Summary:  Sam and Dean try to discover what's killing teens in the bayou. Unfortunately, it finds them first.
A/N:  This story takes place sometime after “Something Wicked” from Season One.
Disclaimer:  Neither the characters of Supernatural nor their world belong to me. They are the complete property of Kripke, et. al.

Sam listened at the basement door for any unusual sound. His older brother, Dean, had already headed up the stairs to the floor above. Sam was concerned. They weren’t ready for this gig at all. They needed to have spent more time researching what they were going against. Unfortunately, three local teenagers didn’t get the memo. Sam snorted. Both Winchesters hated this day with a vengeance. The I.Q. of a lot of people dropped every time Friday the 13th rolled around; Sam and Dean always seemed to have a job to do, someone to save.

Caleb had called them a week ago to alert them about this region. He didn’t have the complete story on what was happening, but lately bodies had been discovered floating in the bayou, and the manner of their deaths led him to call Sam and Dean. The brothers had been on their way to his home anyways, so this small detour shouldn’t take them too long. So he said. The two men had been looking forward to a break from their hunts. They still sported bruises and wounds from their recent battle with a poltergeist.

Arriving in Plaquemine, LA, they checked into a cheap motel before heading to the library. They didn’t need to go to the police station or the morgue since Caleb had oh-so-kindly e-mailed them the forensic photos. How he was able to hack into their systems Sam really wanted to know. The bodies had been marked with cuts, bruises, or burns. They had either bled out or bled to death internally from beatings. The differences between the manner of deaths made Dean wonder if it was their kind of problem. Caleb couldn’t explain to him his reasoning, but he assured him, it was a supernatural problem. Too many of his alarm bells had gone off when he’d read about it. There was something familiar with the pattern; he just couldn’t pin down the memory. He must have read about or heard about a similar pattern of deaths at one time. Sam and Dean were the closest hunters that he could contact near the area. The frequency of deaths was increasing. Something had to be done and done fast. Caleb would keep doing research on his end just in case the Winchesters couldn’t find out enough on theirs.

After a day spent pouring through microfiche and musty tomes, Sam and Dean had not found a possible legend or creature to explain the deaths which had started only six weeks prior. There was an out-of-the way house deep in the bayou that was developing an evil reputation. Animals stayed away while teenagers were drawn to it. Several of the bodies found were those of young people while the rest were identified as vagrants probably just passing through.

Dean called it a day when his eyes started burning from the strain of reading too many newspapers. They hadn’t taken time out for lunch and he was hungry and cranky. He wanted a beer and some nice scenery. Dragging Sam out the door, they headed for a nearby pub.

“Sammy, would you lay off the research? You’re giving me a headache watching you squint at that screen. I say we go find a game of pool, a cold brew, some girls. . .”

Sam settled for glaring at Dean. He speared another piece of chicken with his fork. “You know,” he said after swallowing, “I don’t think this thing is a spirit. It’s got to be corporeal.”

Dean threw up his hands. “There you go again, College Boy. Can’t you just say we can kill it?” He started to rag on his brother a bit more when he actually heard the conversation going on behind him. He shushed Sam and pointed over his shoulder.

“Hey Ginny, where’s your boyfriend, Jeff? Did he ditch you or what?” twittered one female voice.

“No. Barry dared him and Ted to go with him to the old LeBeau place.”

Dean cocked his head at Sam. That was the house Caleb had mentioned.

Ginny continued, “Since today is Friday the 13th, he thought it would be perfect to see what’s really there,” she sighed. “I’ve heard too much about that place. It’s creepy. I want to call his dad but Jeff would kill me. He’s supposed to be working on his research project that's due Monday and if he screws this up, he’ll fail the nine weeks, be off the team.”

Dean’s plans went out the window. Sam shut down the laptop and stuffed it and the scattered papers into the beaten leather satchel. Dean went to pay the bill and both reached the car at the same time. The Impala turned towards the LeBeau place and rocks spun out from beneath the tires.

It was still daylight when they arrived. The place was pretty isolated and it took some searching to find the actual driveway. Dean parked the Impala near what looked like an old carriage house. From the trunk, each man took a shotgun with rock salt shells and a pistol.

Dean slammed the trunk closed. “All right. In and out. We find the kids, we grab them, we leave. We come back tomorrow after we figure out what we are dealing with.”

“You’re kidding me, right? I thought you were all a go-in-with-guns-blazing kind of guy,” Sam teased.

“Not this time Sammy. Something’s got Caleb spooked and that makes me spooked. He may be an ass sometimes but he knows his stuff. Besides, you still have those cracked ribs which will slow you down.”

“Me? You know, you can stop the protective crap right now. I’m hurt no worse than you are.”

Dean bit his tongue. He did hurt and knew his own reactions would be a bit sluggish. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit he really didn’t want to face whatever it was for the first time at night with both of them tired and sore. Too many people had died horribly. It was their faces that haunted his memory right then. All of them were frozen in a rictus of agony. They hadn’t died easily or quickly. He shook his head to banish the remembered sight. “This is an old mansion but these deaths are new. You don’t think it’s a haunting. I think something has moved in. Just . . .let’s get those kids. But be careful.”

Sam sighed. Dean had taken a few bad blows last week. He’d been thrown into a brick wall before having the porch roof come down on him. The stoic idiot refused to admit any pain to himself or to Sam. He’d learned from the master of inscrutability. Their father. He just hoped they’d find the kids and get a chance to rest up before fighting the whatever-it-was. Yeah right, the way their luck had been going, it would open the door for them.

In the foyer, scuffled footprints marred the dirt and mold on the floor. The tracks went everywhere so Dean couldn’t figure out where they should start looking. Both men prowled around the ground floor but found no other sign showing where the others were inside the house. Meeting up again in the foyer, they split off. Dean headed up the stairs to the second floor while Sam chose the basement.

Sam heard nothing from below and started down the dark stairwell. Spinning his flashlight around, he turned it on. His shoulders brushed against the green and black fuzz coating the wall. The swamp was sucking the house back into the ooze on which it had been built. Sam figured the stairs would be more solid closer to the wall. He hoped. He also hoped Dean would be cautious going upstairs. He did not want to have to scrape his brother off of the floor. When Sam’s feet touched dirt, he relaxed just a bit. Now he had one less direction for danger to come from. He hoped the stairs would survive one more trek. Shining the flashlight around the basement, Sam illuminated a variety of work benches and shelves, some bare and some covered with boxes, bottles, and jars of uncertain things. No teenagers. He was turning away when he noticed a darker spot in the wall. Aiming the flashlight, he took a few steps towards it. It looked like a crawlspace. Sam skirted the edge of the room and peeked in. Three sets of shoe soles were facing him and he heard muttering and laughing. Sam leaned the rifle against the wall and grabbed the closest pair of feet and pulled. The boy came out with a shriek closely followed by his two buddies.

