Chapter Thirty-six.

Oh mylanta, I have quite a bit to say to you all.

1. A MILLION, KABILLION, FAFILLION apologies for taking so long to get this out to you. It is crunch time at school, and that means that there are final projects, papers, presentations, and about 20 readings a week that all need to be accomplished. As it is, I am waking up early to do homework because I really wanted to get this out to you all tonight.

2. PLEASE try to make sure that you all occasionally check out my 'Profile' page. I don't do it too often, but I have decided to put a few updates and things on there. So if I randomly disappear for a bit, or you had a question that needed answering but had no way for me to answer it (as though you were/are a guest) - there is probably something posted on that page.

3. If you do put a question in the reviews, and I do not have a way to respond to you because you are a guest, I will try to both answer it in a responsive review, and also in the 'Profile' thing. So, I hope that you get them.

4. You are all the best people in the whole wide world. Here I go, disappearing for like 43 years, and you all just keep clicking on the story, and reviewing, and adding me to your alerts. You are the reasons that I have been freaking out about not getting you a chapter. You all deserve not only the best chapter in the world (which sadly, this may not be) but also infinite high-fives, knuckle bumps, and pats on the backs. Mainly because that is what I can afford. I mean, you guys, over 12,000 of you have viewed this story. Can we just dwell on that for a minute?

5. I don't know WHO did it, but someone added me to a community titled The Best of the OFC's. Um, I love you, whoever you are. I seriously did a double take and had a mini freak out when I saw that. You are just, amazing is not even a good enough word. Thank you so much, you really are too kind, and boosted my ego/self esteem with that! Wow. I'm still in awe that you even thought to do so.

I think that was it.
So, thank you, to all of you. You are the sweetest, kindest, just over all best people ever. I owe you so much.

Extra thanks to misses Jenmm31 and SPNxBookworm. You guys have been very helpful, and very kind with your critiques and suggestions, and you haven't been too pressuring in asking me to get this out. Just kidding, you guys have been great. You can all go and find a quick link over to their stories in the 'Favorite Authors' tab on my page.

And finally, READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)

Disclaimer.

I was staring up at the tall chain linked fence that loomed above us. I didn't see this as being anything near the neighborhood of easy. Dean and Sam were on either side of me, also looking up, and I think we all sighed at the same exact time. I held up my right hand and squished my lips into the corner of my mouth as my eyes scanned the teal cast that looked darker in the night and lack of lights. I could hardly make a fist at all. How was I going to climb this fence? I sighed again and looked up. "Whelp, what are you guys thinkin?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the tall metal barrier keeping me separated from the building we were trying to sneak into.

"I guess you just climb the best you can, come on," Dean stated launching himself onto the fence and beginning to climb it. Sam and I watched him just scale up the one side, flip over to the other, and work his way down the other side. He landed on his feet after jumping down the last few feet and fixed his jacket before sniffing and staring at us. "You two coming?"

Sam looked down at me and then sighed. "You can stay back if you want to," he suggested.

I laughed right in his face. Not a 'you're an idiot' laugh, but a 'you're completely nuts' laugh. "I'm not staying back and letting you have all the fun. If anyone gets to fight an evil nasty, it's me because I need some stress relief," I told him with a hard look.

Glaring down at me he didn't even pay attention to Dean on the other side of the fence. "'Relief'? What do you need relief from? You have a pretty easy life compared to me and Dean!"

"What, are those nightmares making you delusional now, too? How is my life easy compared to you two? I just do as much as you guys, and endure just as much crap!" I yelled.

"Guys –" Dean started, only for us to ignore him and continue with our argument.

"It would just be easier for Dean and me if you stayed back on this one," Sam stated, turning his back on Dean and fully facing me. I didn't miss that he was standing between the fence and me, too, which I am sure was his main goal of the movement.

A very hard glare went from my eyes to Sam's eyes and I think that if I didn't change up my expression soon, it was probably going to stick like that forever. Which, actually considering our ever occurring arguments, that could be helpful – not in the rest of my life, but that part at least. I guess that you do indeed win some and lose some, huh? "Well, lucky for me, Dean said I get to go, so shove your shit and handle it."

