ASYLUM [PART TWO]
___

"You sure you don't wanna go in and talk to Dr. Ellicott instead of me? Might save us both the trouble."
—
"Please. A session wouldn't be nearly long enough to get everything off my chest."

• • •

An hour later, Dean eases the Impala into a space outside a tall brick building, it's sign neatly polished reading: 'Clinical Psychiatry'. Afternoon light bounces off the glass doors, throwing pale reflections across the hood of the car. The lot is quiet, just a few scattered vehicles parked near the entrance.

Dean shuts off the engine, the familiar low rumble fading into silence, and turns toward Sam in the passenger seat. "Remember the plan?"

Sam huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Dean. We've been over it a hundred times." He glances at his brother, catching an unconvinced look lingering in his eyes, and sighs. "I go in, speak to Dr. Ellicott, and get information about the asylum."

Dean still doesn't look fully satisfied, watching him a beat longer.

From the backseat, Juliet leans foward against the seatback, her chin propped on her arm as she rests it along the back of the front bench seat. "Dean, let it go. Sam knows what he's doing."

Harlow, wedged snugly against her mother's side, kicks her little shoes against the leather seat before tugging at Juliet's sleeve. "Can we just go already?" She whines, her small voice breaking through the silence in the car.

Dean smirks despite himself and twists back toward her. "Guess Harlow's ready to roll." He reaches over and ruffles her hair, earning a quick scowl that only makes his grin widen.

Juliet smooths her daughter's hair back into place, shooting Dean a look for messing it up in the first place. He ignores it and instead nods at Sam, "Good. Let's go."

With that, the three hunters plus the littlest Winchester climb out of the car, the doors slamming shut behind them, and head toward the entrance of the building.

Dean stops and stands outside the psychiatric bulding, shooting it a look like it's mere presence is offending to him. Harlow's small hand is curled firmly in his. She swings her arm a little as she looks up at the glass doors, but his grip keeps her close as if knowing if she could, she would make a run for it. He glances over at Sam, giving a short nod.

"We'll be outside."

Sam returns the nods, lets out a sigh as he eyes the building as if he's psyching himself up just to go inside, and heads for the entrance. Juliet moves to follow, but Dean's voice cuts in behind her. "And where do you think you're going?"

Juliet stops and turns, her eyes narrowing on him. She taps her index finger to her chin, pretending to think. "Hmm. Oh, that's right," Her narrowed eyes turns into a glare, "somewhere you're not."

The words land sharp, her tone calm but biting. Dean's jaw flexes, but he doesn't say anything, just tightens his hold on Harlow's hand as Juliet pushes through the doors after Sam, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with their daughter.

Harlow looks up at him, sensing the shift, her little brow furrowed. She doesn't say anything but her grip on his hand tightens in turn, anchoring them both.

• • •

Juliet and Sam sit side by side on a row of blue plush chairs, just outside a closed wooden door with a brass plaque that reads 'Dr. James Ellicott', Clinical Psychiatry'. Sam flips idly through a magazine from the side table, green eyes barely skimming the pages, the corners of the paper crackling under his fingers. He's not really reading—just filling the silence.

After a moment, he glances sideways at Juliet one eyebrow lifting as if he's testing the waters. "So." he asks lightly, "why are you angry at him again?"

Juliet turns from the window, her reflection still faint in the glass as she fixes Sam with a pointed look. Her voice is dry but edged with heat. "Oh, you mean other than him snapping at me—and the man-child routine the second he doesn't get his own way."

Sam looks at her, nodding his head slowly. "And him not getting his own way would be?"

Juliet shrugs one shoulder, her eyes flicking back to the window as if she's only half-invested in what she sees outside. "Let's see," she holds up her hand, ticking the reasons off on her fingers one by one. "Me not agreeing with him about John. Me thinking John's 'orders' aren't gospel. Oh—and let's not forget—me daring to have an opinion he doesn't like." She drops her hand back into her lap with a dry little huff. "Take your pick. Honestly, I think half the time he just wants to pick a fight."

Sam huffs a quiet laugh, tilting his head toward the closed office door. "You sure you don't wanna go in and talk to Dr. Ellicott instead of me? Might save us both the trouble."

Juliet musters a half-smile at that, shaking her head. "Please. A session wouldn't be nearly long enough to get everything off my chest."

The humor lingers for only a beat longer before it fades. Sam notices the way she worries her bottom lip. chewing at it like she's trying to hold back more than she's saying. His voice softens, losing the joking tone. "You know what I heard most on that list of reasons you rattled off?" He pauses, catching her gaze. "Dad. Don't let him get between you and Dean, Jules. I know when we were kids, he was half the reason why you two butted heads so much. Don't let him keep doing it now we're adults."

Juliet narrows her eyes a little, "Oh, so you think I'm wrong?"

Sam shakes his head instantly, firm. "Hell no. You're not wrong. He's definitely been a piece of work lately." His lips twist wryly, but his tone stays gentle. "But at the end of the day, you still love him. And he still loves you. Shouldn't that be enough?"

Juliet lets out a low breath, her lips pursing. "Try telling him that."

Sam leans forward, resting his elboes on his knees as he meets her eyes head-on. "Yeah, like that'd go over well. Dean's never been great at hearing he's the problem. But Jules, don't mistake him lashing out for him not loving you. That's not what's happening—"

Juliet cuts Sam off with a scoff, "Isn't it?"

