Two Days Earlier

Gravel crunches beneath the tyres as the Impala rolls to a standstill, coming to stop at the foot of a wide, unkempt driveway leading up to the park gates. More crunching follows as the doors swing open and two pairs of boots step out, footsteps falling into a synchronised rhythm as the men make their way towards the entrance.

Dean casts an unimpressed eye over the dishevelled sight before him, taking in the stained, flaking paint of the park walls that he can just about make out beneath the thick overgrowth threatening to swallow the structure whole. Long grass and weeds swipe at their ankles as they approach, while the sign above the entrance does its best to creep out from behind the moss and ivy clinging to it. Faded purple letters proclaim the park's name followed by a strapline, the childish bubble font attempting a poor imitation of cheerfulness.

"Wanda's Wonderland," Dean reads drily as the he and Sam draw nearer. "Where dreams come true!" He quirks a sarcastic eyebrow. "Which of your dreams is gonna come true in there, Sammy? World peace? Adopting a shelter of abandoned puppies? Channing Tatum in a g-string?" Dean smirks slyly, shooting a sideways glance to gauge his brother's reaction, but Sam looks nonplussed.

"I might get lucky. You sent that movie back to the rental company before I had chance to watch it," Sam retorts casually, and Dean scowls.

"Well, if I get through those gates and Lucy Liu isn't waiting for me in a leather bikini, I'm calling bullshit." He strides up to where a "Danger! Keep out!" sign is hanging redundantly on the concertinaed security grill pulled in front of the entrance, and then looks across to where the gate is already falling out of its frame. A gap has formed between the gate and the wall, and Dean grasps the edge of the metal and gives a tug to widen it. "Guess this is how those kids got in. After you, Sammy."

Sam clambers through the opening, a "Trespassers will be prosecuted" sign protesting futilely beside his head before Dean follows. The pair of them make their way past the abandoned ticket booths, the space opening out into what remains of the grand entrance to Wanda's Wonderland. The remnants of a grand fountain stand before them, a few inches of green, slime-coated water lingering at the bottom, while just beyond it a large billboard advertises one of the park's major attractions. Several tarmac pathways branch off from the central space, each accompanied by a rather sad-looking sign pointing the way to a different themed region. The desolate signs promising "More fun this way!" draw particularly dubious looks.

The brothers exchange a glance and then each cast their eyes around, the forlorn figures of long-dead attractions standing lonely and silent in the near distance. Dominating the skyline, the skeleton of a gigantic red rollercoaster towers up from the thin layer of mist coating the ground, standing out stark against the pale grey clouds. Sam raises an eyebrow as he takes in the shape. It starts out flat, followed by a bump, then a dip, leading into a steep climb that must be over 300 feet before the sharp crest turns into a near vertical drop, plummeting into the mist before the track wrenches itself up again. There's a brief stretch of almost-flat rail until it suddenly twists into a series of loops and corkscrews that would make anyone's head spin, and then the track finally plateaus and curves back to its starting point. Up until the start of the crazy loops, Sam notes that the shape reminds him of an EKG trace.

Dean has taken a few steps forward, coming to stand in front of the billboard that's so coated in grime Sam didn't immediately recognise the shape on it. He takes a few more paces to stand beside his brother, gazing up at the image portraying the real-life rollercoaster beyond, from another time when the park was bustling and the sky blue. "So this is it, then," he remarks, "The rollercoaster with the two fatal accidents that got the park shut down."

Dean grunts, continuing to study the image on the billboard. In the sky, loopy red lettering gives the name of the rollercoaster, while at the bottom, a pasted-on rectangle of slightly-less-grimy paper bears the strapline. "The Flatliner," Dean continues to read in the same deadpan tone as earlier, "Pulse-pounding terror!" He frowns. "That doesn't even make sense."

"I'm not sure that was the original strapline," Sam says, taking another step closer and reaching up to the foot of the billboard. It isn't raised that high off the ground, but even he has to stretch. A tentative finger picks at the corner of the pasted-on strip of paper and it comes away readily, practically disintegrating in Sam's hands. He scratches off enough to expose the letters "h", "r" and "t" underneath before finally giving up, grimacing at the dirt on his fingers and wiping them on his jacket as he steps away. "When I was reading the articles I think they were marketing it as 'Heart-stopping terror' but I guess after the first accident, somebody thought that was in bad taste."

"Well, they weren't wrong," Dean remarks, stepping past the billboard to head down one of the pathways, keeping a wary eye on the silhouette of the rollercoaster in the distance. "I mean, who goes on a rollercoaster like that? Called The Flatliner? And especially after there's already been one fatal accident? It's like they have a death wish."

Sam just shrugs. "That's thrillseekers. I guess it just adds to the appeal."

"That's what I don't get. What's so fun about being thrown around in a cart on rails at high speeds where something could go wrong at any minute?"

Noticing Dean's agitation, Sam raises a curious eyebrow. "You don't like rollercoasters?"

"No, Sam. I don't."

"You know, most rollercoasters go through more rigorous safety checks than a lot of aircraft."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not really, I guess, but it's not like you'll have to go on any of the rollercoasters here, Dean. They're all defunct."

"Good." Dean shoots another glare in the direction of the towering red coaster. "Because you wouldn't catch me dead on that. Let's just focus on finding this vamps' nest and getting it over with."

