Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, or the Sandman tales. I just own Wynn and Devon who will come up later!

Author's Note: This is dedicated to Liv and her friend Eva. They know who they are! Thank you for helping me out so much!

Set between Home and Asylum.

Enter Sandman

Chapter One

Dean Winchester was four. He would proudly announce to anyone who would listen (mainly women because he was so incredibly cute) that he was the best baseball player, basketball player, all around good guy and best big brother ever.

For two years, Dean had asked for a little brother religiously. All his friends had little brothers, so he naturally needed to have one as well. Mary, his mother, commented often to her friends and family that it was almost a fashion for him, as much as having the newest toy and clothing.

So, John and Mary would never forget the joy they saw on their four-year-old's face when John placed little Samuel in his arms. From that day on their world changed.

It hadn't been the best pregnancy for Mary. Unusual though it was, the second pregnancy was harder then the first. Dean had been the perfect angel inside her, except for the occasional kick in the right place. During labor and delivery, he'd seemed to want to introduce himself to the world more then anyone else. Sam had been different. One minute they had wondered if he'd make it and after three miscarries, it was such a joy to hold her second son in her arms.

Sam wouldn't sleep through the night but Dean never complained. He was up with John or Mary almost every night, tending to his baby brother. He often fed him and bathed him but refused point blank to change him. Mary agreed. He was the best big brother ever.

On the night of November 22, 1983, Dean Winchester looked up at the illuminated interior of his blanket, folded and tucked around him like a tent. He was lying on his stomach, feet on his pillow, head propped on one hand, turning the pages of his book with the other. He'd been told to go straight to sleep but the child had other plans. He could no sooner fall asleep tonight then pull his arms off.

Instead, he stayed up defiantly, turning the pages of his book, the light from his flashlight flickering in the still, stuffy air around him and sparking light off the eyes of the monsters before him. They almost seemed alive…almost.

His friend, Tomas, had given him a monster book to read. Dean hated reading so instead he stared at the pictures, painted on glossy paper. The Bogeyman and a few ghosts who looked like people in sheets. Dean found a strange thrill in the terror being wrought on his senses with every turn of the page.

Another creak in the hall made him click off his flashlight. Maybe Dad had come upstairs to check on him? Perhaps Mom had gone to check on Sammy who was cooing in the other room, across the hall? Dean crawled out from under his blankets, closing his book quietly. He hadn't fought with either of his parents for two days. The last thing he wanted to happen was be scolded for looking at scary pictures when he was supposed to go to sleep.

Clowns leered down at him from the shelves around his room, set oddly between race cars and fire trucks. The lack of ticking announced to the silence that his clock had stopped. Maybe it was the Boogeyman out for a stroll in the moonlight? A flash of dark movement caught his eyes and he shifted in bed, watching the hall beyond the crack in his door. The dim hall lights were flickering, sending dancing shadows along the floor and into Sam's room.

Plucking up his courage, the child laid the book down on his covers and tip toed to the bedroom door. Peering out, he saw the dark shape walk silently through the hall and into the baby's room, pulling with it all shadow. Dean frowned. Slowly and quietly, he snuck into the hall and moved along the wall, peeking into his mom and dad's room as he crept. The dark shape in bed shifted a little but moved no more.

Dean stuck his shaggy head around the corner and peered into the dark room. A dark shadow stood over Sam's crib, black and unmoving. A strange twinge of fear flared inside Dean's chest, painful and clenching in its intensity. Silence and quiet anticipation filled the room, mingling sickeningly with the faint scent of smoke and…

Dean had smelled that smell only one other time. Grandma had been in bed, sick and she'd left her body…died. It was the smell he attributed to grandma that day and it sickened him.

Dean shivered, straightened his small shoulders and stepped into the cool dark of Sam's bedroom, shoving aside a stuffed animal with his barefoot. The toy squeaked in offense and lay still again, defeated.

"Dad?" Dean whispered. The darkness didn't turn and didn't stir. "Daddy?" Dean's voice broke and a cold sweat beaded over his little forehead. He felt the urge to run but a complete inability to move his feet. He should scream, he should run, he should cry out for his mom but he couldn't. He stood there and waited. "Daddy, is Sam okay?"

The figure began to move now, slowly. The black outline advanced, backwards it seemed, dragging one leaden foot and then another toward the child. Although it stomped upon the floor enough to vibrate the ground beneath Dean's feet, it made no noise.

The little boy backed up and softly thumped into the doorframe behind him, hands whipping out, trying to find the opening. He had to get away; he had to get out into the hall. In the building panic, he heard the soft advertisement jingle of cereal downstairs.

