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Dean takes to the streets alone, which is one of those vaguely bad decisions that ends up being kinda okay, but still freaky as shit. Mostly because his footsteps don’t line up with those of the people around him. The townies walk at different speeds, but only because of the lengths of their strides: their footfalls are all perfectly in time.
It’s a creepy kind of hivemind scenario that’s preventing Dean from eating, drinking, or even taking his hands out of his pockets to touch anything. Beyond the freaky synchronization issues, there’s one other oddity that might be relevant.
Standing off to the side, Dean pulls out his phone to call Sam, only to pick up a call from Cas.
“Yeah, Cas?”
“We’ve found the source of the issue,” Cas reports.
“Does it have anything to do with the dog infestation?” Dean asks, shuffling further against the side of a barber shop as a woman walking three dogs marches past him. Which wouldn’t be that weird, if it weren’t also true of every other passerby on the block.
“Yes. We’re at the pet store,” Cas says, and pauses.
Dean knows that pause. “What’s wrong?”
Cas sighs. “It got Sam. The phenomenon doesn’t seem to require much contact.”
“You mean, Sam pet a dog,” Dean pieces together.
“Sam pet a dog,” Cas agrees with another sigh.
“Is he...?”
“I don’t think he’ll be much help,” Cas replies, “but so far, he’s been harmlessly pleasant.”
“Stay at the pet store. I’ll meet you there.” Dean starts walking, shoulders fighting to hunch as his lack of synchronized walking draws attention.
“Sam’s heading to the dog park. I couldn’t stop them.”
“Them?”
“Sam and Snuffles.”
“He’s not keeping it.”
“You can tell him that,” Cas invites him in the clear tone of someone who has learned better than to try.
Dean groans and speeds up, weaving carefully around the many dog-walkers as he goes.
Two days and one enraged mouse monster nest later, the town comes back to its collective senses and realizes that they do care about their cats after all.
Sam still doesn’t return the dog.