"Dean!"

"Not now, Sammy; I'm busy!"

"Dean, NOW! I'm serious!"

Dean cautiously took a glance away from Freddy Krueger, eyes widening when he saw what was attacking his baby brother. "Sam? Where's his head?"

"On the floor over there," Sam snapped, motioning with his head. "I don't know what to do . . . he's still moving! I don't think we can kill him!"

------------------------

The distraction cost Dean his precarious position, as Freddy, who had gotten back to his feet, charged into him and took them both down. Sam risked a look back when he heard the loud thump of bodies and grimaced. They needed out of this situation, and they needed to do it fast. He delivered a powerful kick that swept Michael Myers' legs out from under him and then turned to his brother, figuring they had at least a few minutes before the headless killer came after them again. He retrieved Freddy's severed hand and took a dive at the two fighting on the floor. It was at that point that everything erupted in chaos.

The guy from management who had come to their room earlier returned with another manager. It was surprising that he hadn't called anyone else, since apparently the sight of the people in the room had terrified him to the point that he was ready to bring back the entire United States armed forces. Upon arriving, the manager naturally assumed that people were using disguises for some twisted game, and stepped in without worry. Sam managed to throw Freddy Krueger off his brother and stab him with his own hand before he was physically hauled back by the first guy who had come. His eyes widened, and he had no energy to fight the arms trapping him.

Dean elected not to move. The trip to the ground under Freddy's weight hadn't been pleasant, and he prayed that his little brother would be able to talk them out of this . . . somehow. If not, it would be just as useful to lay there and gain strength as it would to get up again.

"You're all under arrest," the new manager said, eyes taking in the scene of carnage quickly.

"You can't arrest us; you're not police," Sam argued. Dean cringed. So much for tact.

"Well, I'm calling them, so they're about to arrest you."

"For what?" Sam asked.

"Disturbing the peace and destruction of property, at the very least." The manager looked over at Freddy, who had gotten back up and was angrily trying to pull his severed hand out of his chest. "And possibly attempted murder, if that guy is hurt."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'd be more worried about that guy," he said, pointing back at where Michael Myers was still sprawled on the floor, head sitting a few feet away. Then, a grin creased his face. "Hey, he didn't get back up!"

The man looked to where he was pointing and got a disgusted expression. "You are sick, buddy."

"Sir, please," the younger Winchester began, his eyes switching to the famous I'm-completely-trustworthy-and-I'm-definitely-on-your-side look, his voice oozing honesty. "I can explain."

"Good, because this deserves an explanation," the man retorted, jerking Sam forward threateningly. Then Dean opened his eyes long enough to notice the guy in the back had handcuffs with him and was trying to put them on his brother. He shrugged and hoped Sam really could salvage something from this situation, closing his eyes again.

After the first cuff was secured tightly around Sam's right wrist, Freddy made his move. He dove at the standing hunter, who noticed it out of the corner of his eye just in enough time to dodge. The manager, however, was not so lucky. He was hit dead center, and crashed back into Sam, who broke the fall of the others when he flew backward and into the carpet behind him. Dean opened an eye at this, then shook his head as the other man jumped forward to help.

"It's not bad enough that I have to protect myself," Sam groused from the bottom of the pile of struggling people. "Now I have to protect them, too!" He jerked a hand out to the side and used it to grab the still-embedded hand out of Freddy's chest. Then he shoved the manager off to the other side, growling, "Run, idiot!" as he did so.

After experiencing a bit of Freddy Krueger's wrath, the man wasn't about to argue. He somehow stumbled to his feet, grabbed the other guy who had come with him, and sprinted from the room. Sam kicked Freddy back and turned to get away. However, he succeeded only in flailing his limbs in a rather uncoordinated manner when his body refused to cooperate with him. At least he had his weapon back again. He had no idea if it would stop his foe, but it was better than nothing.

Dean had made it to his knees at that point, watching the scene with renewed interest. The younger hunter had, indeed, fixed the situation with the managers, although he seemed to need help now. "Sam?" he called, reaching for the nearby wall to use as a support while he climbed to his feet.

"Just kill me already," Sam said back, voice hoarse.

"I intend to," Freddy hissed.

"Get the hell away from my brother!" Dean shouted, his brother sense tingling when he heard those horrid words spew out of the nightmare villain's mouth. Both Sam and Freddy looked at him with surprise on their faces, not having expected him to get up again. In that instant, the elder Winchester reached into his pocket, ripped out a lighter, and started Freddy Krueger on fire. Freddy jumped back, slapping at the flame with his remaining hand while Sam ran to his brother, putting an arm under his shoulder and helping him to hobble out of the room. Krueger failed to even notice them as they slipped away.

"Why didn't you do that in the first place?" Sam asked.

"It hadn't occurred to me. Besides, it didn't kill Freddy when they did it in the movie."

"He's not dead?" came the groaning reply. "Can you kill this guy?"

"I have no idea."

They paused on their way to the Impala, took a deep breath, and then continued on. "Well, what haven't we tried on him? I think we spent a lot more time experimenting on the other two."

"Holy water, iron rounds, a stake, silver, burning remains . . ." Dean ticked off suggestions on his fingers. "Wait, did we try any of those?"

"We need to do more research, to find out how he died in the movies. Did they ever kill him?"

"They sure tried, but he kept coming back."

"What did they do?"

"I don't remember."

Sam stopped abruptly. "Well, how are we supposed to kill him if you don't remember? I can't research it on my laptop because it's probably getting fried right now."

"Don't get mad at me! You're the one who left it!"

The younger hunter huffed angrily, glaring out into space, and then used his free hand to pull out his cell phone. "I'm calling Bobby again."

"Wait – again? You actually told Bobby about all of this?"

"Uh . . . we'll discuss that later, okay? For now, we need his help." Sam's fingers scrolled o Bobby Singer's number in his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to dial. After all, Bobby had assumed he was drunk when he'd called the first time. It might not even be worth it to try again. He ducked away from Dean's shoulder and backed up. "I'm going to get my computer," he said suddenly, putting his phone away. "I'd rather do the research myself, anyway."

"I don't want you going in there alone," his brother grumbled.

"I'll only be a second. I can just grab our stuff and come back out."

"Wait for me."

Sam snorted. "It could take you hours to get back in there in your current condition. Just stay here and I'll be right back. Or, better yet, start hobbling to the car."

"I don't hobble," Dean snapped dangerously.

"Stumble, then. Or stagger. Or limp. I don't care which. But hurry up about it," came the response as Sam turned and jogged painfully back to the door of the motel room. He was honestly a little concerned about the sight he'd find, but almost dropped with relief when he saw Freddy was gone and Michael Myers was still on the ground – headless. He stepped inside and snatched up his computer and the two duffel bags he and his brother carried. He was almost back out the door with his arms full when his brain finally registered the fact that Freddy was gone and sent him warning signals. He stopped dead in his tracks and took a long, measured look around the room.

It was a total wreck. Wood from the door was still splintered across the carpet. Blood splattered various pieces of upholstery. There was a decapitated body on the ground. And somewhere along the way, Sam had apparently dropped Freddy's severed hand, because it was laying near the bathroom . . . where water was running . . .

Everything fell out of Sam's hands with a sickening crack as he realised Freddy must have been using the shower to put his fire out. The hunter dashed to the bathroom, grabbing a gun on his way by and ripping the door open without thinking about what exactly he was going to do. He vaguely heard Dean calling his name from outside, accompanied by the growing sound of sirens, but he couldn't allow himself to leave until he'd finished Freddy off.

He stepped into the bathroom and flipped the light on.