A head's up, this is the chapter where the Q-word is used. I just wanted you to know so you're prepared.

Friday, October 17th, 2008

Rock Ridge, Colorado

For some reason, it felt like it took a lot longer to run out of that abandoned lumber mill than it did to stealthily sneak in. Adrenaline probably had something to do with that. Skye for sure had felt her pulse skyrocket when she heard Dean scream. In a way, she was grateful that all the machinery had started up suddenly. If she accidentally lost control, well, she had a logical excuse for why everything was shaking.

Thankfully, the excuse was unnecessary as when they arrived outside, the shaking had diminished considerably. Either she managed to reign in her emotions enough to weaken her powers, or it really was the machinery, and she was misattributing it to herself. Either way, she didn't stop her efforts to calm her breathing and slow her heart rate. Just because she wasn't losing control didn't mean that it couldn't still happen.

Sam came to a stop when he got outside and looked around. He was looking for both the ghost they had just encountered inside the mill and his brother. When he couldn't find any sign of either, he headed straight for the car. That was where they had left Dean, so if there were going to be any clues as to where he'd gone, they'd be there.

Skye followed closely behind him. About halfway there, something got caught in the arch of her sneakers and she almost slipped. She saved herself from falling by coming to a full stop. Looking down at what she had tripped on, she recognized it for what it was and snatched it up.

"Sam!" When he turned to look, he saw her holding up one of the thin iron rods they had used to dispatch the Witnesses. The Impala's trunk was still open. Dean must have seen the ghost, grabbed the rod from the armory, and thrown it at the ghost. Whether or not the mark had met its target was anyone's guess.

Taking this information in stride, Sam continued his dash to the car. He only slowed to a stop when he rounded the car's other side. At first, Skye was worried, but she saw a sense of relief come over Sam's form as he bent over to catch his breath. Seeing this action, she slowed her own speed to come to a more gradual stop than Sam had.

When she reached the other side, she found Dean on the ground, leaning against the side of the car to remain upright. He had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and seemed to be attempting to drink it all down in one gulp.

"What the hell?" Dean pulled the bottle away from his lips with a loud pop.

"That ghost was scary!" Skye couldn't tell if he had tried to laugh that off, or if his voice had wobbled with fear. Either way, it still sounded pathetic.

Sam bent down next to his brother and held up the yellow ID card he had found inside.

"Is this the ghost you saw?" Dean took a good look at the picture and fearfully nodded. "Well, looks like we're finally getting on the right track."

An internet search for Luther Garland had turned out to be just as fruitless as the one for Jessie O'Brian. That left them with no other choice but to dawn on their federal agents' attire and return to the police station. Since Luther was a ghost, they knew he was dead, and he must have died either in the lumber mill or somewhere close by. In that case, the Sherriff's Department would investigate his death and thus must have records on him.

Sam and Skye stood calmly at the counter while Dean paced the waiting room. The deputy that was helping them was the same one as the day before. Although he didn't seem like the type to be rude, Skye still found herself hoping that he didn't comment on Dean's abnormal behavior. There was only so much they could do to explain that without losing face.

The deputy disappeared into a backroom but quickly returned with a file in-hand. He was still smiling as if everything in the world was still hunky-dory. Momentarily, Skye wished she had that kind of optimism. Maybe it would make this situation much easier.

"This is the Garland file," the deputy said as he handed the folder over the counter to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said gratefully. While he reviewed the pages, the deputy's eyes seemed to settle on Dean.

Skye turned to look at the other Winchester, too, her gaze more worried. Dean had stopped pacing but had gone back to scratching his arm. She stepped forward to pull his hand away, but he shuddered at the unexpected touch. It made her let go quickly and only ramped up her concern. Something was clearly going on in his head, but exactly what she couldn't discern. She watched as he turned his head slowly to eye a middle-aged woman sitting in the corner suspiciously. Skye offered a smile in apology and tried to direct Dean to look away. She had a feeling that it didn't do much to help.

"Is he… Drunk?" she heard the deputy ask Sam. When his brother turned to look, Dean just smiled and held a thumbs up. Skye, meanwhile, looked more defeated.