“What the hell you do that for!” shouted the burly teen. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Look, you and your friends need to get out of here now.”

“Make us!” piped up the smallest of the trio.

He didn’t believe this. Here he was, trying to save their lives, and they were being brats about it. Sam glowered, extended to his full height, and picked up the rifle. “You really don’t know what you’re dealing with here and being dead will ruin your day.”

“Are you the one who’s doing all the killing?” the quietest of the three asked. He backed away as Sam turned his glare on him.

“What, do I look like a murderer? Scratch that.” Sam realized that he had two guns and his face still bore a large bruise on one cheekbone. Dumb question. “Get!” Retreating to one side so they could move past him, he followed right on their heels alert for any other movement with his rifle at the ready. Once they reached ground level, he watched the trio race out the door and down the road. At least they had been in time. Speaking of which, time to leave. “Dean! I found them. They’re gone. Let’s go!” Sam bellowed up the stairs.

Dean started up the stairs wishing it was earlier in the day. The rooms were dark and the fetid smell of the mold and decay was making him choke and gag. One by one he checked the rooms. He couldn’t spot any tracks in the dirt that told him someone had passed by recently but he wouldn’t give up yet. No word from Sam so he’d better finish his sweep. The last room at the end of the hallway was huge. He could see a canopy bed, its hangings rotting and moldering. He jerked back and raised his rifle but realized the movement he’d seen out of the corner of his eye was his reflection in a mirror. The shadows grew as the sun fell towards the horizon. Dean heard Sam’s shout and turned back towards the stairwell. A creak was all he heard. His head rocked back from the blow it received. A startled cry left his lips as Dean’s body struck the floor with a loud thump. He collapsed into darkness. He never saw the creature standing over him, weapon raised.

Sam heard his brother’s strangled cry followed by a muffled thud. Sam wasn’t concerned at all about the stairs collapsing; he practically flew up them to find Dean. His flashlight beam pierced the gloom and showed him where Dean lay. He was unconscious and his head had a gash in the hairline that was bleeding freely. Sam spun to look for the attacker. There was no visible movement anywhere. Grabbing Dean by the back of his jacket, Sam dragged him into the hallway’s corner and squatted down beside him, rifle at the ready.

“Dean! Come on, dude. Wake up!” Sam shook his brother to no avail. Dean showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Sam decided to get him out of there. He was lifting his brother into a fireman’s carry when he was overwhelmed. Nothing touched him but his head exploded with light, sound, and fear. He slumped to the ground next to his brother.

Their attacker contemplated the Winchesters. His kind told stories about humans like this but it’d never been able to feed off of one. It felt a rush of greed. No, it’d get them into hiding before beginning. Here was feast after so long a famine. Since the taller was uppermost, it picked him up and headed off to its lair. The other would stay unconscious long enough for it to return and retrieve the rest of its meal.

Dean came to consciousness slowly. He was seated on a chilly stone floor, back against the wall, arms suspended perpendicular via manacles and chains. His head ached and he was missing his jacket. Dean twitched as memory flooded his mind; where was Sam? He’d heard him call out right before he himself had been hit. Dean scanned the room looking for his brother. No one else was chained to a wall or lying on the floor. So where was Sam? The room itself wasn’t brightly illuminated. There was a single fuel lantern on the floor across from him that threw shadows everywhere. The room seemed to be about 15 feet by 25 feet. He thought he could make out vents in the walls near the ceiling but it was too dark to be sure. The wall opposite the door had three heavy-looking blocks of stone jutting from the wall by about an inch. Each stone block was about 4 foot by 3 foot. What was this place? Where the hell was he? Where the hell was Sam? His mouth tightened with the fear that his brother might already be dead. NO! Deep inside he believed he’d know if Sammy was gone. There would be a hole, hollow and deep. Nah, his brother had escaped capture and was going to rescue his big brother soon. Dean needed to believe that Sam was safe. It kept his fears at bay.

Dean’s inspecting gaze circled the room again. One of the shadows moved independent of the flame. A tall figure, wrapped in tattered cloth, stood and wavered towards him. The lantern was behind it so Dean couldn’t make out the features of the face. It shuffled to a halt about a foot away from him and cocked its head to one side. It moved so fast that Dean didn’t see the striking blow. All he knew was the pain blossoming in his side. His ribs ached from the impact. The pain flared again and again until Dean could scarcely draw a breath. His vision narrowed until all he saw was the thing’s silvery eyes.

The pain stopped. The figure stepped back and looked at him appraisingly. It gave a shudder and pulled its shoulders back. Dean glared back, narrowing his hazel eyes. He saw a cadaverous humanoid creature with pallid skin. Its eyes glowed even though the flame was behind it. Dean looked again, not sure of what he thought he saw. Sure enough, it had no mouth. How the hell did this thing eat? He didn’t think he wanted to know. Its skin clung like a wet bed sheet, the bones of its skull pushing to escape the prison of its skin. A rank smell reached Dean and he had to fight not to gag.

As Dean’s pain began to subside, the thing edged closer. Dean steeled himself against more strikes to his buffeted ribcage. The unexpected shock when the thing hit him in the shin instead made him jump. That’s it! Dean was pissed! He tried to struggle to his feet but the chains wouldn’t let him climb higher than to his knees. No matter. He grabbed the chains with his hands for support and began lashing out with one foot. The creature was knocked back when his one of his kicks connected. Dean’s breath came out in short pants; he still could not draw a full breath. His lip curled and he used the anger inside to burn off the pain. Damn it! Where was Sam? If he hadn’t been captured, then he should be looking for Dean. A surge of fear welled up in Dean again. Sam couldn’t be dead. He refused to allow that thought a foothold in his mind.

The cauchemar reveled in the emotions rolling off of its prey. It had been feeding off of young people, drunkards, and those who were hopeless. Their flavor had been very limited and anemic. Its harvesting had been disappointing. This one. . .It shuddered with relish. He too exuded fear and despair, but, oh. . . his hatred. That was going to be a fine meal. And this was just the start. It wasn’t sure what the connection was between the two men, but it knew things would become more intense. Soon it would be strengthened as it had not been for so many years.

The creature backed away from Dean. He crouched down in anticipation of its next attack. If he could just get a bit of time, maybe he could work the chains out of the wall. One felt a bit loose. The mortar was crumbing and crumbs crunched under his feet. He continued to watch the thing slide back and forth, watching him. It seemed to be taking deep breaths, its chest kept expanding, and he could sense satisfaction from it somehow. Looking at him as it paced, it seemed to come to a decision. It turned its back on him and walked to the far end of the room where it rested its hands against the wall. It stood motionless for a long time. Dean was puzzled. Why the hell was it ignoring him? Was it a golem and recharging? Did it have a master that it was waiting for? No, his instincts said this thing had captured him for its own purposes. Suddenly, it arched its back in ecstasy. This was euphoria! His kind's tales about dreamers were true.

