Chapter Eleven

Sam struggled desperately against Hattie's hold but she was too strong. She just continued to pull him up the stairs. From down below he could hear the sounds of something being slammed against the door. Dad and Dean were trying to get to him. He needed to give them more time.

"Mrs. Drexler, please don't do this! Please let me go. Don't hurt me, please!"

"It's going to be all right, Tommy, I promise." Hattie cried. "We'll be together for ever. Nothing will ever separate us again."

Sam continued to plead and struggle, trying anything and everything to get her to release him.

Hattie dragged Sam to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Pushing the door open, Sam went into a full panic when he saw the white porcelain antique bathtub begin to fill with water on its own. His struggles increased as he suddenly realized what Hattie was about to do.

"No, Please! I'll stay with you! Forever! I'll never leave, I promise! Just don't kill me, please!" he begged.

Hattie held Sam close to her, her face on the top of his head, taking in the smell of his hair and shushing him quietly. "Shhh, it'll be over quickly, baby, I promise. It won't hurt. And I'll be right behind you. Right behind you. Then you, me and Daddy will be together."

"NO!!" Sam begged, crying. "Please, I don't want to die! You're already dead, don't you know that!! I'm not Tommy, please! I want to go home! Dad!! Dean, help me!!"

Hattie began pulling Sam toward the tub, now filled with ice cold water.

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"SAM!!" Dead cried out, hitting the axe against the door again and again, making deep cut marks but no holes.

John was finding the same results and began chopping at the windows and even the outer walls to no avail. His son was in dire trouble and he had never felt more helpless. "Don't you hurt my son, you bitch!!" he screamed.

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Dean went back to the window to look inside and jumped back when he saw Sam standing before him once again.

No, not Sam.

Tommy.

Dean stared at the little boy spirit looking back at him, sadness in his eyes.

"Please," Dean pleaded. "Please help my brother. Don't let them hurt him."

Tommy flickered but remained at the window, staring at Dean.

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Hattie nearly had Sam to the tub and as she was about to push him in he tried once last desperate plea.

"Mommy, please!"

Hattie stopped. Still holding Sam firmly in her grip, she turned him toward her and looked into his eyes, tears in her own.

Yahtzee! Sam had one chance. "Please Mommy," he whispered. If ever he needed those puppy dog eyes to work, it was now. "Please don't hurt me."

Hattie cried. "Oh, baby, I could never hurt you. Never!" She took him into her arms, hugging him close. Sam dared to breathe, hoping he'd reached her.

Over by the door Hattie saw Albert.

"You have to do this, Hattie."

"I can't! I can't do it, Albert."

"They'll take him from us. We'll never see him again."

"Albert, please…"

"You have to, my darling. For our family."

Hattie's breath caught in her throat. "Our family." A cold quiet came over her and Sam sensed she had turned once again. He tried to take advantage of her loosened grip but she took strong hold of him and lifted him into the tub, pushing his head beneath the freezing cold water.

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"Please," Dean begged, so desperate and afraid he thought it would consume him whole. "Don't let my brother die. They're your parents. You can stop them. Please."

Tommy flickered again, then disappeared. Dean for a second couldn't move, waiting for some sign Tommy was going to help him.

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Sam couldn't breathe, a combination of the coldness of the water and being held beneath it. Is this how Tommy felt that day, under the ice? Sam struggled and kicked and clawed but nothing made Hattie release him from the water. And he couldn't hold his breath much longer.

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Hattie closed her eyes as she held her baby under the water, his struggles literally killing her soul. Not much longer, she heard Albert's voice in her head. It will all be over soon. Then we'll be together.

As the struggling lessened, she dared to look. She screamed when beneath the water, staring right at her, was the face of her true son.

Stop this, Mom, she heard Tommy say as he stared up at her. This isn't right.

Hattie was paralyzed with fear. The splashing had stopped. The boy in her grasp no longer kicked and pushed against her. As she took another look down into the tub, she saw the still form of a boy who was clearly not her son. A boy she didn't know. An innocent boy realized she had just drowned with her own two hands.