"No," Sam quickly insisted.

"He has that disease that causes people to act drunk after they eat a lot of carbs." Out of the corner of her eye she could see the middle-aged woman giving them a skeptical look. "It's a real thing, look it up." With a smile, she turned back to the deputy. "Normally, he wouldn't indulge, but we heard so many good things about Mariella's…" The deputy's face lit right up.

"Oh, I love Mariella's!" he said. "Did you try the shrimp scampi?" Without dropping her smile, Skye held up the okay symbol with her hand.

"Divine." That seemed to be the correct answer, as the deputy's face lit up with approval. Before he could pull the conversation into a tangent about Italian food, however, Sam cut in.

"Uh, deputy," he interrupted. "According to this, Luther Garland's cause of death was physical trauma. What does that mean?" The deputy looked apologetic.

"The guy died twenty years ago – before my time. Sorry."

"Then can we talk to the Sherriff?" Sam asked. Nervously, the deputy looked back towards the office.

"Um, he's out sick today." Skye raised an eyebrow to that. Glancing over, she saw that the shudders had been pulled over the windows, preventing anyone from seeing inside. She couldn't tell if anyone was in there, but she highly suspected there was – and that person was probably the Sheriff. If this wasn't a police station and she didn't have outstanding warrants, she wouldn't have hesitated to go behind the counter and see for herself.

"Well," Sam said to the deputy. "If you see him, will you have him call us? We're staying at the Bluebird." The deputy nodded and assured him he would. Sam held up the folder that had been left on the table. "Mind if I take this?" Again, the deputy agreed. Sam tapped the folder on the counter and turned to walk out. Skye started following him but stopped when she noticed that Dean wasn't doing the same.

Dean stared at the deputy with an unsteady gaze. His posture looked uncomfortable, and Skye couldn't tell if that was from the entire bottle of alcohol he downed in seconds or if it was from the fear that was still plaguing him. His name was on the tip of her tongue. She was just about to say it when Dean made direct eye contact with the deputy.

"Know what?" he said, pointing at the deputy and grinning. "You're awesome."

Skye raised both her eyebrows. She wasn't expecting that. The deputy was bashful while Dean just shrugged and looked very satisfied with himself. Honestly, Skye had to blink a few times to be sure she was seeing this correctly. No matter how much she did, the scene still stayed the same. A giddy smile crossed her face.

"Thanks," the deputy responded shyly. "Um, you too, I guess."

Dean grinned and laughed. For a second, it seemed like he was ready to take this conversation and run with it – see where it went – but out of nowhere, Sam appeared. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and pulled him towards the door. Skye's smile dropped, disappointed that this moment of queer joy had been interrupted. Begrudgingly, she followed them out but made a mental note to tuck this little interaction away in her mind for later. Just in case one of them ever had a problem with her being bi.

A review of Luther Garland's file showed that he had a brother by the name of John. He had been ten years older than Luther and was a Vietnam vet. Most importantly and useful to them, he was still alive and lived at the Peaceful Pines Assisted Living Home right in town. Visiting hours were close to the end when they showed up, but their fake FBI credentials allowed for an exception to be made.

Everything seemed to be going well, but then an elderly woman came walking down the hall, carting an IV pole with her. Seeing the woman with a tube going into her body must have been too much for Dean, because he cowered to the side of the hall as she passed. Sam moved to tend to his brother while Skye gave the old woman a smile in apology. She hated that she kept doing that, but really, she didn't know what else to do.

Once the lady passed, Sam pushed Dean to continue down the hall, but Dean had become more concerned with the fake badge he still held in his hands.

"This isn't gonna work," Dean said. "I mean, come on, these badges are fake. What if we get busted? We could go to jail!"

At that moment, Sam snapped, shushing Dean and ordering him to calm down. After checking to make sure that no one had accidentally overheard them, Skye turned back to the brothers. Sam was instructing Dean to take deep breaths. It didn't seem to be helping much, so Skye cut in, tapping Dean on the chest to get him to look down on her.

"Hey, Dean, repeat after me: 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.'" He blinked at her for a moment, baffled.

"What!?"

"Just say it. 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.'"

