Dean hunched over the motel room's small, round table, which was covered in newspaper clippings. He'd been highlighting various lines for ages now after picking them up from the local library. Meanwhile, Sam was on the couch on the other side of the room, reading up on Freddy Fazbear's Pizza on his laptop.

"So get this," Sam said. "The 'Bite of '87' that the phone guy mentioned was in reference to this: 'in November of 1987, an incident took place at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza wherein one of the animatronics reportedly attacked a staff member, causing said employee to lose nearly his entire frontal lobe. The incident was kept largely under wraps by the establishment, and the animatronic in question was decommissioned.'" Sam glanced up at his brother, who frowned thoughtfully.

"Whatever was behind that curtain in the pirate room," Dean theorized. "It must've been an animatronic. The animatronic."

"Maybe," Sam mused.

"I got news for you, too," Dean said, shaking a handful of papers. "These were on the wall in the restaurant; I grabbed a bunch of flyers on my way out this morning and forgot to mention them to you. There's some old newspaper articles that talk about this, too. Apparently, shortly before the Bite of '87, a few kids went missing at Freddy's… five of them, to be exact. Police suspect that – let's see – " he shifted some of the papers – "'The kidnapper lured the children to a back room using an abandoned Freddy Fazbear costume, where they were subsequently murdered.'" He looked up to see Sam staring at him intently. "And that ain't the half of it. There were some complaints a while back about blood and mucus being found around the eyes of the animatronics."

"So, what? Are we looking at vengeful spirits here? The kids, maybe?"

"They could be possessing the animatronics' suits," Dean suggested.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "But how do we get to the actual spirits if the suits are in the way? Did you look up whether the kids were buried or not?"

"Nope. That's the kicker – they never found the bodies."

"Of course not," Sam grumbled, shutting his laptop. "That would be too convenient."

"So we're going back there for our second night," Dean said. "Lovely. Should we reconsider our strategy from last night?"

"Yeah." Sam shoved his laptop into its case with unnecessary force. "We shouldn't split up. Until we know more about what's going on, I don't even know if we should leave the room."

"What?" Dean stared at Sam incredulously; how could his brother suggest something like that? "Sammy, that's not how the job works, and you know it. We go after the SOB's and gank them. We don't sit around behind metal doors and wait for morning." The idea of being idle bothered Dean; it seemed that, with this plan, they had gone from the hunters to the hunted.

Sam sighed, folding his arms. "Look, Dean, as long as we have the night shift, the animatronics aren't attacking anyone except us, right? So it's not like we're not still doing the job. I just have a feeling that we won't be able to take these guys on in the usual way, and I want to make sure we're doing everything right first."

"Well, if one of them shows up at our door, I'm gonna do things my way," Dean said, scooping up a handful of pre-prepared shotgun shells, filled with rock salt. "Fill 'em up with salt, and if that doesn't work, we'll torch the bitches."

"And if that doesn't work?" Sam asked skeptically.

Dean grinned. "Then we go with your plan and close the door and get trapped like rats."

"Fair enough," Sam said. "Let's do it."