Episode Sixteen: Graven Images

By irismay42

Part Two

Sam glanced nervously at his watch, fingers tapping against the Impala’s steering wheel in time with the rain splattering lazily against the windshield.

Six thirty-five.

Gazing absently at the slow trickle of shoppers exiting Major Oak Mall, his fingers slid almost unconsciously to the cell phone discarded on the seat next to him, some kind of muscle memory in his thumb causing it to push against Dean’s speed dial number before he even realized he’d done it.

He heard the faint “brr brr” of Dean’s cell phone ringing out before he’d even put his own phone to his ear, the recorded voicemail cutting in on the sixth ring. “Can’t get to the phone. Leave a message.” Abrupt and to the point. Dean in electronic form.

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck were standing up, and a faint knot of concern was starting to do the tango in the pit of his stomach.

“Dean, where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes out here!” he barked into the phone, irritation at his brother’s tardiness slowly giving way to concern for his well-being as, tone softening considerably, he added, “Hey, call me back as soon as you get this, okay?”

He tossed the phone back on the seat, eyes straying once more to the mall’s entrance, where he could clearly see the big security guard from earlier lurking around the blonde on the smoothie stand.

Then he caught sight of Kim, apparently leaving for the day, and was out of the Impala and half way across the parking lot before his brain even realized he’d moved.

“Kim? Hey Kim!” He jogged up to the mall manager, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. Trying to keep the panic from showing in his eyes.

So Dean was twenty minutes late. So what? His big brother wasn’t exactly known for his rigorous time keeping. Still…

Kim looked surprised to see the younger Winchester, but smiled nonetheless, teeth showing white in the bleak sodium lighting. “Hey Sam,” she said. “I thought you left hours ago?”

Sam returned her smile awkwardly. “Yeah, me too,” he agreed. “Only…” God, he felt so stupid. Like a six-year-old who’d gone crying to mommy because he couldn’t find his big brother. “Only,” he continued, resolutely gritting his teeth, and deciding a little humiliation was the least of his worries. “Only Dean was supposed to meet me about fifteen minutes ago, and hasn’t shown.” He jerked the sentence out quickly, an apologetic little shrug tugging at his shoulders.

Kim just looked at him, completely non-judgmentally. “When did you last hear from him?”

“A little before six,” Sam replied. “He said he had one more thing he wanted to check out…”

Kim read the worry in the young man’s eyes, and Sam realized there was more to her reaction than mere panic that someone else may have been hurt in her mall. “He was in the Control Room, right?” she asked. “With Lozano?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed, glancing over Kim’s shoulder and into the mall, barely controlling the urge to dash straight in there and tear the place apart till he found his brother.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Kim said quietly, taking a firm grasp on Sam’s elbow. “C’mon. We’ll take a look.”

Sam followed Kim meekly, the colors, sights and smells that had assaulted him on his first visit to the mall now blurring into a muted cacophony of background noise as his head started to buzz and the tingling in the pit of his stomach had turned into a dull ache.

He would have given anything to have seen Dean leaning across the smoothie stand just then, tossing a flirtatious smirk in the hot blonde’s direction, or even to have bumped into him drooling over the acres of scratched up albums tricking out Vince’s Vinyl Emporium.

But, somehow, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Something else had happened. Something had happened to Dean. He just didn’t know what. And he didn’t know how he knew.

They’d reached the CCTV Control Room before Sam was even aware he’d passed the smoothie girl, the buzzing in his head growing louder as he descended into the underground corridors. A light at the far end of the hall was blinking out of time with the pounding in his head, and he squinted, barely able to make out the yellow and black tape bedecking the last few doors before the corridor dead ended into a cement-grey wall.

“What’s down there?” he found himself asking, a vibration of – something – coming up through his feet and making his chest hurt.

Kim followed the direction of Sam’s gaze as she pushed open the Control Room door. “Oh nothing,” she said dismissively. “If we ever get construction finished on this place, it’s just going to be storage space. That’s the building’s outer wall right there.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on the guttering light before he followed Kim into the Control Room, the weird vibrations stopping the second he crossed the threshold.

Lozano was just tucking into a hotdog as they entered, mustard splattering onto his tie as he all but choked at Kim’s unexpected appearance.

“Eve-evening Ms. Gregory!” he forced a cheerful voice, mopping up the mustard with a napkin and glancing sideways at the woman sitting in the other chair, a muscular brunette who looked like she could probably bench press twice the weight Sam could. Hell, she could probably bench press Sam given half the chance. “I thought you’d left for the day?”

“Tony,” Kim nodded, not feeling the need to explain her presence any further. “Sam, this is Adrienne McCaffrey – graveyard shift this week, huh?”

The bulky security lady nodded. “Switched with Grumnik,” she replied. “Although damned if I know what he’s got against the night shift.”

Kim paid little heed to McCaffrey’s comment, and turned her attention immediately to Lozano. “Tony, Sam was supposed to meet Dean a while ago and he didn’t show. When did he leave?”

