The Sub-Visser stared stonily up at the ceiling, still holding Paco under rigid control. The fugue was coming. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

Paco in particular was taking a double-handful of joy in it.

Suffer and die, you sluggy bastard, he said. I am going to grind you into the floor when you fall out of my head. You're going to be paste.

Does your precious little best friend know that you take such pleasure in others' slow deaths? the Sub-Visser sneered back, flicking Paco's eyes down toward his right wrist, where the tattoo Paco had gotten when Jaime had disappeared was currently covered in bandages. One of the many watchers had caught the Sub-Visser rubbing that wrist against the restraining strap, wearing at the skin and scratching up the tattoo.

It was petty, yes, but oh so satisfying.

You tried to shoot him in the head, Paco retorted. His heart bleeds, I'm sure.

“Well.”

Penelope stares about the Sensorium. She had been thinking about home as she looked about the room – and her most favourite memories of home happened in her office. Which is now here.

It’s a small room, with bland silver-and-sandstone striped wallpaper and the pea-green carpet that’s threadbare by the door. There’s an off-white couch on one wall, and across it a computer desk with an ergonomically-correct computer chair, also in off-white. A window at shoulder height shows a glimpse of pale blue sky and the hint of a brown stone building. Occasionally people, bundled in hats, scarves and coats, walk past.

Of course she’d think of Winnipeg in winter. It’s an interesting look at the human brain’s use of stereotypes.

As she steps out of the Sensorium, she’s smiling – it’s small, but it’s there.

As new members of the crew were popped, Sam Winchester still lay in the medbay recovering from the ‘self-inflicted’ gunshot wound to his head. With Lyta Alexander refusing to return to the medbay after her argument with Brainy, Sam had been left in the care of Dr. Jean Grey—another telepath that had recently arrived on the ship. And, sure enough, Dean—true to his word—had barely left his brother’s side, anxiously hoping that his baby brother would eventually wake up, and soon.

Meanwhile, the patient himself appeared calm. His breathing was steady and the machines that monitored his heart and his brain activity continued their low, steady beeping rhythm, never increasing in speed or slowing down. Always steady. Which just said that, while Sam was still alive and not brain dead, he didn’t appear to be making any progress.

( In Restless Dreams I Walked Alone. )

Beep...Beep…Beep..Beep..Beep..Beep. Beep. Beep. BeepBeepBeepBeep. The machine monitoring Sam Winchester’s brain activity began going crazy. The steady beeping became frantic, building up until it was just one steady, mind-numbing tone. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it fell completely silent as the unconscious patient on the bed reached up and ripped the nodes from his head.

Sam Winchester was awake.

Isn't it nice when things have settled down? Will thinks so. Will also thinks riding her bike around a simulation of Heatherfield is nice, so she's doing that.

It's a lovely fall day, the air is just cool enough, the breeze is just light enough, and while Will is a little uncomfortable with simulated people, the city just looked too creepy without them - so random strangers are going about their simulated business, their chatter adding to the background noise.