"NO!" she screamed, falling back on the floor and pushing with her legs to scramble away from the tub. "What have I done?" she cried. Lifting her eyes, she looked up at the face of her beloved son standing before her.

"Tommy?" The spirit of Tommy Drexler turned to face his father who looked at him with abject shock. "Is it really you, son?"

Tommy flickered once more, still looking so sad.

Albert lowered his eyes to the floor, overwhelmed by sudden and consuming guilt. He tentatively raised his eyes to look at the tub across the room, from which came absolutely no movement.

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Dean went to raise the axe again when the front door suddenly opened. With a gasp, Dean dropped the axe, picked up the shotgun and ran inside and up the stairs, screaming for his brother.

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John was in mid swing when the back door suddenly opened quietly. Taken aback, he dropped his axe and ran inside, screaming for his son.

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Dean reached the top of the stairs and saw the white bathroom at the end of the hall, Albert Drexler standing in the doorway. Dean fired a shell and Albert dissipated once more.

As Dean reached the room, he saw Tommy standing before his mother, who was weeping uncontrollably in the corner, saying over and over "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

That's when Dean saw the tub and the boy floating in it.

"SAMMY!!"

Dean ran to the tub and grabbed his little brother into his arms and pulled him from the water. God, he was so cold and still.

"No, Sammy, please! Please, no…" Dean wept, sweeping the boy's wet hair from his face, willing him to wake up. "Breathe, Sammy. Breathe for me, please!"

John arrived at that moment, devastated by the scene before him. His oldest was cradling his youngest, completely drenched, pale and unmoving in his arms, weeping and pleading for him to breathe.

John picked up the shotgun Dean had dropped and pointed it at Hattie, even though she made no attempt to move. Tommy stood protectively before her.

"Dean, take your brother outside right now!" John yelled to Dean, who continued rocking Sam but looked back to his father, his face wet with tears.

"Now Dean, go!"

Dean picked Sam up in his arms and carried him out of the bathroom, down the hallway to the stairs and out the front door.

John still pointed the shotgun at Hattie and Tommy when the boy pointed back at him. No, not at him – past him. John turned to look at the room right next to the bathroom, then back at Tommy, who flickered again.

John backed up slowly, still aiming, still on alert. He pushed the door to the room open and there on the bed before him lay the body of Hattie Drexler, now just bones within a tattered dress. Next to the bed, staring down at his wife's remains, stood Albert Drexler. John pointed the shotgun at Albert, who looked back at him sadly.

John thought through his next move, then grabbed his phone and headed back downstairs to grab supplies from the car.

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Dean gently laid Sam down on the ground and felt for a pulse but found none. Sam was pale and his lips were blue. Dean immediately began CPR on his brother, hoping it wasn't too late. Dammit, it's NOT too late! he mentally yelled to Sam as he continued to try and resuscitate him. You are not dying on me little brother. Not today. Not like this. Now breathe!

He barely heard the sirens approaching, nor did he hear his father come up to him. "Keep working on him, Dean. Help is on the way." Right now it killed John not to stop and help Dean revive Sam but his oldest knew what he was doing and there was a job to finish. Never again were the Drexlers going to hurt his son or anyone else's ever again. Going to the trunk, he grabbed salt and the spare gas can and headed back into the house.

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As John reentered the bedroom, he now found Albert and Tommy standing together next to the bed, Hattie on the other side. All turned to John as he entered.

"What will happen to us now?" asked Tommy.

John wanted nothing more than to shout to Albert and Hattie that they would be spending the rest of eternity burning in hell for what they had done, but looking at Tommy – damn he looked so much like Sam – he just stood quiet, unable to think of anything to say. Tommy looked first to his father then to his mother.

Albert put a hand to his son's shoulder, then turned to John.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said, as he looked at the gas can in John's hands. "I only stayed because of them."

