I had to admit, that place made me glad I wasn't crazy. Well, maybe I was crazy, hunting ghosts with Sam and Dean like this, but it was a type of crazy that I could handle being. This place, though, made me feel...horrible for my uncle Jamison, in the psych ward of the Lawrence Mental Health Institute. I sighed and followed Dean back to the exit of the asylum. We both peered around the corner, and saw the girl and boy we'd left with Sam—and the girl...was...pointing—oh shit! "Shit!" I yanked Dean back around the corner and listened as the shotgun went off.

Dean and I exchanged shocked glances, and Dean scoffed. "Hey! It's just us!" he waved his hand around the corner and looked from one of them to the other. "What are you still doing here?" he asked, raising his eyebrow and looking toward the door. "Where's Sam?"

One of the kids, Gavin, looked at Dean and shrugged a shoulder. "He went to the basement. You called him..." he spoke indignantly.

I glanced at Dean, slightly confused. I'd been with Dean the whole time, and not once had he picked up his phone. Dean looked at the two kids and cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't call him."

The girl, Kat, looked at me, and then at Dean, and she bit her lip. "His cell phone rang. He said it was you."

"Basement, huh?" Dean glanced at me, his eyebrow still up. "All right..."

I nodded and turned, heading for the stairwell to the basement. "Watch yourselves," I told them in a gentle voice.

Dean nodded and grabbed the extra shotgun from the floor. "And watch out for us, too!" he added, watching as Kat got a guilty look on her face. And with that, the two of us were headed for the basement.

"We need to be careful when we see him, Page. Whatever this thing is? It could have gotten to him, you know?" he asked me, brushing a hand through his hair. "So..."

I nodded and bit my lip. I wasn't sure what it would do, but...I was worried for Sam. "Sammy?" I called to him. "Sam? Are you down here?" I hollered, listening as Dean called out, too. "Sam?" I looked around. I wasn't seeing...anything. I turned to look at Dean. "Dean, I--"

"Sam!" Dean called, and I turned around to see Sam standing right in front of Dean, who jumped a little. I walked up beside him and looked at Sam. Something...looked a bit off. "Man! Answer me when I'm calling you. You all right?"

Sam didn't do much. Just looked at both of us, and he looked a bit angry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

I looked at Dean, a little uncertainty coming across my face as I spoke up, to Sam. "You know it wasn't Dean that called your cell, right?" I asked, taking a step toward him, to hug him and make sure he knew how grateful I was that he was alive. But when his arms wrapped around me...I didn't feel the normal feeling I got with Sam. He felt...almost cold to me.

Sam nodded and hugged me back, but let go a lot quicker than we usually did. He also, almost pushed me away. "Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here."

Dean nodded in agreement, and looked at me with concern when Sam pushed me away. I mirrored his concern, but he spoke up. "I think I know who—Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us," You haven't seen him, have you?"

Sam shook his head, and shrugged a shoulder. "No," he responded. "How do you know it was him?" he asked, and he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. That look...gave me chills.

I swallowed hard and took a step closer to Dean, for once feeling like he would make me feel safer than Sam. "Because we found his log book," I said, watching as Dean stood between Sam and I. "Apparently, he was experimenting on his patients..."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Some awful stuff, too," he added, gently, inconspicuously placing a hand on my arm, silently telling me that he was looking out for me. He glanced back toward Sam. "It makes lobotomies look like a couple aspirin."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "But it was the patients who rioted," he argued.

I nodded in agreement with Sam. "Yeah, they were rioting against Dr. Ellicott," I pointed out, nervousness still filling my body. This...didn't look, sound or feel like the Sam I knew, and it was really freaking me out.

Dean continued with what I was saying, elaborating, as I couldn't because I was too freaked out. "Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy," he said, shrugging a shoulder. "He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger, then they'd be cured of it. Instead, it only made 'em worse and worse, and angrier and angrier."

I kept going, biting my lower lip. "So we were thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing, you know?" I asked, breathing deeply and looking at Sam, trying not to show that he was scaring me. "To the cop, to the kids in the seventies—making them so angry they become homicidal. Come on, Sam. We gotta find his bones and torch 'em."

Sam looked at me again, with this glare that made my blood run cold. "How?" he asked me. "The police never found his body."

Dean spoke up, keeping himself between Sam and I. "The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere, where he'd work on his patients," he said simply, taking a couple steps toward a door. "So if I was a patient, I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on him myself."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds kind of--"

"Crazy?" Dean finished the sentence.

Sam nodded. "Yeah..."

Dean shrugged, and nodded for me to follow him. "Yeah, exactly..."

I followed Dean, and Sam followed behind us. "I told you, I looked everywhere," he said indignantly, glaring at Dean and I. "I didn't find a hidden room."

Dean laughed a little. "Well, that's why they call it hidden."

I started knocking on the wall, and paused when I heard a hollow spot. "You hear that?" I asked, as I looked at Sam and Dean.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean crouched down beside me, and smirked at me. "Good find, Page..." he said. "There's a door here!"

"Dean, Page," Sam called to us in a monotone. We turned around, and my heart started to race. Sam was holding a gun at us, and he looked really mad. And his nose was bleeding. My eyes widened, and I felt Dean push me behind him. "Step back from the door," he commanded.

I stood behind Dean, and my eyes widened. Dean kept himself strangely calm, however. "Sam, put the gun down," he said in a sharp tone.

Sam narrowed his eyes and glared at Dean. "Is that an order?"

Dean half-laughed and shrugged a shoulder. "No, it's more like a friendly request..."

Sam aimed the shotgun at Dean and his eyes narrowed even more. "Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders," he spat.

