The alarm clock goes off at 6:00 in the morning. Dean turns it off, gets up, makes himself coffee, and puts on his suit jacket. He walks out to his Prius, and turns on the radio. Hearing loud rock music, he makes a face and turns it onto a talk show instead, smiling. He drives up to a big, fancy building and goes inside, greeting various people along the way. He reaches his office and goes inside. On the door it says “Dean Smith - Director, Sales and Marketing”. He talks to people on his headset, and says to a friend “All I want to know, is when are they gonna have another show like Project Runway?” He eats a healthy salad for lunch, and talks business on the headset. His boss walks into his office, and Dean puts the person he’s talking to on hold. “Dean,” says his boss. “Good stuff.” “Good stuff?” Dean repeats. “Big things,” his boss nods. “Good stuff!” “Good stuff. Oh I hear ya,” Dean agrees as his boss leaves. Later that night, he’s talking to someone on his headset again. “Yeah I haven’t been to the gym in ages. Carrying a little bloat around myself. Alright, tell me one more time, what was it? Lemon? And cayan? And maple syrup, are you serious? How much did you lose?” He closes his briefcase and leaves his office at the end of the day. He steps into the elevator, and nods at Sam, who is standing next to him. “Do I know you?” Sam asks, looking at him weirdly. “I don’t think so,” Dean replies. Sam huffs. “I’m sorry man, you just look really familiar.” Dean glances at him. “Save it for the health club, pal.” He steps out of the elevator. Sam watches him go, looking slightly confused.
Memos are printing, pencils are being sharpened. Sam is sitting in a cubicle, along with a bunch of other people around him. They are all wearing the same thing. The phone rings. “Tech support, this is Sam Wesson,” Sam says. “Okay, well did you try turning it off and then on? Okay - go and turn it off.” He is playing with a bobble-head vampire as he talks. “No no no. Just off. Alright give it a second - turn it back on. Okay, is it printing now? Great. Any time.” He hangs up. “Hey,” a guy behind him says, wheeling over on his chair. He’s the only one not wearing the uniform. “Yo?” Sam says, turning. “What do you think of Mimi?” asks the guy. Sam shrugs. “She’s okay.” “Might have to hit that,” his friend says thoughtfully. “Oh dude, that’s totally age inappropriate,” Sam says, disgusted. “Experience,” says the guy. “Trifocals,” Sam adds. “Coffee break?” the guy asks, and Sam agrees and stands up. They walk over to where an older guy is typing furiously. “Paul, time for a refuel, buddy.” “Sorry, no time,” Paul replies. “Since when? Dude, we get paid by the hour,” reminds his friend. “Working!” snaps Paul. “Okay,” the friend says, and he and Sam walk away. “He seems stressed,” Sam comments. “Probably freaked cause he got busted surfing porn on the internet,” replies his buddy. “No, no way. When?” Sam asks. “He got sent up to HR yesterday,” his friend tells him. “Guess they put the fear of God in him.”
They head to the lunch room. Someone is just taking popcorn out of the microwave. Sam’s friend stops at the cupboard and grabs a bunch of boxes of pencils, stuffing them in his pockets. “Ian, dude!” Sam turns around. “Just doing a little shopping,” Ian replies, “Running low at home.” Sam hands him a cup of coffee. “So Sam - had any of those dreams lately?” Ian asks innocently. Sam looks away. “What! Don’t be like that! Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” Ian says. “I never should have told you in the first place,” Sam says seriously. “They’re genius! Don’t hold out on me, dude,” Ian says. “Share with the class.” “You’re just gonna be a dick about it,” Sam says, turning to face him. “What? No way! I won’t say a word,” Ian says. “Total respect. Go.” Sam shrugs. “I dreamt that I saved a grim reaper named Tessa from demons,” he says finally. Ian laughs loudly. “Classic! How much DND did you play when you were a kid? Okay so you...” He laughs again. “Rescued the grim reaper, that’s... you’re a hero! I mean thank God we got Harry Potter here to save us all from the apocalypse.” “Dick,” Sam says. “Wizard!” Ian says, still laughing.
The memos are printing again, Sam sharpens his pencil. He’s filling out a memo, then yawns and leans his head on his hand, closing his eyes. Suddenly his head is filled with images - he and Dean shooting the shtriga, him shooting the crossroads demon, Dean killing the vampire in the mill. He jumps awake, staring around in shock.