Sam gives her a look, "No, it's not and you know it." His words silence her. He takes that as an opening to continue, "—He snaps, he shuts down, especially when Dad's name gets dragged into it—that's just his default. Doesn't mean he's not in this with you. You know that. I know that. Hell, everyone does. The fights are noise. What's underneath? That's real. Don't lose sight of it."

Juliet lets out a softer breath, the tension easing from her shoulders as she leans her head against Sam's arm. A small, tired smile tugs at her lips. "Thanks, Sammy." There's a beat of silence before she looks up at him, her eyebrow raised in a teasing manner. "Who's 'everyone'?" Sam rolls his eyes and goes to retort but the door in front of them opens, causing the words to catch in his throat.

A man stands in the doorway, dressed smartly. Dr. Ellicott they presume. He looks between Sam and Juliet before his eyes finally settle on Sam. "Sam Winchester?" The said Winchester pushes himself to his feet, setting the magazine back on the side table with a soft thud. He offers the man a polite nod and a faint smile. "That's me."

Dr. Ellicott's own smile is practiced but warm as he steps aside, gesturing toward the office beyond. "Come on in."

Juliet stays where she is, the blue fabric of the waiting chair scratchy under her palms. She watches the door ease shut behind Sam, the quiet click echoing louder than it should. Left alone, her mind circles back to Sam's words. They hit closer than she wants to admit.

• • •

Sam offers one last polite smile as the doctor shuts the door behind them. "Thanks again for seeing me last minute, Doc."

He glances around the office, his eyes landing on another plaque with the doctor's name engraved on it. This one being an award for fifteen years of service. As he lowers himself onto the couch opposite the sleek black desk, he points at it. "Dr...Ellicott." His brows knit like he's thinking back on a memory. "Ellicott, that name. Wasn't there a...a Dr. Sanford Ellicott?" Sam nods his head, as if the answer has just come to him. "Yeah, he was a chief Psychiatrist somewhere."

Dr. James Ellicott tilts his head, settling into his chair with a faint smile, "My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?"

Sam shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Ah. Well, I'm sorta—" he hesitates, searching for the right phrase, "—a local history buff . Hey wasn't there, an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?"

James Ellicott purses his lips, tapping the end of his pen lightly against his notebook. His gaze sharpens on Sam. "We're on your dollar, Sam. We're here to talk about you."

Sam clears his throat, rubbing his palms against his jeans. "Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah. Sure."

There's a beat of silence, the faint noise of the pen tapping against paper is in the only sound in the room. Finally, the doctor looks up at Sam, his expression neutral, voice measured "So. How's things?"

Sam blinks at the casualness of the question, caught between giving the answer a patient would and the answer of someone who wants this to be over and done with as soon as possible. He knows that if Juliet was in the room with him, she would laugh at the awkward look on his face. His shoulders lift in a quick shrug, eyes darting briefly toward the bookshelf before flicking back. "Ah, things are good, Doctor."

Ellicott Jr, nods his head as he scribbles something down on the paper, the faint scratch of his pen against the page filling the room. Sam watches as he stops and looks back up at him. "Good. Whatcha been doing?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders, "Ahh, same old. I just been on a—" he catches himself, "—on a roadtrip with my brother, his girlfriend and my niece."

"Was that fun?"

Sam takes a long pause before answering, "Loads. Umm. You know we...ahh...we...met...a lot of...interesting people." He shifts in his seat, his voice pausing and starting as he struggles to find the right words without sounding crazy. He pauses because he swears he can hear someone snickering outside the office door. The sound is faint but unmistakable, bubbling muffled laughter like someone trying—and failing—to hold it in. He internally rolls his eyes.

'Juliet.'

The doctor doesn't seem to notice. Ellicott simply folds his hands over his knee and fixes Sam witha polite, expectant stare, waiting for him to continue.

Sam clears his throat and obliges, doing his best to ignore the giggles filtering through the wood. "Did a lot of ...ah...interesting things...ahhh." His words taper off, his eyes sliding back to the award hanging on the wall like it might throw him a lifeline. Truth be told, he's done here—he just wants the information on the asylum so he can leave.

"You know? What was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget..."

Ellicot tilts his head, giving him an unimpressed look, as if he thinks Sam's just trying to deflect the inevitable conversation.

"Look, if you're a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot."

That gets Sam's attention. He straightens a little, clearing his throat again, the sheepish look tugging back onto his face. "The riot. Well, no. I know. I'm just curious."

Ellicott sighs and sets his pen and notebook down on his desk before turning back to Sam, resting his elbows on his knee. "Sam. Let's cut the bull, shall we? You're avoiding the subject."

Sam gives the doctor an unsure look, "What subject?"

Ellicott picks his notebook and pen back up as he answers Sam. "You. Now I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, uh, this family you're road tripping with. How do you feel about them?"

Sam looks a little freaked out at the question, but after a second of contemplation, he pulls a face and opens his mouth and before he knows it, everything comes spilling out.

• • •

Meanwhile, outside the building, Dean is holding Harlow's hand. He watches her giggle as he twirls her around until she stumbles to a stop, dizzy and breathless. She shakes her head, curls bouncing, before beaming up at him. The grin lights up her whole face, but it doesn't last. Slowly, it falters, replaced by a tiny frown as a thought works its way into her little head.