They continue down the path, overgrown bushes bearing in on them from both sides and eyes cautiously scanning what little they can see beyond. Dean pats the front of his jacket to feel the reassuring shape of the machete concealed beneath. Even while he's expecting this to be straightforward, Sam is frowning, less convinced that the case is gonna be that easy. "You're still sure it's vamps we're dealing with?"

Dean shoots him a glance. "Yeah. Bunch of kids decide to check out an abandoned amusement park; two get spooked and bail, other two aren't seen again until the body of one shows up in a field a couple of miles away drained of blood. Only thing that would have a reason to do that is vamps."

"But then how do you explain why there were no bite marks? Cops said all they found were needle punctures on the kid's arms. Why would a vampire do that?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe they were trying to fill up blood bags for a long term supply. If you're a vampire nesting in some abandoned amusement park, there can't be that many fresh meals you come across."

"But that's just it, Dean. If you're a vamp, some abandoned park in the middle of nowhere seems like a crappy place to nest."

Dean gives an exasperated huff. Not that he doesn't trust his brother's instincts, but sometimes, Sam can overcomplicate things. "So if not vampires, what then?"

"I don't know, Dean. Just…" Sam lets out a sigh of frustration and shakes his head. "Let's just keep an open mind, okay?"

"I'm doing just that, Sammy," Dean promises, hitching up the back of his jacket slightly so that Sam can see the Taurus Model 92 tucked into the back of his jeans. "Came prepared for anything."

After giving in to the urge to roll his eyes, Sam just nods. "Yeah. Alright. No need to shake your ass at me." He's still confused and cautious about what they're dealing with, but the pair of them continue down the path, ignoring the sign that's trying to direct them to an attraction called Haunted Halls.

"Lame," Dean scoffs as they pass it, and that's one thing where Sam has to nod in agreement. They haven't gotten far from the entrance before the first corner brings them face-to-face with a lifesize model clown, paint flaking from its already garish face to give it an even more demented look. In its hands is clutched a sign directing them to the so-called 'Fun House.' Dean shoots it a look of distaste, but Sam shivers. The black paint of the clown's pupils has peeled away, leaving behind nothing but blank white, and despite the chills running down his spine, Sam can't help that his gaze is drawn to that blank, menacing stare. There's something far too familiar, too demonic, about those pale eyes.

"See," Dean suddenly says, noticing the way the color has drained from Sam's face. "At least I'm afraid of stuff that can actually kill you. You're scared by a mannequin with a bad paint job."

"Shut up," Sam growls, dragging his eyes from the clown's deranged face to shoot his brother a glare. "Don't tell me that isn't creepy."

"Don't worry, Sammy. If we end up in the Fun House, I'll hold your hand."

Sam glares harder, but he's in too much of a hurry to get past the mannequin to even retort. "Alright, if you were a vamp camping out in an abandoned theme park, where would you hole up?" he says after a few more paces, trying to distract himself from the image of blank staring eyes that has imprinted itself in his mind. Even if he's not fully convinced they're actually hunting vamps, he's eager for a sense of strategy.

"Well, indoors is the obvious choice," Dean replies, tone back to business again. "Which means that our options so far would actually be the Fun House…" – Sam expression speaks for him, and Dean quickly moves on – "Or I guess we could go back to that Haunted Halls place?"

Sam's fuck no expression turns into a more withering one. "Really?"

"Or we could keep checking everywhere else first, but we're probably just gonna end up there sooner or later. May as well start at the beginning."

Sam lets out a sigh, but he knows Dean's right. Lame though the attraction may be, they aren't here for leisure. "Alright," he agrees, steeling himself to head back past that goddamn clown. "We'll head back that way. Start off there, then work round the park until we find something. But the Fun House is a last resort."

Dean gives a nod of approval, choosing not to tease his little brother further. "Sounds like a plan." He turns to head back the short distance the way they came, Sam preparing to follow. It takes a second or two longer for the younger Winchester to grit his teeth and turn to face the opposite direction, but the instant he does so, he freezes.

"Dean!"

The urgency in Sam's tone is enough to have Dean instantly alert, head whipping back round towards his brother. "Sam?"

"Dean, the clown." Sam's voice is clipped, every muscle in his body tensed. He knows his own biases; that his phobia makes the clown that much scarier to him than it is to Dean, but this is one thing he's sure he isn't imagining.

Dean casts a cautious glance back towards the mannequin, seeming to him as innocuous as before, and unsure whether this is his brother's phobia talking or something's actually wrong. His hand creeps closer to his gun just in case. "What about it, Sam?"

Sam's eyes don't move from the clown's as he replies in a voice full of dread, "It's moved."

Dean goes still, eyes carefully studying the figure, holding his breath as if that might somehow entice it to move again. After several seconds pass in which he still can't tell what's wrong, he turns his head back to his brother. "Sam, it's still exactly where it was before…"

"Dean, its eyes." As if Sam could forget that hellish stare, the way it had seemed to fix right on him as he passed. And why, if the clown is just an inanimate object, it shouldn't still be fixed on him now. "Before it was looking at the path. Now it's looking right at us."

"What…?" Dean begins to say, but he's cut off by Sam suddenly crying his name, his brother's eyes wide, panicked. Dean can't turn his head fast enough.