Sam gets into the elevator, which has a bunch of people already inside, including Dean. They ride in silence until the doors open, and everyone leaves but Dean and Sam. They glance at each other, then look away. “Can I ask you a question?” Sam asks finally. “Look man, I already told you, I’m not into the - uh...” Dean begins. “Oh dude, come on. I’m not either,” Sam snaps. “I just want to ask you one question.” “Sure,” Dean says after a bit. Sam looks a bit awkward. “What do you think of... ghosts?” Dean blinks. “Ghosts?” Sam nods. “Do you believe in them?” Dean laughs. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never given it much thought.” “Vampires,” Sam says. “What?” Dean looks at him. “Why?” “Cause I’ve been having some... weird dreams lately,” Sam admits. “Know what I mean?” “No, not really,” Dean replies. “So you’ve never had any... weird dreams?” Sam asks. “Alright, look man. I don’t know you? But I’m going to do a public service, and uh...” He pushes the floor button a couple of times. “And let you know that you overshare.” He leaves.
Memos are printing. Pencils are being sharpened. “Did you turn it off, then on?” Sam is saying into his headset. He is drawing on a pad of paper, pictures of vampires. “Alright, well let’s try that. No no it’s fine, I’ll wait.” He pulls up a search engine and types in ‘vampires’. “Is it printing now?” He looks at a bunch of pictures of vampires. “Ah, that’s great. Any time.” He hangs up. “Whatcha doing?” Sam quickly flips down the page as Ian moves over to talk to him. “Nothing,” he says quickly. “You get an email from Human Resources?” Ian asks. “No, why?” Sam asks. “Dammit! Guess it’s just me then,” Ian says. “I’m supposed to, quote - report to HR - unquote.” Sam snorts. “Well they’re probably finally busting you for snaking all those office supplies.” “I hope they spank me,” Ian jokes, and leaves. Sam turns back to his page on vampires. “No no no no! Don’t do this to me, please!” Sam hears someone on the other side of the cubicle. He stands up. “Hey man, you okay?” It’s Paul, the older guy from earlier. “It froze!” Paul says. “They’re crap, Paul, they freeze all the time,” Sam says, smiling. “You don’t understand - when I rebooted, everything was gone! A whole day’s work, deleted!” Paul says frantically. “Well, did you back up?” Sam asks. “No. I didn’t back up. I wish to God I backed up, but I didn’t,” Paul snaps. “I’ll get it back. I’ll find it. I’ll find it!” “Paul, it’s okay man. These things happen,” Sam says calmly. Paul ignores him as the computer screen starts putting up rows of numbers. “What?” he mutters.
Late that night, Paul is still there, looking for his lost work. “Come on! Come on!” he says. “Please! Please!” He stares in shock at the screen, which says “Error: No Files Found”. “All that work. Gone...” Paul says. “Failed.” Suddenly, he can see his breath in the cold air. He stands up stiffly and walks to the lunch room, where he picks up two plastic forks. He snaps all the tines off the forks, and jams them into the microwave door so the machine will think the door is shut. He sets the machine to one minute, and puts his head inside and turns it on. He begins to scream as he is electrocuted.
Sam watches as Paul is wheeled away on a stretcher, the body covered up. He sighs, then notices Dean at the end of the hallway, watching too. They exchange glances, looking slightly surprised to see each other.
“Does something about this seem not right to you?” Dean asks the man standing next to him. “Uh, yeah. Try the whole thing,” the man replies. “I’m telling you, man. I’ll never eat popcorn again.” Dean nods. “Yeah, right.”
In his office, Dean types in “Paul Dunbar” into the computer’s database. He finds out that Paul was about to retire, in two weeks. “Two weeks?” he says, shocked.
“Hey,” Sam says, sliding over next to Ian, who is typing on his computer. “Why would someone kill themselves two weeks before they were supposed to retire? I mean Paul was two weeks from freedom. He should have been... happy. Right?” Ian turns around. “I don’t have time for this, Sam.” Sam laughs. “That’s very funny.” Ian turns away. Sam looks at him closer. “What’s with you?” “I’m working! It’s important!” Ian snaps. “HR bust your balls or something? You’re wearing the shirt!” Sam notices. “Did you shave?” The phone rings. “Tech support, this is Ian,” Ian answers. “I’ll be right up.” He hangs up. “I gotta go up to 22, speak to a manager.” He stands up, straightens his uniform, and leaves. Sam watches him, confused.