“No! No! Jess!” A muted wail of despair from Dean's brother reverberated from behind the wall.

Sam woke to a smothering blanket of absolute darkness pressing down on him. He had never known a black so absolute. He panicked, thrashing his arms out. They rebounded when they connected with an unyielding surface. Blood oozed from myriad abrasions. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was running upstairs . . . Dean! Sam shot upright and smacked his head. Vertigo struck while he tentatively reached up and touched a rough stone surface with one probing hand. Further exploration revealed he was in a stone chamber not much longer than his rather rangy frame and not high enough for him to sit up in. Wherever he was, Dean wasn’t with him; that much he knew for certain. They had been attacked. Sam explored his skull with chilled fingers but could find only the damage he himself had just inflicted. Dean had been hit. Sam remembered his blood clotting his hair. So how had Sam been knocked out? No matter. Back to the problem at hand. Where was he? Sam twisted over onto his stomach. He inched forward until he was near the end wall. His fingers found a crevice all the way around the edge. This must be a way out. Sam scooted backwards until his feet pressed firmly against the other end and pushed at the block with all his strength. The block didn’t budge. He kept pushing until his biceps and shoulders began to cramp, and he saw bright spots in front of his eyes. No success.

Sam crawled forward a bit. A sheen of sweat sucked the chill from the stone on which he lay into his bones. He shivered. Where was his jacket? Whatever had attacked him must have taken it when it put him in here. Wherever here was. Was Dean in another similar place? What was this place? Sam began to panic. How long could he survive in here? There was no ventilation so how much oxygen did he have left? The bodies in the photos Caleb had sent popped into his mind. All the bodies’ wrists had shown severe bruising, leading Caleb to believe they had been restrained during their torture. He wasn’t restrained; not like that anyway. Did this mean Dean was being tortured while Sam was imprisoned? Would he be next? Dean had always come to save him. But if Dean needed to be rescued himself, how would they get out of this? The darkness swallowed him again at the thought of his brother being tortured and Sam unable to do anything to save him.

After an indeterminate time, Sam wrestled his panic down and took three deep breaths. Time to live up to Dean’s faith in his reasoning abilities. Sam pictured the LeBeau place in his mind as he had seen it when they arrived. The house itself was typical for its era. Sprawling, huge, and stately. The basement had seemed to have solid stone walls and the crawlspace had been floored in dirt. He didn’t think it had small rooms like his prison. The upper floor would not have had a stone room either. There was a feeling of heaviness about where he lay. He thought he was at ground level or below. The chill exuding from the stone felt damp. Next. The carriage house where Dean had parked the Impala had been a wooden structure. No luck there. “Think, damnit” he told himself. What stone buildings could be found on bayou country estates? Sam felt queasy. A mausoleum? Shit! He was in a tomb! Without thinking, he jerked upwards and struck the back of his head on the ceiling. Now he had a matched set of lumps. Was he lying in someone’s dust? “Idiot,” he told himself. “You would have felt their bones before now.” All right, time to. . .

Sam saw Dean. The blood had caked on the side of his head. His arms were spread-eagled away from his sides and were restrained by chains as he leaned against a wall. His breathing was shallow, and he kept wincing. Sam saw a shrouded figure advance towards his brother menacingly. Sam’s sight went dark. What had he seen? It hadn’t felt like one of his visions. For one thing, his head didn’t hurt any more than it already did. Was it just his fear? Something told him that Dean, trapped and hurt, needed his help. Sam reached forward again and shoved with all his strength against the stone. His breath rasped in his throat as sobs of frustration ripped through his body. Only when his muscles cramped again and his strength poured out of him like water did he stop. He put his head down on his arms as the darkness he lay in was equaled by the darkness building inside his soul. Dean. He’d been able to push that cabinet out of the way at Max’s. Why didn’t that happen again? Why. . .

Sam saw Jessica. His forehead shrunk from where her drops of blood touched him. Splayed against the ceiling, her eyes were open. His name was on her lips, “Why, Sam, why?” He’d asked himself that countless times and could only wait for the inevitable continuation of his nightmare. Flames emerged from her body and raced across the ceiling. They reached towards him with their claws. He was powerless to help her, not caring about himself. “No! No! Jess!” His scream echoed in his ears. He was there. This couldn’t be a dream. Had all his travels with Dean been the dream? The flames gathered him in. He could feel his skin scorching and blackening from the heat. The agony he felt was a shadow of the pain in his heart. This was right and proper. Mom and Jess had been engulfed on the pyre of his presence. It was fitting that he joined them. He screamed and the darkness took him in its embrace.

Caleb closed his phone. Neither Dean nor Sam was answering. That could be bad news. He’d been unable to find out anything about the creature doing the killing using his own resources so he’d called in the big guns: Bobby. That man had more esoteric books at his fingertips than almost anyone else Caleb knew. And he had answered his phone. Theirs was a select, tightly-knit group. Only a few people could truly call John Winchester and his boys friends. Both Caleb and Bobby were a part of that group although Bobby had tried to shoot John once; he’d been provoked. That didn’t really matter. Not now. Not when Sam and Dean’s lives were at risk.

Caleb had been reduced to pacing the floor waiting for Bobby’s call. When the phone finally rang, it practically squirted out of his hands in his haste to open the damn thing. Bobby had found something he thought relevant in an old book of French lore. There was mention of a creature called a cauchemar. This thing would pulverize a person’s volition, plunder his emotions, and bring terrible dreams to those who could see them. It fed off of its victims’ emotions while it drained them until nothing was left but a husk. The description of those thus killed left little doubt in Caleb’s mind that this could be their creature. The only defense against it was pure iron. Caleb had muttered thanks with the vague promise of calling once all was resolved before hanging up.

The information about “dreamers” stuck in Caleb’s head. Several months ago he’d received a call from Pastor Jim. Dean had started calling him for guidance. Sam’s girlfriend had been murdered like Mary Winchester had been, and he was plagued by nightmares. To make matters worse, he’d had a prophetic dream; more than one actually. That had really freaked Dean out. He fought the supernatural all the time but to have it happen to Sammy scared him. Sam needed Dean to be cool about it, but it had been hard. Dean had broken down one night and, instead of hustling pool, had spent several hours on the phone with Jim talking through his fears. Jim, upon receiving permission, had called Caleb to alert him in case the boys dropped by. John wouldn’t answer his phone so Jim had stood in loco parentis for advice. If this thing did go after “dreamers,” Sam was in a lot of trouble. The cauchemar would be able to make him see whatever it wanted and feed off the resulting emotions. Damn! That boy was a twisted bundle of emotions. He probably looked like a tall tasty treat to the thing. Dean wouldn’t allow Sam to be something's dinner but Dean wasn’t answering his phone.