He backed away from the bed, as did Tommy.

Hattie took a moment to look at her remains, then to John.

"I didn't know. I felt…I didn't feel different. I didn't realize." With that she too backed away from the bed.

Then one by one they each flickered, then disappeared, leaving John to salt and burn the bones, ending the nightmare once and for all.

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Dean continued to work on Sam, even after he felt arms pulling at him to stop. Finally he realized paramedics were trying to get to Sam to help him. As Dean backed away, his whole body shaking with fear and fatigue, he watched as they intubated his little brother and continued CPR.

A crowd had begun to form at the end of the driveway, no doubt having heard the sirens and following them to their destination. As they watched, they saw a rugged man walking out the front door of the Drexler house just as the upper floor broke out into flames. The police had arrived behind the ambulance and one officer went to John, handcuffs at the ready, while another went to Dean.

"No, don't!" John heard a woman call out, never taking his eyes off the paramedics who were working on Sam. It was Alice, her head bandaged, face bruised.

"Joe, Alan, these men have freed us. Saved us. If you have to, deal with this later, but right now let them go with their boy."

The officers looked to the crowd, who were all nodding in agreement. They backed away and John went over to Dean, who had never taken his eyes off of Sam.

The paramedics said to the Winchesters "We're ready to move. We can take one of you with us."

Dean stayed put, expecting his father would go with Sam, but John said "Go with your brother, son. I'll be right behind you."

With that, Dean climbed into the ambulance with Sam, taking his cold, still hand in his as the door shut.

John got into the Impala and followed the ambulance back down the driveway and to the hospital. The fire department had arrived to find the house completely engulfed in flames. They got ready to put it out, but paused to make sure the cursed homestead would go down once and for all.

The crowd began to disperse, heads bowed, saying nothing. All except Alice. She had noticed the silver SUV parked a few feet from her and recognized it immediately. She walked over and looked in, not terribly surprised to find three men, including Hugh Mitchell, trussed-up men inside. She smiled.

"Eric," she called out to a particularly large man who was hanging close-by in case he was needed. He had heard about the attack on Alice and had rushed to be with her at the hospital. Alice was a town treasure and he couldn't believe that anyone could raise a hand to her – and was pissed to hell about it.

"Yes, Alice?" he said, approaching her.

"Would you mind giving me a hand for a minute?"

Seeing inside the vehicle himself, Eric smiled at her. Not wanting to draw the cops' attention to the car, he casually called out to a couple of other men still within ear shot and waved them over.

From inside, Hugh looked up at Alice, noting the Cheshire Cat-sized smile she now bore and the faces of three angry looking men looking in at them.

Oh crap, he thought.

Alice backed away and looked to the house as it burned. For just a second, she could have sworn she saw the Drexler family standing together in the top left window just as the second story collapsed.

She smiled again, then frowned, then cried as she took in all that happened. All the pain that had been caused, the senseless deaths. And she cried for the innocent little boy who was now fighting for his very life.

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The ambulance ride seemed to be taking forever and Dean was turning inside out. Sam showed no signs of waking up, was as pale as a sheet and was still not breathing on his own.

C'mon Sammy, Dean silently pleaded, squeezing Sam's hand. Don't you give up. Don't you let them win. You are Sam Winchester, goddammit, and you are not dying like this. You hear me? You are Sam Winchester and you are going to live. You are going to live.

The paramedic currently breathing for Sam via a squeeze bag heard Dean's mantra as he began speaking it aloud. Hearing the certainty in the teen's voice, she looked down at her young patient. You hear that, kid? she said to herself. Better listen to your big brother, Sam Winchester, cause he's right, you are not dying today. Not if we have anything to say about it.

She began saying it aloud to, giving an encouraging look to Dean, who smiled back. Then the third paramedic conducting CPR on Sam chimed in, too.

The rest of the way to the hospital found the entire ambulance chanting in unison:

You are Sam Winchester and you are going to live.