Sam sat in the grand library of the bunker that had once belonged to the Men of Letters. His computer was open and running a filter through the national news. So far three stories had filtered through the Internet's database of all the daily news. Sam quickly glanced at each of them, but each article was from some tabloid, and they didn't sound all that credible to begin with.
"Alright Sammy, eat up!" Sam looked up to see Dean bringing out two thick, juicy burgers. The cheese was perfectly melted and still steaming, and the tomato looked as fresh as if they'd grown it in a backyard somewhere and plucked it off the vine that morning.
Sam had been impressed with Dean's ability to cook when he'd first made these burgers. However, he soon discovered that burgers were the only things Dean knew how to cook. Surprisingly, Sam was actually beginning to miss the quick, cheep, disgusting meals that he'd grown accustom to over the years.
Dean set the plate with the burger net to Sam's computer. "I'll tell ya, Sammy, cooking like this makes me wish we'd had a real kitchen our whole lives." Dean sat down across from Sam, burger in hand. He took a huge bite out of the burger, his eyes rolling back inside his head as grease and juices squirted out the other side. Moaning, Dean opened his eyes, looked at Sam and mumbled something unintelligible.
If Sam had an appetite before, watching the grease from Dean's burger drip down his fingers had made him lose it. Sam looked down at the burger, picking at the bun slightly. At this point, the only thing that looked remotely appetizing about the burger was the tomato. Lifting off the bun, Sam took the tomato off of the melted cheese and began to nibble at it. Dean was too busy gorging himself to notice that Sam wasn't interested in the burger.
By this time, the filter Sam had programmed into his computer had popped out another news report. Sam opened the story, still nibbling at the tomato, and began to read the important pieces of the article. As he got deeper into the article, he began to sit up straighter.
"Dean, I think we might have a job," Sam said setting his tomato down on top of the burger.
Dean looked up from his burger to glare at Sam. There was a long silence as Dean chewed his burger slowly. Finally, he swallowed. "Is this going to become a thing? Because it feel like it's becoming a thing."
Sam looked at him, confusion clearly showing on his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Every time I make these kick ass burgers, you find a job preventing me from enjoying them." Dean dropped the burger on his plate, wiped his mouth, and then proceeded to wipe his hands on his pants. He stood up and walked over to Sam. "Alright. What do we have?"
Sam enlarged the article and turned the computer so Dean could see the screen better. "As of last night, five children have disappeared around Dubuque, Iowa. Now here's where it gets weird: before they disappeared, their parents reported that their kids were having nightmares about a tall, skinny figure, and they all had an imaginary friend that they all called 'Him.' No name otherwise."
Dean shrugged. "I'm all for helping kids, Sammy, but this sounds more like coincidence than our kinda thing."
Sam scrolled back up the article to the headline and photo associated with the story. "Well, Garth doesn't seem to share that point of view." Sam leaned back and looked up at Dean as he was looking at the picture. It was a black and white photo of the police talking with the family of the missing child. The mother and father were in the foreground talking with the local police, but there was a little boy in the background, perhaps a brother. The boy wasn't talking with the local police though, instead he was talking to a man in some out-of-place cowboy gear… with a sock on his hand.
"Does Garth realize there are no Texas Rangers in Iowa?" Dean paused and Sam shrugged. Sam saw Dean looking closer at the photo. "I hate Mr. Fizzles," was all he had to say.
Dean was ready before Sam, but that was how it usually went. By the time Sam had gathered the things he needed, he found Dean fiddling with some lever in the control room of the bunker. "What are you doing?" Sam asked as he watched Dean tug at the same lever, putting all of his weight into it.
"We know the angels have fallen. There's no need for this damn machine to keep reminding us." Dean gave another tug, grunting as he did so, but it was of no use. "I just wanted to turn it off."
Sam approached, looking at the lever and the machine Dean had fiddled with. "We don't even know what this machine does yet, so you decided to push some buttons and pull some levers?"
Grunting, Dean pulled at the lever again. "Yeah, except this one got jammed." Dean pulled again, except this time, after the sweat from his palms had thoroughly greased the handle, he lost his grip and fell flat on his back. Enraged, Dean stood up, picking up the nearest cup of pens and pencils and threw it at the machine. "Damn it!" Dean yelled, his shouts echoing off the bunker walls: Dammitdammitdammitdammit. Dean looked at Sam, infuriated. "Would you give it a shot?"
Sam set his bags down and raised his hands. "Yeah, let me see." He walked over to the console as Dean stepped aside, kicking the pens and pencils that had tumbled to the floor out of his way. He sat on the edge of a table as he watched Sam.
Eying the machine, Sam put on hand on the lever and pulled. Nothing. Putting two hands on the lever, Sam pulled again. Nothing. This time, Sam put one hand on the lever and one on the console, but before he could pull, a long light flashed down his palm as if it were scanning his hand. Sam jumped and pulled his hand away. "What was that?" He shouted, looking to Dean.
He sat on the table with his arms crossed, watching Sam. Shrugging, he stood up. "No idea. Same thing happened to me though. That's some weird technology for the '50s."
Sam held his hand, concerned about what had just happened. "Yeah, it is… but…" He let his hand drop. "The Men of Letters did have a lot of secrets."
"You think that this technology could have been one of those secrets?"
Sam backed away from the machine and picked up his bags. "Maybe. Either way, we don't know how this machine works. When we get back from Iowa, I'll find a users manual or something and take a look at it."
Dean walked over to the console, grabbing the bag he'd packed. Looking over the machine, he said, "Alright Sammy, I'll let you nerd out on it later." He kicked the console, shouldered his bag, and headed for the exit where the Impala was waiting for them outside.