Forks Motel

Dean frowned, that wasn't exactly the response he had been hoping for. Still, it was obvious that Sam was still in the grip of his dream, somewhere between waking and dreaming. He really needed to wake him up.

"Sam, it's me," Dean said, sliding a hand under Sam back, pulling him upright against the headrest so that he was sitting. He squeezed Sam's arm, "Sammy, come on, you're scaring the crap outta me. Wake up."

Slowly, Sam's eyes opened and his gaze shot directly to Dean's tense face barely centimeters in front of Sam's. Tearing his arms out of Dean's grip, he moved backwards away from him.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?!" he hissed, quiet so as not to cause complaints from next door, Dean being this close to him while he had been asleep was just downright creepy, and he really didn't want to have to deal with that kind of stuff that day.

He couldn't remember anything from the night terror.

Dean was filled with relief when it appeared that Sam was waking up, though Sam looked quite the opposite when he noticed their position. He looked a bit freaked out and pissed off at it, which was odd considering he'd just woken up from a nightmare. When Sam spoke it made more sense. He couldn't remember. Great.

"You were having another one of those nightmares of yours," Dean said defensively, still not backing off entirely, though some of the tension had faded, though he still felt a little uneasy, "Do you not remember any of it?"

Sam sighed, unable to remember why he had been panting before. "Oh." he said simply, still a bit weirded out from how close they had been, especially when Sam wasn't even conscious.

"No, I don't remember." he said shortly, avoiding eye contact with Dean, who still appeared to look intense, as well as embarrassed. "Might have been um... I don't know... a night terror thing or something."

Sam seemed to calm down a little at Dean's explanation, though he was obviously still weirded out, and was blatantly avoiding looking at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, still looking at Sam as if he were scared that Sam would return back to the night terror thing at any moment now, "It was probably just that."

Dean tried to catch Sam's eye, "Are you sure you haven't had anything like this before, at Stanford?" he frowned, biting at the inside of his lip, "Cause two of these in a row, that's a bit weird."

Sam shook his head. "No, nothing like that before. Barely even any nightmares. He'd never really seemed to have nightmares at all up in Stanford. Maybe the odd one but that was about it.

"It's probably from sleep deprivation... stuff like that." he tried to think up possibilities. Not that it really mattered to Sam. He hadn't seen it, but if it had made Dean this freaked out then surely it must have been pretty bad.

"Dean?" he asked anxiously. "What exactly happened?"

"I don't know, it was really weird," Dean said, frowning as he recounted what happened, "you just sort of freaked out. I was just finishing off the research, about to go to bed and you," Dean's voice wavered, "you were looking really scared, your face... and you were hyperventilating or something like that."

Dean looked away, "It was probably no big deal. Don't worry about it." He was probably overreacting to it. Sam was obviously fine, and he was most likely tight about it being a result of sleep deprivation.

"That was just it?" asked Sam. "I didn't... say anything." He furrowed his brow. "Well, then, how is that weird?"

To actually freak out his brother was quite a strange moment, because Dean was seldom scared about anything. He could fight demons and spirits and creatures, but when Sam had a little nightmare he was just right out there. According to Dean, he hadn't made it sound that bad. Just like a normal nightmare that Sam couldn't remember. But it had to have been a lot worse for Dean to be making that kind of expression at him.

"Is that all that happened?"

He ignored the comment about not worrying about it. He had just had another nightmare that he had no idea what it was even about. Sam couldn't even remember it - what if he had it again?

"Yeah, that's about it," Dean said, deliberately missing out the bit about Jess. Judging by Sam's reaction the other night, it was probably better for both if them if he didn't remember. The dream was clearly nothing important, and would likely only scare Sam into the panic he had been in the other day. "Don't worry about it, I overreacted," he added, trying to smile, though it looked a little forced.

After all, he probably had overreacted, it had only been a nightmare. Or a night terror. Whatever it was that Sam had called it. Though it seemed odd, his little brother having them two nights in a row, when he could never really remember Sam having them before Stanford, when he was in his teens. Maybe it was just the pressure of being on the road again, hunting things that made them appear. Maybe Sam was having difficulty coping with it?

He looked at Sam. He didn't look anything like he did moments before. A little confused, sure, but nothing like the full blown terror of the nightmare.

Sam was trying to work out what the nightmare could have possibly been about. To have another one about Jess would be strange... so how could it be about her again? Especially if she was perfectly fine, and she was - he had talked to her on his Cell earlier, he had emailed her all day, too.

It couldn't be about the monsters either. They didn't even know what was in Forks, and the information they had so far didn't really lead to anything other than death, which wasn't really that terrifying - it wasn't like it was kidnap and torture, or slow painful deaths. They all sounded quick. Besides, Sam hadn't even seen anything yet, and he hadn't for years.

He didn't believe Dean when he said that was about it. Sure, he probably did overreact, but it was one hell of an overreaction. "Okay." he said shortly. He looked back up at Dean who had moved away from the bed by a considerable amount, and still looking tired. "Are you... going to bed now?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, yeah, will do," he really needed to stop hovering by Sam's bed, when Sam had made it clear that he was fine, even if Dean wasn't so sure that he believed him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dean asked, because he had to be sure. If there was something up then he could help Sam resolve it, and hopefully put an end to the nightmares. Surely Sam would tell him in something was up - he was always into that caring and sharing thing that Dean had never really got. That could have changed since Stanford, but Dean was doubtful about that, seeing as had been like that throughout their childhood, often to the annoyance of Dean.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." he insisted. He really didn't like Dean worrying about him, especially when he couldn't even see what was wrong.