Her green eyes—so much like his—drop to the ground. She scuffs her shoe against the sidewalk before finally looking back up at him.

"Daddy?"

Dean eyes are fixed on the entrance, scanning for Sam and Juliet. He hums distractedly, letting her know he's listening even though his mind's still half on the case.

Her small voice cuts through anyway.

"Do you still love mommy?"

The question stops him cold. For a second, Dean forgets the door, the job, everything. His head turns down sharply toward her, his chest tightening as if someone just punched him in the stomach and left him winded from the blow. He opens his mouth but no words come at first. Not because he doesn't know the answer—God, he's never been sure of anything—but because he hadn't expected that to come from his little girl.

The split second of silence is all it takes. Harlow's face drops, her lip wobbling as her hand slips a little in his. To her, the pause is louder than any no.

Dean crouches instantly, both hands covering hers, his voice firm but gentle as he catches her gaze. "Hey—look at me. Of course I love your mom. I always have, always will. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

Her wide eyes search his, testing, and he squeezes her small hands tighter. "You hear me, kiddo? Don't ever think different."

Harlow's lips twist before pursing—the look so achingly familiar it knocks Dean sidways. She looks just like Juliet in that moment. Her little brows knit together, confusion shadowing her face. "But then why are you and mommy argu...argu..."

She bites down on her lip, frustrated that the word won't come out the way she wants it to. Her small shoulders tense, like she's afraid she's said something wrong.

Dean's heart squeezes. He tips his head, softening his voice. "Arguing?" he supplies gently.

Relief washes over her face. Harlow nods quickly, happy her dad knows exactly what she's trying to say.

"Yeah, that word."

There's a beat of silence, and the frown begins to ease from Harlow's face, though her little brows are still knitted with doubt. Dean tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his voice softening even more as he smooths her hair. "Me and mommy...we fight sometimes, sure. But that's just 'cause we're both stubborn as hell. Doesn't mean I don't love her. That's never up for debate."

Finally, Harlow nods, her lips steadying as she leans into his side. Dean wraps his arms around her, one hand stroking the back of her hair, his eyes lifting back toward the bulding—but the job isn't what's on his mind anymore.

His doesn't dwell on it for long. Barely two minutes later, he spots Sam and Juliet pushing through the building's doors, making their way toward him and Harlow. Dean straightens up but keeps his arm draped around his daughter's shoulders.

"Dude! You were in there forever. What the hell were you talking about?"

He catches Juliet biting her lip, trying—and failing—to hold back a laugh. Mirth sparks in her brown eyes. Sam glares at her, muttering under his breath, "Not a word."

Dean's brows lift, suspicion tugging at his expression. Sam shrugs, brushing it off. "Just the hospital, you know.

"And...?" he presses

Sam meets his brother's stare head-on, green eyes locking with green. "And the south wing? It's where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane."

Dean makes a face and hoists Harlow up into his arms. She loops her little hands around his neck automatically, clinging to him as he glances between Sam and Juliet. The same uneasy expression rests on his face as it does on his brother's.

"Sounds cozy."

Sam nods his head, his voice loew with the weight of it."Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other."

Juliet's brows lift slightly, the picture forming in her head. "So basically Girl, interrupted—just with less Angelina Jolie and a whole lot more blood." Her tone is dry, but the glance she flicks toward Dean makes it clear she isn't joking about the violence.

Dean huffs a short laugh, surprising her. "Good reference, babe."

The words catch Juliet off guard—not sharp, not biting, just warm. Her brows lift as she glances at him, the unexpected shift pulling air out of her retort. She doesn't have time to dwell on it before Dean's hand finds hers, tugging her gently closer to his side. The simple contact makes her heart skip, even as he adjusts Harlow more securely in his other arm.

Dean tilts his head toward Sam, green eyes narrowing in thought. "So the patients took over the asylum?"

Sam shrugs before nodding his head, "Apparently."

Dean's brows shoot up, his brain runs a mile a minute, "Any deaths?"

Sam nods his head again, slower this time. "Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered—including our chief our staff, Ellicott."

Juliet's stomach knots at that, her eyes flicking sharply to Sam. The thought of Ellicott's ghost still tormenting those poor people even in death. It's enough to make her heart sink with sympathy.

Dean's eyebrows knit together as his mouth twists, confusion written across his face. "What do you mean, never recovered?"

Before Sam can reply, Juliet beats him to it, making Dean glance down at her

"He means, the cops scoured every inch of the place but the the patients must've...stuffed their bodies somewhere to hide them." Her lips curl in digust at the thought. The image turns her stomach, almost enough to bring up her breakfast, but she forces it down. Professional, even when it's ugly.

Sam opens his mouth to ask how she knows that, but Juliet flashes him an innocent smile, "I was listening at the door. I was bored."

Dean's lips curl in the same expression Juliet wore seconds ago. He shudders, a ripple of revulsion running through him. "That's grim."

Sam twists his lips, nodding once. No point arguing with his brother on this one. "Yeah. So, they transfered all the remaining patients and closed the hotel down."

Dean hikes Harlow up higher on his hip when he feels her slipping. She's been fiddling with the amulet around his neck the entire time, blissfully tuned out of the conversation. "So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies."

Sam lets out a weary sigh, his shoulders sagging. "And a bunch of angry spirits."