Lozano raised an eyebrow and glanced at his watch. “Around six,” he replied. “Not seen him since.”

Sam frowned. “You don’t have a camera covering this door do you?” he asked awkwardly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the door through which he’d just entered the room.

Lozano glanced at Kim. “Sure,” he said. “You wanna see the footage?”

Sam nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yes. Please,” he added as an afterthought, as Lozano brought up a list of security logs on the monitor in front of him. Highlighting Camera 141, he entered a sub-menu, before bringing up the time stamp 17.54. “There you go,” he said, as a grainy image looking straight down at the door outside filled the monitor.

“Great,” Sam thanked him. “Can you move it on a little?”

Lozano nodded, pushing a couple of buttons which caused the time stamp to click over a little faster, although the picture of the doorway seemed to remain the same.

At 17.58, Lozano himself could be seen entering, carrying two steaming cups of coffee, and that was all the activity there was until 18.02, when Dean exited.

“There!” Sam barked, pointing at the screen as Lozano instinctively switched to real time mode. The picture slowed down, clearly showing Dean glancing off to his right, before heading out of shot to his left, out towards the exit and the main mall.

“So he left here about six,” Kim commented. “At least we know that much for sure.”

Sam nodded absently, chewing nervously on his thumbnail. Something bugged him about the image of his brother…something not quite right…something he couldn’t put his finger on… “Where’s the next camera?” he asked. “The next one in the direction he took?”

“Stairwell,” Lozano replied, immediately bringing up a screen headed Camera 140. He ran the footage, again from 17.54, fast forwarding to 17.57, where the security guard could again be seen with his coffee, this time descending the stairs. He continued to fast forward onwards to 18.00… 18.01… 18.02… 18.03… 18.04…all the way to 18.10.

No Dean.

“So where was he?” Sam asked. “Why didn’t he come up the stairwell?”

Kim glanced over at Lozano, who shrugged. “I’ll check the logs,” he offered. “Make sure we didn’t have any outages or downtime.”

“He can’t have just disappeared between here and the stairwell,” Kim muttered. “There’s nothing else down here…”

“He said he wanted to check something out,” Sam repeated, eyes still resolutely fixed to the screen. “I just wish he’d told me what…”

***

Dean’s head hurt.

Oh man, this is some hangover…

Hold on.

Rainbows.

Dean remembered rainbows…

A bright flash of light and a threatening voice.

And rainbows.

He was lying down. He could tell that much by the feel of soft fabric beneath his fingers. And there was a bright light trying its damnedest to force its way through his eyelids.

Open your goddamn eyes, Winchester…

Gingerly, thick eyelashes parted to reveal golden sunlight streaming in through an open window, blue sky with the barest smattering of white clouds beyond, and an almost overpowering scent of freshly-brewed coffee lingering in the air.

He blinked.

Last time he looked, it was after six and getting dark outside. Jeez, how long had he been out of it?

“Don’t worry, honey, it’ll all come back to you,” a soft female voice startled him, a gentle hand barely grazing his shoulder.

He blinked again, somehow managing to turn his head away from the open window.

The kindly face of a familiar-looking middle-aged lady with soft curls of grey-blonde hair looked down at him, hand gently stroking his forehead. He could sense movement behind her, but couldn’t seem to focus on anything further away than her face.

“Where…? What…?”

“It’s okay, honey,” the woman said. “You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Dean felt panic tickling at the recesses of his brain. Home? “I’m…what…?”

He continued to blink, more rapidly now, the woman’s features coming into sharper focus, the back of her hand against his cheek, as if feeling his temperature.

And that’s when he sat up so fast she jumped back in alarm, snatching back her hand and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Lizzie Baker!” he burst out, staring right back at her with wide eyes of his own. “You – you’re Lizzie Baker!”

The woman glanced nervously over her shoulder, smiling awkwardly, a strange, strangled little laugh escaping her lips. “Hudson, honey,” she corrected him. “Lizzie Hudson.”

Dean followed her gaze to the far corner of the room, squinting as the dark shape of a security camera swam into focus.

Security camera.

He’d been at the mall…

“Mom, is he awake yet?” A boy in his mid-teens emerged from behind the smiling woman, tousled hair flopping in his dark brown eyes as he tugged at his Green Day t-shirt.

Dean vaguely remembered having seen that t-shirt before recently, but it took him several seconds to remember the young tagger who he’d seen escorted from the mall while he was in the CCTV Control Room.

Control Room… TV monitors… Lizzie Baker in a flower shop…

“Yes, sweetie, he’s awake,” Lizzie smiled at the young boy, ruffling his hair.

“Matthew,” the boy announced, sticking out his hand towards Dean with a huge smile on his face.

“Hey, Matthew,” Dean muttered, taking the proffered limb absently.

“I’m your brother.”

Dean’s hand jerked unconsciously, gripping Matthew’s a little harder than he’d intended. The boy just continued to grin at him, as if he’d just said the most normal thing in the world.

“My – you’re my – what… What did you just say?”

