Chapter Seven

"Hey Dad, Sammy got a long lost twin I don't know about?" Dean asked, passing the photograph to his father, who looked just as stunned as Dean had been.

"Sonofabitch."

"Do you see now?" Alice pleaded, weeping. "When I first saw your boy, I would have sworn Tommy had come back to us from the grave."

"Dammit! I should have listened to Sammy," bit Dean, kicking a nearby chair in frustration. "He told me this place creeped him out, that he felt everyone was watching him. Why didn't I trust him?" Tears welled up in the teen's eyes from the overwhelming feeling that he had once again failed his little brother.

"I missed it too, son. We'll just have to make it up to him when we get him back," John assured Dean. Dean knew conviction and certainty when he heard it, and nobody conveyed it better than John Winchester.

"Now," said John, turning back to Alice, his eyes cold and menacing. "Tell us everything, and I mean everything you know about the Drexlers, their house, this town, and tell me where I can find the bastard that took my son. And I swear, if anything happens to my son – a hangnail, a splinter, a damn sniffle – I will end you all."

Dean would swear Alice actually whimpered. And he couldn't help but smile just a little. That's my dad.

SNSNSN

He was lying on something soft. That was Sam's first observation upon waking. That and he felt groggy, disoriented and incredibly thick. He slowly opened his eyes and began taking in his surroundings. Okay, definitely not home, he thought. He thought back on what he could remember happening. Dean and him at the lake. Crazy woman yelling at them to get out of town. Racing back home with dean. Running into the house. Going to the kitchen to get the rifle. Some big ass goon grabbing him from behind and shoving an awful-smelling cloth against his mouth. Nothing. Now here. This can't be good.

He slowly sat up, trying to reorient himself, curbing the nagging nauseous feeling and taking stock of the situation. He was in someone's living room. Someone who had a serious addiction to …stuff. There were knickknacks everywhere – figurines, frames, jewel boxes, art, furniture. Yet the room didn't seem cluttered. Everything had its place. And despite the fire in the fireplace and the warmth of the room, it had a coldness about it. A lack of …life.

He sat still and listened to see if he could hear anything from elsewhere in the house but heard nothing. I'm think I'm alone now. Alone, considering the circumstances, wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Alone gave him time to assess. To plan. Sure, he was scared. He didn't know what happened to Dean and he hated it. But thinking about his brother and what he would do in this situation gave him strength. He took a breath, counted to five and started going over the basics: learn about your enemy, figure out their intentions, counteract their objective.

Boy, just once I'd like to only have algebra, pimples and what girl likes or doesn't like me to worry about.

"Knock it off, Sammy," Sam heard Dean's voice charge in his head. "Stay focused."

Okay. The enemy. Who brought him here and where exactly was here. Well duh, that's pretty friggin obvious. Gotta be the Drexler house. But all this stuff? Terry had said that everyone who looked inside saw an empty, abandoned house. Looked inside, yes. Saw inside? Not necessarily. Maybe the same magical barrier that protected the house also created some kind of glamour to mask it from prying eyes. Sam was learning more and more that a lot of things related to the supernatural just couldn't – or wouldn't – be explained.

Standing up, Sam began to tentatively explore the room. So many photos – a man and a woman, a beauty shot of a woman, an older couple, a sunset, a baby, a kid of maybe six, a boy…

Holy crap.

What the hell was a picture of himself doing here?

Taking another look, Sam realized it wasn't in fact a picture of him but of someone who looked exactly like him. Holy freakin' crap.

Nice to meet you, Tommy.

It all made so much sense now. The stares, the gasps, the stunned reactions. The whole town must have thought Tommy had risen from the dead and was traveling around with this gruff family in a kick-ass Chevy (yeah, the car was bad-ass, but he'd never admit that to Dean). Focus, Sam. So some of them, who knows how many, hatched this little plan to deliver him here. That's what the old woman must have been warning them about. Thanks for the specifics, lady. Sam only hoped in that when they nabbed him they didn't hurt Dean. Of course, he didn't envy the serious ass-whooping they were gonna get when his dad and Dean got their hands on them. No one could unleash wrath like the Winchesters when one of them was messed with, especially Sam. He only hoped they showed up soon and got him the hell out of there. He was seriously wigging out.

Taking another deep breath to calm and center himself once more, he next wondered where the lady of the house was. She had to be here, right? Never left the house again, that's what the story said. But it's quiet. Too quiet. Stop with the inner-monologue, Winchester, and find something to defend yourself with!

Salt. There had to be salt around. It's not likely he'd find a bowl of holy water lying around. He made his way to the foyer, constantly listening for any indication Hattie was here. Moving to the dining room, he couldn't help but give the front door knob a try, but sure enough, it was locked tight. He saw a swinging door ahead and assumed it lead to the kitchen.

Sam contemplated calling out, but couldn't decide if that would help or hinder things. It could help in that he'd know where she was, hinder if she didn't appreciate him wandering around her home on his own.

He stepped up to the door and opened it slowly, happy to find it creak-free. Yep, kitchen. It had all the basics -- appliances, small table in the nook, curtains in the window, plants on the sill, cutting board next to the sink, knife block…

"Yahtzee," Sam smiled, calling on Dean's favorite version of "Eureka!"

He didn't know if a knife would do him any good against the ghost, but he did know it would make him feel a lot better having it on him. As he stepping toward the counter and reached for one, he suddenly heard glass break behind him, along with a gasp.

He spun around and found a fairly pretty woman, maybe 40 or so, staring at him with her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

"My God," she gasped, just barely a breath of sound in her voice. "Tommy? I can't believe it. You're here. You're finally home."

Sam stood in place, trying to think of what to do. Run? Scream? Throw something?

"Albert's finally brought you back to me."

Albert? Thought Sam, puzzled. Wasn't that the name of her late husband? Could he have been the one taking all the boys and bringing them here to ease his wife's lingering grief?

"I knew he would! I prayed so hard for it and he promised he would!" Looking heavenward, fully crying now, she ran forward and pulled Sam into an all-consuming hug. "Thank you, Albert, my love. Thank you for bringing our baby boy back. My darling boy has come home!"