Juliet tips her head, a dry smile tugging at her lips. "So, your average Tuesday. Huh, boys?"

Dean quirks a smirk as Harlow squirms in his arms. He lowers her to the ground and ruffles her hair before glancing back at Juliet and Sam.

"Good times. Let's check out the hospital tonight."

• • •

The motel room is cluttered with the usual choas before a hunt—guns spread across the bed, rocksalt bullets scattered on the table, Sam bent over a duffel checking clips while Harlow bounces on the other bed with her stuffed elephant, Ellie. Juliet brushes past Dean, reaching for her jacket draped over a chair, but he catches her hand mid-stride.

"Juliet," he says, his voice low enough not to carry. "We need to talk."

She glances down at his hand, then up at his face. There's not bite in his tone this time, no sharp edge, just something heavier. She nods once. "Okay."

Dean shakes his head, jaw tightening. "Not here."

He drops her hand just long enough to grab his jacket, then pushes the motel door open. Juliet follows without a word, leaving Harlow staring after them as the door shuts with a soft click.

Harlow frowns, hugging her elephant close before looking up at Sam. "Where are they going, Uncle Sammy?"

Sam crouches down to her level, his voice gentle as he brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. "To talk, Angel."

• • •

Outside, the night air is sharp, carrying the faint tang on gasoline from the nearby road. The neon motel sign flickers overhead, buzzing  softly. Dean paces a few steps, hands buried deep in his pockets, before stopping under the glow of the sign. Juliet folds her arms—not from the chill, but from the tension—and waits.

"Well?" she prompts, already defensive.

Dean exhales, staring out at the cracked asphalt. "Look, I'm not...good at this. Talking. But I don't want to keep doing this—snapping at you everytime Dad comes up, making Harlow watch us go at it like a couple of idiots." His voice dips lower. "She asked me earlier if I still love you."

Juliet's heart stutters as she wraps her arms around herself. "She—what?"

"Yeah," Dean mutters, finally meeting her eyes. "And I hated that. Because it's not about that. I love you, Jules. You know I do. But everytime you push back on Dad, it—it's like I'm a kid again, trying to hold everything together. And I take it out on you when I shouldn't."

Juliet's arms loosen, her voice steadier now. "Dean, you don't have to hold it together by yourself anymore. You've got me. You've got Sam. But when you shut me out—when you snap—it feels like you don't trust me to stand beside you."

Dean looks away, then back, raw honesty flickering in his green eyes. "I do trust you. Probably more than I should. I just...don't always know how to show it."

The words hang between them, heavy. The his voice shifts, lower, stripped down to bone. "Truth is, I'm worried we're not gonna find him. And if we do...it'll be too late. He'll be dead in a ditch somewhere, and I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to hold this family together if that happens."

Juliet's chest tightens. For a moment, all the sharp edges between them dull, and she sees onay the boy she grew up with—her boyfriend, the father of her child—carrying the same weight he always has—only heavier now.

She steps closer, reaching for his hand. "We will find him, Dean. You're not alone in this. I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Sam. We'll find him. Together."

He grabs her hand, his grip tight, his eyes finally locks on hers. For a beat, it's just green on brown, everything unsaid pressing heavy between them.

"Just... answer me one thing," he says quietly. "Why do you tense every time Dad's name comes up?"

Juliet's breath catches as her heart beat quickens. She opens her mouth, scrambling for some half-assed excuse, but nothing comes. Her silence stretches, and Dean just keeps watching her, waiting, expecting an answer.

Before she can force out a single word and before Dean can push her for an answer, the motel door creaks open—it's hinges squeaking—behind them.

Sam steps out, holding the door halfway open with his shoulder. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, but his voice is soft as he gives them a sympathetic smile of apology. "Time to hit the road."

Dean's hand lingers in Juliet's for one last second before he lets go, slipping back into motion like the moment never happened, she suspects that's for Sam's benefit and Harlow's. Juliet stays rooted where she is, her heart hammering, Dean's question still lodged in her chest with no answer given.

It isn't lost on her that this is the second time Sam's interruption has pulled her back from the metaphorical edge—from blurting out the truth Dean isn't ready to hear—the truth she isn't ready for him to hear. Twice now, her best friend has unknowingly saved her ass, stepping in at the exact moment Dean was about to push for an answer. Juliet presses her lips together, unsure if she should feel grateful for the reprieve or guilty that she still hasn't told Dean the truth.

The latter...always the latter.

• • •

The asylum's front doors groan as Sam opens them, the hinges screaming after decades of rust and neglect. He's the first to step inside, his flashlight beam slicing through the dark. In his other hand, the video camera hums softly, it's screen glowing green in night-vision mode. Dean follows close behind, EMF meter flickering red in his grip. Juliet brings up the rear, her own flashlight steady in her hand. Harlow keeps close, her small fingers tucked securely into her mother's palm.

The air is thick—dust, rot, and something heavier, that electric stillness that only comes with the dead.

"Getting any readings?" Sam asks without looking up.

Dean's gaze flicks to the EMF, which is whirring like crazy. "Yeah. Big time."

"This place is orbing like crazy," Sam mutters, adjusting the focus on the camera. The lens glints faintly, catching the spirit orbs that drift through the air like dust motes. They almost look like snow in the viewfinder's green-tinted glow.

"Probably multiple spirits out and about," Dean replies.