"Yeah, I heard you," Dean said. "What the hell is a JFK quote supposed to do?"

"It's FDR," Skye corrected. "I had a foster father teach it to me. When people are scared, they tend to act irrationally and make the situation worse. A.K.A. 'The only thing we have to fear is people getting scared and not acting cooperatively.' I think I remember he said in the context it had something to do with the Great Depression…" Skye waved that off. "It's neither here nor there. I just know he told me this quote once and it made me feel better, and it still does. Anytime I'm scared, I repeat that in my head over and over. It's a sort of mantra. I keep saying it to remind myself not to do something stupid." She then pointed at Dean. "You've got to keep saying that to yourself. If you let this disease, get the better of you, you're not going to make it. In this situation, it's the absolute truth. The only thing you have to fear is fear itself."

Dean rolled his eyes. For a moment, Skye thought he was going to completely dismiss her suggestion, but he surprised her. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and said, "'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.'" He opened his eyes again and frowned. "That didn't do anything."

"It's a mantra," Skye said. "You've got to keep saying it over and over again until you trick your brain into believing it."

"How long does that take?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, it depends on you." Skye shrugged. "Just keep saying it. Eventually, it will work."

Dean still looked skeptical, but he was also at the point where he was desperate enough to try anything. He took another deep breath and started murmuring to himself, "'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.' 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.'" Skye patted him on the shoulder.

"That's good," she said. "Keep going."

Gently, she pushed Dean into continue going down the hall. She could still hear him repeating the quote over and over. Honestly, she didn't think that was going to be a long-term solution, but it kept him calm in the moment and that's all they really needed.

As she started walking down the hall, she noticed Sam giving her a strange look.

"What?" He shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "Just surprised that worked is all." Skye shrugged.

"For now."

With that, they continued their walk down the long hallway. As long as Dean could keep things together in this interview, then maybe they'd stand a chance.

At the end of the hallway there was a cafeteria. It was still too early for dinner, so the place was entirely empty. Well, that was save for one person; the man they were here to meet.

John Garland had his back to them. He sat in a wheelchair with his hair slightly long and wearing warm comfortable clothes. Sam cleared his throat, causing the man to turn and look over at them. Skye thought he looked bored, maybe a little annoyed, too. Well, that was too bad for him. They needed to know everything they could about his brother ASAP, and he was the only source.

They moved to sit down at his table. Sam and Dean took the two chairs facing John, while Skye pulled one over to sit at the head of the table.

"Mr. Garland," Sam said. "Hi. I'm Agent Tyler. This is Agent Perry and Probationary Agent Hamilton – FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your brother Luther."

The older man looked between the three of them skeptically.

"Let me see some ID."

Well, damn. Reaching into her breast pocket to pull out the fake lanyard the brothers had given her; she glanced at the two men in question. Dean looked shocked that his earlier prediction had come true while Sam calmly pulled out his fake badge.

Nudging Dean gently under the table with her foot, he took a breath and pulled out the leather case containing his own fake badge. Skye didn't hear him speak, but she saw his mouth move subtly.

"'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.'"

John took the two badges but waved off Skye's offer of the lanyard. She shrugged, supposing that a provisionary ID wouldn't do much to prove their legitimacy. It was Sam and Dean's IDs that needed to be validated. If they were real, then she was real.

The older man took his sweet time inspecting the two IDs. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have mattered, but the longer he took the more antsy Dean seemed to get. At one point, Dean just had to say, "those are real," causing John to look up at him with derision. Sam cleared his throat to stop his brother from saying anything more, but Dean still tried to save it.

"I mean," he said. "Who would pretend to be an FBI agent, huh? That's just nutty."

Sam slammed his own foot on top of Dean's, while Skye found herself repeating the mantra.

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

Slowly, John folded the badges shut and handed them back to Sam and Dean. Skye let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"What do you want to know?" the older man asked.

"Uh, well," Sam said, opening the file he'd been holding and spreading it out across the table. "According to this, your brother Luther died of physical trauma." John scoffed at that. "You don't agree."

"No, I don't," he said.

"Well then, what would you call it?"

John moved his hands in a way that indicated something like uselessness.