Moving to walk around him, he caught the upper side of my arm and pushed me back to stand in front of him. "Becca, I'm serious, it'd be better if you stay here. Just let us do this one."

"No. Why don't you stay here and let us go?" I threw at him, again trying to move around him, only to be stopped for the second time.

"Can you just not argue with me for, like, five minutes right now?" he yelled as he looked down at me. There was frustration all over his face, and I could tell he was getting just as fed up with the arguing as I was. We weren't going to stop though, I mean, we're Winchesters. What, are you new?

"Can you just not be a total jackass for, like, five minutes? Why should I sit back and let you go? What can you do that I can't?" I bit to him with just as much annoyance and frustration in my voice.

Sam grabbed my cast and brought it up to be level to my eyes and then slightly shook it. "You can barely grip a pen, how do you expect to pull the trigger on a gun?"

I allowed him to drop my arm, and it fell until it was lying at my side again. He had a point. I couldn't really pull the trigger on a gun. The fiberglass section between my thumb and forefinger was too thick to allow me the pleasure of pinching something – trust me, I'd tried. Apparently when my arm broke, the top bone snapped in half and something got jarred up by the fingers and they had to be spaced this way "to allow for proper healing and range of motion and blah blah blah" I stopped listening. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. I was sitting over here just bubbling over with frustration, and I wanted nothing more than to shoot something… Well, I guess I'll have to find another way to let out some anger, but I will be letting it out – just you wait. "I guess I'll just have to use you as a battering ram, Sam," I sighed as I frowned. Apparently that is not the answer he wanted because his face shifted into that, 'can you please just be serious and humor me' expression and I groaned before leaning to the side and meeting Dean's gaze. "Tell him I get to come!"

"Sam," Dean groaned, "just help the cripple over the fence. All we're doin' is scopin' the place out. If worse comes to worst, we'll lock her in a closet and take on whatever it is ourselves. Okay?" I didn't quite enjoy the idea of being locked in a closet, because I know that Dean would actually do it – and this time I didn't have Sam to sneak me out, but I didn't miss that he said I get to go along for the ride.

I could have sworn that Sam was going to throw some sort of bitch fit, but he held it in as he helped me up the fence until I was able to get over the top and onto the other side, where I then fell into the waiting arms of Dean.

Well, I will tell you one thing I can do with my sad excuse for a medical problem – and that is holding a flashlight. I can light up a path better than you can, for sure. I've noticed that when we Winchesters wander into and around places together, we don't leave a whole bunch of room. We're pretty much on top of each other's toes and I don't actually know why. Maybe it makes the heartwarming bonding moments a little more intense. Either way, I was slowly leading our small train into the main area of this joint, and let me tell you, it was definitely the place for some sort of horror movie. Paint peeling, sick, sour smell, heavy doors both opened and closed, papers littered the floors, cobwebs, old school trolleys and crap left sitting wherever they'd been abandoned – you know the type. I was shining my lovely beacon of site everywhere as Sam spoke up from behind me. "So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wing," Sam's arm appeared over my shoulder and I looked up to where his long finger was pointing.

There was a sign hanging over a door that read South Wing. Well, that's convenient. I was already to move towards the wing, when Dean stopped me. "South wing, huh? Wait a second, Bec," he said snapping a hand to my shoulder. I turned and saw him pull Dad's journal out of that magical pocket again and he started flipping through it towards some sort of specific page. "Here," he announced, "'1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived.' Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place."

"So, we gotta check out the south wing for whatever's goin' on," I told them both. Sam nodded his head, but Dean didn't seem to sure about it.

"But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" he asked.

Like we are supposed to just have the answer or something, get with it. Sam looked around while Dean flipped around a little bit in the journal, and I lit up some of the nearby by things around us. "Looks like the doors are usually chained," Sam stated, indicating to the doors of the south wing. "Could've been chained up for years."