Ian goes to the manager’s office, which just happens to be Dean’s. He knocks on the open door. Dean looks up. “Hi, Ian is it? Come on in. Yesterday you filled out a 445T? And no problem, just a few errors, we did your switch over to Vista, so I’m sure you’re used to filling out the dash Rs, am I right?” He smiles. “Oh no,” Ian says. “No no, it’s fine,” Dean says. “I just need you to do another one today, so I can get the show on the road with the invoicing.” “Oh my God,” Ian says. “No it’s fine, just refile it, and we’re square,” Dean says. “I can’t believe I did this, I can’t believe... I can’t believe I did this,” Ian says, panicking. “Hey - guy - come on,” Dean says, smiling. “No no, it effected profits, I screwed up, I can’t... I am so sorry. How could I do that? I failed Sandover. I failed the company!” Ian is breathing hard. “Uh, why don’t you sit down, Ian?” Dean says, standing up. “No, no!” Ian runs from the room. “Ian? Hey!” Dean follows him into the bathroom, where Ian is standing over the sink. “Hey - just chill out, okay?” Suddenly Dean can see his breath. The sinks turn on, and the soap dispensers start squiriting soap all over the counter. “Ian, hey maybe we should get out of here, huh? Ian!” Dean says. Ian ignores him. Soap is all over the floor now. “Look at me!” Dean says firmly. Ian turns to face him, then reaches into his pocket and takes out a pencil. Dean watches warily. Suddenly Ian jams the pencil into his neck, blood starts squirting everywhere. Dean kneels beside him, then sees the reflection of an old man in the shiny bathroom wall. He turns around, but there’s nobody there. “Somebody help me!” He yells.
“No, no I followed him into the bathroom, he was standing there in front of the mirror, and then...” Dean is telling the police. He looks and notices Sam, standing nearby, watching his friend be wheeled away on a stretcher. They look at each other, surprised. “And um, he stabbed himself in the neck, I’m sorry that’s all...” Dean finishes.
Memos are printing. Pencils are being sharpened. Sam is at his desk. The phone rings. “Tech support, this is Sam,” Sam answers. “I need to see you in my office - now,” Dean says. Sam hangs up and goes.
“Come on in,” Dean says as Sam knocks. “Shut the door.” Sam does. “Who the hell are you?” Dean asks. Sam huffs. “I’m not sure I know.” “What the hell does that mean?” Dean asks. Sam sighs. “Sam Wesson. I started here three weeks ago.” Dean looks at him. “Alright. You cornered me in the elevator, talking about ghosts. And now...” “Now what?” Sam asks. Dean looks away. “Now nothing, I uh... so you started working here three weeks ago, huh?” Sam nods. “Yeah, me too,” Dean says. He picks up a bottle and opens it. “This is the Master Cleanse. You tried it? It’s phenomenal. It detoxes you like nobody’s business.” He takes a drink. “When you were in that bathroom with Ian... did you see something?” Sam asks. “I don’t know, I don’t know what I saw,” Dean admits. “Wait, are you saying that... did you see a ghost?” Sam asks. “I was freaking out. The guy penciled his damn neck!” Dean says. “You did, didn’t you? Okay, listen. What if these suicides aren’t suicides?” Sam says. “I mean what if there’s something... not natural?” “So what, ghosts are real?” Dean says incredulously. “And they’re responsible for all the dead bodies around here, is that what you’re telling me?” They both sit down. “I know it sounds crazy,” Sam admits. “But yes. That’s what I’m telling you.” Dean nods. “Uh huh. Based on what?” Sam looks around. “Instinct?” Dean sighs shakily. “I’ve got the same instinct.” “Seriously?” Sam says. “You know those dreams I was telling you about? I was dreaming about ghosts! And then it turns out that there’s a real ghost!” “So, you’re telling me that your dreams are special visions and you’re some kind of psychic?” Dean asks. Sam looks at him. “No! I mean, that would be nuts. I’m just saying, something weird is definitely going on around here, right? So I’ve been digging around a little.” He pulls some papers out of his bag. “I think I found a connection between the two guys.” Dean takes the papers. “You broke into their email accounts?” “I used some skills that I happen to have to... satisfy my curiosity,” Sam replies. Dean nods. “Nice!” Sam looks surprised, then smiles. “Okay, so it turns out that Ian and Paul both got this same email, telling them to report to HR, room 1444.” “HR’s on 7,” Dean says. “Exactly,” Sam replies. Dean puts down the papers. “Should we go check this out?” “Like... right now?” Sam asks. Dean rubs his eyes. “No, no, it’s getting late, you’re right.” Sam looks at him. Dean looks back at him after a second. “I am dying to check this out right now,” Sam says. “Right?” Dean says.