"Don't matter what an old man thinks," he said. Skye looked at him with empathetic eyes.

"Mr. Garland," she said. "We just want to know the truth about your brother. Anything you could tell us…" He looked up, finally making eye contact with her. "Please?"

John looked away, mulling over her words. His eyes went over to the file and slowly, he moved to pull something out. It was the yellow employee ID they had found at the lumber mill. He looked at the small, black-and-white photo of his brother, expression unreadable.

"Everybody was scared of Luther," he explained. "They called him a monster. He was too big, too mean-looking. Just too…" He sighed. "Different. Didn't matter he was the kindest man I ever knew, didn't matter he'd never hurt no one." Tears started coming into his eyes. "A lot of people failed Luther. I was one of them."

Skye gently put her hand on top of John's. It felt like the right thing to do. If she wasn't a pretty, young girl, he probably would have gotten upset or angry at her attempt at comfort. However, because she was, he accepted it.

"I was a widower with three young'uns, and…" He let out another, depressing sigh. "I told myself there was nothing I could do."

"Mr. Garland, um…" Sam unfolded the drawing they had taken from the mill and handed it across the table. "Do you recognize this woman?" John didn't even have to look closely.

"It's Jessie O'Brian," he confirmed. "Her man, Frank, killed Luther."

Skye exchanged looks with Sam and Dean.

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

"Everybody knows," John said. "They just don't talk about it."

Skye squeezed her eyes shut. She'd always heard about small towns hiding dark secrets, but she thought that was only in horror movies. She never imagined that it could be true, never mind encountering it in real life.

"Jessie was a receptionist at the mill," John explained. "She was always real nice to Luther, and he had a crush on her, but Frank didn't like it. Then when Jessie went missing, Frank was sure that Luther had done something to her. Turns out the old gal killed herself, but Frank didn't know that."

John went silent and his eyes turned cold. Skye knew he could only be imagining his brother's death. In a gesture of comfort, she squeezed his hand, and this broke John out of his reverie.

"They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck," he said. "He was dragged up and down the stretch outside that plant 'till he was past dead."

"My God," Skye found herself murmuring. She had to look down and scrub her hands over her face. She wasn't crying. She just felt she needed some kind of sensory input to keep her grounded.

"And O'Brian was never arrested?" she heard Dean ask John. She looked up at the old man who was clasping his hands together tightly.

"I screamed to every cop in town," he explained. "They didn't want to look into Frank. He was a pillar of the community. My brother was just the town freak."

"You must have hated Frank O'Brian," Sam stated. John didn't make any moves to deny this.

"I did for a long time," he admitted. A sad sort of smile crossed his face before he added with a bitter chuckle, "But life's too short for hate, son. Frank wasn't thinking straight. His wife had vanished. He was terrified. A damn shame he had to put Luther through the same, but… That's fear. It spreads and spreads."

Skye locked eyes with Dean. She could see it in his eyes. What John said was true. The fear was spreading, and it was spreading fast.

The lights flickered. Skye felt her heart skip a beat.

"Skye."

She whipped her head around, expecting to see someone standing behind her. All there were empty tables and a pair of vending machines.

"Something wrong, darlin'?" Ordinarily, she would have snapped at a man calling her "darlin'," but she was too freaked out to even consider it.

"I thought I heard someone say my name." She turned around to see Sam and Dean giving her confused looks. "I'm probably just too upset, hearing things."

The Winchesters seemed to accept that answer, and John reached over to place his hand over hers, much like she did earlier.

"What happened to my brother was very upsetting," he said. "But I like to think that he's at peace now."

That just made Skye's stomach twist worse.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm sure he is."

After the interview was wrapped up, Sam, Dean, and Skye exited out one of the side doors. One of the nurses gave them permission, telling them it'd be a faster way to get to the visitors' lot. They were grateful for the tip, considering that now not only was Dean freaking out, but Skye was, too.

