The next morning, they were at a gas station. Sam was inside the car, looking through a box was Dean's music tapes, while Dean was in the gas station getting some food. Brett meanwhile, was in the back, sleeping. He had fallen asleep an hour ago.

"Hey! You want breakfast?" Dean asks Sam, carrying a lot of junk food.

"No, thanks. So how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career. Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?"

"Uh, Burt Aframian, and his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal."

"That sounds about right."

Dean grabs a bag of chips and tosses them at Brett, waking him up. "Hey, breakfast."

He picks it up. "Seriously? A bag of chips?"

"What? Were you hoping for scrambled eggs and bacon?"

"N-no. Chips is fine." He opens it up and starts eating.

"I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection," Sam said.

"Why?" Dean asked him.

Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two: Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock," he says as Dean grabs the Metallica tape and puts it in the player.

"Well, house rules, Sammy."

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," Brett said at the same time as him.

Both of the brothers looked back at him. "Okay, how did you know he was going to say that?" Sam asked him.

"Uh, I just did."

"What? So you're some psychic?"

Brett almost laughed at that, since he knew Sam was a psychic, but hasn't shown signs yet. "No."

"Yeah, whatever. Oh, and Dean, Sammy is a chubby twelve year old. It's Sam, okay?"

Dean turns the music up a bit. "Sorry, I can't hear you. The music's too loud." He smiles before he pulls out of the gas station and towards Jericho.

Several hours later, Brett once again wakes up after a small nap, just as he hears Sam get off the phone. "Alright, so, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that's something, I guess."

"Check it out," says Dean. Sam looked ahead and saw two police cars on a bridge, while a few officers were looking at a third car, which was empty. Brett didn't have to look. He remembered all of this. Dean parked the car and looked through the glove compartment and pulls out an ID, then closes it back up. "Let's go." He turns to Brett. "You, stay in here."

"I was going to anyway. They would ask why two federal agents are bringing a seventeen year old with them to a crime scene."

Dean sighed. "That's a good point. Let's just go, Sam," he said, getting out of the car, Sam following him. For several minutes, he watched as they talked to a couple of the officers. As they talked, he thought about how he could've possibly arrived in this reality, or how he'll get back home. He was surprised he wasn't acting like he thought he would. He was strangely calm about everything.

He was deep in thought that he didn't notice the two brothers climb back in the car. Only did they talk did they snap him out of his thoughts.

"Hey, kid. We're going to Jericho," said Sam.

"Okay," Brett said, who already knew they were, but didn't say anything, considering he didn't want to know what Sam would think if he apparently knew everything. He looked at Dean, who gave him an approving look. He guessed that Dean didn't want Sam to know how much he knew about them. With that, Dean turned around, started the car and started heading towards town.

Some time later, they arrived in Jericho. Brett was slowly starting to fall asleep again, but mentally woke himself up when Dean parked the car. When he and Sam got out of the car, he just sat there. He didn't know whether or not he should go with them.

"You coming, kid?" Dean asked him.

"Dean, we're seriously going to take him with us?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Well what do you expect us to do? We can't just leave him in there all day!"

Sam sighed. "Fine, but he better not get in our way."

"Good, now you go on ahead. I want to talk to him for a minute." Sam looked confused, but he just walked ahead. When he was out of earshot, Dean looked at Brett, who was getting out of the car. "Okay, you know about us, so does that mean you know how we investigate cases?"

"Yes," Brett said.

"Okay, good, I guess. Also, are you okay? You've hardly said anything since we first left."

"Why would you ask if I'm okay? That doesn't seem like you. Besides, you told me not to say anything unless I had to."

"Would you just answer the question?"

"No, I am not okay. I somehow traveled to a different universe, where everything I know that is fiction, is real here, and it happens just ten days before my eighteenth birthday. Plus, I have no idea how to get back home or if I'll ever get home."

"Well, I may not believe half the stuff you're saying, but me and Sam will do our best to get you back, no matter how long it takes. And I can tell you're not acting, so I believe that you are being genuine on this."

"Yeah, I don't know how to act. I'd probably be bad at it."

"Well, either way, let's go. I don't want to keep Sam waiting."

When they reached Sam, he immediately asked, "What did you talk to him about?"

"Just what we do when we're investigating things. Just explaining it to him so he doesn't have to ask why we're doing what we're doing."

"Oh, good thinking, I guess."

"Uh, guys?" Brett said. They looked at him, and he pointed to a young woman, who was putting up missing persons posters for a man named Troy Squire. Dean gave him an amused look, while Sam gave a confused one.

"How do you-?"

"It seems logical. Missing person related to a ghost. Loved one puts up posters."

"Good thinking. Day one and you noticed something before us," Dean said.

"Okay, so, uh, how about I go to the library and try to find something while you two talk to her? I mean, how are you going to explain my appearance?"

"Well, uh...Yeah, I got nothing. Sam?"

"I got nothing either. Go. Try to find something good."

"Yeah, we'll see you later," Dean said before patting Brett's shoulder and walking up to the woman with the posters, Sam following. Brett, meanwhile, felt his stomach growl and decided to get something to eat first.

"So, what did you find?" Dean asked when he and Sam arrived at the library.

"Is that ketchup on the side of your mouth?" Sam asked before Brett could answer.

He wiped his lips with his finger and found a tiny bit of ketchup. "Yes. I was hungry. Sue me. I still came here though, but I found nothing. I looked up everything I could find. "Female Murder Hitchhiking", "Female Murder Centennial Highway." Got nothing."

Sam sat down in front of the computer. "So, angry spirits are born out of violent deaths, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Well, maybe it's not murder." Brett and Dean watches as Sam replaces the word "Murder" with "Suicide" and gets a result. Sam reads the article as Brett reads the date of it, April 25, 1981. To him, that was thirty-six years ago.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river."

"Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die."

"Hmm."

"That's sad. I feel for her," Brett said.

""'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch.""
"That bridge look familiar to you?" Dean asked.