Matthew withdrew his hand, grinning up at Lizzie. “Boy, I always wanted a big brother!” he burst out. “This place rocks!”

Lizzie continued to stroke his hair, a weak smile crossing her face as she glanced over at the camera before returning her attention to Dean. “Yes, honey. I’m sure it does.”

“So I’m not good enough for you now?”

Dean’s attention shifted to a young girl, maybe a year or so older than Matthew, who had slouched into the room, a butterfly pendant dangling incongruously over a t-shirt emblazoned with the cover shot from Pink’s latest album. She cast a dark glance over at Dean before turning her attention to Matthew, arms folded sullenly across her chest.

Matthew tossed her a dismissive glance. “Sisters are lame,” he informed her. “I got a big brother now!”

Dean didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “Hold on,” he said slowly, running his hand over his face and blinking a few more times. “You’re not my brother, kid,” he said, looking Matthew up and down. “I already got one of those and he’s twice your size and three times the trouble…”

“Sweetie,” Lizzie stepped hurriedly between Dean and the camera, patting him on the head like a favorite pet. “Don’t worry, you’re just a little disorientated… The accident, I’m sure…”

“Accident?” Dean echoed. “What accident? I wasn’t in any…”

“Your car kicks ass!” Matthew said suddenly. “You’ll teach me to drive it, right?”

Dean glanced from Matthew to Lizzie and back to Matthew, jaw open but no words coming out.

“You couldn’t drive that thing with six inch blocks on your shoes,” the girl muttered, arms tightening across her chest.

“Could too!” Matthew replied. “You’re just jealous, Mindy…”

“Am not! You know how much gas cars like that guzzle? Think of the world around you…” She stopped suddenly, biting at her lip, before suddenly bursting into tears and running from the room.

“Mindy…” Lizzie followed the girl’s sudden departure from the room, before turning her attention back to Matthew. “Go check your sister’s okay.”

“Why?” Matthew demanded. “It’s not my fault she doesn’t like it here…”

Lizzie glanced again at the camera. “Of course she likes it here. She loves it here. Just like Dean’s going to love it here…”

“You – how d’you know my name?” Dean demanded, watching Matthew reluctantly disappear after his sister. He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and instantly wished he hadn’t as he fought down the subsequent wave of nausea.

“Don’t worry honey,” Lizzie continued, starting to stroke Dean’s hair now that Matthew had left the room. Dean resisted the urge to push her off, figuring it was probably some kind of nervous habit. And if anyone had the right to be nervous, it was her. “Your dad’s explained everything, and I understand what happened…”

“My dad?”

“I’m sure your mom’s a lovely woman…”

“My…”

“So I don’t blame him. I don’t blame him for not telling me about you… Not right away, anyway…”

“About…?”

“And I know we’ll get on famously. I just wish you’d tried to find us sooner, that’s all.”

Dean just stared up at the woman like she was completely mental. Her serene smiled faltered ever-so-slightly, eyes flicking meaningfully to the camera, as if she was trying to tell him something but didn’t know how.

“Your dad’s just checking over your car,” Lizzie added. “It’s just a scrape I’m sure. He’ll help you fix it up. He’s good at things like that. Guess that’s where you get it from… He tells me you’re a mechanic?”

Dean blinked at her. “He… I’m…”

“So you shouldn’t have any trouble. And Greg’s just fine. His truck could take out a tank, I’ll warrant…”

Dean continued to stare at Lizzie Baker – Lizzie Hudson – whatever the hell her name was – for a full five seconds, mouth hanging slightly open, until she was suddenly joined by a man who caught her elbow as if she needed steadying.

He was a good head taller than she was, about Dean’s height, silver-grey hair and a slim, deeply tanned face that suggested he worked outdoors. His eyes were dark brown, like Matthew’s, and when he looked at Dean he got this weird expression on his face, somewhere between deep mistrust and the sincerest of apologies.

“I’m – I’m glad you made it – ” he stammered. “ – son.” He didn’t look Dean in the eye as he said the last word, just stuck out his hand much as Matthew had.

Dean stood, not sure why, something about the way the guy held himself… “Y-eah,” he said slowly, taking the man’s hand. His grip was firm, lingering longer than it should have. “I guess…”

“Coming all this way,” Lizzie interjected suddenly. “Only to nearly wreck your car a mile from – from home.” She glanced up at the man nervously. “Isn’t that right, Stephen?”

Stephen just looked at her.

“Stephen?”

“The car’s not wrecked,” Stephen muttered. “Big old thing like that. It’d take more than a little side impact to do that beauty much harm…”

“This is so stupid.” Mindy was standing in the doorway again, eyes red but dry, arms once more folded across her chest. “People don’t just have kids they never knew they had show up on their doorstep like this! Not in real life! Especially not ones that look like…” she gestured wildly in Dean’s direction, “…that. What is this, Days of Our Lives, or something? Honestly, who comes up with this stuff?”