She had no idea why she kept hearing someone call her name; she just wanted it to stop. To her disappointment, Sam had asked her on the way out if she was feeling okay – strongly implying that he thought she might be catching Dean's ghost sickness. She flat-out denied it. She'd only been hunting for less than a month and had certainly never road-hauled someone to death. At worst, her own, natural anxiety was catching onto Dean's terror and she just needed to get it together.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Speaking of that little piece of advice, Dean pushed the door open with far more force than was necessary. He'd been able to heed it while they had been inside talking to John, but now that they were out of a precarious situation and away from prying eyes, it was all coming out.

"Now we know what these are," he said, gesturing to his arms. "Road rash, and I'm guessing Luther swallowed some wood chips when he was being dragged down that road."

"Makes sense," Sam agreed. He came to a stop by the Impala's passenger side door and rested his elbows on the hood. "You're experiencing his death in slow motion."

"Yeah, well, not slow enough, huh?" Dean said. "I say we burn some bones and get me healthy." Sam gave his brother a slightly remorseful look.

"Dean," he said. "It won't be that easy."

"No, no," Dean said. "It'll be that easy. Why wouldn't it be that easy?"

Skye looked at Sam. She had already put together what the problem was. She wanted to see exactly how Sam was going to break it to his brother.

Apparently, not gently.

"Luther was road-hauled," he came right out and stated. Dean still looked confused. "His body was ripped to pieces. He was probably scattered all over that road." That's when it started clicking. "There's no way we're gonna find all the remains."

Dean looked down; his expression was harrowed.

"You're kidding me."

"Look, we'll just have to figure something else out." It was already too late. There was nothing that could be said to comfort Dean. His breathing became labored. Before either Sam or Skye could do anything to try and calm him, he lashed out.

"You know what? Screw this!" He started to walk away from the car.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dean, come on," Sam said, moving to catch up with his brother.

"No," Dean said, turning back to Sam. "I mean, come on, Sam! What are we doing?!"

"We're hunting a ghost," Sam tried to calmly explain.

"A ghost!" Dean exclaimed. "Exactly! Who does that?"

"Us," Sam answered.

"Us?" Dean said. "Right, and that, Sam – that is exactly why our lives suck! I mean, come on! We hunt monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster and they run, but not us – no, no, no, we – we search out things that want to kill us! Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We… Are insane!"

He turned his gaze onto Skye.

"And I have no idea why the hell you want in on any of this!" he said. "The only reason that makes sense in my head is that you're secretly waiting for the opportunity to kill us, but if that were the case, you would've done it by now!"

Skye opened her mouth to protest, but Dean kept going.

"So, that means you've gotta be normal, but if your normal, I have no idea how you would put up with any of this!" Dean had been shouting so much; he was nearly breathless by this point. "And I mean, it's not just the monsters! There's the bad diner food, and then the skeevy motel rooms, and then the truck-stop waitress with the bizarre rash… I mean why would you want this life, Skye? Who would? Huh? Seriously?"

He looked between both Sam and Skye.

"Do either of you actually like being stuck in a car with me eight hours a day, every single day?" He asked. "I don't think so! I mean, I drive too fast, and I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, and I sing along! I'm annoying! I know that! And you…" He pointed to Sam. "You're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic! I mean, you know what?"

Suddenly, he tossed the keys in the air and Sam scrambled to catch them.

"You can forget it," Dean said as he walked past the car.

"Whoa, Dean," Sam called out. "Where are you going?" Dean turned back around, pointing at his brother.

"Stay away from me, Sam, okay?" he said. "'Cause I am done with it! "I'm done with the monsters and – and – and the hellhounds and the ghost sickness and the damn apocalypse! I'm out! I'm done! I quit!"

With that, Dean stormed off, leaving Sam and Skye to stand there, giving each other looks of disbelief.

Well, crap.

Sam and Skye drove around for about an hour and a half, looking for Dean. At first, they had been at a loss for what to do, mulling over Dean's words and trying to make of the outburst. Eventually, they realized that what Dean had said hadn't been important. Not really. What was important was that he was panicked and, in a position, where he could easily get himself hurt. They needed to find him, and fast.

Sam drove the Impala while Skye kept a sharp eye out the window, looking for any sign of Dean. However, he wasn't anywhere to be found. They took every side street and stopped to check every alley. Skye even tried leaning out the window and calling Dean's name a few times. They never found him, despite their best efforts. Growing more alarmed by the minute, they decided to go back to the motel to regroup.