Caleb tried to call Dean again. Still voicemail. Tried Sam. Same thing. What, had they picked up their father’s bad habit? Caleb checked his watch. It had been too long without an answer. Something was wrong, and it was his fault the Winchesters were involved. He dug through his storage chest for a solid iron weapon. Finding a forged knife, he re-sheathed it before threading it onto his belt. He grabbed his coat off its hook and ran to his car. He had a few hours’ drive and a lot of planning to do.

A/N:   I got the story of the cauchemar from a book of legends called Night Creatures. The thing sounded too cool not to use in a story. The Latin name for this thing is incubus.

Dean yelled "Sam" and lunged in his chains when he heard his brother scream Jess’s name. Sam was in that wall, entombed. His brother’s lament faded away; Dean was torn with grief for him. He was supposed to protect Sam. The recent battle with the shtriga had reaffirmed his youthful resolve that nothing would go through him to get to his brother. Dean ignored the rivulets of blood dripping down his hands to patter on the floor. He struggled until his ribs refused to allow his chest to expand, he tried to inhale; the pain gripped him in a vise. His struggles grew weaker as his lungs fought for air. He fell back against the wall as his legs folded, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Color and light slowly began to enter his vision again.

The thing was watching him. It turned back towards the wall, wavering like a drunk as it advanced to touch it. Dean would have sworn it was smiling though it had no mouth. Dean squinted in the uneven light. What the hell? He’d been sure the thing was cadaverous. Yet the visage he saw now had flesh covering the angular bones so that he could no longer see every ridge on its skull. His mind tried to process what he was seeing. What was happening? He had become used to Sam figuring things out on the hunt, leaving him to do all the killing. But Sam was trapped, separated from Dean. A surge of panic swelled that Dean suppressed. Sam’s screaming had not resumed. Whether he was unconscious or no longer able to make a sound, Dean had no clue. He didn’t believe that Sam was not being tormented any longer; he knew his brother was still in danger. Dean had never been trapped like this. Unable to reach a hand to a manacle, he couldn’t pick a lock. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t get to Sam. He couldn’t draw a full breath. He couldn’t fail Sam, not again.

Sam no longer saw Jess. Dean’s face filled his vision as he strangled Sam. Hard hands circled his throat, heavy ring cutting into his skin. Air was denied access to his starved lungs. Panic and despair dominated his thoughts. This was Dean killing him. Dean who had raised him, taken care of him, rescued him, needed him, loved him. Who was now killing him. A voice in the back of his mind insisted that this was not happening. He was not back in St. Louis, the shapeshifter was dead. It could no longer hurt him. But it was. Sam’s sight darkened.

The pressure was gone. He lay gasping in the chill of the tomb. He thought he’d heard Dean’s voice, not taunting him but terrified for him. What was happening to him? He realized that he was reliving some pretty dark moments from the past few months. Moments that he wanted to forget. His heartbeat slowed. Sam wondered about the thing they had been hunting. Could it be responsible for what was happening to him? Was the same thing happening to Dean? Who knew what he’d seen and done while Sam had been at Stanford. Surely he had some horrific memories as well. He wasn’t exactly a sharing, caring kind of guy and Sam didn’t know what he. . .

He lay on the ground at Sam’s feet. Anger coursed through Sam’s veins, not under his conscious control. It was Dean’s fault that Sam was always second best. It was Dean’s fault he’d had to leave his normal life. It was Dean’s fault he’d survived the fire to return to a nightmare of hunting and risk. It was Dean’s fault he’d outlived Jessica. It was Dean’s fault that Dr. Ellicott had caught him. “Do it!” Rage swept over Sam that could not be contained. The dam weakened and Dean’s order was obeyed, as it was always obeyed during a fight. He could not listen to the “no” in his head. He pulled the trigger.

Shame rose and Sam buried his head in his arms. How could he have fired? The gun had fired no bullet but the darts of Sam’s barbed words had pierced his brother all the same. He had failed to keep Dean’s trust. He’d crushed his brother with his envenomed words and the pull of the trigger. Sam sank into a mire of self-reproach and disgust and despair.

Dean watched the creature writhe in the corner. It stayed in contact with the wall that Sam was trapped behind. He’d heard no more cries from Sam and that worried Dean more than he could say. While the thing concentrated on Sammy, Dean concentrated on escape. He couldn’t fail in this task. He had to break free. He couldn’t ignore John’s prime command “Watch out for Sammy.” He had finally caught and destroyed his first childhood defeat, the first and last time he’d disobeyed his father’s direct orders. He . . . would. . .not. . .fail. . .again! Dean jerked at the chain holding his left arm. It was definitely loosening. He rocked the chain back and forth to wiggle it loose.

Light began filtering in through the vents near the top. The creature stood up. Its body was now clothed in flesh rather than just skin and sinew. It suddenly made sense. The thing was feeding off of them but not their flesh; instead it fed off their emotions. Dean had never heard of anything like this. It would suck them dry before dumping their bodies. Satisfaction rode in its eyes as it stooped to gather the steel bar and approached Dean who kicked at it. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of being beaten again. He hated being helpless. Blinding flares of agony exploded across his body. He was unable to choke back the screams that were torn out of him by the pain and the knowledge he was failing. He struggled to break loose to destroy this thing. Which would give first: the mortar or Dean’s flesh?

Caleb was amazed he hadn’t been pegged by a state trooper. He’d had the accelerator floored almost the entire trip. Reaching the outskirts of Plaquemine, he slowed down to check for road signs. Dean had called to tell him about the LeBeau place while Sam had been returning library materials. Caleb’d been going nuts just sitting there waiting for Bobby to call back. When he got nervous, holes appeared in his walls from his fists and his knives. To protect all, he’d Googled the place and found driving directions, just in case. The sun had just cleared the horizon as he turned into the driveway. He spotted the Impala parked off to the side and maneuvered his truck in behind it. Easing his door shut, he was surveying the property when he heard a bellow that could only have come from Dean’s throat. He spun around until he located the source. A stone mausoleum stood in a grove of cypress.

Darting to the building’s door, Caleb checked his holstered gun. Bobby could have been wrong with the info about the iron. Grasping his dagger by the hilt, Caleb inched the door open to a scene out of a De Sade story. Dean was chained to a wall, his shirt torn in numerous places, each hole marked with blood. Something stood in front of him, striking his with rhythmic blows. Caleb slid into the room. His blade was too unbalanced to throw. He had to be careful going hand to hand; that bar gave it a longer reach.

