Did everyone catch Croatoan last week? How could it be so awesome and evil all at once?!

Pictures on the Wall: Chapter Six

Present Day

Exhaustion was like a physical thing, sitting on his chest and sinking into his whole body, weighing down every single limb. Even breathing felt like a chore. Coughing shook Dean's entire body and left him so breathless he was starting to think his lungs had become a giant hole that couldn’t be filled no matter how slow or how deep he tried to breathe. He was sitting still but he felt like he was running up a mountain with 20 extra pounds on his back.

But fighting against the tiredness was an undercurrent of energy that Dean didn’t need. How could he be exhausted and ready to run that uphill marathon all in one go? His sigh turned into an aching cough. Had he caught some weird new strain of flu? Dean almost felt like he was inside and outside his own head all at once, like his body was awake but he was watching it from the shrouds of a dream.

What he wouldn’t do to actually dream. He’d even take the worst nightmare of his life (heck, give him one of Sam’s), if it meant he’d get some sleep. Coughing and shuffling in his seat, Dean tried to get comfortable but there was no easing his sore joints or aching chest. He didn’t think he’d be able to drift off but he could try.

Dean coughed and Sam just about caught the worried sigh before it escaped him. He knew he should’ve made Dean stay behind. Sam was driving through another snow shower and even though keeping the car from sliding off the road took huge amounts of concentration, he couldn’t help but continuously turn to look at his brother. Bringing Dean along was a terrible mistake. His brother definitely seemed worse. Sam knew Dean hadn’t slept, mostly because he’d only managed a few hours himself. But not sleeping because you were given to insomnia and not sleeping because of something weird were two very different things, and Sam was growing increasingly certain that Dean’s flu was a little more… unique than a simple case. But rather than give Sam a definite course of action, the knowledge left him totally lost. He could easily drug his brother again but with all the other medicines Dean was taking, Sam was worried he would take an accidental overdose. There was a chance the sleeplessness would pass. But with Dean’s ability to see things, Sam knew there was a connection between the two. No matter what was going on, not sleeping was not good.

And it was easy to tell something was wrong because one – Dean let Sam drive without making any dramatic pleas to the Goddess of Cars (“because cars are female Sam”) to protect his baby; and two – the car’s outdated tape deck was silent.

“We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,” Sam said, needing to break into the steady but loud (oh so gratingly loud) noise of Dean’s every breath. Sam had spotted the brown road sign indicating that the historical site was off the next exit. “The snow is pretty thick but the roads are clear.”

Dean didn’t reply. Sam risked another glance, wondering if Dean had finally fallen asleep. He hadn’t. His eyes were completely open but so distant that he might as well have been on another planet. Sam shifted his full attention back to the road. He took the exit and began driving past the familiar long lines of fast food restaurants, drive-through pharmacies, WalMarts, Super Targets and malls. No wonder Sam felt like he’d been everywhere in the entire country. It was the same thing over and over. Sam didn’t even need to be psychic to know that the gas station he sought would be coming up just after the drive-in McDonalds.

At least Colorado had pretty, snowy scenery to break the otherwise monotonous scenery.

And no, Sam would not be sharing that opinion with his brother.

“Sam?”

It was the first time Dean had volunteered a conversation since they’d set out earlier that morning. “Yeah?” Sam asked as he pulled into the gas station.

“I think I might be hallucinating.”

Sam stamped on the car’s breaks a little too sharply and they jammed to a stop. Ignoring Dean’s muttered complaints, Sam looked at him and, hoping he sounded objective, asked, “What are you seeing?”

“Your face keeps changing.”

“Changing?” Sam’s tone was lost between deadpan and confusion.

“Yeah.” Dean sounded like he was half asleep. “It’s like… one minute you’re here and the next I’m looking at an old photo of you.” He rubbed a hand under his streaming nose as his other groped for a tissue. “It’s weird, y’know?”

“Weird isn’t a strong enough word for that!” Sam spluttered. Dean had nowhere to move and therefore couldn’t avoid Sam’s hand as it shot out and landed on his forehead. “You’re definitely running a fever but it’s nothing serious...”

“Dude, get off.”

Sam pulled back. “You’re gonna wait in the car when we get there. I don’t want you fainting or anything.”

“Faint? I don’t faint.”

