Using knowledge provided by Missouri's white witch friend, Cecily, the boys tracked the old biddy to her lair. Knowing dusk was on its way the hunters felt compelled to get this hunt wrapped up before darkness ushered in hordes of unsuspecting trick-or-treaters providing the creature with a limitless smorgasbord.
Dean regretted the families of the missing children would never know their real fate but perhaps that was for the best. Who would really want to know that the shriveled old woman who so sweetly crooned, "You're so cute, I could just eat you!" had meant exactly that?
Ensnaring her corporeal form inside an inescapable circle of salt and binding herbs the young hunters moved swiftly to banish the murderous old crone with the Wicca's spell, trapping her forever within the yellowed parchment leaves of her ancient corrupt grimoire.
Refusing to easily abandon her evil existence the leather-skinned hag had raged at Sam hissing a warning, perhaps a curse, before vanishing from this earthly plane.
"This very night you shall be trapped in a prison of your worst nightmares! Only a life sacrificed through Pure Love can set you free!!"
As ominous as the words sounded the boys swept them aside in their haste to convey the imprisoned witch to her final resting place – hallowed ground.
Having found a nearby church cemetery with a funeral scheduled the next morning they entered the graveyard more stealthily than ever realizing it was a teenage haunt on Halloween. Locating the gravesite, Dean climbed into the open grave, digging another three feet into its center. Sam carefully handed down the ancient book with its confined prisoner and Dean deposited it into the recesses of the dank soil, then speedily backfilled, tamping down the earth concealing any sign of additional excavation. Finishing, he scrambled from the grave. After a final flashlight inspection the hunters confidently made their way back to the Impala.
Searching for night lodging they passed scores of rather restrained trick-or-treaters marching under the watchful herding of parental units, the unknown fate of the missing children casting a pall over usually rowdy festivities.
Knowing the culinary fate of those four kids, Sam spoke, "Guess these little beggars are safe from the Big Bad Witch tonight, huh, Dean? Thank God, Cecily knew that binding spell. Think those parents will ever believe their kids will be safe again?"
"Someday, Sammy," Dean frowned, maneuvering the Impala thru a herd of 'wild' animals, ghosts, pirates and princesses.
Feeling the need to lighten the mood Sam flipped a cassette into the tape deck. Immediately Dean's clear voice filled the vehicle. Sam always found comfort in that but tonight the lyrics were to a song unknown to him, Trapped Under Ice by Metallica.
I don't know how to live through this hell
Woken up, I'm still locked in this shell
Frozen soul, frozen down to the core
Break the ice. I can't take anymore.
FreezingCan't move at all
Screaming
Can't hear my call.
I'm dying to live
Cry out
I'm trapped under the ice.
Crystallized as I lay here and rest
Eyes of glass stare directly at death
From deep sleep I've broken away
No one knows, no one hears what I say.
As the chorus played Sam's mind slid back to a childhood memory long forgotten and happily so. Dean's voice tugged him back from his tense reverie.
Scream from my soul
Fate mystified
Hell forevermore
No release from my cryonic stateWhat is this? I've been stricken by fate
Wrapped up tight, cannot move can't break free
Hand of doom has a tight grip on me.
Hearing the last chorus, Sam turned to face Dean, a deathly chill coursing through his entire body. "Damn, listening to that song made me remember something I haven't thought about in twelve years!"
A concerned look slid over Dean's face hearing the fearful tone in Sam's voice. Slowing the big car down as they turned into a motel parking lot, Dean pulled up near the office shifting his full attention to his obviously shaken brother.
"What is it, Sam? You okay?"
Sam scowled, sharing his harrowing memory. "Remember the winter when I was ten and we were hunting that Wisconsin werewolf?"
Chewing his lip, thinking, Dean nodded, remembering the terrifying ordeal, "Yeah, we tried to track it across that lake. You fell through the ice, nearly drowned. Were in the hospital for three days."
"Never been so scared in my entire life! Got sucked under by the current… couldn't find the hole to get back out. You and Dad saw me under the ice. Shot it full of holes! Smashed it 'til you got me out!" finishing, Sam sounded breathless.
"You had nightmares for months after that, swore you would never feel warm again. Does that still scare you?" Dean tried to sound comforting.
"Was just remembering what the witch said about tonight. What if I drown, Dean?!"
Chuckling Dean assured him, "Sammy, I swear to God, man, biggest body of water I'll let you near tonight is a bathtub. Those giraffe legs should keep your head high and dry." Raising his hand as if under oath, Dean smiled, "Come on, we'll check in, grab some burgers at that diner over there, and you can catch the first shower. You'll warm up and feel a whole lot better. Besides you need to check out that bump on the forehead the old biddy gave you when she tossed that kettle."
The driver's door creaked open and Dean streaked towards the office leaving a still trembling Sam in the Impala. Shivering, he just couldn't shake this sense of dread… impending doom.
Forty minutes later after the last carryout French fry disappeared, the boys were ready for showers and some relaxation. Sensing Sam's tension, Dean felt certain a hot shower, some cable TV and a good night's sleep would put everything right again.
"Go ahead, Sammy. Bathroom's all yours." Dean bowed, sweeping one arm dramatically towards the bathroom. Seeing Sam hanging back he pushed a bit harder, " Come on, you can leave the door open if it'll make you feel safer."