Harlow stands on her tipoes, tilting her head with wide eyes as she tries to get a view of the camera. "They look like snowflakes," she whispers.

Juliet squeezes her hand. "Stay close, Peach. Those aren't the kind you catch on your tongue."

Dean glances back at the, the corner of his mouth twitching at his daughter's innocence. "Listen to your mom."

He turns forward again, the EMF whining louder as they move deeper into the asylum. Their shoes slap against the concrete floor. The air feels colder here, pressing in heavy and stale. Paint peels from the walls in long, curling strips, and the smell of damp rot clings to everything.

Sam sweeps his flashlight along the decaying corridor, his voice low. "If these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting..."

Dean shifts the EMF in his grip, its steady whine continuing to cut through the silence. "We gotta find 'em and burn 'em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit—" His eyes flick toward the darkness ahead, "—is the pissed off spirit of a pyscho killer."

Beside Juliet, Harlow grips her mother's hand tighter, her small voice barely above a whisper. "Mommy, what's a pyscho killer?"

Juliet hesitates, mind sifting for an asnwer that won't scare her five year old. Finally, she settles on one, her tone gentle as she replies. "Someone who didn't get enough hugs as a kid," she murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from Harlow's face.

The three hunters—plus the little Winchester—make their way deeper into the asylum. The air grows colder with every step, the smell of mildew and rust thickening around them. Their flashlight beams pierce through the darkness, boucning off cracked concrete and peeling paint.

Neither hunter notices the crazed, bald man strapped into a straitjacket in the corner—his head tilted as he watches them pass.

A chill creeps up Juliet's spine. She shivers and glances over her shoulder—but there's nothing there.

• • •

Juliet swears the deeper the go into the asylum, the air turns more damp and stale, heavy with the scent of rust and decay. Every step kicks up dust that catches weakly in the glow of the flashlights. Their boots scuff against the concrete.

Dean leads the way, flashlight in hand, while Sam takes the far side of the hall. Juliet follows close behind Dean, her hand firm around Harlow's. The little girl hugs herself with her free arm, green eyes fixed on the pool of light—from Dean's flashlight—in front of them.

"Stay close," Juliet murmurs, her voice low.

"I am," Harlow whispers, pressing closer to her side.

The corridor opens into a cluster of patient rooms, each door half-hinged and swollen with damp. Dean glances at Juliet, then nods toward the nearest door. "We'll take this side," he says quietly.

Juliet gives a short nod, falling in step behind him.

They move in sync toward the room. The sound of dripping water echoes from somewhere distant, each drop sharp in the stillness.

Dean pushes the door open with his shoulder. The hinges groan. the noise sharp in the still air. Juliet follows him in, keeping Harlow close at her side. The glow from Dean's flashlight drags across the walls—peeling paint, rusted bed frames, scraps of torn sheets scattered across the floor.

Harlow wrinkles her nose as a smell invades her senses, she looks between her parents. Her voice is small. "It smells funny."

"Old buildings do," Juliet says softly. "Don't breathe too deep, okay? The mold, if there is any, might make you become sick."

Harlow nods her head.

Dean glances over his shoulder at them both before focusing back on the room. "There's nothin' here. C'mon."

Juliet squeezes Harlow's hand as the follow Dean out of the room.

• • •

A few doors down, Sam pauses. The camera starts to fritz. The image flickers in light, static skipping across the screen. He lift it again—and freezes.

Through the shaky image, a figure stares back at him: an old woman, white-haired, skin pale and stretched. One of her eyes hang ruined against her cheek, bloody and grim.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cuts through the quiet. "Dean!"

Dean rushes into the room, Juliet and Harlow following.

Sam looks at his brother as he runs into the room while rummaging in his duffle that he brought with him.

"Shotgun!"

Juliet and Harlow rush into the room behind Dean.

The twenty-three year old stops short at seeing the ghost and pulls Harlow behind her before she can see the spirit, but by the sound of her daughter's horrified gasp—it's too late. Juliet shields her eyes anyway.

"Don't look, baby."

With her daughter's eyes now covered, Juliet turns her attention to her Dean and watches as he does two things at once and if this was any other time, she would be applauding his multitasking skills. Maybe even throwing roses at his feet.

Once the shotgun is free, Dean swings it up. "Sam, get down!" he barks, aiming the gun at the ghost in front of his brother.

Heeding his brother's advice, Sam throws himself onto the ground.

Juliet barely has time to pull Harlow into her side before the gun goes off. The blast is deafening as the rock salt bullet glides through the air. She shields Harlow's head against her hip until the ringing fades.

When she looks up, the woman is gone—only the faint shimmer of ash and air left where she stood.

Juliet straightens slowly, sweeping her flashlight through the room. "Well," she mutters voice tight. "That was new."

The air smells like burnt powder.

Sam gets to his feet, brushing dust off his jacket. "That was weird."

Dean nods without looking at him. "Yeah, you're telling me."

Dean starts moving out of the room, motioning for his family to follow.

Sam trails behind, still frowning. "No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn't attack me."

Dean snorts, "Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing."

Juliet glances down at Harlow. The girl's still holding her hand, her lip caught between her teeth. "You okay?"

Harlow nods but doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Was that a ghost?"

Juliet crouches down as Sam and Dean stop walking. She brushes her thumb across Harlow's cheek. "Yeah. But she's gone now. You're safe."