Dean thought he was hallucinating when he saw Caleb sneak in. He lunged to the left, pulling on that manacle with all his strength. He felt something finally give but it wasn’t his shoulder. The chain’s bolt plate popped off the wall. He shortened the length of loose chain. No sense popping himself with it. He swung at the creature while Caleb advanced from behind. Elation filled Dean. Their undoing. The creature spun and spotted Caleb. No chance now for a sneak attack. With Dean still restrained by one arm, Caleb would have to force the creature towards him to pin it.

Dean was afraid to swing the chain and hit Caleb by mistake; if he went down, it would all be over. What could he do? Ha! Caleb would never let him forget it but. . . Grasping the bolt plate in his right hand, Dean yelled, “Dude, Jabba the Hut!” and raised the chain.

Caleb smirked. It could work. The chain was rusted so it must be iron. He began feinting with the knife, driving the thing back towards Dean who was pressed against the wall. Dean clamped down on his hope. He chose fear, fear for Sam, fear for himself, to dominate his thoughts. It wasn’t too hard to imagine what would happen if this failed. He eyeballed the retreating back until it was within reach. Leaping forward, Dean slung the chain around the creature’s neck so that it completely encircled it. It shrieked while burning like a demon splashed with holy water. It dropped the bar as its fingers curled into claws and reached back for Dean’s face, gouging the air instead. Dean kept hold as Caleb dove in, his dagger finding what passed for its heart. Dean stumbled forward as the thing collapsed inward into a pile of dust and cloth. He rested his hands on his knees, panting, before sinking to the ground in a heap.

Patting down his pockets, Caleb searched for his lock pick kit. Of course, it was in the last pocket he checked. Dean shook his head. The man might be his elder, but he didn’t have it all together when the battle was done. He reached to snatch the kit out of Caleb’s hands. “Uh uh uh.” Caleb waggled a finger. “You can’t even close your fingers right now. I can do it.” He chose a tool and deftly picked the locks on the manacles as though he did it all the time, which of course he did. He’d taught the Winchester boys the skill years ago. “Where’s Sam?” Caleb hadn’t spotted the youngster and feared the worst. He turned his head this way and that in a vain search.

Dean surged upwards but would have fallen again if Caleb hadn’t slipped a hand under one arm to bring him all the way up. Dean pointed to the crowbar on the floor as he hobbled over to the wall. “Help me, Sam’s behind here.” The light dawned for Caleb. The thing had locked Sam up where he couldn’t escape but still be within reach of its powers. If that thing hadn’t been dust already, Caleb would have kicked its ass. “Which one is it?”

“I don’t know,” Dean was frantic. He hadn’t heard a sound from Sam since the thing’s first attack. Fear blocked his throat and any further words.

Caleb was startled at the look in Dean’s eyes. That boy was implacable except where Sam was concerned. The cauchemar must have hurt Sam bad. He examined all three blocks; cobwebs were broken on the block on the right. Caleb slammed the end of the crowbar in between the block’s edge and the crevice. Dean tried to help but he couldn’t lift his arms without hurting his ribs. Caleb slapped his hands away. “Trust me.” The block began to move with a grinding noise that echoed through the crypt. “Step back, it’s going down.” With a resounding crash, the block had hardly struck the floor before both men peered into the opening.

Sam barely heard stone grating on stone. He was overpowered by his memories and thoughts. The half-healed wounds from the past year’s events had been ripped open and were now bleeding freely once again. He jumped and skittered backwards when a hand touched him on the shoulder. Blinking furiously against the light, he could barely make out that there were two figures in front of him.

“Whoa, Sammy. It’s me.”

Dean’s voice startled him. He’d last seen his brother in a vision, beaten and bloody. He was still bloody but was now free. Wait a minute. Sam had shot him in the chest. What was up with his face being all bruised? Sam pushed his head into his hands. What was real? He ignored Dean’s hand on his arm and groaned.

“Wait a minute, Dean. Give him a minute. Did you find anything about this cauchemar?”

“Is that what it was? Nah. We came here to rescue some idiots and ended up being caught. What’s wrong with Sammy?”

“From what Bobby told me, this thing can cause ‘dreamers’ like Sam to see whatever it wants them to. It can pull out their worst nightmare and force them to live it over and over while it feeds off their fear or hate or whatever they felt when it happened. We both know Sam’s got a lot of nightmares.” Caleb and Dean looked at each other and then Sam. “Come on, Sam, it’s over. We killed it. We need to get out of here. Dean is hurt.” Caleb stopped Dean’s protest with a glare. He hoped Sam would respond to his brother’s needs. Sure enough, Sam uncurled and looked at the two men again. Caleb and Dean each put a hand under Sam’s arms and pulled him out of the crypt. His limbs were stiff from the cold and not being able to move freely. It took a bit for him to be able to stand on his own.

“You’re hands are ice, Sammy. Look at me.” Dean checked Sam’s pupils to make sure he didn’t have a concussion.

“Dean, is that really you? Where are we?” Sam’s confusion was frightening. Dean looked at Caleb for help.

“Sam.” He turned to focus on Caleb. “You’re in Louisiana. You came here ‘cause I asked you to check out something that was killing people.” God, if Sam didn’t come out of this Dean would kill him. Then John would find him and burn and salt him. “Can’t you remember anything?” Sam shuddered and looked away. Caleb winced. Wrong word choice.

“Yeah, we got those kids out. I heard Dean yell. Saw him unconscious and then got knocked out. Woke up in there. . .” Sam felt nauseous with the memory. He couldn’t look Dean in the eye.

Dean was worried. What was wrong with Sam? What had that thing done to him? He reached towards his brother then gasped, grabbed his side.

Caleb realized he had to take control. “All right you two. You were coming to my place anyways. Sam, are you ok to drive? I think Dean here will be out cold soon.”

A protest died on Dean’s lips. He could barely lift his right arm. He hated the thought of Sam driving his car as confused as he was, but he honestly didn’t think he could drive himself. Now only if Sam could drive. He looked at his brother.

Sam still wouldn’t look either man in the eye, “Yeah, I’m okay to drive. Let’s. . .just get out of here. We should grab out stuff from the motel first though.”

“I’m going to follow you the entire way. I can keep an eye on you if something goes wrong. Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we’re at my place.”

The three men walked out the mausoleum’s door and headed towards the vehicles. Dean moved stiffly. He dreaded the thought of sitting in the car for hours. He’d be so stiff, they’d need a crowbar to get him out. He watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. His brother refused to speak. He had been hurt too but Dean didn’t know how he could bandage his wounds. Hell. He couldn’t even see what needed to be bandaged. Maybe he could get Sam to talk at Caleb’s. Both collapsed into the Impala. They had a long road ahead of them.

