Disclaimer: Don't sue, I'm not claiming any ownership to Supernatural.

Warnings: Some language. It's not bad but if you have sensitive ears, oops.

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Chapter Four

Sam raked his fingers through his hair, "I don't know how we're gonna pull this one off."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he sat on the edge of the motel room bed, loading the shotgun. "We go in there, talk to a few ghosts, kick some dead club owners ass, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, we're knocking back drinks at the bar by midnight." Dean smiled.

"I'm being serious, Dean."

"So am I." Dean answered with a grin.

Sam shook his head. "We've gotta think this thing through. There's no body, so we can't burn the bones and if I know anything about spells, a simple exorcism won't work and even if it did, we can't guarantee that getting rid of Bernie will free the other spirits."

"Annabelle said he have to talk to the ghosts." Dean reminded him.

"How?" Sam asked sarcastically, "If the ghosts are trapped in this time loop and can't see that we're there, then how do you expect to sit down and have a conversation with them; Inform them that while they think they've simply been dancing the night way, they've actually been dead for the past 59 years?"

After a minute of contemplation Dean stated, "Okay, so it might be a little tricky."

Sam glanced down at his fathers' journal that was spread out in front of him. He leafed through it carefully before coming across a page that caught his eye. "What about like a," Sam paused as he studied the page, " a séance."

"A séance?" Dean asked with a sour face, "You mean you want us to go in there, light some candles, do some chanting, recite a little bit of the 'we come in peace' speech? Come on Sammy. That's so cliché."

"You got any bright ideas, Rambo?" Sam shot back.

"Well," Dean glanced around the room, pursing his lips as if in deep thought, "not exactly but-"

Dean left the sentence hanging in the air for what seemed like eternity. "But what?" Sam finally asked after Dean failed to elaborate.

"Come on Sammy. A séance?" Dean was staring at Sam skeptically, "We're hunters not Ghost Whisperers."

"Well sometimes you gotta whisper to the ghosts to make them come out and play."

Dean rubbed his head where it had connected with the desk, "They already came out to play," he muttered, "They're just not playing nice."

Sam glanced at Dean, "Oh, right. Sorry. Maybe we can go back to Annabelle's, see if she knows anything about séances." Sam suggested.

Dean shrugged, "Dude, you're in charge of this one." Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat.

"Then let's go."

Dean sighed before grabbing his own coat and following Sam to the car.

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Annabelle was mildly surprised to see the boys return so soon. She was even more surprised by their inquiry. She reluctantly admitted that she did know how to perform a séance but she refused to step foot into The Sapphire Room to assist them in performing it. Instead she provided them the supplies they would need, gave them a brief lesson on how to properly perform the séance and then sent them on their way. Before they left she warned them again about the severity of the situation they were about to step into and wished them luck. They thanked her and headed off towards The Sapphire Room.

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Again, Dean managed to make it to The Sapphire Room in record time. Sam hadn't decided if it was because Dean was eager to get the job done with or if he just really liked driving fast. He figured it had more to do with the latter.

Sam rooted through the bag that Annabelle had supplied them with. It contained five candles, incense, and an incantation book. Although Sam had been immersed in the supernatural practically since birth he had never had to perform a séance and had expected a more elaborate set up. When Annabelle had handed him the small bag he had looked at her awkwardly expecting more. But, no. She assured him that these were the only items they'd need to perform a simple séance. Annabelle promised she'd cast a protection spell for them but she wasn't sure how effective it would be once Bernie got involved. In his world, The Sapphire Room, he had all the power.

Dean whipped the car to the side of the road and threw it into park. "You ready, cupcake?" He asked with a smile as he turned to reach behind his seat for the shotgun which he had concealed there earlier. Sam shot him a look but said nothing. He kept rooting through the bag and finally convinced that he had everything he needed he looked over to Dean and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Good." Dean replied as he passed the shotgun to Sam who zipped it inside the pack he was holding. Dean slid out of the car and was beginning to head towards The Sapphire Room when he heard a familiar voice coming from the tail end of the car.

"Oh shit." Dean glanced over. It was Dre. He was stroking the side of the Impala, staring longingly at it. "This you?"

Dean smiled. He was never more proud of his car than when people were lusting after it.