Admittedly, most of the decision came from both wanting to change out of the stiff, formal FBI disguises they were wearing. The idea that maybe Dean had returned to the motel on his own only really occurred to them as an afterthought. After all, if they were going to be searching for Dean all night, they might as well be comfortable.

Walking in, they were startled to find Dean sitting at the end of one of the motel beds. To be fair to Dean, he looked just as startled by their arrival, so they really couldn't blame him. Once he got over the initial surprise, Sam let out a breath of relief.

"We looked everywhere for you, Dean," he said. "How the hell did you get here?"

"Ran," was all Dean offered, and he did so with a shaking voice.

Slowly letting out a sigh, Sam moved to sit at the end of the other bed, facing his brother. Skye leaned against the archway separating the beds from the main living area. She watched with careful concern, wondering how this scene between brothers would play out. Silence passed between the three of them for a long moment. Then, finally, Dean spoke up again.

"What do we do now?" he asked. "I've got less than a few hours on the clock."

Sam took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Clearly, he was feeling the pressure.

"I'm gonna die, Sammy." Sheer terror crossed over Dean's face. Sam had to look down and away from his brother.

"I don't know," he admitted, and it was clear he hated that. "I'm gonna call Bobby back, tell him to come down."

"Back?" Dean questioned, confusion on his face.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I called him earlier. Remember, Dean?"

Dean looked down at the floor. His expression remained unreadable. Skye straightened up a bit and assessed what was happening with narrowed eyes. Sam continued to speak.

"I mean, I don't want to make him drive through the night, but this is an emergency. We're running out of time here."

Dean's eyes went back up to his brother and instantly he jumped up from where he was standing. Sam tried to ask him what was wrong, but Dean stumbled backwards into the wall. Sam went down to his knees at his brother's side, and Skye crossed the room within seconds. Dean's skin was pale, and sweat was running down his face. His heart was pounding at such a rapid rate, Skye could feel it from where she was standing. It was a terror so palpable; it was contagious. Skye felt her own heart speed up to match it.

"No!" Dean shouted. "You get out of my brother you evil son of a bitch!" Sam and Skye exchanged worried glances.

"No one's possessing me, Dean," Sam said as calmly as possible. "I think you're having a hallucination. You need to calm down. Just calm down and breathe."

Putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, Sam began to take an overexaggerated deep breath. He obviously meant for his brother to copy him, but Dean was too far gone. His breathing was too unstable, and he was flinching from Sam's touch. Sam tried calling out to him a few more times, but Dean still didn't hear him. This is what finally made Skye act.

"Dean," she called out, but he didn't look at her. Kneeling at his other side, she put a hand on his shoulder as well. "Dean!"

Dean looked like he'd been electrically shocked. His eyes went straight to Skye, wide and terrified. For a moment, she thought he was still hallucinating. Then his eyes flicked from her, to Sam, and back and forth multiple times. It was as if he was checking that what he was seeing was real. Slowly, Skye asked, "You back with us, Dean?"

He didn't immediately answer. Instead, he looked back at Sam.

"You don't have yellow eyes." Skye noticed the way Sam's breathing hitched at the words.

"No, Dean," he said. "Yellow Eyes is not possessing me. You killed him, over a year ago."

Dean took a moment to consider those words, then slowly nodded. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, just as Sam had instructed him before. When he opened them back up, they had taken on a glassy quality.

"What's happening to me?" he asked, his voice rough. Sam and Skye looked at each other instantly understanding.

This is the end stage.

They both looked back at Dean. There was nothing they could say, and nothing they could do. Dean was going to be stuck in this perpetual terror until he died. He probably wouldn't even get any sleep. If only there was a magic pill, they could give him…

That was when a lightbulb went off in Skye's head. Right away, she got up and took her backpack with her into the bathroom. Once she was in civilian clothes, she went to the door and called over her shoulder that she would be back. Sam tried to question her about where she was going, but she remained tightly lipped. It would have been better if they didn't know what she was doing until it was already done.