Dean was dozing as the Impala pulled into Caleb’s yard. After getting out, Sam came over to help Dean who tried to walk on his own. His legs had a hard time holding him up. He growled, not at Sam, but at his own weakness. Caleb hadn’t waited for the two, opting instead to go inside and get the med kit and some towels ready. Dean headed towards the couch but Sam led him down the hallway and into the guest room. He figured that they would patch up Dean and allow him to collapse into sleep as soon as they were finished. Sitting on the bed’s edge, Dean stripped off his ruined shirt and flung it to the floor. He glanced over at Sam. Other than touching him to help him walk, his brother had been avoiding getting within reach. What was going on? Dean wanted to pound the bed with frustration but something told him that Sam couldn’t handle any sudden movements from him.

“Here Sam,” said Caleb, handing him cotton balls and alcohol. “Can you clean the wounds on his back?” Caleb had noticed how gun-shy Sam was and thought he would want to avoid looking at Dean straight on. The relief on Sam’s face confirmed his theory. There were more wounds here than what alcohol and bandages could fix.

Sam winced when he saw the scrapes and cuts on his brother’s back. The damage to Dean’s torso was extensive. He could see the crusted blood that Caleb was trying to wash off. Every time that Dean jerked away from Caleb’s ministrations, Sam jumped slightly too. He could not get the vision of Dean choking him out of his mind. What was happening to him? He’d not been this freaked out when it had actually happened. Sam couldn’t get his shaking hands under conscious control. He spilled alcohol on more than the cotton ball.

“Damn it, Sam! That stuff’s cold.” Dean exclaimed, worried. Sam had refused to meet his eyes since being rescued from that tomb. The few times he’d attempted to get his brother to talk during the drive, Sam had given only monosyllabic answers. Dean half turned and grasped his brother lightly by one wrist. He wasn’t prepared for Sam’s reaction. Sam jerked back and away. His eyes were wide, and he looked frightened. “What’s wrong with you? Are you hurt? Come on, Sammy, talk to me.”

Sam didn’t see the Dean that sat before him. He saw the shapeshifter Dean whose face had been twisted with rage and hate and the Dean who he’d tried to kill in the asylum. Neither one was a Dean that he had ever wanted to see again. His lips tightened and he clenched his teeth.

Caleb stepped in. Bobby’s research had given him a clue to what Sam was trying to cope with. He had no idea what memories were going through Sam’s mind, but they sure looked bad. “Sam. Can you go do me a favor?” At his silent nod, Caleb continued, “I need you to go check each door and window, make sure all my wards are in place so that nothing can get in.”

Sam scooted out of the room with such alacrity, Caleb almost laughed. He saw a much younger Sam happy to leave an unwanted task undone in favor of something more interesting. Caleb sobered and looked at Dean. “You are going to have to move real slowly with Sam I think. I told you that a cauchemar was able to make a “dreamer” see horrible things so it could feed. Do you have any idea what memory he’s reacting to?”

“Well, you know about Jessica. I’m sure Jim told you when he told you about Sam’s dreams and visions.”

“Yes, but Sam is nervous around you. So what memory does he have about you that would have him so freaked out?” Dean had always taken care of his younger brother, never hurting him or playing malicious tricks. Caleb continued to patch Dean up. After listening to his lungs and determining there was no fluid in them, he had Dean lift his arms enough so he could strap his ribs down. He’d check the bruising tomorrow to see if a trip to the hospital would be needed. He waited for an answer.

“Aaahh, Caleb, it could be several things maybe. We had some arguments. . .”

“No, Dean. I think this is more intense than just a fight.”

Dean sighed. He wanted nothing more than to fall back onto the bed. His body craved sleep to help it heal. “We ran into a shapeshifter in St. Louis. He took my form and hurt Sam. Tried to kill him. He was strangling Sam when I came in and shot him.”

“Okaayy. I’m guessing the cauchemar found that memory. Sam jerks every time you make a sudden move around him like an abused animal would. This is going to be harder than I thought. All right. First order of business is sleep for all three of us. We’ll work on dealing with this in the morning.”

“Fine. I should go check on Sam first. See how he’s doing.” Struggling to get up, Dean wondered if that was all that Sam was reacting to. A glimmer of a suspicion was forming but he would wait until tomorrow to see if he was right.

“I think that would be a bad idea, Dean. Get back on that bed.” At Dean’s crestfallen look, Caleb added, “Right now he’s afraid of you. Let him get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sure we can get him to come out of it. He just needs a bit more time.”

Dean was troubled. Even when they had fought, the two brothers had never been afraid of each other, of being near the other. To know that the fear in Sam’s eyes was caused by him shook him deeply. But Dean trusted Caleb, trusted that he’d help them overcome whatever was troubling Sam. As he lay back onto the bed, exhaustion overcame him, and he slipped into slumber before Caleb had even turned out the light.

Sam heard the two men talking in the bedroom. He knew his fear was irrational, but he just couldn’t stop his body from reacting near Dean. He was so confused and tired; his head spinning, he didn’t know who the real Dean was.

When Caleb walked into the living room, he discovered that Sam had pulled out the couch bed. He was and was not surprised that Sam had chosen to sleep out here rather than in the other bed in the guest room. The boy was terrified of his brother and had struggled to keep it hidden, unsuccessfully. Caleb felt so guilty. He was the one who had sent them into that situation. Sam’s mental anguish could have been avoided. If he’d done his homework more carefully, he’d have known what it was and found an ordinary hunter to confront the thing. Instead, he now had a wounded hunter and a heart-wounded hunter on his hands. He hoped he was up to the task of healing both. Maybe Pastor Jim could help. If nothing worked in a few days, he would give the genial cleric a call. He didn’t want to unless he had too. The man would chastise him, and rightly so, for not being more careful, for not doing more thorough research.

Sam glanced up as Caleb approached. He felt so ashamed for not helping Dean but he just couldn’t stop twitching around him. “How’s Dean? Does he. . . is he okay?”

“He’s asleep already, Sam. I didn’t even have to knock him out. Did he tell you about what you guys were fighting on the trip here?” Caleb started pulling linens, a blanket, and a pillow out of a closet.

“No. . .we didn’t really talk. Caleb, what’s wrong with me? I can’t seem to stop jumping. I still see Dean when he…”

Starting to make up the bed, Caleb waited to see if Sam could continue. When nothing more was forthcoming, he said, “When he what?”

“When he was trying to kill me. Not him, a shapeshifter, but it looked like him. God, Caleb,” Sam ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t react this badly right when it happened. I mean, yeah, I was a little jumpy when he made sudden movements for a while but not like this! Now, I can’t bear to be within five feet of him. What am I going to do?” The last came out as a wail. Sam’s fear was palpable.