Suddenly, something red flashed in the dark above him. Blinking away the blinding fear, he focused on the head of this…thing. It was turning now, slowly, every creak of musty joints sending a cold blast of rotten smelling air over Dean's face. A pair of eyes opened in the shadows, red and gleaming like jewels against the ebony to which they were set. Dean stared, wanting to scream but losing his voice as it met his mouth. Every time he called for his mother, his voice died before it reached his ears.

The creature blinked at him, Sammy cooed and Dean screamed noiselessly to the night until one hand snaked out and grabbed his upper arm. Though invisible, the touch burned like fire, sending shards of pain from his fingers to his brain, pulsing the skin it touched into a throbbing mass. Dean wanted to drop to the floor and cry.

"Dean." The voice said. It was soft, calm, taunting and cold. He loved it and hated it. It was his beginning and end. If the voice stopped, the pain would stop but he wanted it to continue, because if it ceased, he'd die. "Go back to bed. Forget me." The grip fell away and the pain lessened. Dean stumbled sideways and fell softly into the hall. The figure stood in the doorway, nothing but swirling black with jewel bright eyes. They blazed into the dark and burned their imprints into his eyelids. "Not a word to anyone…ever."

The four-year-old nodded and began crawling backwards down the hall, wanting to pull his eyes away and keep them on the stranger at the same time. He wanted to huddle in a ball and die…he wanted to run and scream and live. Before Sammy's room vanished from his sight, the figure returned to the crib in the blink of an eye.

Dean shuddered and sprang to his feet, racing through the hall and jumping into his bed. The book fell from the blankets and onto the floor with a loud thump, making him hiss and shiver. With his flashlight held close to his chest, he kept his eyes tight shut, not wanting to open them and see the eyes again, shivering in the dark air before him. They were there still, though, imprinted like a photograph on his eyelids. He'd never get away, never.

He should go tell Mom. She could do something! Hadn't she always said that nothing in the dark could hurt him, as long as she was there? She was always around and nothing had ever hurt him so it must be true. Going to mom would mean passing Sam's room, though…

'Not a word to anyone…ever.' Dean shuddered, rubbing his arm. It still burned. His Mom's scream broke the silence, so all consuming, so blood curdling that Dean's busy mind drew blank. He lay in fear an confusion under the blankets until the smell of smoke and his father's yells drove him out…

'Not a word to anyone…ever.'

SUPERNATURAL

Dean woke abruptly to the sound of Sam mumbling something in his sleep. Not that he minded. Even his brother's constant nightmares were welcome tonight. He could still smell the smoke, the burning flesh…feel Sam in his arms as he raced down the stairs away from the heat… 'Not a word to anyone…ever.'

Dean shivered and rolled over, watching the shadows passing headlights created on the wall over Sam's bed. It was just a dream, nothing more. No such thing had happened that night. He'd woke to the sound of his father screaming and gone to investigate. There was nothing in the dark, no eyes glistening in the night…

The moon shaped mirror beside the bathroom caught the light of another vehicle, flashing its cold white beam into his eyes briefly. Bloody Mary had seen his inner guilt because he would always blame himself for his mother's death. It was his fault, if only he'd told her what he saw. But it was only a dream.

"Dean…" Sam muttered into the dark. The younger man was tossing and turning in bed fretfully but it didn't seem to be a nightmare yet.

Pulling the heavy pastel blanket off him, Dean padded across the cold room, glancing at the thermostat on the wall above the tv as he went. Every night since he was four, he'd turned the heat down in the house and even now, in cheap motel rooms all over the country. It was unconscious and he never thought why, just assuming that somewhere deep within him he was trying to escape the heat of the fire. He was no Dr. Phil though. It wasn't his place to fathom this mysterious habit.

The bathroom floor gave birth to Goosebumps on his arms and legs but he paid them no mind. Cupping freezing water in his hands, he splashed it on his face and neck, shivering as beads of water raced each other down the ridges and scars on his back, soaking the top band of his jeans. Contended, he went back into the main room and opened his laptop, which Sam had left on the table by the window. It was time for a new case.

Being in Lawrence had shook him thoroughly. Seeing his mom materialize from flame in the middle of the kitchen had dug up long forgotten dreams and painful memories. He didn't want to feel that ache anymore. It was terrible and consuming. Unintentionally, he glared at Sam in the dark. His mother had said she was sorry, to him. He'd had to stand there and listen to her apologies to his little brother when it was Dean who had suffered the most. She'd said one word to him…one.

Trying to shake envy from his mind, he turned back to the computer. It wasn't Sam's fault, but he was so damn easy to blame. He began pulling up local papers, glancing once at the Lawrence news before tossing it aside. He wasn't going back there ever again if he could help it…especially with Missouri there.

