind some random tree to catch is breath and think.

"Sam, can you hear me?" came Dean's voice. Sam jumped, looking around widely for Dean.

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. "Where are you?" When Dean spoke next, there was relief evident in his voice.

"Sammy, I'm not in your dream. Don't look for me," Dean answered. The voice still was coming from no where. It was next to Sam but Dean wasn't there. Dream. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Sam knew it was a dream.

"What's going on?" Sam questioned. Dean took a deep breath and explained it all. The "Catcher." The nightmare. Kevin. Everything.

"So you think that I have to face what's in here, and then face the thing that's doing this to me?" Sam asked at the end. There was no reply for a moment.

"I think so, Sammy. I'm not really sure what else there is to do. I'm going to go do more research, but I'll be back, okay?" Dean replied. Sam didn't want Dean to leave. He needed him.

"Dean--just hurry. This place . . . its messed up, man," Sam finally said.

"It'll be ok. Just remember. Nothing in there can actually hurt you. We're gonna stop this thing before it does."

With that Dean was gone. Sam knew Dean was gone, somehow he could feel it.

"It'll be ok. Just remember. Nothing in there can actually hurt you. We're gonna stop this thing before it does," Dean assured Sam. With that, he slowly removed his two fingers and walked back to the laptop.

A half hour later and he found a site that had a "guidebook" to dream spirits. Smiling at his luck and new research skills, Dean scrolled down to the section on this thing.

Then he heard a hiss of wind.

Dean looked behind his shoulder and saw wind sweeping about the room. Quickly, Dean started to read.

Called Catcher by some

That was as far as Dean got before he felt a burning on his hand. He jerked his hand off the mouse and saw a black flame under it. As the laptop burning, Dean jumped up and saw the wind was now around him. He heard voices, fragments of sentences.

"Knows to much-"

"Inside-"

"Too late-"

Than it knocked into him, sending Dean flying to the floor. He couldn't move. Than he couldn't see, or hear, smell, or talk, or feel. This was what Dean feared. To be completely alone with his thoughts, isolated, never knowing if anyone knew what happened to him. Not dead or alive.

He felt as if his mind was slowly shutting down. It's doing to me what it's done to Sam, he realized. There was no hope now. If Dean wasn't awake, how would they be safe? Dean knew that if he could hear, his heart would be pounding. Dean was being sent into his own nightmare.

Somewhere in his head, right before his mind was shut down, a voice whispered, "Not quiet."

Author's Note: Sorry if that was a little long! Please review, thanks!