One of the workers from Sam’s part of the building is heading upstairs. He sees the room marked “1444” and goes in. “Hello?” he says. The room is dark, with old computers and stuff stacked on shelves. The door slams shut behind him, and he can’t open it again. He starts walking through the dark room carefully. Suddenly, all the computers turn on, white noise. Everything begins to shake.
Dean and Sam are walking down the hall, and hear the man screaming. They run to the door, try it, and when they find out its locked Sam kicks it down. “Whoa!” Dean says, looking impressed. The boys run in to find the man trapped under one of the shelving units. They try to lift it off, but a second later the old man appears and throws Dean into a shelf. He shoves Sam too, then turns to the man on the ground. He holds up his hand, and blue electricity flickers in his fingers. Dean grabs a wrench off the floor, and swings it at the ghost, and it disappears. The computers go off. The boys quickly lift up the shelf so the man can get out. “How’d you know how to do that?” Sam asks. “I have no idea,” Dean admits.
Dean takes a swig of Master Cleanse. “Holy crap dude!” he says. “Yeah. I could use a beer,” Sam agrees. “Ah, sorry man, I’m on the cleanse, I got rid of all the carbs in the house,” Dean says. “Hey - how the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?” Sam asks. Dean hands him a bottle of water. “Crazy, right? And nice job kicking in that door, too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?” Sam snorts. “No! I have no clue how I did that. It’s like... we’ve done this before.” Dean makes a face. “What do you mean before? Like Shirley McLaine before?” “No, it’s just I can’t shake this feeling that I don’t belong here, you know what I mean? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle,” Sam replies. “Well I think that most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way,” Dean comments, taking a drink. “No - look, it’s more than that. Like I don’t like my job, I don’t like this town, I don’t like my clothes,” Sam stands up. “I don’t like my own last name. I don’t know how else to explain it except... it feels like I should be doing something else. There’s just... something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you? You ever feel that way?” “I don’t believe in destiny,” Dean replies with a smirk. “I do believe in dealing with what’s right in front of us, though.” Sam looks at him. “Alright. So what do we do now?” Dean stands up. “We do what I do best, Sammy. Research.” Sam nods. “Okay.” Dean smiles and heads for the fridge. “Did you just call me Sammy?” Sam asks suddenly. “Did I?” Dean asks. “I think you did,” Sam says. “Yeah. Don’t.” “Sorry,” Dean replies.
The boys are both on computers when Dean says loudly, “Oh, jackpot!” “Whatcha got?” Sam asks. “I just found the best site ever! Real, actual ghost hunters! These guys are genius.” Sam walks over to take a look. “Instructional videos!” Dean hits play. The logo for the Ghostfacers come on the screen. “We know why you’re watching,” Ed Zedmore says. “You’ve got a problem,” Harry Spangler adds. “A ghost problem,” Ed says. “A ghost related problem,” Harry says. “It’s like a ghost-adjacent prob - it’s like a problem that’s in the ghost’s...” “Whatever,” Ed interrupts. “Well you’ve come to the right place. The only decent place really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it.” “Period,” Harry says. “Watch and learn,” Ed whispers. “See the first step in any supernatural fight...” Harry begins, “Figure out what you’re up against!” they say together. The boys look at each other.
Sam is on the laptop, Dean leaning over his shoulder. “That’s him,” Dean says as they look at a picture of the founder of the Sandover company. “That’s the ghost.” “P.T. Sandover, died 1916,” Sam reads, “uh, devoted his life to his work, no wife, no kids... used to say he was the company, and his very blood pumped through the building.” “Wow. Okay. So, slight workaholic,” Dean says. “Maybe he’s still here, watching over the company. Even killing for it.” “Plus, turns out this isn’t the first time people started killing themselves in the building,” Sam adds. “1929.” “Yeah but lots of guys jumped off lots of highrisers that year,” Dean says. “How many companies had seventeen suicides?” Sam replies. “Okay, so P.T. Sandover, protector of the company, his ghost wakes up and becomes active, during times of grave economic distress,” Dean suggests. “Right, the worst time we’ve seen since the great depression...” Sam begins, “Is now,” Dean finishes. “Yeah, now sucks. My portfolio’s in the sewer, I don’t even wanna talk about it.” “So Sandover’s helping the bottom line...” Sam says. “By zapping some model employees,” Dean says. “Yeah. I mean Ian and Paul... it was like he turned them into different people,” Sam says. “Perfect workers,” Dean says. “So devoted to the company, that they’d commit Hirokiri if they failed it.” “One more interesting fact?” Sam says. “The building wasn’t always that high. It used to be fourteen flours. And the room where the ghost attacked? 1444? Once upon a time, that was the old man’s office.”