Sam opened the door. “You will if you do crazy stuff like walk through the snow with the flu. Anyway, I’ll be back. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure,” Dean lied, knowing full well that coffee right now wouldn’t sit well in his stomach at all. But with Sam’s anxiety levels on the rise (slammed breaks gave that away for sure), Dean knew he had to go for some damage control to stop a full-blown Little Brother Panic Mode or, worse still, Mother Hen Mode. So yeah, “Coffee would be great.”

Sam pumped the gas and disappeared into the store. He came back with the hot drinks and a few snacks, none of which Dean wanted to touch but he ate a few Original Lays just to stop Sam from prodding. The coffee, bitter as it was, soothed his throat too, even if his stomach wasn’t too pleased at the introduction.

The car was soon moving, signs pointing them towards Ye Olde Miner Towne. When they got there, the place was entirely shut up. A huge sign blocking the road read Closed For The Season. Do Not Enter. They had to pull up outside the car lot because behind the sign, a guardrail was down to ensure no one could park.

“Stay here,” Sam said, finishing his coffee and opening the car door.

But Dean was already getting out of the car. “If I stay in there, I’ll freeze.”

”Keep the heater on.”

“No. I’m going with you.” Huh, was his vision supposed to turn fuzzy and yellow? Probably not. Dean leaned on the car’s roof and hoped it looked casual. “We’ll take it slow and you can take the gun.”

“Gun? Why?”

“In case something nasty is around here. “ Dean blinked hard and the last of the yellow tint to his sight faded away. ”Ghosts don’t take snow days.”

Soon they were hiking up towards the visitors centre, following snow-encrusted signs up a rocky hill. Dean was definitely developing a new hatred of the snow – not because it was cold but because it was wet and that meant his jeans were soaked up to his knees and clinging to his legs like an extra skin made of ice. Granted the cold was helping lower his stubborn fever, but that didn’t make him any happier about it.

“I told you to stay in the car,” Sam called over his shoulder after Dean let out a not-so-silent stream of insults.

Dean coughed a large lump of phlegm down, stomach quailing at the taste. “And leave you to get eaten by a bear? No.” He took a few slow, deep breaths to settle the spikes of nausea. It didn’t work and Dean soon discovered a new way to melt snow.

Sam tried to protest but Dean, despite throwing up, could still muster a mean Do NOT Tell Me What To Do look. So Sam went for another tactic. “This is stupid.”

“What, the threat of bears?” Dean asked when he caught his breath.

“A bear? Don’t you think ghosts are more likely?” Sam played along because he figured Dean would welcome the distraction.

“Maybe,” Dean replied. He thought for a moment. “Or maybe I’ll go back to the car thinking everything’s cool, bears are smart, they’re not gonna go out in this crappy weather. And then, while I’m gettin’ toasty, you’ll discover there’s actually a ghost bear prowling around and then you’ll really be screwed.”

Sam laughed at his loopy brother. “This is a weird conversation.”

“…You’re weird.”

Sam waited for Dean to catch up. “I’m weird? You’re the one debating what’s more likely to attack me.”

Dean just shrugged. “Just pointing out the scenarios.”

“Yeah, you’re always helpful like that.”

“Thank you,” Dean concluded with a grin.

They finished the walk in silence, coming up on the closed visitors centre not too much later. It was, according to the area map placed outside the log cabin, about a mile away from the town’s actual ruins but the brothers were ready for a break. The wooden building was picturesque with the snow and icicles, surrounded by trees, but the interior was dark and no welcoming sign of smoke poured out the chimney. No one was there. It looked like the rangers took the season off too.

Sam picked the lock with ease. Once inside, Dean spied the first chair and parked himself in its lush, if worn, leathery softness. It felt good and he settled into it with a relieved sigh. Sam walked off into the office behind the reception desk, his footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden flooring. “What are you looking for?” Dean called.

“The coffee machine,” Sam called back.

“Good idea.” The warmth would definitely be welcome.

“Yeah, it’s freezing in here,” Sam needlessly pointed out. “We could start a fire…”

“We will if we have to. But we should probably avoid it. Don’t want to risk getting noticed.”

“By what, the ghost bear?”

“Hey, it’s a possibility.”

Sam sighed. “In our lives, it really is.” And to ward off the mental images of battling ghostly bears, Sam set about making coffee.