Knowing he looked foolish over his unfounded fear of drowning tonight, Sam pushed reluctantly to his feet, grabbed some underwear and the first aid kit and ventured into the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him.
Reaching into the stall he turned on the water, and while it warmed up moved to the mirror to inspect that bump.
Leaning forward studying his damaged forehead in the eighteen by twenty-four inch mirror, an arctic coldness seemed to envelope him. Suddenly he became aware of intense distortion in the background surrounding his image, as if looking into a surging, flowing pool of quicksilver instead of a motel shaving mirror.
As the entire room became a whirling, swirling vaporous chamber, an overwhelming wave of nausea washed over him. Closing his tired blue-green eyes momentarily against the queasiness, it intensified into a liquidity permeating his whole being, as if he himself was made of mercury and in motion!
A concussion??As the fringe of his thick lashes parted, a surge of suffocating terror similar to the near-drowning incident hit him like a punch in the gut!
One moment looking into the mirror, then in the blink of an eye, finding himself inside the mirror... looking out at the now empty bathroom!!
Ohmigod!!! What the FUCK!!! How… what..??!!Raising his fists he beat on the glass… to no avail! Trying to scream Dean's name… NO sound came from his lips!! Pausing for a moment he realized he was trapped in absolute icy NOTHINGNESS!!
Like being trapped under ICE!!
His heart should be thumping nearly out of his chest, his breathing should be panicked and harsh, loud… he heard none of this! It was like being packed in a void filled with cotton batting.
All around him was nothing but a cold white fog.
Floating! Bound to the mirror's face only by his hand gripping its edge!
Continuing to beat on his prison he realized he felt nothing either. A soundless, senseless void! He wept bitterly at the horrifying thought of a life, of possibly an ETERNITY of nothingness!
NO! Please, God, I'd rather die!!
His mind went to the witch's curse… Ohmigod!! What about Dean?
As if on cue the door opened, Dean entered, pulling aside the shower curtain as he spoke, "C'mon, Sammy, don't be a water hog!"
Finding the tub empty he glanced around raising his voice, "So not funny, Sam. Where the hell are you?"
Beating on the glass with all his might, Sam soundlessly screamed in silent frustration as Dean left the room. He watched Dean's face and read his lips but where was the sound of his protector's voice? That voice he always depended on for comfort!
Quickly Dean re-entered the bathroom, scowling, worried, checking for missed hiding places. As he moved to rush back out to search for his little brother his fear-filled, shocked green eyes locked upon the mirror.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!?? SAM!! OHMIGOD, SAM, what the fuck ??"
Dean attempted to reach through the glass, around the glass and pulling the mirror from the wall, tried gaining access from the rear. Nothing!
He tried talking to Sam, tried screaming even, but all Sam did was point to his ears, shaking his head. Sam attempted to yell back but the intense frustration on Dean's face showed that nothing could be exchanged between them but terrified pleading looks.
Always the problem solver, Dean breathed on the mirror's surface and in the vapor traced a message… WILL CALL CECILY
A tearful Sam nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
After reaching Cecily, explaining their predicament and the witch's curse, Dean begged, and finally tearfully pleaded with the white witch for a solution. She promised to call back soon, wanting to search through some ancient spell books.
Again, the steaming surface… SEARCHING…HOPEFUL
Dean spent an hour waiting with the mirror cradled to his chest hoping to comfort Sam in some way. Dean's own comfort came from his silver whiskey flask. While Sam's eyes were shielded, he loaded his Remington double-barrel shotgun with rounds of blessed iron buckshot. One for Sam, one for him!
If there was no way out for Sam, there was no way out for him. It was such a simple answer.
His cell phone rang.
As the return call progressed he was thankful Sam couldn't hear the hopeless exchange. Cecily said nothing could be done. Dean ended the call.
Deciding to end things in a nondescript motel room was not the Winchester way to go. Taking Sam's mirrored prison gently in his arms along with the shotgun he headed for the only real home they'd ever known. The Impala.
Writing a loving note to Sam trying to explain his intentions he suddenly had a question.
Calling Cecily his strangled voice asked, "What is PURE LOVE to a witch?"
"Dean? Pure love? Doing something noble that helps another but not yourself. Why?… Hey... salt may be the key here.."
"Thanks. Bye."
"Dean, I… wait!"
Snapping the phone shut, Dean smiled grimly. Sam can be free!! FREE!!
All Dean had to do was become that "sacrificed" life!
I can do this so easily. All I have to do is pull both triggers so there's no chance of error. Simple. A life for a life!
Lifting the imprisoned Sam to his lips he kissed him goodbye, mouthing the words "SAMMY, I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE!"
Suddenly understanding Dean's intent, Sam screamed silently, fists beating violently against the glass, shaking his head, terrified.
Dean paused, his salty tears falling copiously onto the strangely clouding mirror, as he picked up the shotgun.
"Goodbye, Sam."
Positioning the shotgun against his lower jaw, eyes closed… Dean… gasped! Stunned as Sam's strong grip suddenly tore it from his hands!!
Ending the incessant ringing of Dean's phone, Sam hit speaker in time to hear Cecily's frantic voice, "Dean! Wait! We need salt!! Salt from the Tears of 'Pure Love'!!"