“First things first. You are going to get a good night’s rest. This thing that captured you both had the ability to identify and magnify certain people’s specific nightmares. You just happen to be one of those unlucky ‘certain people.’ Come on, Sam. Try to go to sleep. You’re safe here.”

Sam nodded. “I know. Hell, I know I’m safe with Dean too, but I can’t seem to stop being freaked out. What if. . .”

“Sam, trust me, we’ll get this worked out. Get some sleep. You’ve been tortured, man, of course you’re not going to bounce back quickly.” Caleb walked over to the hallway, “We’ll talk in the morning,” he said as he turned off the light.

Sam lay down on the couch, pillowing his head on one arm as he turned onto his side. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to sleep but he was wrong. He was asleep before Caleb got into his own bed.

The next morning, Caleb was awake before either Winchester. He puttered around the kitchen quietly to avoid waking Sam. Putting coffee on to brew, he tried to figure out how to approach Sam about his fear. He hoped a good night’s sleep would go a long way to solving their problem by getting the cobwebs out of Sam’s head so he could find his balance.

Adding cream to the coffee in his cup, Caleb turned around just as Sam entered the kitchen. His mop of hair practically obscured his eyes. Caleb was beginning to wonder if that was intentional. Hiding from notice was how the Winchesters kept on hunting, flying below society’s radar. “You know where everything is, help yourself,” Caleb said by way of greeting. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I’m not as cold any more but the other stuff. . .I won’t know until I see Dean.” Sam looked out the window. “In all that stuff you read about that thing, was there any mention about how long the, I don’t know, effects lasted?”

“I didn’t find the info, Bobby did. If we need to, we’ll call him later to see if he found anything else.” Caleb was startled. He didn’t remember Bobby mentioning anyone surviving the cauchemar so they wouldn’t know about the length of its effect on dreamers. Oh man, this could be harder than he had thought. Caleb reached slowly and grasped Sam’s forearm in silent support.

“Caleb. I hate this! I . . .” his voice broke off as Dean walked in.

Dean had heard voices in the kitchen. Moving quietly through the living room, he leaned on the wall next to the kitchen doorway, listening. Sam still sounded upset. His first waking thought that morning was the hope that Sam was over whatever it was that had freaked him out. Sammy didn’t fear much and to now fear his own brother. . .Would the Winchesters ever get a break? He sighed and walked slowly into the kitchen. “Morning,” he said, his eyes going directly to Sam as he slowly approached the coffee pot and Sam.

Sam inched away. He wasn’t ok. Sleep hadn’t helped. He looked at Caleb then Dean, “Caleb. . .Dean. . .I gotta. . .” Sam fled the kitchen without another word and went onto the front porch. He tried to get his breath back; why couldn’t he control this fear? A wail built in the back of his head and only iron control kept it from reaching his throat.

Dean leaned against the counter. He wanted to be young again when Sam had trusted him implicitly. He wanted Sam to trust him. He needed Sam to trust him. The two men left behind exchanged glances. “What do we do? It’s killing both of us having Sam afraid of me.”

“Let’s give him a minute and I’ll go talk to him. Maybe if he can talk about it, it might help. You know,” Caleb paused as a thought struck him, “The cauchemar was a supernatural creature. I wonder if we can find some ritual or spell to counteract its effects. I’ll call Bobby and put him to work on it.” Hope budded in Caleb. Looking at the elder Winchester, he could see how Sam’s rejection hurt worse than all the wounds to his body. “Why don’t you get a shower while I talk to Sam?”

Sam stared at the surrounding trees. He felt an emptiness in his life. Without his brother, Sam was alone. Dean had been the one true constant in his life. Faced with Dean’s impending death after the rawhead fight, Sam had known he couldn’t go on without his brother. But now, Sam couldn’t even be near Dean without being afraid. Alone or afraid. Not much of a choice. Sam tensed as he heard footsteps behind him. He forced himself to hold still until Caleb came into view. He relaxed minutely, afraid of the condemnation he might hear. After all, Dean had taken care of him all his life and for Sam to treat him thus was harsh. He should be ashamed. He was ashamed. Anguish consumed him. How could he cope with this? He looked over at Caleb.

Caleb was struck anew by the pain in Sam’s face. Sam’s psychic wounds had pierced both boys deeply. “Let’s take a walk.” He led Sam around the back of the house and into a clearing. Sunlight was filtering through the trees as they sat on a fallen log. “Sam, the cauchemar drew out your worst memory and amplified it, attacked you with it. You were wounded just as surely as Dean was struck by that bar. I’ve got an idea but I think you will also need to talk with Dean about whatever it is you are remembering.”

Sam swallowed heavily. “I guess you know about Jessica, huh?” Caleb nodded and Sam continued. “Well, I also saw Dean. A shapeshifter we fought took his form and tried to kill me. Right now, I keep seeing the joy that thing had as it choked me while wearing Dean’s face. I still feel his weight on my chest holding me down. I don’t see Dean, I see it. But that’s not the worst of it. In an asylum, I got possessed or something and. . .I tried to kill Dean. I mean I pulled the trigger four times. He had been suspicious and removed the bullets but still. . . I tried. I know it bugged him but he refused to talk about it. Caleb,” Sam was practically sobbing, “I can’t see my brother any more. All I see are those memories that thing brought back. I can’t. . .” Sam buried his face in his hands.

Caleb grasped his shoulder to let Sam know he was there. When the storm calmed, he cleared his throat. “I’ve got an idea but I don’t know if it will work. In the meantime, I really think you two need to talk about this. It obviously stayed in your thoughts otherwise the cauchemar couldn’t have used it. Come on back to the house, will you? This is Dean, your brother, the other thoughts are nightmares and don’t exist any more.”

Both men stood up and headed back to the house. Dean, standing watch at the screen door, moved away and sat on the couch. He wanted to seem as unthreatening as possible. Sam followed Caleb in, felt himself start to shake, and firmly got himself in hand. “Dean, we need to talk.”

“Okay.” He had a feeling this was going to be rough on both of them.

Caleb left the two alone and went into his office. Propping his feet on his desk, he dialed Bobby. “Hey man, it’s me. You were right, it was a cauchemar. It's dead. We got a bigger problem though. . .It really got to Sam. . . He’s kinda shell-shocked and isn’t coping with what that thing made him see. . ."