"Is there anything that I might've done that would explain what I was dreaming about?" he asked again, hoping that Dean would give him a better answer this time. Dean should know by now that Sam didn't need him to protect him from his own dreams.

Sam did look alright, and so was likely telling the truth when he said he was fine. There was no point persuading it when doing so was clearly making Sam more worried.

"No," Dean shook his head, keeping his expression and tone neutral, "Nothing. You didn't say anything." He knew Sam obviously wanted a straight answer, but he wasn't about to give one. Regardless of what Sam wanted he was not about to have a repeat of the day before. Especially over a dream. It was probably best that Sam did not remember it.

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously, but didn't persist. It was only a dream - like it mattered anyway. It wasn't like it was life or death. What would it make any difference if he knew what he had been dreaming about or not?

"Alright then." he got out of bed, still a bit freaked out at being so close to Dean, and rummaged through his bag for that water he'd had earlier. He was starting to get another headache as well, which was just as strange, considering that last time when he'd had the nightmare he'd got a headache around the same time.

Dean carried on looking at Sam, zoning out pretty quickly. He soon realized what he was doing, and turned round, disposing of his leather jacket before getting in his bed, under the covers for once.

Sam didn't believe him for sure, but he seemed alright, even if he was still giving Dean a bit of a freaked out look, presumably as a result of what happened when he woke up.

"Night Sam," he called, not falling asleep immediately as he hoped he would. He was still on edge after what happened. It had drained the tiredness out of him.

"Night." Sam replied automatically, putting down the water next to the pizza. He was just about to turn around and head back to bed, when something caught his eye on the papers scattered on the table.

It was one of the pieces from their dad's journal, all screwed up and a few scribblings across it. The corner was sticking up, like it had been folded over to keep the place or something, but there was writing on the back and he turned it over.

"Yellow eyes, Cullens." was scribbled on there. Sam picked it up, curiously, re-reading it. Cullens. It sounded like a name. There was a capital in front, just like a name would. He opened his laptop again and typed in the name.

Dean watched in confusion as Sam got up from his bed to go back over to looking at their dad's journal. Dean frowned. He was under the impression that they had both decided to finish researching for the night.

"What you doing?" he asked, as his eyes followed Sam, as he went from the journal to his laptop, "Have you found something?"

"Yeah." said Sam, looking over the web pages. He held out the paper to Dean. "Dad wrote something - yellow eyes, and Cullens. I don't know about the yellow eyes part, but I'm pretty sure Cullens is a name... a family name."

"Yellow eyes?" Dean asked, bolting out of bed, to where Sam was holding out the page. He took hold of it, scanning over the text "That's sounding an awful lot like old yellow eyes... Sam, this is really bad."

Whatever this was, it was sounding more and more like the thing that killed their mother. Yellow eyes? The disappearance of their father? It was too much to be a coincidence.

"Old yellow eyes? What are you talking about?" Sam asked, glancing up, and then back down, not really pondering properly on how that was important. Dean could probably just remember something from somewhere... maybe something their dad had told him at some point.

He looked down the page, looking for something - anything that could relate.

Of course. Sam wouldn't know that much about what had killed their mother. He wasn't around when dad had found out, or at least told him more information on what had happened.

"The thing that killed mom," Dean said, looking away as the few memories he had of his mother flooded his mind. "Dad said it had yellow eyes, or something." He looked at Sam, the look in his eyes urgent, "This must be it. Dad must have gone after it."

As Sam clicked on a page, his expression turned worried. "Oh my god..." he breathed. "Doctor Carlisle Cullen. Surgeon at Forks General. Moved to Forks two years ago with his wife and five adopted kids, who all go to Forks high school."

He looked back up at Dean. "What the hell." he said, bringing up a picture of Dr. Cullen, with golden eyes.

Dean stared at the picture, and exhaled. Was this the thing that killed their mom? The thing in the picture was pale, golden-yellow eyes embedded in the too pasty skin, the smile unnerving. It truly seemed to have mastered doing the whole faux compassionate smile, for Dean knew that something like this could not truly smile in what appeared to be a genuine way, when it was clearly a cold blooded killer.

"I'm going to kill it," Dean muttered under his breath, as he felt his fists clenching subconsciously, mouth set in a firm line. If this was it then he was not going to let it get away with killing their mother, and possibly - and he desperately hoped not - killed their father too, or at least had taken him for whatever reason.

It was doubly disgusting to think it had posed as a Doctor, someone that would normally be trusted to help people. It made Dean feel sick.

Sam stared at the picture, unnerved. He'd really chosen the person well. Someone high in society. And that look he had was so compassionate, it would be enough for anyone to fall into the trap. There was something off though - despite how it could change his eyes, the man looked so handsomely perfect. He could have chosen any nobody, but he has chosen someone hard to find - like a supermodel.

"Dean, wait - doesn't something seem a little off?" He squinted at the picture. "Like how handsome the guy is?"

"Yeah," now that Sam mentioned it, the guy did look unearthly handsome, making it more and more likely that it was a demon possessing some guy. Demons did, after all, have a habit of possessing people of that description, so it would certainly not be surprising if it was a demon. Dean frowned as he peered closer at the picture. The skin was paler then he would consider normal, and as far as he remembered paleness of skin was not a common trait of possession, making it point in the direction that maybe it wasn't a demon.

"Look at his skin," he said, nudging Sam, "Why's it so pale?" Maybe it was some sort of shapeshifter - though he didn't know of any that had yellow eyes. It was all pointing towards Demon, really.