A/N: Apologies on taking so long. I had to make some quick adjustments because my timeline seemed to be a little out of whack. Once again, this is my first fanfiction ever and if any banter between the brothers is OOC then I give my sincerest apologies now. I do wish for reviews and any helpful suggestions would be more than welcome. I know there isn't alot of action at the moment, but I promise that it'll pick up later on. Also, like before, I have no beta, but I have thoroughly checked and reread this story...but errors can still make it through my scrutiny.

Disclaimers: I do not own Supernatural (though if I did, I'd be busy locked in my room with Dean and a pair of handcuffs instead of writing this)

Spoilers: A minuscule reference to the 'rage therapy' performed in Asylum

Chapter 2

The rock music that played faintly over the speakers seemed more fitting in a seedy bar full of smoke instead of the quaint little coffeehouse it was currently filling. It barely bothered Sam though; so use was he to those lame cassette tapes of Dean's.

Sighing roughly, he glanced at his watch and than looked to the counter where Dean had gone up to get their coffee.

12 minutes ago.

The eldest Winchester was currently leaning on the counter in that suave manner of his; one elbow on the flexi-glass surface and his fingers interlaced, a coy smile plastered on his features. His hazel-green eyes locked with the blonde every now and than. That innocent flirting was driving Sam crazy and the fact that the girl, who seemed barely out of her illegal years, was falling for it was making it worse. Two cups of coffee were sitting by his elbow, but Dean was no longer interested in the caffeine.

Sam, however, had been unable to sleep all night and he wanted his coffee. Not to mention that a possible gig after nearly 2 weeks of calm was sitting right in front of him.

He exhaled roughly as he slumped against the booth, but his eyes caught on his cell phone that lay next to his laptop on the table. He narrowed his eyes in thought. Would he dare pull such a prank on his brother?

He was barely finished with the thought before he grabbed his phone and flipped it open.

"Dean!" He called out to his brother, resting his elbow on the barricade attached to their booths and holding up the open phone as if someone were on the other line. Dean glanced over with that smile still in place, caught in mid-laugh, and his target looked over as well.

"Your girlfriend wants to know when we'll be heading back." Dean instantly understood what Sam was pulling and he returned his attentions to the cashier to try and defend himself. The woman was already turned off though and ignoring him, seeming to find something very important to do by the coffeemaker. "What do you want me to tell her?" Sam added the final nail, a huge smile on his face.

Dean shook his head, grabbing the cups and fuming the entire way back to their table. Sam was laughing as he pushed his phone into his pocket and Dean glared down at him from where he stood.

"That was cold." He said as he set the coffee down and slid into the booth across from his younger brother. Sam controlled his laughter, shaking his head as he slid his coffee closer to him.

"Yeah, well, you practically abandoned me so get over it. Besides, I think I found our next hunt." He changed subjects smoothly as he took a sip and instantly recoiled from the taste. It was cold and bland, which was probably a result from the time Dean had let it sit there. His brother seemed unaware as he leaned back and clapped his hands, rubbing them together like some nefarious villain.

The smile on his face showed that he was glad to finally be out of the slump they had found themselves in. Hustling pool and seducing women could only entertain one for so long.

"Lay it on me." He said and Sam swivelled his computer around so they could both see the screen and he could switch the info when needed.

"The Bruckheimer Sanitorium. It was built in 1928 and it was generally made for those with tuberculosis, but it eventually began to include those with mental disabilities and common illnesses like pneumonia and the flu. Now, it shut down in 1958 because--"

"Whoa, hold on Sammy." Dean interrupted, waving his hand to emphasize and Sam reluctantly complied without reprimanding his brother on the usage of his name. "I'm not askin' for a history lesson. I just want to know what we're dealing with." Sam rolled his eyes at the impatience, scoffing as he changed the object on the screen to recent newspaper clippings.

"In the last month alone, four people have been murdered inside that building. The body count was alot higher about 5 years ago when tours were still held for the place. The owner was forced to shut that business down when too many people started going missing. Those people never showed up, but whatever is doing this has started getting careless. Or just arrogant." Sam explained ominously, searching Dean's face for any reaction but his brother was completely impassive as he stared at the headlines. He brought a hand up to point a finger at the screen.

