Chapter Nine

Dean walked down to the edge of the lake. He needed a moment alone, away. They'd called an ambulance for Alice and now his father was busy calling Caleb, Pastor Jim, any contact that would have an idea on how to breach the barrier. Dean, not one for prayers, made an exception this time and prayed someone would have something, anything to help them.

With each passing minute Dean became more and more agitated. Who knows what was happening to Sam right now. Was he awake by now? Did he know what had happened, where he was? Was he trying to be the brave little soldier he knew his father wanted him to be despite the immense danger he was in and fear he deserved to be feeling?

He didn't hear his father come up behind him but when he did Dean quickly choked back his tears and put his game face on and switching into hunter mode. But not before John caught a glimpse of his son's distress.

"Well?" Dean asked, ever hopeful.

"Bobby has a few ideas and is doing some more research. He'll get back to us as soon as he can. For now, we're on our own."

"Yeah, cause Alice was so very helpful," Dean bit.

"She told us what she could. But believe me, it was all I could do not to…" John paused, fists and teeth clenched, curbing his anger, "…for her part in all this." He looked at Dean, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Go to the house. See if you can reach Sam, talk to him, get some kind of message to him. See if he can tell you anything from his side."

"How?" Dean said harshly, no longer able to contain his frustration. "What if he's masked by that damn barrier like the interior of the house is?"

"You've got to try, Dean."

"I know," Dean sniffed, barely able to hold back the tears any longer, hating showing weakness in front of his father, the rock.

John put his hands on both of Dean's shoulders, turning to face him straight on. "I need to find Hugh Mitchell. See what he can tell us. Hell, if we have to, we'll use his head as a battering ram to break down the door." John gave his son a slight smile, hoping to alleviate the tension even a little. But all he saw in return was a look of abject horror in his son's eyes as they looked past John to somewhere down the shore.

"What…?" John asked, turning to see what Dean had caught sight of. Then he saw it, too.

A dark shape was lying by the water's edge. It was hard to make out what it was from the distance, but somehow, he knew.

Apparently so did Dean, who took off in a mad run toward the shape.

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Just before he reached it, Dean stopped dead in his tracks, his breath stolen from him not from the run, but from what he beheld before him. It was just as he had feared – the shape was the body of a young boy. The boy's back was to Dean, but the middle Winchester couldn't take his eyes off the shaggy brown hair, thin frame and deathly stillness. He tried to will himself forward, to see, to be sure, but he couldn't move. He just couldn't bear to see if that was his baby brother lying dead and cold at his feet.

There was no stopping the tears this time, even as John came running up beside him. John saw his son's distress and went to move on the boy, but Dean stopped him, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'll do it."

"Dean…"

"I said I'll do it!" barked Dean, not taking his eyes off the body. Kneeling down, he gently put a hand to the boy's shoulder. Cold. So cold. He rolled the body toward him and as the face came into view, Dean released the breath he never thought he'd breathe again.

"It's not him. "It's not Sammy," Dean cried. While he couldn't help feeling immense relief, he also couldn't ignore the incredible sadness consuming him over yet another senseless, cruel death. "It's gotta be David. Now that the ghost has Sam, she must have just…gotten rid of him."

Dean put two fingers to the boy's neck to confirm what he already knew but suddenly felt a faint pulse. "He's alive. My God, Dad, he's still alive!"

Dean looked up at his father who was already on the phone calling for another ambulance. Dean took his jacket off and wrapped it around David, pulling him into arms and holding him close to try and warm him. He began rocking him, hoping the boy would sense that he was at last safe. It's exactly what Dean would want someone to do for Sam if the situation was reversed.

"You're okay," Dean whispered soothingly. "You're safe. It's all gonna be okay."

There had to be hope for Sam now, Dean willed himself to believe. He just hoped his brother could placate the spirit of Hattie Drexler long enough for them to reach him.

Time to break out those puppy dog eyes of yours, kiddo. Make her love you as only you can. Just hold on, Sammy. We're coming. I swear to you, we're coming.

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Sam thought Hattie would never stop hugging him. All the while, he couldn't help but think Is this what a mother's love feels like? He'd never been hugged by his mother, not that he could remember anyway. But how much can you really hug a tiny infant anyway?

His dad and brother certainly weren't the physically affectionate type. Love was expressed in the form of a hand to the shoulder, a ruffling of the hair or, in Dean's case, a headlock and a nuggie. There hadn't been any female influences in his life, either. The Winchester club was exclusively male. So as Sam stood there embraced in a never-ending hug by a mother who believed her long dead son had magically come home to her, he couldn't help but feel it, even if just for a moment.

Don't get sucked in, Sam, he righted himself. Dead woman hugging, here.

That sobered him up quick and he pulled back just as Hattie finally released him. Taking his face in her hands, she looked deep into his eyes.

"My sweet boy. Oh, you're just as beautiful as I remember, not changed one bit. You've been gone so long. Where did you go?" She stopped herself. "No, don't answer that." She wiped her tears away. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat? Or are you tired? Do you need to rest?"

She seemed so lost, so flustered in her elation that Sam didn't quite know how to answer. Finally, he said "I'm fine." Keep calm, keep playing along. Guess the townspeople knew what they were doing by bringing him here. They must have seen him as the answers to their prayers. Yay for me, he sarcastically cheered internally.

"Tommy?"

Sam snapped back to find Hattie staring at him, seemingly waiting for an answer to her latest question which Sam had neglected to hear.

"Sorry?"

"I said do you want something to eat?"

"Uh…" Sam thought, again not sure how to answer. He was hungry and a little curious to see how and what a dead woman would fix him to eat, but common sense told him he'd better not. "I'm okay, thanks."

"Well why don't we get you settled in, then?" Hattie said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. She was surprisingly warm for a ghost and Sam decided he'd do some research into the levels of the corporeal existence of spirits…after he got the hell out of dodge, of course.

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Albert felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Sam Winchester had brought about a true, blessed miracle. His wife was happy, smiling that beautiful, genuine smile he'd missed seeing for so very long. The other boy had been returned alive, so now the town would stop bothering them and leave them in peace. Yep, all was right with the world.

Little did he know the full-on, full-fledged hell – delivered courtesy of a black 1967 Chevy Impala – that was about to be unleashed on his happy home. After all, hell hath no fury like a Winchester wronged.