Knowing moving would keep him warm, Dean reluctantly pushed himself back to his feet. Looking around the hall, he spotted several heaters clinging to the walls. He began switching them on, moving down the display-lined hallway as he went.

Dean knew he had to move slowly, especially when his eyes were playing tricks on him. These tricks were far worse than what had happened in the car. Now, his vision would blur and he’d suddenly see crowds of people lining the hall. There were voices too but the words were a blast of random noise, senseless and unintelligible. Dean shivered despite the heat his own body had built up inside itself. This definitely went way beyond the regular kind of flu.

One of the informative photo displays caught his eye. It wasn’t moving but it didn’t need to. Dean was looking at a picture of a steam train. A thought began to stir at the back of his mind. He moved closer to the display so he could read the old newspaper clip that was framed behind the glass. The headline read “Steam Train Carrying Artifacts West Disappears in Mountains.” Another headline, this one from a few days after the other article, read “Victims of Derailed Train Found In Abandoned Town. Only The Dead Remain.”

The thought stirred again, others rushing to join it. The train that had killed the mayor in the other ghost town had left from this place? Dean needed absolute proof. He found it. After scanning the article, he soon discovered a gory description of a body that matched the dispersal pattern of the mayor’s remains.

Now that was interesting.

But just because both places were supernaturally charged didn’t necessarily connect them in a specific way…

Unless there was something about the artifacts mentioned in the first headline…

Holding onto that thought, Dean continued to read the second article. Suspicion grew inside him. The train had been carrying artifacts of Native Indian origin, specifically tools used in religious ceremonies of regional cultures and even a few from the East Coast. Dean rubbed his hands over his face. Given the scope of Indian folklore, there was more than enough ways in which the artifacts could be behind the people in the pictures… But something about them had to have a connection in this ghost town or else their effects wouldn’t be felt here, or, rather, the photos that had been taken of the area. Could the train and the railroad itself reflect a physical connection between the two towns and therefore create a supernatural link between them? But how did any of what was happening now fit into what they’d already dealt with at that other town?

Dean’s head ached. The flu made thinking painful. He stacked his thoughts as neatly as he could and read on for more clues. The rest of the train’s cargo had been nothing special, just things such as wheat, coffee, tea-leaves, tobacco and cotton, as well as a carriage devoted to mail. Nothing there stood out quite like the implications of religious, spiritually charged artifacts.

“Dean.”

Startled by the sound of his brother’s voice, Dean let out a sharp, “Crap Sam, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

He pretended not to notice the look of remembered fear that passed over his little brother’s face. “Sorry.” Sam cleared his throat to dispel the memories. “I found something while I was making coffee. It was on the desk. I… uh… I think they were going to put this up somewhere.”

Sam held out a sheet of paper covered in black, word-processor type. Dean took it and read it to himself. “The train was recently rediscovered in a ghost town located in the mountains and archaeologists had begun to examine the site. Several Native Indian artifacts were found and taken to the University of Colorado at Boulder for further analysis and carbon dating. Sadly, vandals seriously damaged the remains of the site with fire and…”

They shared a glance. “That’s talking about us,” Sam said.

Dean tapped the display he stood in front of. “Yeah, and guess where our derailed train came from.”

As Sam’s eyes took in the picture and the articles, Dean went to find the coffee. “There’s a connection between the two towns?” Sam called to him. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

“And what are the chances those artifacts are involved somehow?” Dean said as he returned with the two mugs of coffee Sam had left behind. Dean gave Sam the one that had a picture of a cartoon bear and kept the plain black one for himself.

“Actually,” Sam responded in a pondering tone, “I was thinking about the coffee and the tea.”

Dean thought for a moment but his brain refused to cooperate. “Why?”

“Coffee? Tea? They're both full of caffeine right?” Sam had that look on his face, the look he used when he was trying to push Dean through the thought processes he had already taken.

“Yeah…?” But Dean couldn’t be bothered to figure this one out for himself, not when a sledgehammer was seeking out all the weak points in his skull.

“Caffeine was used in religious ceremonies as a method of achieving an altered state of consciousness. Like, a young man would do it as part of his rite of passage to becoming a warrior. Shaman did it when they were trying to communicate with the gods to, I dunno, get the right weather for hunting or discover the best tactics for fighting a neighbouring tribe…”

Dean had to stop his brother’s lecture before he got too long winded. “Sam, where are you going with this?”