“Mindy…” Lizzie’s tone carried an unspoken warning. “You know what’ll happen… What happened last time…”

Mindy frowned. “I’m not scared of the Sanatorium,” she said. “This isn’t Dallas either, Mom. ’Cause I used to watch re-runs all the time you know. With my real mom. I know that’s where he got the idea… Maybe you should just change your name to Sue Ellen and be done with it. Big ole nasty JR gonna throw you in the nut house if you’re bad, huh?”

“Mindy…”

“He’s not my brother,” Mindy huffed, tossing her head in Dean’s direction. “And you’re not my mom any more than you’re his mom…”

“No, I’m not his mom,” Lizzie said flatly, neatly side-stepping the first part of Mindy’s accusation. “You know that. She’s in Kansas…”

“Kansas?” That got Dean’s attention. “My mom’s in Kansas?”

Lizzie met his startled gaze, surprised to have regained his attention so forcefully. “Topeka, I think,” she said, glancing at Stephen, suddenly uncertain. Uncertain and afraid. “That’s right, isn’t it, honey?”

“What’s wrong?” Mindy asked. “Forgotten the Script again?”

“Lawrence,” Stephen said hurriedly. “She’s in Lawrence. We – your mother and I – ” he cast a sidelong glance at Dean, still not meeting his gaze. “It was a long time ago. She and I didn’t work out… I didn’t know about you… Not until she called me – to say you were asking about me – well, I couldn’t say no. Couldn’t deny you the chance to meet the family you didn’t even know you had…”

Dean bit his lip. Okay, so he’d fallen down a rabbit hole somewhere.

Into Daytime Soap Opera Hell.

He took a breath, closed his eyes and thought for a second. “So I’m – I’m your son,” he said slowly, opening his eyes and scrutinizing Stephen. “And she’s my stepmom,” he said, glancing at Lizzie. “And she’s my half-sister,” he nodded towards Mindy. “And my mom’s in – in Lawrence. And I crashed my car right before I got here, which explains why I have a killer headache and can’t remember anything. Right?”

Lizzie nodded, beaming at him. “Good boy,” she said, happily.

“Sap,” Mindy muttered.

Dean glanced over at her. “You wanna show me this bitchin’ car I got?” he asked suddenly.

Mindy straightened, seemingly taken aback. “O-okay,” she said, turning and heading away from the room.

Dean followed her, smiling awkwardly at his newly-acquired “parents” before quickly catching up to his “sister,” taking hold of her elbow and inclining his head down towards her. “Mindy Tyler, right?” he whispered. “You and your brother were the first to be – taken.”

Mindy looked up at him, shocked. “That’s – right,” she stammered. “Tyler. God, that’s the first time I’ve been called that in – ”

“Three months?” Dean supplied.

Mindy squinted at him as she headed out onto a bright yellow wooden porch that reflected the sun to an almost painful degree. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Maybe. It’s hard to keep track. We don’t always get night time…”

Dean wasn’t sure how to take that statement. “You know where we are?”

Mindy shook her head. “He calls it Sherwood Falls. But it’s not a real place… I don’t think.”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Dean said suddenly,

“Huh?”

“You said ‘he’ calls it Sherwood Falls…”

“Oh,” Mindy nodded in recognition. “The Sheriff.”

“Sheriff?”

Mindy nodded again, gaze becoming distant. “I wish I knew where we really were…”

“You’re at home,” Dean told her. “Trust me. Wherever this is, you’re really at home with your folks.”

Mindy stopped stock still. “I am?”

Dean nodded. “Although…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “Although I’m not entirely sure where I am…”

Mindy glanced unconsciously at the camera mounted behind Dean. It had been pointed at the front door of the house, but had suddenly swung in their direction. “Are we ever going home?”

Dean followed Mindy’s glance before returning his gaze in her direction. “Damn straight. If me and my brother have anything to say about it… My real brother, that is.”

Mindy smiled then. “Yeah,” she said, casting her gaze towards Matthew, who had just breathlessly rounded the street corner. “And he calls me ‘lame’…”

“Dean!”

Matthew had skidded to a halt on the driveway, a big red and white tow truck lumbering around the corner behind him and pulling up at the curb outside the house.
“It’s only a scratch I think…”

Dean followed Matthew’s excitedly gesticulating hand towards the rear of the tow truck… And drew in a sharp intake of breath.

“Chevy Impala, right?” Matthew was bouncing on his toes. “’67. Like the rocket car. Right?”

Dean blinked so hard he thought his eyeballs might pop right out of his head. “Yeah,” he muttered, slowly descending the porch steps, Mindy close behind him. “’67. Like the rocket car.”

The tow truck driver dismounted his vehicle, heading towards the rear and unhooking the big black car from the tow cable before running an admiring hand over the gleaming paintwork. “Ain’t seen one of these in years,” he muttered, patting the vehicle’s hood fondly.

Dean took a step towards the car, frowning. “She – she’s damaged?” he asked hesitantly, taking another step, eyeing the paintwork, the lights, the chassis, the tires… The license plate…

“Only a scratch,” the tow truck guy pointed out a little dent in the driver’s side door. “I’m sure your dad’ll be able to fix it.”

