"So what makes you want to work here at Freddy's?" Wearily, the manager straightened his nametag and leaned forward on the desk; he had an air about him that suggested he had asked this question to many people, many times, and it made Sam faintly uneasy.

"Uh, we, uh, we just love the kids, you know?" Dean grinned, hamming it up as usual. "Can't think of anything we'd rather do than keep their buddies – " he gestured at the wall, at a poster of the restaurant's three famous animatronics – "safe at night."

"Um, yeah," Sam added. "Pretty much." He glared at Dean, wishing his older brother didn't have such an unprofessional attitude. It was fine for trying to land a job like this, but when it came to impersonating the FBI, it was sometimes a little dicey.

"I see," the manager said, raising his eyebrows in an unconvinced manner. "By that, did you mean you want a little side cash?"

Sam sighed; clearly, the manager couldn't care less what kind of people were working the night shift. "Basically, yes. We're broke." He smiled in a strained sort of way.

"Okay, then," the manager replied, standing up. "You're hired. You got the job." He rolled his eyes, then said, "Congratulations" in a flat, bored tone. He turned to leave the office, then glanced back and said, "Your shift starts at midnight. There'll be a recorded message to tell you what to do. Don't be late."

"Gotcha, sir," Dean muttered, and Sam followed his older brother out of the manager's office and down the hall.

In the main room of the restaurant, the animatronics were moving around on the stage, miming playing various musical instruments with jerky, robotic motions. Sam stared at them, still feeling a little unsettled. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face, and Sam jumped, then glowered at him. "Don't do that," he complained.

"Focus, Sammy," Dean reprimanded him. "What are we gonna need for tonight?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam replied. "I'm not really sure there's a job here, to be honest."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "Three recent disappearances, all night guards? Come on, Sam. You gotta admit, there's something shifty about this place."

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

"Okay then. I say we bring the usual: salt, rifles, holy water."

"Demon knife."

"Yeah, demon knife."

"But first," Sam added, "we have to do a little research."

Dean scowled. "Why?"

"Because that's the job," Sam insisted in a frustrated tone. "We have to research the joint, see if there's anything that might explain what's going on here."

Dean frowned around at the room as if each child in it had broken the Impala's windows. "Come on, Sam," he griped, "we won't find out anything in the amount of time we have until our first shift. Let's just scope it out and see what the deal is. No need for all that crap."

"Fine." Sam kicked away a balloon that had bounced along the ground towards them. "Fine. No research. Let's just go."