“Once you’ve got that thing in your sights,” Ed is saying on the video, “You kill it!” He and Harry say together. “Using special ghost-hunting weapons.” “First, salt,” Harry says, holding up a can. “It’s like acid to ghosts. Burny acid.” “Not like LSD,” Ed adds. “No. It’s a bad trip for ghosts,” Harry says. “Next up? Iron.” “That’s why the wrench worked,” Sam realizes. “Pure power in your hand,” Ed says. “Makes ghosts instantly...” Harry makes a screeching sound. “One more trick?” Ed begins, “We learnt this from those... useless douchbags...” “That we hate,” Harry adds. “The Winchesters,” Ed finishes. Dean raises his eyebrows a little. “Gun,” Harry holds up a shotgun. “Shotgun shell,” Ed says. “Pack it up with fresh rocksalt.” “Very effective,” Harry says. “Very, very effective,” Ed says. “The Winchesters still suck ass though,” Harry says quickly. “Affirmative. Suckage. Major,” Ed agrees.
“Where do we even get a gun?” Dean asks as he packs their bag full of iron and salt. “Gun store?” Sam guesses, coming over with some more supplies. “Isn’t there some kind of waiting period or something?” Dean says. “I think so,” Sam agrees. “Well how in the hell?” Dean asks. “I dunno man, seems pretty impossible, honestly,” Sam admits. “Right,” Dean says.
“The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douche-nozzles also taught us this one other thing,” Ed says reluctantly. “You have to burn the remains,” Harry says, holding up a lighter. “Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes, you might have to... dig up the body. Sorry.” “It’s illegal in some states,” Ed says. “All states,” Harry adds. “Possibly all states,” Ed continues.
“Sandover was cremated,” Sam reads. “What? So what do we do now?” Dean asks.
“Now if the deceased has been cremated,” Harry begins, “Don’t panic,” Ed says. “Don’t panic,” Harry repeats. “Just gotta look for some other remains,” Ed adds. “A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails, baby teeth...” Harry says. “Milk teeth,” Ed says. “Genetic material,” Harry says, after glancing at Ed. “You know what we’re talking about.” “Go find it,” Ed instructs. “Fight well young lions,” Harry says. “God speed,” Ed finishes.
The boys get into the elevator. “Set your cellphone to walkie-talkie in case we get separated,” Dean says. “How the hell are we gonna find some speck of ancient DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam wonders. “Well that creepy store room used to be Sandover’s office, right?” Dean says. He presses the floor 14 button.
The boys search through the shelves in the old office. Something is coming up behind Sam. Sam jumps. A security guard is standing behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks Sam. Dean immediately hides behind a shelf. “Uh, nothing. I just...” Sam begins. “Come with me,” the guard says. Sam sighs as the guard leads him out of the room. “Man, it’s okay! I work here!” he says as they leave. “Whatever,” the guard says. “Tell that to the cops.” Still in the room, Dean looks at the closed door.
Sam and the guard get into the elevator. As its going down, the TV screens in the elevator flicker. Sam sees his breath, and the elevator jerks suddenly. The guard sticks a key into the control board and opens the doors. They are between floors. “Well, come on,” he says. “What?” Sam asks incredulously. “Last time this happened it took them two hours to get here,” the guard says. “Let’s just wait,” Sam says. The guard looks at him weird, and climbs out.
Dean continues searching through various files. Suddenly, he notices a framed picture. It’s from a newspaper, with a picture of a bridge called “Sandover Bridge”. Above it says “Building the Dream”. Dean remembers something.