For a brief second, Dean almost answered, ‘Well of course he will…’ before he realized that the guy wasn’t talking about John Winchester. And he had no idea what Stephen Hudson was capable of fixing.

“Here,” the tow truck guy held out a slip of paper, which Dean took obligingly. He glanced at it slowly, realizing it was a bill for the tow. He was about to comment on the charge when he noticed the customer name scrawled at the top: Dean Hudson.

“My – my name’s not…” Dean began, but was cut off by Stephen appearing as if out of nowhere. He snatched the piece of paper out of Dean’s hand with a grin at the tow truck guy.

“It’s alright, Otis,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

Otis nodded. “Steve, you boys need a hand fixing this beauty…?”

Stephen smiled, putting an uncomfortable arm around Dean’s shoulder. “I think my boy and I can handle it…”

***

What’s wrong with this picture?

Sam had been staring at the grainy CCTV image of his brother for almost an hour now, brows drawn together in an ever-deepening furrow of concentration, frustration and worry.

Lozano’s shift had ended at seven, so, with the night shift guy not due in until eight, Sam found himself alone with the slightly terrifying McCaffrey, who kept sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, and at one point had decided to favor him with her views on the relative merits of “taller guys.”

Desperately trying to tune out McCaffrey’s diatribe, Sam concentrated on checking the video feeds Lozano had set him up with, each showing different sections of the mall around the time Dean had disappeared.

So far, only Camera 141, the camera outside of the Control Room, seemed to have captured his brother’s image before he had seemingly vanished off the face of the planet.

What Sam didn’t understand was if Dean had been “taken” by whatever it was that was stalking the patrons of Major Oak Mall, then where the hell was his body? Or whatever was left over after. Kim had had security personnel comb every inch of the place, and Dean just wasn’t there – in any form.

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes as he ran back the footage of Dean leaving the Control Room one more time.

Door.

Dean.

Freeze frame.

What’s wrong with this picture?

Something…

Something glinting…

Catching the light just right as Sam froze his brother’s image.

Dean’s ring.

Glinting on his left hand.

His left hand.

“God, I am so stupid!” Sam whacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, startling McCaffrey almost out of her seat.

“What?” She glanced over at the image on Sam’s monitor, not for the first time regretting having missed meeting the tall kid’s brother in person. That must be some gene pool these boys sprang from…

Sam was gesturing wildly at the screen. “Dean’s ring,” he explained excitedly, rewinding the footage for the millionth time. “It’s on the wrong hand – he wears it on his right, but look – ” he jabbed at the screen, “ – here it’s on his left…” Sam trailed off as he watched Dean disappear out of frame to his left, ostensibly towards the exit.

McCaffrey was just staring at him. “And…?”

Sam grimaced at her triumphantly. “The picture’s been reversed,” he announced. “Flipped over. To make it look as if he was heading out of the mall…”

“When really he was headed in the opposite direction?” McCaffrey was catching on. “But there’s nothing down that hallway.”

Sam grimaced as he suddenly remembered the weird vibe he’d gotten from that corridor. “Are there any cameras down there?”

“Just one,” McCaffrey punched a menu up on her screen. “Or, just one that’s operational. None of the others in that section are connected into the grid yet. No point until the construction work’s finished.”

She deftly brought up a feed labeled, “Camera 142”, entering the section time stamped 18.00. Another bland section of grey corridor filled the screen, the camera angled down slightly towards a doorway at the end of the hall that remained just out of shot.

As McCaffrey inched the footage forwards towards 18.02, Sam held his breath, absolutely certain Dean would appear at any second.

18.03…18.04…18.05…

“It shouldn’t have taken him more than a few seconds to cover the distance between those two cameras,” McCaffrey pointed out.

Sam nodded in defeat, all of the hope that had been forming a lump in his chest suddenly leaving him in an agonizing rush. He slumped back in his chair, running a frustrated hand along his forehead just as McCaffrey suddenly jabbed a large finger at her monitor.

“You see that?” She froze the image at 18.08.

Sam straightened. “What?”

McCaffrey rewound the footage slowly, pausing at one particular frame before proceeding to advance the footage a frame at a time.

And then Sam saw it.

It was barely perceptible, almost like a tiny shake of the camera, and Sam was sure neither he nor McCaffrey would have spotted it if not for the guttering of the overhead light. Up until 18.08, the light was totally out of commission. After 18.08, it was back on, blinking away like crazy until it finally gave out completely at 18.15.

McCaffrey ran back the footage, this time taking it back as far as 17.45. “Okay, so the light’s working,” she muttered, running the sequence forward until the time stamp showed 18.01, when the same little camera shake preceded the light suddenly snapping off completely.

“That’s when Dean should have been there…” Sam muttered.

McCaffrey nodded, advancing the footage to 18.08 once more, when the light spluttered back on. “It’s been spliced,” she declared, sitting back in her seat. “Sonofabitch…”

Sam just looked at her. “It’s been what?” he asked.