"Well, you only chain things up for two reasons. To keep people out, or keep something in," I sighed, shining my light onto the broken chains that hung from the handles and dangled down into a puddle on the floor. I heard Dean shut the journal behind me, and then he and I moved forward and through the door that Sam was holding open for us.

Well, it is a good thing that I have my handy dandy flashlight, because this hall way needed it. Or I needed it. Regardless, it was lighting up my way as I lead us down the dank halls. "Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel," I heard Dean tell Sam, causing me to laugh loud enough for it to echo off of the walls and hang in the air around us.

"Enough," Sam snarled. I don't know if he was more upset with Dean for saying it or with me for laughing at it. Probably me, because that's just how we are lately. My laugh was still bouncing lightly off the walls and I think I felt the heat from his eyes in the back of my head.

"Oh relax, S –" I started.

"I'm serious," Dean cut off. "You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on."

I rolled my eyes at Sam's attempt to once more tell Dean that he wasn't psychic, but instead just a dreamer. "I told you guys, it's not ESP! I just ha –"

"'You just have strange vibes sometimes, and weird dreams.' Yeah, we know," I repeated the speech that'd I'd heard endless times since Dean found out about it all. If anyone can drag stuff out in the longest way possible, it is Dean. He will legit hold on to things forever and you will suffer as long as he feels necessary. Now, whether he is doing it to tease you or because it angers him, you might actually never know. "You don't need to keep telling us."

Dean met my pace and then soon passed me. "Whatever," he sighed. "Don't ask, don't tell, right?" he was waving the EMF around in front of him, hoping to get a read.

I don't know what Sam was doing as he stood behind me as we continued to slowly make our way through the wing, but I paid him no mind… Well, tried to pay him no mind. It's hard to ignore someone you're upset with, especially when they are equally upset with you. "You gettin' any readings on that?" I questioned to Dean.

"Nope," he popped the 'p'. "Of course," he looked over his shoulder to us with a smirk, "that doesn't mean no one's home."

"Spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day," Sam told us. The guys a walking book, I swear.

"Yeah, the freaks come out at night," Dean teased, causing me to chuckle. There was a light silence before Dean stopped in his tracks and then turned to face us, deadpanned. "Hey Sam," he poised, causing both Sam and I to look at him, waiting for his question, "who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?"

I sputtered as a laugh left my chest. Sam shoved Dean, causing them both to laugh before we all pushed on. And for the record, I vote J-Love is the hotter psychic. I mean, check her out, go ahead, especially if one of the other options is Sam… Yep, J-Love is definitely the hotter psychic. Plus, our boobs are totally similar.

Wow. I mean, wow. This place is intense. There are hella scary machines and left over crap lying everywhere – and I gotta be honest, it's really freaking creepy. Like horror movie creepy. I think I'm in a horror movie. We entered yet another room and right now we weren't really picking up anything. I stepped into the room right on the heels of Sam as Dean whistled. "Man," he announced, causing me to blind him with my flashlight when I turned to pay attention to what he said. "Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people," he rattled off while throwing a hand up to block out the blinding light. I shot him a sheepish grin and lowered the flashlight and clicked it off before stuffing it into my pants pocket. "Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo's Nest," he then did this crazy thing with his eyes and grinned, slightly bobbing his head back and forth as he shifted his glance from me to Sam. What a boob. But because he is Dean, it made me laugh. I really need to try and not be so easily amused.

"Dean," I chuckled, "you're such a boob." I told him, only for him to shoot me that shit eating grin. Sam on the other hand completely ignored him, and the smile fell from Dean's face. Way to go, Sam! Just knock the kid's ice cream to the ground. That's basically what you just did. "All right," I sighed as we all picked up our endless search, "any ideas?"

"Ghosts possessing people," Dean decided, as though this thought were more a fact than anything.

I would have responded, except Sam beat me to it, not that it really mattered, because I didn't have any idea what could be happening. I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier if you catch my drift. "Maybe," Sam stated. "Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting."

