Sam shot up.

His eyes were buzzing around like an agitated bee, flying from one side of the room to the next, taking in all of the new information that they saw. ... What had he done last night...? He hadn't gone out drinking, no- he'd worked a case with Dean, had as good a dinner as their pathetic pay would allow them, gone back to the bunker and gone to sleep. Now, that was all well and good- his bed hadn't been too uncomfortable, the dinner hadn't been too cold and the case hadn't been so terrifying and yet now there was an issue.

A major, major issue.

He had definitely fallen asleep in the bunker, in his room, right? Because there was a problem here. A major, major problem.

This wasn't his bed.

This wasn't his room.

This wasn't the bunker.

Lots of weird crap had happened to Sam throughout his life, but this was something new for him. It was a very disorienting experience, he found, going to sleep in one place and waking up another. The only other time he had experienced such discontent when he had fallen asleep in front of the television after a hunt when he was twelve, and Dean and their father had carried him to his bedroom. He had woken up the next day not knowing why or how he had gotten there, and the feeling was quite similar now. This, of course, was on a much larger scale. He didn't know who had taken him here, or even where he was. Dean and him had a lot of enemies, so he was assuming that one of them had kidnapped him, taken him here. He reached into his pocket, searching for his phone. At the very least, he could call Dean, tell him what had happened so that Dean might be able to find him and come and get him. When he put his hand in, however, the phone was gone. "Damn it." Sam cursed. Of course, whoever had kidnapped him had been smart enough to take his cellphone.

He looked around the room out of sheer curiosity. It seemed to be a cheap motel room- god knew he'd stayed in enough of those to recognize one when he saw it. It had a single, overly creaky bed with some cheap, moth-bitten quilts and sheets and one pillow. There were... miscellaneous stains on the ceiling and walls of various shapes and colors which Sam had never quite managed to find the cause of, as well as a simple, grubby blue carpet and all of the cockroach marks and mouse shit you would expect out of a place like this. A solitary, tiny window that couldn't quite open up far enough to let a nice, constant breeze in sat at one end of the room, just behind the bed- the only source of light other then the unpredictable, not-quite-stable light that hung from the ceiling. A tiny bathroom lacking a bin, mirror and usable sink was on the other side of the room, and as Sam stared at it he realized just how much he had to go. Should I risk it? He thought to himself, although he quickly dismissed the idea. Prior experiences with motels told him that using the bathroom in your room was never a good idea, no matter HOW busting you thought you were.

As Sam recognized the room for what it was, it lit a few red flags in his mind here and there. For one, motels were quite public. If he had been drugged while asleep, then how had the kidnapper managed to get him over here without the reception at least seeing him? Perhaps the receptionist WAS the kidnapper? But then, how many motel receptionists did Sam know with the skill and time to sneak into the bunker of two overwhelmingly trained hunters, drug him, sneak out without Dean noticing and drive him all the way over here?

Where ever 'over here' was.

Not really expecting it to work, Sam moved over to the room door and tried the doorknob. To his (immense) surprise, he found that the door opened quite easily- it wasn't that the doorknob was too old or that the lock was rusted through or something like that- no, it just, simply, wasn't locked. Had the kidnapper forgot to lock it when he had gone out? Then again, who was smart and determined enough to search their victim's pockets and then forget to lock the door? This whole thing didn't make any sense. A normal person would have said 'it was too strange for their liking', but Sam had had stranger. He was a stockholm syndrome sucker for strange- he'd gone through so much shit that he LIKED a little strange in his life.

"I could get stockholm syndrome this time around as well." Sam said quietly to himself, cautiously pushing the door open. He looked around the hallway, making sure there was nobody there. The door number read 2D, so he must have been on the second floor. He began to tiptoe quietly down the hall. "Too bad I won't be around to get it." Too bad my foot, he thought. When he made it to the stairs, he quickly made his way down, waited until the receptionist went into the counter's backroom and then made a run for it, slamming the motel door behind him. It swung for a little while, and the noise, if the kidnapper had been the person at the counter, had most likely pulled them out of the back room to examine the noise. By that time, however, Sam had already managed to jack an unlocked car and he was on the road.