"And what exactly is this things M.O?" Another click of the mouse and photographs of the victims began to appear. It was blurred, as if the camera had been moving, but gruesome details could still be seen. Dean squinted to try and see it clearly, but the computer was doing anything but helping. "What the hell is that?" He mumbled to himself.

"Some freelance photographer managed to catch these and put 'em online. That's a Y-section." Sam revealed, his lips quirking subconciously into a grin as he began to drag out his find. Dean's eyebrows rose as he looked from Sam to the pictures and then back.

"Y-section? As in what coroners do to dead bodies?" He asked though he knew the answer. Sam's nod confirmed it.

"Exactly like that. The amount of injury on the bodies showed they were probably tortured beforehand, but the autopsy itself wasn't post-mortem. Dean, these people were alive for the entire thing." He finished, his voice reflecting the disbelief he felt. Dean shook his head, leaning back against the booth. He stared at the screen, chewing on the inside of his lip in thought before looking over to Sam.

"Well how do we know this is our type of thing? Could just be some type of serial killer with major issues." He questioned, making sure Sammy had worn out all the sources to make sure he wasn't sending them on a wild goose chase. After having nothing supernatural to kill for the past 2 weeks, he was skeptical.

"Now, see I was getting to that in that 'history lesson' you interrupted." Another few clicks of the mouse sent them back a few pages. "It shut down because of theories that experiments were being conducted on patients and the government didn't look too happily on the chute they found beneath the hospital either." Dean had listened patiently, but at this, he brought a hand up to stop Sam once again. Sam sighed in annoyance, but Dean ignored it.

"Okay, first off. When you say experiments, you mean like that rage therapy done back in Rockford? And two, what the hell about the chute?" He was starting to not like this hunt already. It made him think too much. He liked the simple kind where you could just list off injuries done to the body and you knew what did it so you could rush off with guns blazing. Every now and then, an undercover job was a little fun. Who wouldn't have fun lying to the police? Research and history lessons had never been his thing.

"The purpose of the experiments was never said 'cause it was never proven to be true. The chute was basically like a giant garbage disposal for dead bodies. It was a way to get rid of 'em all without letting the world know the death count; which was reaching around 63,000 before it shut down." He had Sammy for the research.

Dean let out a long whistle that drew a few glances their way, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Still doesn't explain why you think this thing is our deal."

"63,000 Dean. Most of which being some pretty gruesome deaths. The place has been officially reported by professional, licensed paranormal investigators as haunted. Some encounters have been violent and they've supposedly caught footage and EVPs of over three dozen spirits. After the tour group business was shot, the phenomena in the place seemed to stop all together. These latest attacks have people talking about a petition to demolish the place." He explained, dragging the computer around to face him.

"Well, maybe if people would learn to listen to the warnings. I mean, hauntings are usually associated with lots of death and possession, right?" Dean muttered to himself. Sam didn't answer, only shook his head in response and continued to click through the information.

Dean took a deep breath, running a hand over his face before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

"All right. Well, I'm exhausted so maybe we should head back to the motel. You know, catch some Zs and figure out what to do first." He prompted, immediately taking charge. Sam was thankful for he had been thinking along those same lines. He packed up his computer as Dean went to start the car.

4 and half hours later, Sam was back on the computer while Dean was sprawled on the bed, flipping through channels.

It helps me think. That was the explanation for his lack of action. Sam saw right through it as a way to be lazy, but he let it slide. Research had always been Dean's bane and Sam enjoyed it. So he was content to leave things be.

"Dean." Until something caught his eye.

Dean tore his attentions away from the B-rated horror movie he'd found where Dracula was seducing a Marilyn Monroe wannabe to focus on Sam; straightening up slightly.

"I found a survivor. Justin Blake. His girlfriend was the most recent victim and he was, apparently, in the Sanitorium when she was killed."

"So, he mighta saw what did it." Dean declared as he sat up, tossing the remote to the foot of the bed. "Where's he live?" He added, swinging around to drop his feet to the floor. Sam sighed, turning to face his eager brother.

"Well, getting to talk to him might involve a little more work than just showing up on his doorstep."

"Why?" Dean asked, a rather annoyed look on his face.

"Well, he's kind of in a hospital."

Dean shrugged, not seeing the problem.

"A mental hospital."