Chapter 6

At precisely 6:51 a.m. Bobby Singer had decided that enough was enough, and screw caution.

The boys were in trouble…his boys were in trouble, and he would rather be stripped naked and dipped in buttermilk before he'd let them go down on his watch.

The rusted piece of scrap that served as Bobby's transportation had thus far clunked its way down the interstate for more than two hours and Bobby was beginning to get more and more anxious about Sam's message.

What did Sam mean when he said that they'd 'had some trouble with it'? Had Dean been injured? Surely not, he'd been well enough to put on the Casablanca. Had Sam been injured? No, if that were so Dean couldn't have been dragged away from Sam's side by wild horses, let alone 'some chick'.

What then? Had they run into problems with the locals? Cops maybe?

Bobby sighed…the possibilities were endless…especially when speaking of the Winchesters. It was a fruitless waste of energy to try and figure it out. The only thing he knew for sure was that Sam had called for help, and that was all he needed to know.

The eastern sky transformed into steadily lighter shades of blue and yellow as the sun finally woke from its absence, and bathed the open road in golden hues.

The rattling of the old truck as it sped along the highway helped to drown out the incessant worried thoughts that tried to worm their way past his wizened reasoning, but as usual, Bobby's stubbornness won out in the end, and his thoughts turned to less worrisome things.

The trees were mere smudges outlining the edges of the highway as the old truck consumed the asphalt by the mile. The weariness that comes with old age and late nights began to seep into Bobby's bones as he drove. He sighed a second time.

"One of these days I'm gonna realize that I'm too old for this crap," He grumbled to no one in particular.

*Skreeeeeee-POW!* As if in agreement with its owners statement, the ancient Toyota decided it, too, had had enough. Bobby cursed fluidly as the steering wheel was almost jerked from his grasp. It was no longer possible to steer the vehicle in a straight line, and Bobby had to pull with all his might in order to coerce the thing onto the narrow shoulder of the highway.

His mechanically inclined mind had already deduced the problem before he had even shoved the door open.

Bobby grunted as he eased down onto the dew soaked grass in order to confirm his suspicion.

"Yup, sure 'nough." Bobby groaned, "Dangit!"

The tie-rod had broken on the front axle, and the vehicle would definitely have to be towed. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, at least not in the same truck he'd started in.

No, he would either have to jack somebody else's car, which seemed fairly unlikely, or he would have to hitch-hike, which was about as appealing to Bobby as getting kicked in the head by a Clydesdale.

But this time, there was no other option. His boys were in trouble, and by God, it was going to take a lot more than a broken tie-rod to keep him from getting to them one way or another.

So, with as much enthusiasm as a man getting audited by the IRS, Bobby walked to the edge of the lonely stretch of highway, and stuck out his thumb.

Sam Winchester was dead.

'Can't breathe…not breathing, Sam…'

Or at least, Sam Winchester was convinced that he was somewhat close to dead.

'…need to breathe…so cold…'

He couldn't really be sure…what he could be sure of, was that he couldn't breathe, and he was freezing…or possibly burning. One or the other. It didn't really make much of a difference at this point, because either way Sam Winchester was in deep crap.

'…hurts so bad…need to breathe, Sam…'

…or rather, deep water.

"SAMMY!"

Sam came fully awake with a start, and gasped, simultaneously choking on a lung full of cold water. As he coughed spastically, a fiery stitch of pain erupted across his right side, and he flailed his arms in an attempt to fend it off. He managed to gurgle a groan in between coughs.

"Easy bro, I gotcha. Just breathe easy." Dean, soaked from head to toe himself, had his arms under his brother's, supporting him as best he could in the nearly neck deep water. Sam's shaggy bangs were plastered to his forehead, and water ran down the sides of his face in rivulets. Dean tried his best to calm his brother's thrashing before he drowned them both, "C'mon Sam, calm down! You're okay."

The eldest hunter, after coming to temporary terms with the fact that there had been a giant wave of water crashing around on the sixth floor of a seemingly normal apartment complex, in the middle of Ohio, had been rushed head long into the far wall of the elevator.