"Yeah, this is me." He replied with a goofy smile. "Beautiful ain't she."

"Dean." Sam was now standing behind Dean. His voice was all business. Dean raised his hand, signaling for Sam to wait. Sam sighed heavily. Dean never passed up an opportunity to gush over his car so in his mind, business could wait.

"Yo, Dre." Chris came jogging from around the corner before Dean and Dre had a chance to continue their conversation. "Ah shit," Chris slowed down considerably once he saw Dean and Sam, "You two decided to come back for round two?" He smiled as he walked up and stood behind Dre.

Dean nodded. He felt Sam give his jacket a small tug. He yanked his arm away and glared at Sam before silently complying. "We just can't get enough of this ghost stuff." Dean smiled. "You two wanna come?" Dean asked gesturing towards the building. He already knew the reply but was still amused at the sight of the two boys backing away from him.

"No thanks." Dre replied.

"Nah, we like our lives." Chris said, raising his hands in front of him as if to push the invitation away.

"You're choice." Dean smiled and started walking towards the alley. "Hey," he called back towards Chris and Dre. Both froze and looked at him cautiously.

"Watch my car." Dean ordered.

They both loosened up and nodded happily as Dean and Sam disappeared into the alley.

"Hey," Dre whispered softly once Dean and Sam were out of sight, "if they don't make it out, you think my man will mind if I take his car?" Chris gave Dre a gentle push and then leaned back against the Impala, waiting for their return or their blood-curdling screams. Whichever came first.

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Dean and Sam reentered the building the same way they did earlier in the day. They had left the door slightly ajar with the dumpster rolled in front so that no passerby would be able to easily recognize the disturbance. Not that many people were prone to pass by in this back alley anyway but it was a precautionary measure nonetheless.

The hallway was much darker this time than it had been earlier in the day so the flashlights were more necessary. The brothers found their way into the ballroom with little trouble. Dean stole a glance into office as they passed. The files which he had intended to investigate were still strewn haphazardly around the corner of the room where he had been thrown. He peeled his eyes away from the room, anger still present in his expression. He'd deal with Bernie soon enough.

Sam entered the ballroom and walked towards the area of the floor that had the most space, right in front of the stage. It had once probably been used as a dance floor but today it would be used to perform an amateur séance. He emptied the contents of the bag in a heap and began to arrange the items the way that Annabelle had instructed him.

"Wait," Dean said when he saw the way Sam was setting up the candles. "Didn't Annabelle say to put them in a triangle." Sam stopped and looked at the formation. They were in a perfectly proportioned circular form.

"Dean," Sam sighed as he held the last candle inched from the ground, "she gave us five candles. What kinda triangle has five points?" Dean thought for a second.

"Well, maybe she gave us two too many." Dean offered.

Sam looked up at him before slowly placing the last candle on the ground, "It's a circle." Dean shrugged.

"Whatever, and when no ghosts materialize, I'll be right there to tell you 'I told you so'." Dean pulled a small lighter out of his pocket and began lighting the candles, muttering 'triangle' after each one. Sam was too busy setting up the incense to notice Dean's sarcastic rambling.

"Okay," Sam said, drawing Dean's attention. "We have to sit across from each other and one of us has to read." Sam lifted the book and offered it to Dean. Dean shook his head.

"You're the psychic wonder," he reminded Sam, "maybe they'll listen to you more than me."

"Don't call me psychic wonder." Sam complained.

"I'll stop calling you one, when you stop being one." Dean cracked.

"Whatever." Sam gave up trying to go toe to toe with Dean and picked up the book. He flipped to the page that Annabelle had dog-eared and studied it. "You have to really concentrate." He locked eyes with Dean. Dean nodded. He wasn't really into the idea of having a séance but since he had been dragged into it he decided to do his best to make the séance as successful as possible.

Sam began reading the words on the page. It was something to the effect of 'we beseech you forth' and 'we're here to help'. But somewhere between 'we know the truth' and 'lend us your guidance' Dean was forced to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood in order to contain the laughter that had already begun to shine in his eyes. In his mind, it was all ridiculous rambling.