“It looks to me,” McCaffrey said, tearing her eyes from her screen and pinning Sam in a concentrated stare, “that someone has totally erased the footage from 18.01 to 18.08 – when the light in the corridor was working – by inserting seven minutes of footage recorded after 18.15 – when the light was broken…”

“The seven minutes of footage Dean would have appeared on,” Sam nodded, understanding. “So, taking a wild stab in the dark here, I think it’s safe to assume that the person who flipped the footage from Camera 141 to make it look as if Dean left the mall was the same person who tampered with the footage from Camera 142 to make it look as if Dean had never been down that corridor…right?”

McCaffrey nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said carefully. “I would say that’s something you’re definitely safe to assume.”

Sam paused thoughtfully, gazing at the broken light guttering on the monitor before returning the security guard’s intense stare. “So that leaves one question,” he said. “Who would be capable of something like that?”

***

“So this Sheriff,” Dean clarified, absently toying with the ring on his right hand, as Mindy kicked at the bench on which they sat while Matthew gazed longingly at the nearby Impala.

“Yeah, he’s kinda God here,” Mindy explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “His word is law and all that crap.”

Dean cast a wary gaze around the oh-so-clichéd town square in which he found himself, squinting up at the slanted sunlight dappling an ornate clock tower which formed the centerpiece of an impeccably landscaped garden. Wrought iron benches were scattered liberally along the tidy asphalt paths, punctuated by trash cans and lampposts and even the odd water fountain here and there.

Despite the prettiness of the square, however, the fact that it lacked one thing was enough to instantly convince Dean of the innate unnaturalness of his surroundings: Pigeons. Not a single one.

Shuddering for no apparent reason, his attention was drawn briefly to a mural of some kind, splayed out on a long wall to the rear of the garden, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it depicted from this distance.

He was about to go over there and investigate the thing when a young man he recognized as having been snatched right off his skateboard whilst being pursued by three breathless mall security guards, sauntered past, staring at him without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Dean stared right back, blinking as the guy chewed loudly on his bubble gum, blowing out a ridiculously-sized bubble before spitting the pink substance out onto the pathway.

At this point, the air in front of him seemed to fizz, and a huge man not entirely dissimilar in appearance to The Rock suddenly materialized out of nowhere, hands on hips and thick brows drawn into a severe frown.

The punk stopped mid-stride, color draining visibly from his already pasty cheeks as he carefully squinted up at the man in front of him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the man said, his voice an impossibly deep baritone, as he placed a massive hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The kid, shaking visibly, cowed his head before nodding apologetically. “No sir,” he agreed.

The security guy ran a finger over the shiny gold badge labeled “Deputy” which was pinned to the shirt of a uniform not unlike the ones worn by Lozano and Grumnik back at the mall. Lowering his head slightly, he calmly asked, “You know where Disobedience leads, don’t you Ryan?” The kid muttered something inaudible, and the Deputy bent lower. “Ryan?”

“D – Divergence,” Ryan mumbled a little louder, shoulders hunched, as if preparing for a physical assault.

The Deputy, however, merely smiled coolly. “And where does Divergence lead, Ryan?” he prompted.

Ryan continued to study his sneakers before finally looking up into the Deputy’s unfathomably dark eyes. “The – the Sanatorium?” he stammered.

The Deputy’s cold grin broadened. “And we wouldn’t want to go there, would we?”
Ryan shook his head fervently.

“Good boy. Now run along.” Ryan made to bolt, just as the Deputy suddenly tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “Uh-uh-uh,” he said, wagging his finger. “Forget something?”

Ryan smiled awkwardly, before sheepishly bending to scoop up the gum and depositing it in the nearest trash can.

The Deputy quirked the corner of his mouth. “Dismissed,” he said.

Ryan didn’t need telling twice.

The Deputy straightened, breathing deeply. “Anti-social none-Scripted behavior neutralized,” he seemed to say to no one in particular, before cocking his head to one side and slowly turning his gaze onto Dean.

He just stood stock still for a second, staring at him, and Dean would have sworn the guy made a whirring sound, like a camera zooming in.

“Why don’t you just take a picture, pal?” Dean muttered from between gritted teeth.

The Deputy continued to stare at him unblinkingly. “Subject inactive, sir,” he said after a few more seconds of deliberation. “Appears to be complying with role parameters.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. Dean Winchester, after all, rarely complied with anything. “What role?” he demanded, rising to his feet and taking a step towards the Deputy.

The Deputy beamed brightly at him, displaying a mouthful of impossibly perfect white teeth. “You have a nice day now,” he said, before fizzing out of existence as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Dean took a startled step backwards, feeling Mindy at his elbow, as he suddenly noticed three more of the uniformed men in various positions around the square. He blinked hard, convinced he was hallucinating the fact that they all appeared completely identical.

“Deputies,” Mindy explained, tugging gently on Dean’s arm. “Besides the cameras,” she indicated the surveillance camera mounted atop the nearest lamppost, “they’re the Sheriff’s eyes and ears. And mouth. Tell us what to do. Modify our Bio. Feed us lines occasionally…”

“‘Bio’?” Dean echoed, glancing down at her as the frown deepened between his eyes.