I couldn't even think to speak, but thankfully, Dean had that covered. "I knew it. Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"For once in your life, just shut your mouth!" Sam shouted, and I ducked down behind Dean.

Dean shook his head. "What are you gonna do, Sam?" he asked and took a step away from me. "The gun's filled with rock salt. Not gonna kill me."

I shrieked as I heard the shotgun go off, and then watched helplessly as Dean went crashing through the door we just found. I ran to follow him, but stopped dead when I heard Sam's voice. "No, but it'll hurt like hell," he said with a grin, and then looked at me. "Stop. Leave him be and turn to look at me."

My eyes were welling up with tears, but I did as I was told. "Sam..." I swallowed hard. "P—please, don't hurt me."

Sam scoffed. "Me, me, me, Page. Seriously, you've always been like that, haven't you?" he glared at me, and took a step toward me, keeping the gun raised. "All through middle school, all through high school—you're nothing but a little self centered bitch, you know that?"

His words cut me like a knife. "Sam, I don't know what you're talking about! High school? You were all I--"

He cut me off. "Shut the fuck up and let me talk. You acted like being my friend made you a fucking martyr. You acted like you were only my friend because no one would be," he walked toward me, and I backed up, until I felt a solid part of the wall against my back. I panicked, and even more so when I felt the shotgun touch my chest. "Oh, let me guess. 'Sam, please don't hurt me, you know that I care about you more than anything, blah, blah.' I've heard it all before. Why don't you just--" and before he could finish his sentence, I watched him fall to the floor in front of me, and looked up to see Dean standing in front of me, holding a piece of wood in his hand.

"Why don't you just shut up, Sammy?" he asked, and then looked at me. "You okay, Page?"

I shook my head no, and sniffled. "I..." I tried to say something, but Dean stepped over Sam and hugged me lightly. "God, I just want this to be over. Let's..." I looked up at Dean and smiled. "Let's torch that motherfucker," I said, turning away from Dean and heading into the room. "Are...you okay?" I asked him, trying not to live up to Sam's opinion of me, and being a little less self-centered.

Dean nodded and put a hand on my shoulder. "You know that wasn't really Sam talking, right?" he asked as he scanned over the room.

I shrugged and half-laughed. "As much as I'd like to say that, yes, I know it wasn't him? It was, you know? Maybe I do owe him an apology for that...I was..." I shrugged and trailed off.

Dean shook his head. "No. That wasn't Sam talking. When we were younger, I'd come home from jobs with dad? And all I'd hear about was you. And how much you and your family looked out for him," he half-smiled. "Just trust me. Sam doesn't feel like that about you..." he promised.

I smiled at Dean and shrugged. "I wouldn't blame him if he did. But thank you..." I said gently, nodding toward a small, white cabinet in the corner of the room. Approaching it slowly, I felt Dean approach me and I felt a little safer. I pulled the door open, and...gagged. There sat Dr. Ellicott's body—or, what was left of them, in all their decomposing glory, and the stench of death filled the room. And, I watched Dean get into his bag for a container of salt. I swallowed hard and turned my head back toward the door. "Dean...hurry..." I whispered, biting my lip in fear as Dr. Ellicott walked slowly through the door, and toward me.

Dean raised his gun, but I shouted out. "No! NO, JUST TORCH HIM!" before feeling Dr. Ellicott's hands touch my face and send electric pulses throughout my body. I screamed, and writhed in his grasp.

"Don't be afraid," Dr. Ellicott's voice told me. "I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better..." he said, sending more electric pulses through my body and pinning me to the wall. I felt like all the happy thoughts toward anyone I loved were just being...drained. And the second before I thought I might snap, Ellicott's body disintegrated in front of me, and there was nothing left but a pile of clothes. After a couple of seconds just standing there, leaning against the wall, I glanced at Dean. "Took you long enough..." I joked.

Dean grinned and shrugged a shoulder. "I couldn't get the match to light, so I gave up and used my lighter instead, sorry, Page."

I laughed and shrugged. I was about to say something else, when Sam's body appeared in the door. I jumped back and bit my lower lip. But once again, Dean covered for me, speaking up. "You're not gonna try and kill us, are you?"

Sam looked at the floor. "No."

"Good," Dean smirked. "Because that would be awkward."

I walked past Sam, and out to the hall, stopping only when I heard him come up behind me and touch my arm. Dean walked past us and to tell Gavin and Kat that the coast was clear. Sam bit his lower lip and looked down at me. "Page," he started, an apologetic look on his face.

I shrugged. So, angry Sam thought I was a self-centered bitch. Maybe that was what was buried in the recesses of his mind, even when he wasn't being controlled my a homicidal maniac. I took a deep breath. "You know, I had never seen that look on your face before, Sam. I thought you actually might...kill me..."

Guilt spread across Sam's face like a blanket, and he shook his head. "No. And...I don't think you're self-centered, either, Page. I'm...sorry. I don't...you know he did something to my head..." he squeezed my arm lightly.

And that was the feeling that Sam's touch always gave me, right there. The warm, and comforting feeling that nothing could or would hurt me. And in his eyes, I saw the truth. I half-smiled and stood on my tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. "I know. I...it's okay. And I'm sorry...for all those years that I stood idly by. And...if I ever made you feel like my being friends with you made me a--"

"No," Sam shook his head and smoothed my hair back, putting his arm around my shoulders. "You never made me feel anything aside from being the luckiest guy in the world for having a friend like you," he promised me.

I smiled, and walked with him to the exit of the asylum. Yeah, I'd never been more grateful to be sane in my entire life. God knows what actually goes on in those places...