Sam, however, was taking the séance very seriously. His eyes were closed and his legs were twisted in front of him. It almost looked like he was meditating. Dean swallowed back his laughter and closed his eyes, deciding to really try to concentrate this time. As soon as his eyes were closed, something began happening inside of him. He could still hear Sam's words but his head had begun to throb uncontrollably.

"Sam." He managed to squeak out but his words were drowned by Sam's continuous chanting. He opened his eyes but the throbbing remained, drilling into his brain, destroying all conscious thought. He stared straight ahead and instead of attempting to combat the pain, he focused on it. Between the throbs he heard a voice growing louder and louder and louder. Finally, after it seemed that the pain was unbearable the words became audible.

"Get out!" It screamed. It was the same voice from earlier. Dean jumped to his feet, the pain immediately forgotten.

"Sam, he's here!" Dean shouted, searching the room for any trace of the phantom club owner. Sam's eyes flew open and he looked at his brother.

"Where?" He asked, looking around.

"He was in my head." Dean replied, calming down a little, suddenly aware of just how crazy he must have looked.

"In your head?" Sam asked as he rose to his feet.

"I could feel," Dean paused, "pain. Like he was in my head. Why does this man keep messing with me and not you?" As the words left his mouth Dean soon regretted them. The flame of the candle closest to Sam suddenly doubled in size sending Sam reeling backwards away from the raging fire.

"Whoa!" He cried out as the candle nearly burnt him. The flame quickly returned to its normal size as if nothing had happened. Sam stared at it for a second but before he had a chance to fully recover a table from across the room was launched at him, knocking him off his feet.

"SAM!" Dean yelled but he too was soon battling an airborne table. He managed to sidestep it but wasn't so lucky when a chair followed suite and struck him in the legs. He fell backwards against the wall but managed to stay on his feet. He felt a dull throb in his ankle but he pushed the pain from his mind as he looked around for his brother.

"SAM!" He called again.

"I'm fine!" Sam called back as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. He rubbed his ribs unconsciously as he bent down to recover the incantation book.

"You can't help them!" A voice shouted at him as the book slide out of his reach. Sam was then hurled forward and landed hard against the same wall that Dean was propped up against. All the air was forced out of his lungs at the harsh impact of the landing. Dean reached out a hand to steady Sam but it was Dean who really needed the steadying. His legs had been weakened from the hit and Sam could tell they were shaking mildly. He helped a protesting Dean into a seated position, concealing his own discomfort as he did so.

"You alright?" Sam asked.

"I'm fine." Dean lied as he rubbed his sore ankle.

"Yeah, me too." Sam lied back. His ribs felt like they were on fire from the table and from the collision with the wall but it was nothing he couldn't handle. As long as this voice gave them a chance to recover, both Winchesters would be in fighting condition in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, they had no such luck.

"You can't help them!" the voice yelled at them again.

"You said that already!" Dean barked back.

Sam ignored him and addressed the invisible enemy. "Yeah?" He pushed himself away from the wall, "Try us!"

"You should be more concerned with helping yourself." The voice commanded. As he said it the walls around the ballroom began to slowly change. Elegant golden light fixtures began to appear on the walls and brighten the room. The wallpaper was gradually returned to its original color and flawless condition. The chandelier, which had been broken and looked like it would fall at any minute was now piecing itself back together and light began to glisten from it. The sheets that covered the tables disappeared and the table were lined up and fitted with centerpieces.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean muttered as he began to hear music echo throughout the room. Blues.

Then there was laughter.

And talking.

People, dressed in traditional 1940's clothing began to corporealize in front of them. The room had completely transformed from a dank, decrepit, collapsing structure to its original stature and beauty, complete with a 100 trapped souls unaware of their current predicament.

"Dude," Dean whispered as he inched back up the wall and stood next to Sam, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

"No," they heard the same voice reply only this time the owner of the voice began to appear in front of them. He was a thin man in his mid to late thirties. He was wearing black pinstripe pants with a matching vest overtop a white dress shirt. His hair was slicked back and a twisted smile was curled onto his mouth. He dangled a gold pocket watch in front of him and swung it back and forth as he studied the two men leaning painfully against the wall.

He grinned cruelly and happily. "You're in my world now, boys."

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TBC….

Reviews are always welcome :)