“Yeah,” Mindy shrugged. “You know. Like characters in a TV show? They’ve all got a Bio – like a backstory. A history. Well so have we. And sometimes it changes – like today. Suddenly one of the Deputies shows up out of the blue and tells our “Dad” that he has a long lost son. And hey presto – here you are.”

“That’s my Bio?” Dean asked skeptically. “‘Long lost son’? Jeez, three words? Is that the most they can spare me?”

“Long lost illegitimate son,” Mindy corrected. “Gives your character a bit of intrigue.”

“Long lost illegitimate son with cool car,” Matthew piped up.

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Dean muttered.

Mindy grinned evilly. “Face it, big brother. You’re set decoration. Eye candy.”

“Story of my life,” Dean muttered, looking suitably scandalized at Mindy’s assassination of his character. But at least she was smiling, so he didn’t mind too much. “So this happen often?” he asked. “They just alter your Bio?”

An odd look passed between Mindy and Matthew, the smile quickly faltering on the former’s face. “Our mom,” she said quietly. “Our first mom. The one before Lizzie…”

Dean frowned, before suddenly nodding. “You’ve been here three months. Lizzie’s been here a day, right?”

Mindy’s fingers toyed with the butterfly pendant around her neck. “Yeah. She arrived the same time I suddenly got this…”

“It was the last thing she saw,” Dean explained. “Before she was taken.” He glanced cautiously around the square, noting the position of the three Deputies. “So your first mom,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, motioning for Mindy to sit again. “What happened to her?”

Mindy took a shuddering breath, while Matthew’s eyes averted back to the Impala. “She’s in the Sanatorium,” Mindy answered finally. “They took her a week ago.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “What is that place?”

“It’s where they take you if you won’t – if you don’t do as you’re told – don’t stick to the Script.”

“‘Script’?”

Mindy met his inquisitive gaze again, nodding slightly. “The Sheriff calls it ‘Divergence,’” she explained. “When you can’t – or won’t – accept your Bio, your new identity here. Jackie – our first mom – just wouldn’t. Refused to let anyone call her ‘Hudson.’ Screamed the place down if we called her ‘Mom,’ like we were supposed to. Tried to escape more times than I can remember…”

“Escape?” Dean’s eyes lit up. “There’s a way outta here?”

Mindy glanced up at the nearby camera, which had altered its position and was now pointing straight at them. “Not that I know of,” she replied cautiously, angling her head downwards so that her face was partially obscured by her hair. “Jackie certainly never found one, although not for want of trying. That’s why she’s in the Sanatorium.”

“And what happens there?”

Mindy shifted uncomfortably. “They – they – adjust your – your…”

“They torture you,” Matthew said suddenly. “That’s what they do. That’s what James said they did to him before he…”

“Who’s James?” Dean asked.

“James Gregory,” Matthew replied, an excited glint and a touch of hero worship in his eyes. “He’s the only one that’s ever gotten out of here.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “So someone has escaped?”

Mindy shook her head, acutely aware of the whirring of the overhead camera. “No one knows for sure,” she said. “When James got out of the Sanatorium, he was – was talking crazy. Kept saying he was getting out, whatever it took. Then he just…”

“He jumped off a cliff,” Matthew supplied. “Right into Sherwood Gorge.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “He killed himself?”

Mindy shrugged. “Like I said,” she muttered. “No one knows.”

“Everyone says he got out, though,” Matthew insisted, eyes still shining. “He was a cop – real tough. If anyone could get out, it was him.”

Dean suddenly remembered Kim mentioned an off-duty cop… Gregory… Kim Gregory… “Was Gregory his real name?”

“I think so,” Mindy said. “They only change your name if you’re part of a family. He was on his own. He was supposed to be the local firefighter – seeing as there are no cops around here except the Deputies. But he wouldn’t do it. Fought all the way. Got himself thrown in the Sanatorium twice before he escaped…”

Dean whistled. “He escaped from the Sanatorium too?” he asked. “Sounds like my kinda guy.” He thought for a second. “So this Gorge,” he said. “Is there a bridge over it? To the next town maybe or…”

“No bridge,” Mindy said. “No ‘next town.’ If there had been, Jackie would have found it. She tried every road out of here…”

“There’s a road out?” Dean seized on Mindy’s words.

“Yeah,” Mindy said slowly. “Out that way,” she indicated the western side of the square. “Comes in from that way,” indicating the eastern side. “But neither road leads anywhere. And no cars ever come in. Except yours. And I’ve no idea where that came from.”

Dean thought about that one. “Hmm,” he said slowly. “I do.” He glanced behind him, at his-but-not-his Impala, frowning at the dent in the door. “So this road,” he said carefully. “It goes where…?”

***

“You want me to come with?” McCaffrey asked, as Sam made to leave the Control Room.