The guard turns back around to get Sam. “Seriously. I’ll wait,” Sam says. “Look. I don’t have the rest of my life to...” the guard begins, leaning back through the doors. Suddenly, the elevator jerks, crushing the man’s body between the floor and the elevator. Blood splatters Sam. His cellphone makes a sound. “Hey! You okay?” Dean’s voice asks. Breathing heavily, Sam picks up his phone. “Call you back.”
Later when’s got out of the elevator, Sam calls him back. “Dean, you there?” he’s mopping blood off his neck. “Yeah, listen. I think I got it. Meet me on 22,” Dean says. “Yeah. Okay. Just take the stairs,” Sam says.
Dean is standing in front of a display that reads “Sandover Bridge and Iron. Building the Dream”. I front of it are various displays, including a small version of the bridge and some pictures. Sam walks up behind him. “Whoa,” Dean says, seeing the blood on his shirt. “That’s a lot of blood.” “Yeah I know,” Sam says. “Right. So - in there.” Dean points to a glass case which some gloves inside. “PT Sandover’s gloves,” Sam reads. “How much you wanna bet there’s a little smidge of DNA in there, like a fingernail clipping, or a little hair or something?” Dean says. “So you ready?” Sam asks. “I have no idea,” Dean admits. “Me neither,” Sam says. They pick up their iron pokers. “Go for it,” Sam says. “Alright.” Dean smashes the glass case. Sam sees his breath suddenly. Sandover appears behind Dean. He throws him into the wall, then throws Sam as well. He approaches Sam then, electricity glowing in his hand. Sam throws salt at him, and he disappears. Dean gets up. “Nice!” “Dean!” Sam yells as Sandover appears behind him. He throws Dean the poker, and Dean catches it and slashes the ghost with it. “Nice catch!” Sam grins. “Right?” Dean says, smiling. Sam gets up and goes for the other poker. The ghost appears between them, and together they hit it with the pokers. Dean hits it again, and then Sam hits it again, until he appears behind Sam and throws him into the wall again, followed by Dean. Dean can’t get up, and the ghost lowers his hand towards Dean’s face. Sam runs for the gloves and sets them on fire, right before Sandover is about to touch Dean. The ghost disappears in a ball of fire. Sam drops the gloves, which are burning with blue flames, onto the floor. He heads around the corner, to where Dean is still sitting, looking shocked. “That was amazing!” Sam says. “Right? Right?” Dean grins.
In Dean’s office, they take out the first aid kit. “Man, I gotta tell ya. I’ve never had so much fun in my life,” Dean says, grinning. “Me neither,” Sam agrees. “It was a hell of a workout too, wasn’t it?” Dean says, opening the first aid kit. “We should keep doing this,” Sam says. Dean laughs. “I know.” “I mean it,” Sam says. “There gotta be other ghosts out there.” He takes the alcohol wipe from Dean. “We could help a lot of people.” “Yeah right... we’d be like the Ghostfacers,” Dean jokes, wiping blood off his head. “No, really. I mean, for real,” Sam tries again. Dean stares at him. “What? Quit our jobs and hit the road?” “Exactly!” Sam says. “How would we live?” Dean asks. “Uh...” Sam begins. “You gotta be kidding me. How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?” Dean is smiling. “That’s all just details,” Sam says. “Details are everything!” Dean argues. “You don’t wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.” “Alright, uh. Confession,” Sam says finally. “What?” Dean asks guardedly. “Remember those dreams I told you about, with the ghosts?” Sam says. “Yeah,” Dean says. “I was fighting them,” Sam says. “With you. We were these... like... hunters. And we were friends. More like brothers, really. I mean, what if that’s who we really are? I mean you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people’s brains. What if it scrambled ours?” “That’s insane,” Dean says, smiling as he stands up. “Is it? Think about it for just one second,” Sam continues. “What if we think this is our life? But it’s not?” “Hey man, the ghost is dead, and we’re still standing,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, but...” “Look, all I know is this isn’t who we’re supposed to be!” Sam says loudly, standing up to face Dean. “No. I’m Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father’s name is Bob, my mother’s name is Ellen and my sister’s name is Jo.” “When’s the last time you talked to them?” Sam asks. Dean looks at him weird. “To any of them,” Sam says. “Okay. You’re upset. You’re upset, you’re confused...” Dean begins. “Yeah, cause I only moved here cause I just broke up with my fiancee Madison! But I called her number, and I got a damn animal hospital!” Sam says loudly. Dean stares. “Okay, what are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn’t real? Huh? That we’ve been injected with fake memories? Come on!” “All I know is that I got this feeling. In my gut. And I know - I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too,” Sam says. “We’re supposed to be something else. You’re not just some corporate douche bag, this isn’t you! I know you.” Dean stares at him. “Know me? You don’t know me, pal. You should go.” Sam leaves in silence.
