Thanks to everyone who is sticking with my story, and extra hugs to those who gave such awesome comments which are deifnitely keeping me on my toes. So we're back to Sam's POV. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember

Chapter Six

I'd been so certain Dean would show up at Bobby's house with a fake me in tow. That's what the voices I'd heard said, and I'd listened. I could tell by the look in Bobby's eyes, he thought I'd gone over the deep edge as I leapt to my feet at the slightest sound coming from outside of the garage. Either that or he blamed my paranoia on the sudden high fever I'd developed out of nowhere.

Sweat beaded on my brow, and dripped from the nape of my neck, and no matter how many pills or ice cold showers I took in an attempt to cool down, my skin still burned as if someone had set it ablaze – and maybe they had. I know I'm grasping at straws blaming some outside force for my fever, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me at the moment. If someone was causing my raging fever they had to be the one who'd lured Dean away.

"What if it's some sort of hoodoo?" I said off the top of my head, and looked to Bobby for confirmation that I wasn't completely out of my mind. "My fever. The voices I keep hearing. Dean's disappearance . . . seeing him at the truck stop, and then he vanishes into thin air. Hoodoo could explain all of that, couldn't it?"

He paused from tinkering beneath the undercarriage of an old Chevelle he'd been fixing up for himself, and scratched at the back of his head as if contemplating my line of thought. "It's possible. Have you boys pissed off any – scratch that, knowing you two, you probably have."

Running a hand through my hair, I pushed the dampened clumps away from my face and out of my eyes. "But even if it does explain some things, it still doesn't tell me why this other Sam would want to come here."

"Maybe you somehow got it wrong, Sam," Bobby said as he resumed working on his car.

"No, I'm sure – " the words died abruptly on my lips as near blinding pain knifed through my forehead. Gripping hold of the chair to keep myself upright, I squeezed my eyes shut, and in that moment I saw the car lift give way crushing Bobby beneath the Chevelle.

"Bobby!" I shouted, bounded forward and snatched hold his jacket, pulling him backward just as the Chevelle came crashing down with all four tires bursting on impact. His forehead connected with the front bumper, snapping his neck backward, his head colliding with mine. Trembling, he pulled away from me and gripped hold of his head. My stomach flip-flopped seeing blood run from beneath his fingers. "Bobby, are you alright?"

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Bobby uttered, clear confusion mirrored in his expression and tone.

"I just – " My mouth dropped wide open, words dying away as I stared dumbfounded at the Chevelle up on the lift as if it hadn't crashed to the ground a moment before. "Tha-that's not possible." With a shake of my head, I lifted a hand and pointed at the vehicle. "I-I didn't imagine it." I looked from Bobby to the Chevelle and back again. "I saw it fall . . . and you were bleeding. It was real, Bobby. You have to believe me – it was real."

"Maybe we should go back inside, Sam, you don't look so well."

Okay, so he thinks I've completely lost it, and maybe I have. I'm hearing voices and seeing things that aren't there which I'm pretty sure is the textbook definition for crazy as a loon, but I know what I saw really happened. Only thing is, I'm having a little trouble coming up with a good explanation as to why that damn Chevelle isn't splattered on the cement with all four tires blown out.

"I'm not losing my mind, Bobby, and don't care if you believe me or not – it happened." I swung around and stalked to the door with Bobby following close behind me. We made our way across and into the house in silence, and I used that time to go over everything in my mind.

My mind churned relentlessly searching for answers to all the building questions I had, but I couldn't find a single solution. Dean's disappearance. The things I was seeing, feeling and hearing. None of it made any sense unless I really was going out of my mind.

"I've looked everywhere I could think of, Bobby, I couldn't find him, and now you're the only lead I've got." My voice rose in agitation when I saw the look in his eyes. He didn't believe me.

"Maybe you should try giving him a call again," Bobby offered in a placating manner that only served to fuel my growing anger.

"No, I've left him message after message, and he hasn't returned my calls."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, Sam, this is Dean we're talking about after all."

"People don't just disappear without a trace, Bobby." My voice rose further still almost to the point of shouting as I began to doubt if Bobby was really Bobby. The hunter I knew would have been searching through all his books trying to figure out what sort of demon we were dealing with, but this one seemed more content to work on his car and make stupid excuses for something that was clearly supernatural in my mind. "Something had to have happened to him. So with or without your help I've gotta find him before it's too late."

I'd opened my mouth to further argue with him, but snapped it shut as I once again heard Dean's voice calling out to me.

"Sammy?"

"Tell me you heard that?" I looked to Bobby, and growled in frustration when he shook his head. "It was coming from right there." I motioned to the hallway, and hastily moved toward the other side of the room, but just as I made it to the spot I was certain I'd heard him, his voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Sam, where the hell are you?"

"God, I must be losing my freakin' mind," I uttered, raking both hands through my slick hair. "It's just like he's a ghost, Bobby, and if that's the case then I just left him to die."