I wandered by him slowly, picking up and dropping things as I did so. "I've never seen that movie," I spoke randomly.

Dean and Sam both stopped to look at me. "You've never seen which movie?" Dean posed.

"Amityville," I told him.

"Shut up," Dean barked, not believing what I'd just told him. "You have too."

Shaking my head I dropped an old rusted pan back onto the table I'd picked it off of. "Not even once. Not that I've avoided it, just never seen it is all," I told him honestly.

"Well, then we're gonna watch it," Sam announced, causing Dean and I to both look at him like he was crazy. A small smile spread on Sam's lips as the thought ran through his head. Dude, if this place is already starting to play with his mind, I may get upset. He better not be going all nice while I'm still mad at him.

My eyes lingered on Sam's face, questioning the past motive, and I flipped my eyes over Dean, after doing a quick double take at my twin who shrugged. "Soooo anywayyyy, what are you guys saying with this whole Amityville thing?"

Dean's smile was back as he quickly brushed off Sam's random act of kindness and faced me again. "Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining."

I rolled my eyes at him, a grin spreading across my lips. "Dude, you don't even know Jack, stop calling him 'your man'."

"Guys," Sam abruptly stopped our conversation as Dean's mouth opened to fight my accusation. We both looked at him. I was confused now, because his hardened tone was back. He is totally freaking me out right now. "When are we going to talk about it?" Sam questioned.

"Talk about what?" Dean answered.

"About the fact Dad's not here," Sam responded, seeming upset.

And here we go. I inwardly groaned and turned away from them. I'm not about to get into this. Sam just seriously won't let things go – ever. Worse than Dean or me. Looks like someone got the grudge trait from Daddy-o. Besides, why do we have to focus on that right now? I think it's a little beyond obvious that Dad isn't here. Dad not being here means that he needed us to be here. Why can't Sam handle that? Why does he have to start fights about this? He knows we're all wanting to find Dad – but he just doesn't get the fact that sometimes you have to do things between the search and the find.

"Oh…" Dean's voice lingered off and hung in the air, and I am sure he was watching me where I was avoiding their gaze. He knew that I'd wanted to find Dad just as much as Sam had – mainly because when Sam was gone I vented to Dean and told him so. I told you, the guy became my rock, and I was definitely using him as one lately. I owed him, big. However, Dean and I both knew the routine. And I had to show Dean that I could handle it – for his sake. He was there for me, and I had to be there for him. It's a package like deal. "I see," Dean continued after a short silence where I'd been biting my lip trying to pretend I didn't hear him. "How 'bout… never." Here, here!

Sam's tone caused me to stiffen. He'd had the tone with me lately, but not with Dean. If you had that tone and anger when talking to Dean, you better be able to handle the blow back that you're going to get. "I'm being serious, man. He sent us here…"

"So am I, Sam," Dean quickly snapped back. "Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We'll pick up the search later."

"It doesn't matter what he wants!" Sam yelled.

Oh forget not getting into this. I am so getting in this. "It does too matter what he wants! He sent us here to do this job. He needs us to do this job. Why can't you accept that? Why do you always have to fight everything he does?"

"Because it's Dad we're talking about, Becca! He always does this. He gives orders and we follow them like mindless little soldiers, and that's it. He doesn't allow us to ask questions, he doesn't allow us to even think about doing something else, and we sure as hell aren't allowed to decide whether or not we believe it to be right or wrong. A lot of the time, we fall into some tough situation because of his crappy ass decisions. And just when you or I need him to be here, he's not. Just like normal."

I moved forward, quickly, coming toe to toe with Sam. This was our father we were talking about, meaning my father, meaning my family, meaning I was pissed. No one gets to talk about my family like that, even if you are part of it. Teasing, yes? That I can handle. Teasing is backed by love, most times. At least it was when Sam used to tell me, 'If you're not teased, you're not loved.' But the way he was talking, the venom in his voice – that was different that just teasing. That was anger, and malice, and dare I say, hate. "What about when he needs us, huh? Dad needs us right now, and you throwing some sort of tantrum is just telling him you don't want to do it. We don't need to hear you say you don't want to, because the way you act is plenty."