“What if that’s the reason why you can see the pictures moving and I can’t?”

“You mean the train wreck infected me with mind-altering caffeine?” Dean asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“We were both at that other town and both of us climbed over that train. If something infected me there, why isn’t it affecting you too? ESP is your thing, not mine.”

Sam tried to pinpoint something that might explain the situation but nothing came back to him. He shook his head. “We can figure that out later. Right now we need to figure out the importance of these two places being connected.”

“Because there’s no such thing as coincidence,” Dean muttered.

“Yeah, life’s a bitch.”

“Maybe Hawkins’ father took photos of both places? That could explain why people who visit this place disappear from the motel... but that doesn’t link this place to the other town.”

“Exactly. And we don’t know if they’re all disappearing from the motel. I only saw that guy go, and, allegedly his daughter must’ve gone too… if he had one. I’m still not totally sure about that.” Sam moved off through the displays. “I wonder if there’s anything left of the train station at the town.”

“Why? What use would that be?”

“There could be more information on the train there.”

“I don’t think we need to know anything else.”

“It might’ve had other stops before reaching here that could explain the artifacts.”

“We might just have to wait on the archaeologists for that,” Dean said.

“Hm, I’ll call and see if they’ll tell me anything.”

“Cool. But I’m still not seeing a good connection between the two ghost towns and a motel that just has a bunch of pictures, not even with the artifacts thrown in. The towns are only connected by the train and maybe the photos, if Hawkins Senior ever actually went to the other place.”

“If he did, it’ll definitely give us more to go with.”

“We still don’t know how the pictures are sucking people in.”

“There’s the folklore connection. Answer could be there somewhere.”

Dean groaned. “There’re a lot of things it could be.” He didn’t even try to hide his reluctance. “Ugh. Research is way too much effort.” Just the thought of it filled him with boredom-induced frustration. He headed back to the chair and sat himself down in it. “And why the hell are these jobs connected? What are the odds on that kinda crap happening?”

“I dunno,” Sam replied truthfully.

“When we get back, I’ll go through Dad’s journal. Maybe there’s something in there.” Dean made a face. “Someone needs to make a version if Wikipedia that has all the answers for us.”

“Leave the research to me. I’ll let you off this one time,” Sam promised. “But only because you’re sick. As soon as you’re well again, you’ll be helping.”

“Aw Sammy, you’d do that for me?”

“Sure, as long as you stay quiet.”

“I’ll get bored.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Uh, both.”

“Maybe I’ll just drug you so you sleep through it all then.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam felt a cold weight plunge into his stomach. Idiot. He wasn’t supposed to talk about that. What if Dean figured out that Sam had already…

“I might take you up on that offer,” Dean said as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “I really need to clear my head.”

Sam let out the breath he had been holding, relief replacing the tension in his body. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“S’okay. There are some tranquillisers in the car.”

Actually, they were buried in the depths of Sam’s bag in the motel room but the specifics didn’t matter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they’ll do.”

“Any reason you have them?” Come on, Sam chanted in his mind, tell me the truth.

“Don’t remember.”

Sam gave up all hope of ever solving the mystery of the tranquillisers he had already used once against his brother. Damn. Stupid brother with his stupid mysteries… “Fine. We’ll finish up here and head back to the motel. I’ll see if Hawkins knows anything about the other ghost town. Maybe he’s got pictures of them stored somewhere too.”

“Mm, maybe.”

At the back of the hall, a huge board displaying an appeal for conservation dominated the wall. One of the photographers noted for providing pictures and funds was none other than Burty Hawkins. Sam filed that little shred of evidence away before turning around, drinking the coffee and heading back to his brother.

He found Dean staring off into space, mug held so loosely it was about to clatter to the ground any second. Head tilted to the side, Dean’s face was void of any expression. His eyes were glazed over, like he was sleeping with them open.

“What are you looking at?” Sam asked.

“You can’t see them, can you?”

Sam looked, almost expecting to see whatever it was that Dean could see. But there was nothing there. “What is it?”

“People in black and white.”

“Dressed in black and white?”