His hunch was now pointing him to a small town nearby, just outside of Ulysses. "Axlyn." Dean muttered, eyebrows knitting in slight annoyance. This place was a hick town if he'd ever seen one. The paper announced it loud and clear. Mrs. Stewart and her husband, Richard, had gone for Sunday lunch at their son's house in Wichita. John Patterson was in the hospital and the paper asked for everyone to pray for his health and quick return. New people moved into the old Sanderson lot and Clarissa Rivers welcomed a son, Braden, into the world last Wednesday. The only news that really popped out was a small article printed in the corner of the last page, stuck between a few advertisements from nearby towns.

Axlyn Kansas – It is official. Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center has shut down for good. Three months ago, the Center was responsible for the deaths of eight people, who were killed in their sleep due to suffocation. Large amounts of sand were found in their throats and eyes, official cause was stated to be due to the strange amount of sand and dust storms in the area lately. Police were unavailable for comment…

Dean clicked out of the article and Googled the Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center. Articles flashed at him all over the place and he read snippets of each one.

'The Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center had played a valuable role in new sleep techniques.'

'Offering help to people with severe sleep disorders…'

'Grand opening.'

'Awards'

'Research'

'Mysterious deaths claim eight lives.'

'Closure'

'Town in turmoil.'

From what Dean gathered, Calvin Oaks had opened three years ago, been shut down three months ago and sentenced to be demolished in three weeks. The town it was based it, Axlyn, had now lost its last and best business, rendering it a ghost town. People had moved, died or disappeared and the population was dwindling. Dean almost felt sorry for the place. Their largest warehouse had burned down four years before the Center was opened. In the past decade, Axlyn had become a ghost town of less then sixty people.

Dean opened up the first article and read the end of it out loud. "Researchers report the patients became scared to sleep and some died with looks of fear on their faces. Why were they being scared to death?" The article was written by a woman named Wynn Dodge.

Pulling up a people search program on his computer, Dean found this journalist's address in Axlyn. Winifred Dodge, 53 Gladstone Street. He'd have to think of a new identity, which would be a snap.

Sam suddenly sat up, staring into the dark ahead of him. Dean could clearly see the blank look in his brother's brown eyes and knew instantly that Sam was very much asleep still.

"Sam?" Dean called softly. Sam didn't move but his eyes blinked rapidly in the harsh light cast by the computer. "Sam, wake up."

"Sam?" Sam whispered his lips moving slowly, forming every movement of the word with exact precision, as though he were in a slow motion movie. His head turned right, then left, his gaze settling on nothing. Then he looked up, squinting against some invisible light. Dean tensed, expecting Sam to start screaming for Jessica but he didn't. He simply laid back down and was soon snoring peacefully.

Dean shook his head. Sam had always been a strange sleeper. He seemed to perpetually have nightmares or premonitions. Dean often wondered why these things seemed to happen to Sam. The stranger standing over him in the dark, mom dying in his room, stuck to his ceiling…Jess eaten by fire…It was all to much. To strange.

Having found his new case, there was nothing more to do then check his emails. It spoke of spam ads and nothing more. No friends wrote him because he didn't have any worth talking to. That was just the kind of person Dean was. He could be a best friend while someone was around but the moment he moved, or they left, he could forget them and move on. It had always been that way. Growing up, friends were hard to make. Either they thought he was the odd new kid who drew demons in math class, or he was only there a week before moving on. Ties were bad. They clouded your judgment and got you killed…lately he wished he could turn off family like that too.

John Winchester still hadn't answered any of his emails. Again, like everyday, he began writing where they were, what was happening and the info on their next case. It was all a mixture of Latin, French, Spanish and old military codes that jumbled together and would give even the most professional code breaker a headache for weeks. Dean liked it that way.

After he sent the message, praying for a response, Dean opened another email window and began a second email to his father, letting his emotions and thoughts control his fingers. "Dad, we've been waiting for you, calling you and leaving you messages. Where the hell are you? We worry to you know! When we were little we had to call in every three hours. Hell, two years ago I had to call in every five hours! What happened to that? The whole 'leave no man behind' bullshit. Dad, I need you here. Sam and I are in over our heads, we can't do this alone! Hell, what if we find the thing that killed mom? Where are you gonna be? When one of us dies doing this, are you gonna come to the funeral or are you gonna be off god knows where? Dad. I need you to come back. You know where we are. Please. I…"

Dean stopped, cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as the anger and pain died inside him. Highlighting the message, he deleted it and typed in two little words. "I'm fine." It was all he could do. He couldn't let his dad think he was breaking down now. He couldn't break down.

Dean reopened the Axlyn information and re-read it. As he did so, random words jumped out at him, seeming to spring from the computer, screaming, 'Not…a…word…to…anyone…ever.'

In the cold room he shivered.

TBC...

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