Sam stuck his tongue behind his lip and looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying to fight the words in his head, but apparently he lost that battle. "What the hell has gotten into you? Since when did you just accept all this and become Dad's perfect soldier?"

"Since I've learned that maybe the guy has a clue about what the hell he's talking about. Don't you think that solving this case is worth it? I mean, people are out there dying, and you would rather sit complain about Dad not being here to hold your hand. He sent us to stop whatever it is inside the place, so that more people don't die! Stop making the man out to be such a bad guy, because this," I shoved my finger into his chest, "is something good," I seethed. I don't know who I was trying to convince more at this point. Sam, to believe every word I said and get him to focus, or me, to maybe switch my thoughts to mimic my words.

Huffing in anger, Sam glared down at me with such hatred, that I almost stepped back in shock. Almost. I was ready as he made to come back at me with some remark, but Dean stepped in, shoving a hand between our bodies, which until he did, I hadn't noticed were pressed up against each other as we fumed. "That's enough, guys," Dean grunted. I don't know exactly what was going on in that thick head belonging to him, but his tone told me that he was on his last nerve. What that last nerve was regarding, who knows. It could have been the tension that radiated off of his siblings, or the looks they were sending each other, or maybe it was the fact that all of everything we were saying was cold hard truth. Dean knew my truth though, and Sam didn't – and I think that whatever feeling he had as he looked at me with stern eyes and a tight jaw, with a little bit of sympathy in his eyes was because of the fact that he knew my past. And part of me couldn't handle that right now.

"Why can't you just accept the fact that Dad's not always right?" Sam's voice was low, and almost pleading as he looked down at me. I wanted to break down and tell him that it was because if I didn't believe that he was right, then a lot of things in my life wouldn't make as much sense. If I admitted that my dad was wrong, then I admitted more than just that to myself. I had trust in my dad, and in Dean, and if I told myself that the trust was blind or was pointless, or something equally disapproving – then I was truly alone.

I didn't yell at him though. No. Instead I just choked on my words, and I narrowed my eyes. "Shut up, Sam," I told him, turning away and making sure he didn't see the angry tears rimming my lids.

Dean stepped in behind me, pointing a thick finger at Sam while a low brow settled over his eyes, showing that he was beyond just upset. "See. That attitude? Right there? That is why I always got the extra cookie."

"Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him," Sam rambled on, ignoring the cookie comment. "We deserve some answers, guys. I mean, this is our family we're talking about."

Dean seemed to be giving in as he said, "I understand that, Sam –" but I was unable to handle that and quickly cut him off.

"He's given us an order," I stated from where I was still not facing either of them.

"So what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?" Sam snarled, and I am sure he turned to glare at me.

I turned to face him once more, and allowed my eyes to briefly shift over to his face before I caught that same angry look and broke the contact. "YES!" I sighed with a bit of relief that he'd finally seemed to be understand while Dean was less intense with his, "Of course we do."

Sam angrily looked at us, and I continued to try and secretly watch his face until Dean gave up trying to reason with him and turned away with a huff. Sam then scrunched up his whole face like he does when he is trying really hard to keep something inside instead of spouting it off like he wants to. "Sanford Ellicott'…" Dean read off of something. I wasn't really paying attention as I shoved things around with my foot. "You know what we gotta do, guys," Dean called to us. "We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here." I nodded my head and quickly marched out of the room and away from Sam before he could say some stupid comment about Dad. I mean, he is definitely not the only one who wants answers. I am positive he is not the only one who is desperately hoping that we somehow find him in each new town we cross into. He's just the only one throwing a bitch fit about it, and not doing the job he needs to do. He's the one who is quickly slipping into that old routine of disregard and constant head butting that will probably turn into that old routine of people leaving without any answers and any acknowledgment that I was left behind.