“Like they’re in some old movie.” Dean’s voice was absent, distanced by thought. “They keep looking at me, like there’s something I can do.”

Grabbing the coffee cup and then Dean’s arm, Sam pulled him to his feet. “Just don’t listen if they start telling you to do something bad.”

“Bad like Kill your brother. He stole your M&Ms when you were ten. Isn’t he pure evil? That kinda bad Sam?” Apparently seeing invisible people didn’t damage Dean’s sense of humour.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” Sam led Dean into the office so he could keep and eye on him while he washed the mugs and cleaned away all evidence that they had ever set foot in the cabin.

Dean leaned against a desk while Sam cleaned the coffee machine. “They’re talking but I can’t understand it.” For Dean, the hall they had just stepped out of was awash with echoing noise. “It’s like when you’re in a coffee shop and there are all these people around you but they might as well hum ‘cause the words don’t make sense.”

“Weird,” Sam commented softly.

“Yeah.”

“Do any of them look like the people you saw in the pictures?”

“Dunno. Too blurry here and too small there.”

“Oh.”

The coffee machine and all other items of evidence cleaned away, Sam took the lead and directed his brother back into the hall.

“I left the heaters on,” Dean said. “Sorry. Thought we’d be here longer.”

Sam, thanks to long legs, had them all off once again in about thirty seconds. He took one last look at the display with the train. Could that really be it, the missing piece of the puzzle? Sam wasn’t sure if it explained enough. But he had to go and soon the brothers were out in the cold once again and trudging back to the car.

Dean didn’t know why, but he was bouncing. Literally. He was sat on the edge of the bed, TV in front of him making sounds and pictures but not enough to distract him from the steady throb of energy buzzing through him.

He knew he hadn’t slept in… was it three days now? No, it was four but he was curiously wide-awake and ready, he felt, to take on just about anything. The first couple days he’d been able to go for long walks but then Sam had started getting increasingly… Sam-ish. You don’t look well to me Dean. Are you sure going out in the snow is a good idea? Seriously dude, you’re not going out there. Why not? Because you’re sick! Ugh. It seemed like since Sam had gotten over his cold, he was insisting on acting like everyone else had it instead.

Legs starting to jitter with excess energy, Dean thought maybe he should go for a run but the snow racing past the window was pretty heavy and even he knew that going outside in that was just asking for trouble… Then again, he was so damn hot right now that jumping into the snow sounded like a really sweet idea. At least the motel manager was a good enough guy to let them wait out the storm for free. He’d made the offer one night when Dean had come back in from a walk and Dean was smart enough to say yes to an opportunity that provided beds and a roof over their heads for free.

Dean had meant to move out two days ago but the damn weather had thought otherwise. Sure they could drive through the snow but Dean balked at the idea of the car skidding into a lamppost or off the side of a cliff…

But he had to move. Dean pushed himself up… Only he didn’t quite manage to stay on his feet, head spinning so much it stopped his knees from working properly. He crashed back down onto the bed, thankful that Sam was still out at the car and therefore unable to comment on Dean’s uncharacteristically weak knees.

Whoa. What was with the spinning?

Sitting down, Dean could once again see the pictures. And they were the reason that staying at the motel for longer wasn’t such a waste of time. There was something seriously weird going on here. He’d tried to tell Sam that the motel was a paranormal hotspot but his brother hadn’t seemed interested, telling him instead to get some sleep Dean or Nothing weird is happening Dean, you’re imagining it…or something. And then, Doctor Sam came out with Dean, you’ve got the flu and you’re hallucinating. Just…chill.

What a load of crap. Oh, so if Sam couldn’t see something, it wasn’t real and Dean was somehow crazy? Overly arrogant little brother… Dean didn’t really understand why his brother refused to help. Moving photos weren’t exactly normal.

He barely noticed when Sam returned and headed straight for the bathroom sink.

“The pictures are moving,” Dean informed his brother yet again.

Sam sighed. “No, they aren’t Dean.”

Persistence had paid off in the past… “They are, Sam. The pictures are moving. All of them. It’s like they’re having parties.”

“There’s no party Dean.”