Sam looks at them both before turning his gaze back to Dean. "She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try to. So if she didn't wanna hurt me...what did she want?"

Harlow frowns thoughtfully as she lets go of Juliet's hand and grabs Dean's one instead. "Maybe she was sad," she says quietly.

Dean's heart twists at seeing the wide-eyed expression on his daughter's face. His jaw tightens a little but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he squeezes Harlow's hand as they continue to walk farther into the asylum.

• • •

As they make their way deeper into the building, a noise comes from a room they're passing. Dean immediately passes Harlow over to Juliet before he raises his shotgun and Sam flicks on his flashlight, shinning it into the room. They approach a metal bed covered in a ragged sheet, on its side.

Juliet's heart stutters as she—along with Sam and Dean—sees the top of a blond head behind it. All three hunters brace themselves, expecting a ghost. Sam reaches out and tips the bed over.

Juliet's brow furrows—the blond hair belongs to a human girl, not a ghost. The girl is crouched in the corner, facing the wall. She spins around, terrified. She gasps as her eyes land on the three adults and a... child?

Juliet holds out her hands, palms facing outward. Her voice is quiet and even as she speaks. "Hey, hey... it's okay. We're not gonna hurt you."

The girl flicks her gaze to Dean, warily eyeing the shotgun in his hands. Juliet follows her gaze, then elbows Dean in the side. He looks at her, and when she motions down to the gun, his brain clicks and he lowers it, setting his green eyes back on the blond girl. "It's alright, we're not gonna hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?"

The girl exhales shakily before answering. "Katherine. Kat."

Dean nods his head, "Okay. I'm Dean, this is Sam and Juliet."

Juliet smiles and wiggles her fingers in greeting. She's about to introduce her daughter, but Harlow's voice stops her before she can get the chance. "Mommy? Is she a ghost too?"

Juliet shakes her head, keeping her tone calm as she stifles a laugh. "No, baby. She's just scared."

"Oh."

Despite the tension in the room, Harlow skips up to Katherine and smiles, showing off her pearly whites. "Hello! I'm Harlow. It's nice to meet you."

Even though her heart is racing in her chest, Kat manages a smile and waves back. The tone of Harlow's voice—and that sweet little smile—is almost enough to put her at ease.

That is, until the taller man's—Sam, she believes he's called—scolding tone hits her ears.

"What are you doing here?"

She blinks slowly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before answering.

"Um. My boyfriend, Gavin—"

Dean tilts his head, voice gruff as he cuts her off.

"Is he here?"

Kat nods, "Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just... you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and—"

Dean doesn't need to hear anymore—he's got the picture.

"Alright. Kat? Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend."

Kat is quick to shake her head, blond hair flying as she does so. "No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you."

Juliet purses her lips before raising one of her eyebrows. Her voice comes out slowly, like she doesn't want to offend the girl. "Sweetheart, I'm no expert—but if his idea for a first date is a haunted asylum maybe he's not the right guy for you."

When Kat pierces her with a glare, Juliet holds her hands up in surrender.

"I'm just sayin'—know your worth."

Katherine is about to retort but Dean stops her before she can even utter a syllable.

"It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous."

Katherine just sets her jaw at his words, fixing her gaze on him. Determination shines in her eyes. "That's why I gotta find him."

Dean sighs, knowing not to defy a woman when she's set on something—he's learned that lesson way too many times with Juliet.

"Alright, I guess we're gonna split up then. Let's go."

• • •

Juliet and Sam wander through the asylum, peering into rooms as they look for Kat's boyfriend, Gavin.

Juliet decided to search with Sam—she knows Harlow will be safe with Dean, and her little girl seems to have taken a liking to Kat.

The brunette sighs as she shines her flashlight into another room. "Who decides to go to a haunted asylum for a date? Is there no such thing as romance anymore?"

Sam smirks. "In their defence, they probably didn't know it was haunted."

That earns an eye roll from Juliet. "They must watch horror movies. They should learn from them."

Meanwhile, Dean is having that exact same thought as he searches for Gavin with Kat and Harlow. The five year old is holding Kat's hand as they peer into doorways, calling Gavin's name.

Kat peers into a dirty window, she can't see much. All she she can make out is there's a desk cluttered with all kinds of things.

"Gavin... Gavin?"

Dean raises an eyebrow, as he shines the flashlight into the next room. "I got a question for ya. You've seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?"

Kat turns away from the window and shrugs, not really sure what that has to do with anything.

"I guess so."

Dean turns to face her, lowering the light so it doesn't blind her. He nods his head, "Do me a favor. Next time you see one? Pay attention."

Kat nods her head but he isn't finished.

"When someone says a place is haunted—don't go in!"

Harlow giggles at the sound of her dad's voice, the way it went an octave higher at the end. She looks up at Kat, tugging on her hand. "I can't watch scary movies. My mommy and daddy say that I'm too young."

Kat can't help but find the five year old sweet—she babysits her neighbors' kids all the time. She wants some of her own one day—kids with the same big heart and easy laugh. If she ever did, she hopes they'd be like Harlow—a little ball of sunshine in a world that can get pretty dark. Harlow's hand in hers gives her a small but steady comfort.

As they move forward, they don't see the dark shape move across the window.

• • •

Juliet shines the flashlight into what has to be the fifth room she and Sam have checked. She aims the beam across the floor and freezes—a boy is lying there, passed out cold.