Apparently complaining about not getting to go into the bar will only get you the opportunity to sit in a waiting room. Alone. Flipping through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. When did they start putting make up ads in a home improvement magazine? That seems pointless in my opinion. But I digress. You won't be sitting in a fun waiting room for like, a tattoo or something. You will be sitting in the waiting room for a psychiatrist. And because you made such a big deal about doing something that your dad said you needed to do will guarantee your butt in the chair. Lucky me. I don't even know why I was flipping through this thing. I don't have a home to decorate and I highly doubt that Dean is going to allow me to throw some striped pillows along the bench of the back seat in the Impala. Oh, yeah, and that teal paint? For sure, he will totally let me paint the seats. Sweet. I tossed the book into a frenzy of pages and onto the table beside the couch I was on. Crossing my arms and legs I stared at the door that had a sign reading 'Dr. James Ellicott, Clinical Psychiatry' while bouncing my leg and blowing a large breath of air from my cheeks. Finally the door opened, and my eyes snapped up, meeting the doctor's smiling face.

"Becca Winchester?" he nodded to me.

Standing up, I pulled down my shirt. "The one and only," I responded before reaching out and offering my hand for him to shake. I stepped past him and into the room after he invited me to enter. Well, my purpose of being here wasn't completely pointless. I was here to get information – and information I will get. "Ellicott… Ellicott, that name… Wasn't there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott? Like, he was the chief psychiatrist somewhere in this town?"

Dr. Ellicott smiled and motioned for me to sit down across from him where he crossed his legs and placed a clipboard and folder on top of his lap. "My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?"

I smiled and took my seat. "Meh, call me Girl Wonder – my knowledge knows no bounds," I teased, only to see his head slightly tip to the side and eye me. Clearing my throat I figured that maybe sarcasm wasn't the best way to approach this guy. "Well, I'm sorta… what does my brother call it, a local history buff? But you said the Roosevelt Asylum, right? Wasn't there an incident or something that occurred – in like the hospital? The south wing! That's it!" I snapped my finger, indicating that I was sure of myself, but was totally willing to have him correct me on the matter.

Do you think that he would have corrected me? Because he didn't. No. He just tipped his head straight and pursed his lips a little bit before clasping his hands together and setting them on his board folder hybrid thing. "We're on your dollar, Becca. We're here to talk about you."

Oh man, if this guy only knew. We definitely do not want to talk about me. "Right, right. Um, yeah, sure."

"So. How's things?" he asked.

Things effing blow. I can't stop arguing with one brother. Another brother sees the torture I'm going through. I have this story that is on the tip of my tongue and about to explode from my mouth every time my twin says something about not knowing why I'm different. And my father is avoiding me. Us, he's avoiding us. Well, me. "Things are great!" I told him enthusiastically.

"Good," he smiled. "Whatchya been doing?"

Quietly crying myself to sleep and avoiding my twin while venting to my older brother. And shoving pencils down my itchy cast when neither of them were looking. "Nothing special, really… I'm just on this road trip with my brothers right now."

Ellicott was looking at me, as though he wanted me to elaborate. I stared back. "Was that fun?" he pressed.

Freakin' epic. "You have no idea," I pretended to gush. "You know, on the road, we meet tons of totally interesting people. And we do some pretty awesome things, hit up some cool places… You know? So, uh, sorry, I can't shake it – but what was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I totally forget…"

"If you're a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot."

Damn it, Sam. 'Tell him you're into local history, like a buff or something'. Yeah, because that didn't just come to bite me in the ass. "Right no, I know. I'm just, uh, curious."

Ellicott leaned forward in his seat, bringing his arms ahead of him. "All right, Becca, let's cut the bull, shall we? You're avoiding the subject."

No, I'm actually avoiding your eyes. That's a nice fern, yo. "What subject?" my eyes flitted to his face briefly before they settled on my cast and index finger that was struggling to scratch at the side of my thumb.

"You. Now, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself."

Honest about myself? Like what? I use Head & Shoulders because one day I thought I had dandruff, and it was really just Dean messing with me and throwing soap shavings at me when I wasn't looking. "What do you mean?"