What had Sam’s panties in such a damn twist? “They are! Look at them! Sam, I’m telling you there are people walking around… Look!” How would Sam know for sure if he refused to look? “There’s a little kid there! And old people in that one! Damnit Sam, look! They’re trying to tell me something.“

“Something like ‘Hey Dean, you’re insane? Shut up and go to sleep’. Is that what they’re saying?”

A pissy Sam was not a helpful Sam. Dean didn’t bother responding. The pictures were getting way livelier tonight.

“Dean, listen to me.” Oh no, not good. The ‘This Is Me, Cool, Calm and Collected’ tone had been rolled out… “The pictures aren’t moving. You’re hallucinating because you’re running a fever.”

“It’s just hot in here,” he answered distractedly. One of the women in the pictures looked like she was talking to him. “Turn the air conditioning up,” Dean added before ignoring his brother entirely and addressing the pictures. “Damnit woman, speak slower! I suck at lip-reading…”

“Dean it’s the middle of January and we’re in Colorado. You’ve got the flu or something and you need to get some sleep.”

Okay so the not sleeping bit was a little odd but, “No, Sam, no, I’m not sick…”

“You are.”

Why the hell was the man being so freaking stubborn?! “Sam the pictures are moving!”

“No they aren’t! They’re the crappiest nature shots I’ve seen in my life!”

Okay, that arrogance thing Sam had going on? That had to stop. Dean shot his brother a purposefully dark look. “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”

Sam instantly resumed peacekeeper mode. “Okay, okay. Relax. Look, just drink some water, chill out and I’ll look at the pictures.”

Finally! Jeez, wouldn’t life be easy if Sam skipped the moody bitch part and just got straight to business? “Yeah, okay. But I want coffee next time. I gotta keep a sharp eye on those pictures. The people in ‘em are sly bastards. They won’t stay still long enough.”

“Right. I’ll remember that.”

Kid was getting better at masking the sarcasm too… Dean took the offered water and swallowed it down. It tasted way too bitter but he felt a refreshingly chilling flush wash through him. “That tasted like crap.”

“That’s motel water for you.”

“Yeah, motel water in a motel where the motel pictures are haunted.”

When Sam went to the laptop, Dean instantly felt suspicious. Was his little brother just humouring him, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice that he was still being treated like an idiot who couldn’t tell reality from a seriously messed up dream? “Thought you said you were gonna look at the pictures?”

“Yeah I am Dean.” From the look on Sam’s face, Dean could tell he was reaching the end of his frazzled patience. “Just getting ready for research ‘cause, y’know, we need to know how and why the pictures are moving.”

That sounded like the crappiest-told lie of all time ever. “You’re really gonna research?”

Sam smiled sheepishly. “It’s what geeks do best.”

Dean relaxed. Good, Sam was finally on board. Great. Now they could start getting somewhere. “Okay, I’ll get the pictures off the wall so you can look at them and…” An uncontrollable yawn broke Dean’s concentration. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where the hell had this come from? “I’ll just… uh…” Focus, please? “Uh…”

Well, this couldn’t be good.

“Don’t worry Dean, leave it to me. Just lie down.”

But he couldn’t sleep in a room where the pictures were moving. What if something happened and he was too out of it to notice? No. He had to stay awake. He wanted to stand but Sam was already moving towards him, huge hands held out to push Dean back down. Why did his little brother have such an unfair height advantage? Where the hell had all those extra inches come from? Oh, Dean realised, his thoughts were drifting. He had to get back on topic. “The goddamn pictures are moving and there are people in them and I’m gonna find out why before…”

This time his legs completely rebelled, his strength apparently taking the rest of the day off. This… didn’t make sense. Were those sleepless nights suddenly pummelling into him? Everything was swimming, his eyes blinking closed when they weren’t supposed to. “Sam?” Dean was kind of hoping his little brother could explain this to him. He was the college genius right?

Instead, Sam just heaved Dean off the floor and not-too-gently dropped him on the bed. “Just go to sleep.”

“But…” It really didn’t seem like his body was giving him any other choice but the pictures were moving and Sam had to be ready for anything.

“Don’t say it again.”

“Sam! The pictures…”

“You’re whining Dean.”

“’m not.” Why? Why couldn’t Sam take this seriously? What if something happened? And what about the people in the pictures? They couldn’t stay there. No. He couldn’t sleep yet. He had to help… “The pictures are m-movin…” And another massive yawn later, he was fast asleep.