He had been most surprised to feel something squishy cushion his impact, and had soon after discovered it was the now-nearly unconscious form of his younger sibling. His relief at seeing his brother unharmed by the evil librarian was short lived, as Sam's impact with the steel support bar, along with Dean and a mini tidal wave, had managed to knock the six foot four hunter out cold.

The elevator doors had closed quickly thereafter, trapping the two young men in it with enough freezing water to wash the Impala with for a solid year.

Dean had fished his brother out from under the water as best he could, and had since coaxed his brother to wake up…which was a blessed thing considering that Sam was no lightweight when he was conscious and dry, let alone unconscious and soaking wet.

"Oooh…my side…" Sam groaned again. He had stopped flailing his arms, responding as he usually did to his brother's commanding tone, but the younger hunter's weight was still leaning fully on the elder.

Dean's eyebrows knit in concern at his brother's confession of pain, "Sam, I need you to stand up for me dude…can you do that?"

"Dean? Uhh…yeah, I think I can." Sam said groggily. Slowly he placed his feet firmly under himself and stood as best he could. Turning slowly to his older brother, he asked the obvious question, "Where…where have you been?"

Sam was slightly shocked to see a pink blush spread across his brothers dripping face…Dean was not prone to embarrassment by any means.

"Uhh…well…I sort of got…locked in a closet." Dean murmured. He mentally begged Sam not to ask the next question that he was sure his brother would inevitably ask, and did his best to change the subject. "Let me see your side."

"You got locked in a closet..." The statement sounded flat, like the meaning couldn't quite penetrate the fog in Sam's brain, "…by a chick, Dean?"

Dean cringed, "Look, it wasn't like that!"

Sam gave his brother a disbelieving stare, and immediately regretted it as Dean quickly turned defensive. Dean hated getting caught with his guard down. "She's the friggin' Chupacabra police Sam! She saw the research at the library, it was all a trick! She had pentagrams hanging from the ceiling…and then she jumped me with a needle full of some kind of paralytic drug, I mean, how was I supposed to know she was a psycho? She's a friggin' librarian for pete's sake!"

Sam tried not to laugh…mostly because it would hurt too much, but also because his brother looked cold, wet, and humiliated. Which meant he was rather dangerous to mess with right now, thus, now was not the time to tease him.

He would save that for later.

Without warning, Sam's ribs decided they wanted more attention, and the stitching pain became more of the 'hot knife' kind of pain. He hissed loudly through his teeth, and his knees almost buckled again.

"Whoa! Sam?" Dean's arms stirred the water as he caught his brother around the mid-section, his first instinct to keep Sam's head above water. Unfortunately, that meant they also came in contact with Sam's injured side.

Sam jerked away from the contact, giving a sharp yelp as he did, "Aagh! Jeez Dean…holy crap that hurts!"

"Sorry dude, but pain comes second to drowning." Dean mumbled as he repositioned his hold to his brother's shoulders instead, waiting until Sam had regained his balance before he let go again, "you okay?"

The question wasn't so much about whether or not Sam was okay, since he was obviously not okay, but more so a question of whether or not Sam thought his injury was severe enough to require immediate attention.

"Y-yeah…I think I g-got one or t-two fractured ribs…maybe m-more…'ts hard to t-tell." Sam's teeth had begun to chatter together, both from the adrenaline wearing thin, and the fact that the water had really begun to get awfully cold.

In fact, it seemed colder now then it had been to begin with…

Dean took note of the reaction and frowned. Fractured ribs were one thing, but fractured ribs and hypothermia was another, and that was not something he was willing to screw around with. He turned to the panel on the elevator doors and pressed the 'open door' button. Not so surprisingly, nothing happened. Then he decided to try the emergency call button.

That was when Dean really decided that they were in trouble.

There was no emergency call button. In fact, all of a sudden, there were no buttons at all.

And if he had had any doubts before that they were dealing with supernatural circumstances, the fact that the elevator doors suddenly vanished as well, put an end to them…