Sam drove quicker then he would have usually done, his breaths quick and raspy from the adrenaline rush. Okay, so, he had woken up in a strange motel with his phone missing. He had no idea who had done it or why, but whoever they were they had left the door unlocked. He recognized the sign on the side of the road as belonging to a little town, about a five hours drive away from the bunker. He grit his teeth in annoyance. Great, so had they just wanted to divert him, perhaps? Were they planning to hurt Dean? Was that why they had taken his phone, so that he couldn't warn him? It still didn't explain why hadn't just locked the door, however. Maybe it was so they could make a get away without him knowing who his kidnapper was or attacking him.

At the thought that Dean might be in trouble, Sam slammed his foot to the acceleration pedal, not even caring that he was going five over the speed limit. If it helped him get to where Dean was quicker, five measly points quicker was nothing to fret over. It was a five hour drive, roughly, and Sam had no idea of knowing how long he had been out for. For all he knew, he could have been too late. Dean could have been killed, and the kidnapper could have been hours away from both of them by now. Perhaps Dean had won and killed the kidnapper, which Sam knew was more then a valid possibility. The third option was that he wasn't too late, and that he was only a few minutes behind the kidnapper. It was a thin line of hope, but Sam supposed that he had to rely on it. Heck, maybe he had it all wrong and there WAS no kidnapper, or maybe they weren't going after Dean at all. Perhaps they really HAD just slipped up and forgot to lock the door.

Sam still had to get back to the bunker, however, and so he drove.

By the time Sam arrived at the bunker, it was dark. He had parked the stolen car about a mile away from the bunker to throw off suspicion and he had walked ran the rest of the way-force of habit. Sighing, tired from the long drive, he tried the door to bunker. Unsurprisingly, unlike the door in the motel room, the bunker door was locked. He felt around his pockets briefly, and he was delighted to find that the kidnapper had not bothered to take the bunker key from his pockets. His wallet was there also, as were some other things like loose change and crumpled up wads of paper, but still not his phone. Sam tried the key on the door, unlocked it and entered. It was one in the morning- it had been six when he had set out. He had gotten caught in some fairly bad traffic along the way, he guessed. Hopefully, so had the kidnapper, because if he hadn't then chances were he would have been far away by now- if he wasn't already.

By this time, if everything was alright, Sam assumed that Dean might be asleep. Sam never got any sleep, not with the demons that haunted his mind- some of them literal. He had heard Dean, also, twisting and turning restlessly in his bed, stomping around, muttering to himself- he rarely fell asleep until well after dawn as well, and even then, for Sam too, it was mostly just from uncontrollable tiredness. Every time Sam closed his eyes, however, he saw hell, or himself killing somebody, or torturing something... He was positive that Dean felt the same way, although he would never admit it to Sam. They probably shared in the same restless nightmares, as well.

"Dean...?" Sam called softly. The first thing Sam noticed was the disturbing amount of angel warding symbols displayed across the bunker's main room. He began to examine the rooms, one by one. He found that they too, had the same warding symbols. It was really beginning to freak him out- sure, demon warding symbols he got- but instead of those, there were angel warding symbols? Were they related to this? Had him and Castiel had a fight or something- had his kidnapper been Castiel? He chuckled at the idea. The first room he checked was Dean's, and then when Dean wasn't in there he checked his own. Dean wasn't in either room, however there was no blood or sign of a struggle either, so that was good. Sam had almost searched every room in the house and, not seeing any sign or clue as to where Dean had gotten to, he was beginning to lose hope. It was if Dean had just vanished into thin air- no struggle, no killing, no nothing. Perhaps he had just gone out for a bit? He was just turning and preparing to search one of the remaining rooms when he heard a loud crinkle come from behind him, as if somebody had just stepped on something. Paranoid, he turned around, but before he could see who the person was, something solid and hard hit him in the head and he was knocked out cold.