Memos are printing. Pencils are being sharpened. Sam is sitting in his cubicle, filling out a paper. His phone rings. He glares at it for a bit, then takes off his headset, stands up, and smashes the phone to pieces with the poker beside his desk. Everyone stares at him. “I quit,” he says.
Dean is sitting in his office, typing. He rubs his eyes, and goes on. His boss knocks at the door. “Got a minute?” “Sure, of course,” Dean says. His boss closes the door. “How are you feeling, Dean?” “Uh, great,” Dean replies. “You look a little tired. Been working hard, I gather,” his boss says. “Yeah,” Dean looks down. “Ah, don’t be modest. I hear everything,” his boss comes in further. “And I’m pleased with what I’m hearing. That’s why it’s important to me that you’re happy.” He takes out a pen and writes down some numbers. “How’s that for a bonus?” He hands the paper to Dean. Dean looks a it. “That’s very generous.” “Purely selfish. I wanna make sure you’re not going anywhere,” his boss smiles. “Wow. You sure?” Dean asks. “Positive. You are real Sandover material, son. Go-getter, carving your own way...” “Well thanks, I try,” Dean says modestly. “I see big things in your future. Maybe even - Senior VP Eastern Great Lakes Division,” his boss goes on. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ll have to work for it. Seven days a week, lunch at your desk... but in eight to ten short years, that could be you.” Dean stares at him for a moment, then takes off his headset. “Oh, well thank you. Thank you, sir. It’s... um... but I am giving my notice.” His boss stares. “This is a joke. You’re kidding me, right?” “No, I’ve recently - very recently - realized that I have some other work I have to do. It’s very important to me,” Dean explains. “Other work - another company?” his boss asks. “No - it’s hard to explain,” Dean says. “It’s just that this - this...” He looks at his suit and the office. “It’s not who I’m supposed to be.” His boss starts to smile, then laughs. “What?” Dean asks. “Dean, Dean, Dean. Finally.” His boss leans forward and touches him on the forehead.
The room darkens a little. “What the hell?” Dean says. “Why am I wearing a tux - my God am I hungry!” His boss laughs. “Welcome back.” “Wait did I...” Dean stands up. “Did I just get touched by a - are you - you’re an angel, aren’t you?” “I’m Zachariah,” the man says. “Oh great, that’s all I need is another one of you guys,” Dean says irritably. “I’m hardly another one, Dean. I’m Castiel’s superior,” Zachariah says, walking around the desk. “Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things.” He gestures at the suit. “But after the unfortunate situation with Uriel, I felt in necessary to pay a visit. Get my ducks in a row.” “I am not one of your ducks,” Dean begins angrily. “Starting with your attitude,” Zachariah interrupts. “Oh so what, this was all some sort of a... lesson?” Dean guesses. “Is that what you’re telling me? Wow. Very creative. So what, I’m just hallucinating all this, is that it?” “Not at all. Real place, real haunting... Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories,” Zachariah says. “Just to shake things up? Hmm? So you guys can have fun, watching us run around like ass-clowns in monkey suits?” Dean says loudly. “It’s to prove to you that the path you’re on is truly in your blood. You’re a hunter!” Zachariah says. “Not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from Hell, but because it is what you are. And you love it. You’ll find your way to it in the dark every single time and you’re miserable without it. Dean, let’s be real here! You’re good at this. You’ll be successful. You will stop it.” “Stop what?” Dean says suddenly. “The apocalypse? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man!” “You’ll do everything you’re destined to do,” Zachariah says calmly. “All of it. But I know, I know. You’re not strong enough. You’re scared. You got daddy issues. You can’t do it, right?” “Angel or not, I will stab you in your face,” Dean says coldly. Zachariah smiles. “All I’m saying is, it’s how you look at it. Most folks live and die without moving anything but the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things. Save people. Maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This isn’t a curse. It’s a gift!” Dean shrugs a little. “So for God’s sakes, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours.” Dean is silent. “So are you with me?” Zachariah says. “You wanna go steam yourself another latte?” Dean smirks. “Or are you ready to stand up? And be who you really are?” Dean looks back at him in silence, but now he’s thinking.
