Well, it's taken me a while, but I'm finally ready to post another chapter. Time to see what kind of mischeif these boys can create at the asylum (let's just hope Sam's not packing this time, huh?).

"The FBI?" the short, balding doctor asked, "what do you need to know?"

"Everything about Benjamin James," Sam replied, towering over the man and flashing a comforting smile, "it's very important."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't just show you the records."

"Really?" Sam took a step closer to the man, who was shorter than most of the women he'd helped on his hunts, his smile fading, "because we really know if he had any visitors or relatives."

Shaking slightly, the short doctor nodded and led them off down a hallway. "Nice," Dean muttered as he caught up with his brother.

"Power of persuasion," Sam shrugged.

"And the fact that you're, like, twelve feet tall had nothing whatsoever to do with it," Shawn said solemnly.

Suddenly, the doctor spun around. "I'm sorry, Agent Baldwin, but all of the patient's records were burnt when he died."

"We just need to know if he had any visitors," Sam repeated.

"Anyone at all," Dean added.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't pay attention," the doctor sighed.

"Maybe we could see his old cell?" Shawn suggested, "look for clues or fingerprints."

"Who's he?" the balding man asked.

"Psychic," Dean replied, "he's helping us with a very important case right now."

The doctor narrowed his eyes, but nodded just the same. He walked off down a small hallway and led the four men to a clean white door that opened into a tiny padded cell with one barred window and a cot. "This is where Benjamin stayed while he was here," he explained, "take as long as you like." He turned and left the room, letting the door shut behind him.

"I always knew you'd end up in a padded cell, Dean," Sam grinned.

"And I always hoped you'd be in here with me," Dean smiled.

Shawn stepped forward, pushing past the brothers, and took a quick look around the room. Everything was a shade of yellowish white, all dirty. The room smelled of death and urine. The floor was spotless, except for a little bit of mud caked around one soft panel on the wall.

"Hello," the fake psychic muttered, walking up to the mud, "what do we have here?"

"What is it?" Sam asked, coming up behind him and kneeling down to look at the mud. The hunter ran his hand over the panel and felt cool air seeping through. "Step back," he said, moving up to the panel and prying it from the wall to reveal a hole just large enough for a small person to climb through.

"He dug a hole?" Gus asked, "through the concrete?"

"To escape," Sam nodded, "but then, who'd they burn?"

Dean sat down on the cot, punching at the thin mattress. After a few futile attempts to flatten out the lumps, he stood up and pulled the mattress off the smooth plastic frame. "Maybe this'll help," he offered, grabbing a handful of old photos from their hiding spot and showing them to the group. "Looks like Benny had a twin. Identical."

"He must have been sick," Gus noted, "these pictures smell like medicine. The kind of stuff they give you for heart problems."

"Are you sure that's not just the room you're smelling?" Sam asked, "because this place is pretty ripe. Then again, it could always be Dean."

"Trust him," Shawn nodded, "he's got the Super Smeller."

"I've heard of a lot of weird things in my life," Dean said, "but that's got to be the weirdest. And I don't smell like pee."

"So," Shawn began, ignoring the hunter, "James spends a few years digging a tunnel and waiting for his escape, then hears that his brother is dying. His brother sneaks in through the hole, and our boy Benny heads out. The twin dies, but everyone thinks it's the nutcase. He's free to kill again."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded, "looks like we just solved the case."

"Yeah, we did."

"We made a pretty good team," Dean observed, "you guys are gonna feel really bad when you go to turn us in."

Gus sighed. "I've been thinking. You might be crazy and all, going out and hunting demons, but you actually got me to believe you there for a while. Besides, if we turn you in, you could always do the same to us."

Shawn nodded. "I guess we just finish up the job and take the glory from another crime solved by Santa Barbara's best psychic detective. What do you say we head back to the station and finish this?"

"Sounds good to me," Sam smiled, "but we should stop back by the office first. We're going to need the name of the site, and I don't have it memorized."

"Shawn has a photographic memory," Dean pointed out.

"But he hasn't seen the papers. Pretty hard to memorize something you've never seen."