The younger Winchester shook his head. “No,” he said. “Better you stay here in case – in case I don’t come back.”

McCaffrey nodded. “How long till I send in the cavalry?”

Sam grimaced. “Gimme an hour,” he said. “If I’m not back by then, I think I may be in trouble.”

“Good luck,” McCaffrey said, before returning her attention to her screens.

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, stepping out into the hallway. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

He closed the Control Room door quietly behind him, tipping a two-fingered salute at the camera above the door before heading down the corridor to his right.

He’d gone all of three steps before that odd vibration hit him again, thrumming up from the slate-grey floor tiles and making his head swim. The urge to cover his ears was almost irresistible, but somehow he managed to keep his hands down by his sides, taking one step at a time, fighting forward, almost as if he was battling a gale-force wind.

Camera 142 came swimming into view through his squinting eyes, and he glanced up at it briefly, a flash of pain shooting through his skull as everything suddenly went blue.

Bright blue, like a summer sky.

He was still looking up at a camera, but this one was mounted on a wrought iron lamppost, bright blue sky behind and an old fashioned clock tower beneath; trees; grass… And a painting which ran the length of a wall…

“Dean…?”

Sam blinked hard, and was again staring up at Camera 142, the pain in his head suddenly gone, while the vibration had dissipated into a soft thrum felt only through the soles of his feet.

He took another step towards the end of the hallway, glancing from door to door, unsure which Dean may have entered. Gingerly, he reached out towards a doorway on his left, pushing slightly, the door opening to reveal only an empty storeroom.

Sighing, Sam turned, eyes lighting on the door beneath the camera.

Reaching out towards it, the vibration began to hum once more through his fingers, becoming stronger the closer he got to the door and then stopping abruptly the second he touched the cool metal.

Pushing, the door gave about an inch but no further, and Sam peered through the gap, seeing only a heavy, rusted chain that was somehow twisted across the doorway, effectively denying him entry.

He sighed in frustration.

Bolt cutters. He needed bolt cutters.

There were some in the trunk.

Certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the route Dean had taken, Sam turned to head for the exit, the parking lot beyond, the waiting Impala and the bolt cutters.

If someone – something – had his brother beyond that doorway, then nothing as mundane as a rusty chain was going to keep him away.

He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps, however, when he hesitated, half turning in response to a sudden urge to return to the end of the hallway. Barely breathing, he carefully began to retrace his steps, uncertain what had made him turn back, but utterly convinced that there was a reason he was supposed to be here.

By the time he found himself once again standing in front of the far wall, his fingers had begun to tingle.

Very slowly, he reached out…

***

Dean brought the Pretend Impala to a slow stop by the side of the highway.

Yeah, so the car looked the same – same upholstery, same interior, same paintwork, same tires – hell it even had the same license plate number. But something was different. Maybe it was the empty glove box. Or the absence of the battered box of tapes from under the seat. Or maybe it was the smell. This Impala didn’t smell right. Didn’t smell lived-in. Didn’t smell loved.

Sure, she was still a sweet drive. But she wasn’t his sweet drive.

He exited the vehicle thoughtfully, frowning as the door squeaked when he closed it. Not the squeak his car made. Different somehow. A half octave higher maybe.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d stopped here. Mindy had told him the highway didn’t go anywhere, and he believed her. But it sure looked like it did, disappearing off into the distance like a promise of something else.

He took a few faltering steps along the blacktop, fingers tingling as an odd vibration seemed to emanate from the asphalt and reverberate right up his legs.

Taking another step forward, he reached out an uncertain hand, a weird feeling in his gut telling him not to walk any further up the long, straight road stretching out ahead of him.

Maybe it was the same feeling that had made him stop the car here in the first place.

And yet he took another step, not sure what he was expecting, the tingling in his fingers increasing until with a start he felt them brush against something solid in front of him; something solid and apparently invisible, standing as he was in the middle of a deserted highway, nothing in front of him but endless miles of blacktop and only thin air between himself and the distant horizon.

Or so he thought.

Cautiously, he ran his hand along what seemed to be an invisible barrier stretching, he guessed, from one side of the highway to the other and probably beyond that, the tingling in his fingers increasing as he maintained contact, like tiny electric shocks a little more intense than static but not enough to really hurt him.

“No escape,” he muttered to himself, somehow knowing deep down that he had reached the boundary of whatever the hell this place was. “Jeez, I’m never getting out of here…”

Suddenly overcome by an overwhelming sense of helplessness and defeat, Dean leaned his forehead against the invisible barrier, the tingling in his fingers increasing until he reached one particular spot…

***

Sam ran his hand over the featureless grey brick which comprised Major Oak Mall’s outer wall, fingers tingling, almost is if the stone itself were electrified.

Glancing up at the broken overhead light, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps there was some kind of electrical problem down here, something that had shorted out the light and was now running current through the building’s infrastructure.

Dismissing the idea, his tingling fingers slowly began to move along the wall, unsure of what he was looking for until he reached one particular spot…

And Sam almost jerked his hand away in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Sam?”

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