"Like, uh, these brothers of yours. The ones you're road tripping with. How do you feel about them?"

"Which one?" I blurted out before even thinking about it.

Ellicott smiled, and I felt a little bit defeated at the facial expression. "How many are there?"

Damn, this was totally a downhill battle, wasn't it? "Two. Dean, he's the oldest, and Sam. He's my twin. He's like eight minutes older or whatever. Maybe less, I don't really remember," I sighed, giving in. I didn't see me getting any answers my way, so I guess doing it this way is the only option.

"Well, why don't we start with Dean? How do you feel about him?"

I stared at the man like he was crazy. How do I feel about Dean? Dean is Dean. He loves Zeppelin, pie, and strippers. What more can you say about the guy? "Um… He's cool I guess…"

"Would you consider yourself close to Dean?"

"Well, yeah. The guy's pretty much my best friend," I answered.

"Not Sam," the doctor stated more than asked, looking at me with a curious expression while writing on his pad.

I felt my eyes narrow and my tongue curling around words before I could even tell myself to not do it. "Sam left," I spat out at him.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, seeming satisfied. I watched him resituate the pen in his hand and tap it against the pad in his lap. "Why don't we start with that?" he smiled. Freaking great.

The sun was blinding as I left the building and headed for the Impala as I ignored Dean and Sam who were mingling around outside of the large glass windows. I made to walk past them, only for them to each pick a side and match my walking pace. I looked left, right, left, before crossing the street and chewed on my bottom lip as we stepped off the curb.

"Dude!" Dean barked when I didn't immediately start talking. "You were in there forever. What the hell were you talking about?"

Well, we were talking about how I, apparently, am depressed. And that I use sarcasm as a cover for the pain; that I am trying to hide when directly asked about it. And that our family is unhealthy in its expression of feelings, and that I have put you on a pedestal and have created a hero complex for you – subconsciously expecting you to always be there to rescue me. Oh, and that I am a poster child for not only daddy issues, but abandonment issues. I feel as though I am not good enough, and apparently I continuously strive to be perfect just to please the people around me without taking into account my own well being or actual feelings. "Just the hospital," I mumbled as I tried to quicken my pace.

"And the south wing?" Sam pressed, not having to change his speed as his legs were a million times longer than mine.

"It's where they housed the really hard cases, like the psychotics, the criminally insane – that kind of stuff," I stopped walking and looked up at him with heavy eyes.

Dean kept walking, not even noticing, and called back a sarcastic, "Sounds cozy!"

I sighed and picked back up walking to the Impala. "Yeah, well, maybe not. According to Ellicott, there was this one night back in '64, where they went super crazy and rioted. Attacked the staff, and even attacked each other."

"So the patients took over the asylum?" Sam questioned as we finally reached the car, but didn't enter it right away.

"Apparently."

"But were there any deaths?" Dean questioned as he lifted a finger into the air as if to prove a point and then unlocked his door.

Nodding my head I waited for the lock on my door to click and then climbed in behind them. "I guess there were some patients and some staff that died. Supposedly it was super gory, too. Some of the bodies were never recovered, either, including Mr. Chief-of-Staff, Ellicott."

Dean turned in the seat to face me before starting the car. "Whaddaya mean, 'never recovered'?"

What is this guy slow or something? "I mean that they never recovered the body. As in they never found it. Cops searched all over the place – and nothing. From what the guy was telling me, the best bet is that the patients might have like, stuffed the bodies somewhere; kept them hidden."

"That's grim," Dean announced finally starting the car and pulling into traffic.

"What'd they do with the rest of the patients?" Sam posed.

I leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as I tried to remember what was told to me. "Uhhhhhhh… They transferred all of them somewhere and just shut the place down basically. He didn't give any name or anything."

"So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies –" Dean began.

"And that would mean there's probably a bunch of angry spirits," Sam added.

Tasty. I felt a sour taste in my mouth and turned my head to look out the window as Dean announced that we would be returning to the hospital that night to check everything out.