She rushes into the room, Sam right on her heels.

Juliet crouches down to shake him but, but his eyes flash open before she can touch his arm. His eyes dart to Juliet, then to Sam.

Then he freaks out, thinking they're ghosts.

Sam holds his hands up in the same way Juliet did with Kat—palms facing outward.

"Hey, Gavin. It's okay, we're here to help."

Gavin's eyes flick back and forth between them, his brain still trying to catch up after being unconscious.

"Who are you?"

Juliet rises to her feet and takes her flashlight back from Sam. She points to herself. "I'm Juliet," Then she gestures toward her best friend. "This is Sam." She looks him up and down, quirking her brow. "Uh, we found your girlfriend."

Gavin groans as he gets to his feet, wincing when he touches the back of his head. "Kat?" He looks to them, worry etched across his face. "Is she alright?"

Sam gives him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah. She's worried about you." The younger Winchester brother studies the teeanger for a beat. "Are you okay?"

Gavin nods his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was running. I think I fell?"

Juliet tilts her head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What were you runnin' from?"

Gavin swallows hard, "There was... there was this girl. Her face—"

He pauses, eyes widening with horror at the memory of the ghost's face.

"It was all messed up."

"Okay listen—did this girl...did she try and hurt you?"

Gavin looks at Sam, his dark brows knitting together as he stops rubbing the back of his neck. A frown creases his forehead. He shakes his head slowly, confusion flickering across his face. "What? No. She...uh—"

Juliet raises an eyebrow, her tone sharp but curious.

"She what? What did she do?"

Gavin's gaze drops to the floor. His shoulders hunch a little, and a faint pink creeps into his cheeks. When he finally speaks, his voice is small—like he's embarrassed to say whatever it is aloud.

"She...kissed me."

Juliet blinks once, then twice. Her nose wrinkles as a look of pure disgust flashes across her face. She exhales hard through her nose, muttering under her breath.

"That is disgusting. That's just all kinds of wrong."

She pauses for a beat, then squints at him, lips twitching with incredulous disbelief.

"...Did you kiss her back?"

Gavin's eyes shoot wide open, his head jerking up so fast it's a wonder he doesn't strain his neck.

"What? No!"

Juliet tilts her head to the left, eyeing him up and down. The corners of her mouth twitch as she studies him, catching the way his voice went up an octave higher. Her suspicion melts into a playful smirk.

"Liar," she sings, drawing out the word in a teasing, almost musical tone.

Sam turns sharply to his best friend, "Juliet!"

The huntress just shrugs, plams turned upward in mock innocence, that same amused spark dancing in her eyes.

"What? I'm curious."

Sam rolls his eyes, not even bothering to dignify that with a response. He's used to Juliet's brand of sass by now. Instead, he turns his attention back to Gavin.

Although he has to admit, he's a little thrown—the ghost kissed him? Defintely not their usual M.O.

"Uh...um...but...but she didn't hurt you, physically?"

Gavin shoot him a look that screams 'are you serious?'

"Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!"

Juliet rolls her eyes, arms folding over her chest as she mutters, "We get it, you got a little ghosty action. No need to brag about it."

Sam exhales through his nose, ignoring her completely. He refocuses on Gavin.

"Well, trust me, it could have been worse. Now—do you remember anything else?"

Gavin's brows knit together as he nods his head slowly.

"She uh...actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear."

Juliet straightens a little, eyebrow arching again as her curiosity sparks back to life.

"What?"

Gavin shrugs, still a little pale.

"I don't know. I ran like hell."

Juliet hums tilting her head slightly as though mulling it over. Then, with a faint smirk tugging at her lips, she lifts her brows.

"And that happened after the kiss?"

Gavin glares, catching the teasing edge in her tone. His jaw tightens, a faint flush creeping back into his cheeks.

Sam lets out a tired huff, running a hand down his face before giving her a pointed look that says 'please stop'.

Juliet's grin falters. She sighs, tossing her flashlight from one hand to the other in mock frustration. "Fine! God, no one can take a joke." 

She rubs the back of her neck, eyes darting to the cracked doorway like she's already halfway out of the conversation. Her voice softens as she mutters, mostly to herself,

"I'm gonna go find Dean. He would've laughed."

Juliet turns on her heel, the beam of her flashlight cutting across the walls as she strides out of the room. Her boots echo faintly against the grimy concrete. and her muttering trails after her—something about how 'no one appreciates good humor anymore'.

She pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders as the hallway air hits her—colder, heavier somehow—and shakes her head with a faint, crooked smile. Even now, in a hunted asylum, she's half-smiling to herself, already rehearing how she'll tell Dean the story just to see him laugh.

• • •

Juliet doesn't have to walk far before spottig the backs of Dean, Kat and Harlow. A mischievious smirks tugs at her lips. She creeps forward, steps light and delberate, careful not to make a sound on the cracked floor,

One she's close enough, she leans down and gently places a hand on Harlow's head.

"Boo!"

The five year old gasps, whipping around so fast her ponytail swishes. Her wide eyes flash with fright—untile they land on Juliet. Then, just as quickly, her expression shifts. The glare that follows could rival Dean's.

Juliet inwardly smirks as she noticed both Dean and Kat jump from the corner of her eye. Her brown eyes shift back to Harlow, who plants her small hands on her hips.