"Sam, maybe you should go lay down." A worried frown creased Bobby's brow as he stepped away from the front doorway, and moved toward me, but I wasn't looking at him any longer, my eyes were glued to the doorway where a shadowy image of the older hunter remained. But it wasn't him. This Bobby was bleeding from his forehead exactly as the Bobby in the garage was bleeding which meant my vision had happened. It just didn't happen to my Bobby.

"Bobby, you're bleeding, what the hell happened to you?" Dean's disembodied voice echoed from right beside me, and as I heard him speak a faded image of an injured me(or I should say, the me who wasn't me) emerged from nothingness to stand beside the bleeding shadowy Bobby who wasn't Bobby. Confused – hell I was well past confused, and on to thinking about which mental institution I should be committed into for a nice long stay.

Touching my fingertips to slightly above my left eye, I winced as pain radiated from the same location as the bandage on the other Sam's forehead. The heat rushed from my face, replaced by a cold deadly chill that quickly spread through my body. I pulled my trembling hand away from my head and my gut twisted painfully as I watched blood drip from my fingertips. Dizziness washed over me and as I closed my eyes I saw flashes of silvery eyes amongst a flurry of blinding white snow, and then heard metal collide against metal.

On shaky legs, I closed the gap between myself and the other Sam. Tilting my head to the side, I studied him as he spoke searching for any sign that he was different from me in someway in which Dean would notice – he had to notice. God, please let him notice. If he didn't, he would never come looking for me. And maybe that's the point . . . maybe that's why I'm haunting him – or perhaps he's haunting me. Because right now the only thing I know for certain is that one of us is dead, and from the looks of things I must've gotten the short end on that stick.

Frustrated and well beyond terrified, I slashed a hand through the other Sam's transparent form, and his misty image along with Bobby's faded away. I needed to talk to Dean – and I needed for him to hear me. But just because I could hear snatches of his conversations with others, didn't mean the same applied for him. And if the other Sam was pretending to be injured that's what Dean would be so focused on I'd never be able to reach him.

"Bobby, I know where Dean is." I pivoted on my heel to face him only to find myself standing alone in his living room. "Bobby?" I called out to him, and when he didn't respond I shouted to him again and again. "No. No. No. No. This can't be happening . . . it just can't be." But it was. A complete search of his house turned up nothing. Empty. Even his dog, Rumsfeld, was gone.

Fishing my cellphone from my pocket, I hastily jabbed the button to call him, but after one ring I heard a recorded voice say, "I'm sorry this number is no longer in service." I hung up, and dialed Dean's number and once again the voice came over the phone. "I'm sorry this number – " Jabbing the button, I tried my dad's number. "I'm sorry – "

Okay, so I know this may sound completely desperate, but as I was already on the edge of losing it anyway, I grabbed for a phone book, and started randomly dialing numbers just so I could hear someone speak to me even if it was only to say I had the wrong number. But with every number I dialed the same nasally-pitched woman announced that the phone was no longer in service.

Tears burned at my eyes but I refused to shed them, so instead ground them out with the palms of my hands. So what if I was dead. It didn't matter, and it wasn't like Dean even realize it. He was too busy taking care of the impostor who had stolen my life from me. All I could do was wait and pray he would figure out what had happened before it was too late.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Bobby's well-stocked liqueur cabinet, and for a second or two I hesitated, not sure a ghost could get rip-roaring drunk, but then gave in to the urge. Hell, I don't think there's anyone in the whole world who needed a drink more than me at the moment, so since Bobby just chose to disappear on me, I'm gonna drink every damn bit of alcohol he had on hand. With that thought in mind, I made my way to the cabinet and grabbed out a full bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, I took a long pull on the bottle, and winced as it burned all the way down my throat.

Bottle in hand, I trudged to the couch and dropped down onto it. As I sat drinking myself into oblivion, memories of things I'd thought long forgotten pushed their way to the forefront of my mind, and every damn one of them was centered solely on Dean. With the help of the fake me in his life, Dean might be able to forget about me for a while, but I was truly in Hell because I would never forget about him.

"I'm not gonna let you forget about me, Dean," I vowed with a determined shake of my head. "I'll haunt your sorry ass until you realize that sonuvabitch isn't me.

snsnsnsnsnsn

So, I figured I'd better make some things clear as some this is 1st person POV and as such there is confusion for both Sam and Dean as they don't know what is going on which is probably leading to confusion for anyone reading. Sam was in an accident and then taken captive by the shifter and another man named Devin. Sam is under Devin's spell and is living in a dreamlike alternate reality that parallels Dean's reality, but the brother's bond is so strong that parts of Sam's world seep into Dean's and parts of Dean's world are seeping through to Sam's, and that is why they keep hearing each other and why Sam can at some points see Dean...hope this clears some things up... Thanks so much for reading. Hugs, Ember