Caleb picked up a small throwing knife and began tossing it up and catching it on the way down. "Oh, the stuff deals with Dean. . . Yeah, it seems a shapeshifter turned into Dean and tried to kill Sam and Sam once tried to kill Dean when he was possessed. . .Yeah, that’s what I said. . .I don’t know if talking will work this out. You know Dean, he’ll keep things inside and not talk. But he’s real shaken by Sam’s fear of him. I’m hoping that Sam will come out of it but I don’t know. . .That’s why I called you. I want you to see if you can find some kind of ritual or spell to break the cauchemar’s effect on Sam. . .That’s what I said. Look can you just try? . .I’ll be here all day so just call back as soon as you can. . .Thanks!”

“Dean. I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop myself from jumping around you. I know it’s not you I’m afraid of, I just can’t. . .”

“What is it then that’s got you spooked?”

“I kept seeing things over again and again. Jessica’s death. That shapeshifter attack in St. Louis. . . and. . . me trying to kill you in Rockford.” Sam peered up at Dean to gauge his response.

“I kinda thought that’s what it was about,” Dean flopped back against the couch and then reached out a placating hand to Sam who had jerked back at his sudden movement. God, this had to stop! It was tearing him apart seeing Sam like this. Okay, this was his baby brother but he was not a coward. Not until now. “Caleb had better figure this out or I will kill him,” fumed Dean silently.

“Sam. I guarantee that shapeshifter is dead. You saw those two bullet wounds, one right in the heart. You know I’d never hurt you like it did, even when you are such a brat.” Sam smiled slightly. “As for the asylum, I know you didn’t want to kill me. But I also know you were angry at me. I had taken you away from Jessica, from your life, and then dragged you behind me after all sorts of things. You so wanted to escape Dad’s and my world. Of course, you were furious. It tore me apart when you tried to kill me. To be honest, if we’d talked then I’d have probably said some pretty harsh things. But now, Sammy. . . now, I don’t think that. Almost losing you to those hillbillies, I was so scared. I thought they’d shot you and I had told them to chose you over that sheriff. Your death would have been my fault.” Dean looked up to see Sam’s reaction. He had relaxed into his customary slouch with his hands slack on his thighs but against the couch's far arm. “Sam. You and Dad are the most important people in my life. I don’t resent you for that attack. I’ve already forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself.”

Sam looked at Dean before turning away. An old bruise on his heart finally began to heal. They heard the phone ring once before Caleb answered. Dean looked at Sam. Had he gotten through? It was true, he’d been hurt for a long time by Sam’s attack but recent events had shown him how much Sam cared for him. Sam would do anything for his brother just as Dean would do anything for Sam. Both had a fear of being alone. Apart, they were broken, together they were a whole. They would fix this. Together.

Caleb strode into the room. “Bobby found something we can use,” he announced triumphantly.

Sam sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of a pentagram. Dean stood at the point behind him. He had a hard time not flinching every time he heard Dean shift his weight or rustle the papers he held in his hands. His hands were clenched tightly on his thighs. At each of the five points were bowls holding different herbs used for purification and fighting negative thoughts. None of the men knew if this would work; it was Bobby’s best guess. The spell was to defend against mental attacks by ghosts, but they figured the cauchemar’s attack on Sam qualified. At this point, Sam was willing to try anything. He couldn’t stand being afraid of Dean and he knew it was tearing Dean apart. He put his trust in this ritual. He looked up at Caleb.

The older man saw trust and fear fighting for control of Sam. He was worried. This had to work. Sam couldn’t keep on living with this fear. Caleb knew if one Winchester went down, the other would soon follow. Those boys were two halves of a whole. Normally, this was a bonus, but now, it was a liability. Caleb lit the herbs. The combined scent wasn’t that bad really. He nodded for Dean to begin.

Dean wished he’d rewritten the ritual in his own handwriting. Caleb’s was crimped and slanted and hard to read in the dim light. When Caleb nodded, he asked Sam, “Ready?”

Sam took a deep breath. He could taste the eucalyptus within the smoke and it soothed his throat a tad. He cleared his throat, “Go ahead, Dean.” He trusted his brother with his life. His mind knew that Dean would do anything for him; his unconscious mind didn’t listen to its other half. Sam focused on his breathing, slowing it down, and clearing his mind of all thoughts. He heard Dean’s voice begin reading the text, “Levo obscurum ex hic. . .”

Caleb backed off to one side. He seemed to see a shadow building over Sam. He squinted his eyes trying to see. Was it caused by the flickering flames or something else?

Dean kept on reading. He too had noticed the shadow. Being closer to Sam, he saw that it was oozing out of his head. He wondered if Sam felt anything. His voice gained strength with the knowledge that something was happening.

Sam was disconnected. He no longer felt the hardwood floor under him or the pain from the abrasions on his knuckles. He was able to breathe with greater ease. The coldness that had taken up residence in his chest was dissipating. Dean’s voice came clearly to him once again with the words “sic mote is exsisto.” Silence filled the room.

Both Caleb and Dean watched Sam. Would the dark influence of the cauchemar be ended? Dean saw spots; he’d been holding his breath since he’d finished speaking. “Sammy? How. . .?” He couldn’t go on. If Sam wasn’t better, what would they do? His brother had been under his protection since the beginning. Not being able to be the protector would leave a hole inside too great even for John to fill. He stepped towards Sam and stopped. If he jerked away. . . Despair threatened to rise.

Sam heard Dean move behind him, shuffling the papers in his hands. He waited to see what his body would do. When he didn’t jump out of his skin, he smiled up at Caleb. He turned around and looked at Dean. Dean didn’t know it but the smoke wreathing the room gave him an evil appearance. And Sam didn’t care. His fear was gone. He held out his hand to Dean who grasped it as if at a lifeline. On his feet, Sam faced his brother and grinned. Dean felt his heart explode out the top of his head. His Sammy was back.

It had worked. Caleb half collapsed against the doorframe. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been during the ritual. It seemed all was now well with the world. Stepping next to the two, he ruffled Sam’s hair, getting the usual backhanded smack to the chest before he slapped Dean on the back. Dean’s eyes were a clear green once again. The fear of being alone no longer clouded them. Sam laughed. “What’s for dinner?” The other two joined in laughing as they headed towards the kitchen and three beers of celebration. Caleb let them precede him. He watched the two, comfortable in each other’s presence once again and all was right in the world of the Winchesters boys.

A/N:   Thanks to all of you who liked this story enough to read it all the way through. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. For those who didn’t care to Google, the chapter headings mean: triskaidekaphobia - fear of Friday the 13th, agliophobia – fear of pain, acluophobia – fear of darkness, atychiphobia – fear of failure, aphephobia – fear of being touched, and eremophobia - fear of loneliness. Also the “spell” really isn’t one. I just wrote two sentences and translated them into Latin via an internet translator. If it’s an incorrect translation, please blame the webpage:” Lift the darkness from here” translates into “Levo obscurum ex hic” and “So mote it be” translates into “sic mote is exsisto”