"Mommy, that wasn't funny."

Juliet presses her lips together to keep from laughing outright. She crouches down to her daughter's level, feigning a look of overdone sympathy.

"Of course it wasn't. I'm sorry, Harls."

But as she looks at her daughter, Juliet realizes with faint amusement just how much that glare mirror her own—the daem furrowed brow, the same narrowed eyes that—she knows—Dean has seen a thousand times over. Like mother, like daughter.

Harlow narrows her eyes for a moment longer, clearly deciding whether to forgive her mother. Then her expression softens, all traces of child-like irritation gone.

She throws her arms around Juliet's neck, giggling as Juliet lets out a quiet laugh and hugs her back. Juliet smiles as her goal is achieved—to distract her daughter, if onyl for a moment, from the darkly and dimly lit asylum.

Dean looks to Juliet as she straightens up, breaking the hug.

"What brings you down to this part of the asylum?"

Juliet's face lights up, like she's just remembered why she came looking for them in the first place. "You won't believe what I'm about to tell you."

Now that gets Dean's attention. His curiosity flickers, one brow arching.

He archs an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"We found Gavin—" Juliet pauses and glances toward Kat, "—Oh, we found Gavin." She then glances back at Dean, "And a ghost kissed him."

Dean's expression twists into one that's almost identical to the one Juliet wore a few minutes ago. His nose wrinkles, his head shaking in disbelief.

"That's just a whole new level of ew."

Juliet nods her head in agreement, pointing at him with her index finger.

"Exactly."

She's about to continue, her mouth already parting as if she can't wait to share the next part of the story, when a sound echoes down the far hallway—a low, dragging scrape against concrete that makes the air seem colder.

The mirth in Juliet's brown eyes fades instantly, replaced by sharp alertness. Her spine straightens, and Dean's hand automatically shifts closer to his shotgun. Their eyes meet, the silent kind of look that speaks louder than words.

Both of them step infront of Kat and Harlow, moving as one. Harlow, without being told, slips her hands into Kat's and squeezes tight.

Dean raises his flashlight as they move down the narrow corridor. The beam cuts through the dark, slicing across dust and shadows. The only sound now is the faint hum of the old building—and the distant drip of water from somewhere deep in the asylum.

Dean takes point, walking just ahead of Juliet. The light shines through the dark, catching the dust motes in the air.

Without warning, the light begins to flicker. Dean's green eyes narrow, a quiet exhale slipping through his nose before the flashlight sputters out completely.

He gives it a firm smack against his palm—once, twice—but it's no use.

"You son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath.

Pocketing the useless flashlight, he digs into his back pocket and pulls out his lighter. Before sparking it, he glances over his shoulder with a reassuring half-smile meant for Kat and Harlow—mainly Harlow.

"It's alright, I got a lighter."

The small comfort of his tone helps steady Juliet—until she feels a sudden squeeze around her upper arm. It's firm, almost desperate. She flinches at the pressure, her breath catching.

Slowly, she turns her head to look at Dean.

"Dean?"

He hums absentmindedly, still focused on coaxing the lighter to spark.

"Yeah?"

Juliet's voice lowers to a whisper, "I know you're probably worried for Harlow, but you're hurting my arm."

The lighter clicks to life, flame casting a warm glow across his face. Dean looks up, confusion flickering in his expression. "What are you talking about?"

With the lighter now ablaze, Juliet and Dean look at each other—the small flame flickering between them, throwing long shadows along the peeling walls. The realization hits at the same time.

They're standing too far apart for him to be the one holding her arm.

Juliet's breath catches. Slowly, she lowers her gaze to her arm, the flicker of the flame barely reaching it.

A disembodied hand—gray, cold, its fingers sunken and bruised—is wrapped around her forearm in a vise-like grip. The skin where it touches her already burns cold.

"Dean—"

Before she can say anything else, a force yanks her backwards. Her scream catches in her throat as her boots skid over the concrete, the lighter's glow vanishing in the blur of motion.

In a flash, Juliet is dragged into a side room. The heavy metal door slams shut behind her with a deafening clang that echoes through the hall. The last thing she hears before the darkness swallows her is Harlow's voice—high, terrified, breaking on her name.

"Mommy!"

The room goes still. The only sound left is Juliet's ragged breathing.

After a moment, she exhales shakily, muttering under her breath as she stares up at the ceiling she can't see.

"Is this punishment for what I said? I'm sure Gavin enjoyed it!"

—

Author's Note

And that's a wrap for Chapter Thirty.

I'd thought it best I end it there, that way the episode is split into three parts instead of two.

You didn't think I would just give you the phone call with John that easily did you?

Nope, that will be in the next chapter.

I loved writing Sam and Juliet moments into this chapter, I feel like I don't show off or write their friendship enough and honestly, that's on me. I'll try to fix that in future chapters.

Also, Dean and Juliet made up! How sweet! But how long will it last?

Also, isn't Harlow just adorable? I absolutely adore her.

There's only one more chapter to go before the Scarecrow episode 😬

The end of the next chapter will be the call from John. Who will answer it Juliet or Sam? Guess you'll just have to wait and see! Hopefully it won't be long until I publish the next chapter, depending on how frequently life gets in the way.

Anyway,  as always please don't forget to vote and comment!

I'll see you all in the next chapter.

Until then...