Chapter 4

Bobby had decided a long time ago that sleeping was simply out of the picture tonight…at least, that was the conclusion after he finished off his fourth cup of coffee anyway.

Sam's semi-informative message had kept him pacing back and forth in front of the phone for nearly four hours. He glanced at the clock for the twelfth time in just as many minutes.

Three a.m. and counting.

Bobby had decided earlier that he would give the boys until seven o'clock to contact him before he jumped in his old Toyota pick-up and headed to Ohio. He had tried to call Dean's cell phone, but had only received his voicemail in reply. He had thought about trying to call Sam, but figured that if Sam hadn't called yet, it was probably because he hadn't found Dean yet.

Bobby paused in his track around his living room, "Although, that boy does tend to attract trouble like a magnet to an iron horseshoe…" The older hunter stroked his beard as he contemplated the thought. He glanced again at the clock, and was surprised to realize that nearly thirty minutes had gone by.

"Aw, hell Singer. You're actin' like a dadgum mother hen!" He berated himself, but found that the knot that had steadily been forming in his midsection only coiled tighter.

He sighed as he forced himself away from the silent phone to pour himself another cup of coffee. The ageing man had taken a liking to these two boys from their earlier years. John would leave them there, sometimes for weeks at a time, in order to hunt something particularly dangerous. As the boys grew older and more experienced, Bobby had seen less and less of them.

Bobby eased himself into his old armchair as he recalled the memories of their usually unexpected visits.

Dean had kept mostly to himself in his father's absence, and had preferred to keep his head under the hood of any number of old vehicles that Bobby had out in his yard. Bobby remembered that Dean would tinker for hours without a word, and he would often find the young man had fallen asleep in the backseat of whichever car he was toying with.

Sam, on the other hand, had been constantly curious about everything. He wanted to know what this or that was, how it worked, and why. He preferred to be in the company of his brother, rather than the older hunter, but even at an early age the brothers had learned to read each other well, and Sam had known when to leave Dean alone, and when to approach him.

As the boys got older, Bobby could see that they had retained some of their previous traits, but their personalities had nearly reversed roles. Now, Dean preferred to have someone present at all times, while still enjoying his fascination with automotives. Sam could usually be found in the corner of Bobby's living room with his head buried in a book by himself, and although still curious about much, he would rather ask his laptop than Bobby.

As the memories resurfaced, the older man realized that much of the change had been influenced by death. Dean, as a young boy, had still felt the sting of his mother's death, and it was amplified in his father's absence. Now that his father had also perished, Bobby could see that there had formed a deep seated fear of being alone, hence the need for constant company.

It hadn't been until Sam's fiancé had been murdered by the same demon that killed their mother that he began to exhibit the same emotional withdrawal that his brother had shown earlier, and since the revelation of his demon influenced 'gifts', Sam had begun to withdraw into himself. Bobby noted, probably in an unconscious effort to protect others from himself, however ridiculous that notion seemed to the older man.

The sorrowful thoughts of how unfair life had been for these two once again settled themselves in Bobby's mind for the hundredth time.

He shook himself from his reverie and stole another glance at the clock on his wall…four-thirty a.m.

"Only two and a half more hours, Sam. Come on, boy, call me already!" Bobby's glare bored into the telephone, but the device remained stoic and silent under the tormenting gaze. Once more, Bobby returned to the activity of wearing a hole in his living room carpet, as the clock's relentless ticking grew louder in his ears…

Sam had figured out that something was amok with this whole situation when he had climbed nearly twelve flights of stairs and opened the stairwell door to find himself staring at the first floor lobby, 'How is that even possible?'

Sam's bewilderment only grew as he dashed up the next flight of stairs, flung open the stairwell door, and found the same row of mailboxes, the same elevators, and the same lobby staring back at him, "Oh great. What now?"

Finally, he decided he'd had enough. He cautiously made his way to the elevator on the opposite end of the hall, glancing around warily. He wasn't at all surprised to find that no other patrons were around at this hour, but now he began to sense that there might be something else in the building with him. After all, this search and rescue was turning into something right out of the Twighlight Zone…which was disturbingly familiar to Sam…

As he pondered whether or not to risk trying the elevator, a thousand scenarios of how horribly wrong things could go if he did, played through his mind in a matter of about ten seconds. For a moment, he considered trying to scale the building on the outside, but found that he preferred the thousand awful elevator scenarios to falling six stories to the concrete below. He had to find Dean, and time was running out…

He carefully pressed the 'up' button on the silver panel near the elevator, and waited for it to open. A red light flashed above the doors and they slid open with a creaking shudder. Sam looked around the interior cautiously before finally stepping inside. He paused for a moment, waiting for the elevator to suddenly plummet, or turn into a giant oven to cook him alive… "I've got to stop watching all those late night horror movies," He muttered to himself as he pressed the button on the inside panel which had a bold '6' on it.

The elevator jumped a little as it began its ascent, and Sam caught his breath for a moment. The rest of the ride went smoothly, however, and Sam slowly released his breath, noticing that his heart beat began to slow down a little as well. The digital numbers at the top of the doors counted one through six, and there was a soft chime as the elevator reached its destination. The doors slid open with the same creaking shudder.

Sam's jaw hit the floor at the sight that greeted him.

Palm trees, swaying gently in the breeze, lined the path from the open elevator down to a beachfront, complete with sun, sand…and the ocean.

Waves crashed on the sandy shore, and Sam blinked his eyes rapidly in an attempt to convince himself that this was all some hugely elaborate prank.

It didn't work.

Four bikini clad women walked into view down the tree lined path, and they waved to Sam, and then giggled amongst themselves when he blushed bright red.

Sam realized that his mouth was still hanging open, and he shut it with an audible *click*, and promptly decided to try and move on. His finger paused over the button marked 'lobby', and then moved up towards the number six again. What would happen if he tried to get to the sixth floor again? Would the doors remain open…or would they close, and take him somewhere else? Maybe to Dean…

Sam pressed the number six, and waited anxiously as the doors slid closed.

At first, there was no movement, and then the lift jolted to a start again, and began to ascend. The digital display, Sam noted, began to count from one to six again, and he felt anxiety begin to well up even larger as it approached the latter number.

The soft chime sounded again, and the doors rattled open, but this time Sam didn't have time to be shocked.

As soon as the doors had parted, Sam knew he was in trouble. His body was lifted off the floor of the elevator and slammed into the steel bar at the back of the small lift. He fought the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to get oxygen back into his lungs…