That was when the dreams started.

They had reached the motel just as the afternoon light was starting to fade. As they returned to their room, Hawkins had commented on Dean’s pale complexion. “Young man I really think you oughta consider seein’ a doctor.” The man’s concern was incredibly visible on his face and his hand hovered over the phone.

Dean figured Hawkins was remembering how his father had died. “It’s okay, really. I’m gonna take a long nap and I’ll be good.”

“If you need anythin’…”

“I’ll send my brother,” Dean replied with a faint grin.

That had been two hours ago. Now, with Dean curled up on his side and drugged into sleep again, Sam was left to research. Dean grunted every so often, distracting Sam, but the noises were a side effect of the congestion and nothing more sinister.

From what Sam could find, the artifacts that had been saved were largely Mississippian in origin although there were a few Chaco Anasazi relics too. A local newspaper had saved him the job of calling the university. The reporter, who had been particularly interested in the site (and outraged by the ‘thoughtless vandals’), helpfully noted that archaeologists in Boulder were currently carbon dating the artifacts in order to give them their proper context. Sam hoped that when that information became available it would help him locate the tribe and whatever ritual of theirs that could be the cause of Dean's insomnia. Way too much caffeine with a side of magic would definitely explain the sleep loss but so far Sam had turned up nothing to confirm the theory. A brief look into the wide-range of Mississippian cultures revealed to Sam deep, rich religious systems, many if not all involving mind-altering experiences. But if something like that really was messing with Dean, how had it started? What had happened to Dean that hadn’t happened to Sam? Was it in any way connected to the pictures on the walls or was something else allowing Dean to see the people trapped in the photos? And what if the pictures were an entirely unrelated problem? What if they were making too much of the train?

But Sam decided there was a connection that went deeper than the train and the fact that they had visited both places. The link had to be the photographer. Mind set upon a course of action, Sam scrawled a quick note to his brother, left a bottle of water with the next round of flu meds and headed out the room.

When he reached the reception desk, Hawkins was nowhere to be seen. He rang the bell but the man failed to appear. A feeling like dread settled in Sam’s gut, even though there was every chance Hawkins was just taking a break. Belatedly wishing he’d brought a weapon, Sam headed behind the desk and through the Staff Only door.

There was no one around. Only a pair of somewhat outdated computers with their screensavers playing and a steaming half-full cup of coffee revealed that any life had been around recently.

“Hello? Mr Hawkins?” Sam called, spying another door at the back of the office and heading for it. “Anybody here?”

Silence was all Sam had and unease spiked sharper in his stomach. He reached the other door and knocked. “Hello?”

He thought he heard something. He didn’t know what, a random noise just broke the silence. Sam grabbed the handle. The door was unlocked. He threw it open, ready to fight.

But it was just a storage room, full of blankets, heaters, ashtrays and, unsurprisingly, framed photos that were like all the others. Sam flipped through them but nothing stood out to him. They were all so generic that he couldn’t even name their location. They could’ve been either of the old towns or somewhere entirely different. Scenery got kind of repetitive after a while.

Stepping back out, Sam closed the door and left the office. There was no reason to suspect the worst just because the worst was usually what happened…

…Sam figured it was pretty impressive he still had a capacity for optimism.

Heading out of the reception, Sam went back down the hall to the room. He wasn’t sure what to do next. He didn’t want to break into anything in the motel because Hawkins had done them a massive favour by letting them stay for free until the snowstorms passed. But if there was something here that was causing the people to disappear and prolonging Dean’s flu, Sam had to do something about it.

When he got back to the room, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. He could hear a television’s loud static from the hallway and there was grey light flickering on the door opposite their own…

…that meant his door was open…

“Dean?”

The bed was empty. The bathroom door was open and Dean wasn’t in there.

Sam flicked the television off. In the silence, it was harder to keep the fear from taking over.

The sheets were spilling off the bed, the pillows both on the floor.

Dean was gone.

The pictures on the wall were swinging, grazing the wallpaper with each slip to the side.

TBC…

I know there’s a lot of debate over whether the correct term is “Native American” or “Native Indian” so I went with the one the majority of my professors and textbooks go with. Hope no one’s upset by that.

I’ll update soon. Just got to get my last final out the way.

Thank you for reading. Appreciated!