Supernatural: Season One Dean Winchester Love story

Asylum (1)

Asylum (1)

Kylie's POV

I watched as Sam talked on the phone, pacing back and forth while Dean sat at a table looking through John's journal.

"No, Dad was in California last we heard from him. We just thought . . . he comes to you for 'munitions . . . maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks. Just, call us if you hear anything." Sam shook his head as he listened to the short response. "Thanks." Sam hung up the phone.

"Caleb hasn't heard from him?" I asked as I rocked my chair back and forth.

"Nope, and neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?" Sam asked and my eyes went to Dean who shook his head.

"No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out . . . I love the guy, but I swear, her writes like friggin' Yoda." Dean shook his head.

"You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person's." I chuckled at Sam's suggestion, only receiving a glare from the angry brother.

"We've talked about this. Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail." Dean explained.

"I don't care anymore." Sam raised his voice as I heard my phone ring in the background, I got up off my chair and went to my bag, looking through it.

"After all that happened back in Kansas. I mean . . . he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and nothing!" Sam said getting angrier.

"I know!" Dean yelled back.

"Where the hell is my cellphone?" I sighed, ignoring the fight.

"You know, he could be dead for all we know." Sam said and I felt my body stiffen.

"Don't say that!" Dean yelled. "He's not dead! He's-he's . . ."

"He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?"

I found my cellphone with a smile and flipped it open.

From Unavailable

Subject:

Kylie,

42,-89

9:52

"Huh. I don't believe it." I nodded as I looked at my phone.

"What?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously.

"It's uh . . ." I glanced at the boys. "It's a text message. It's coordinates." I passed the phone to Dean who immediately went to the laptop.

"You think Dad was . . . texting us?" Sam asked.

"He's given us coordinates before." I nodded.

"The man can barely work a toaster." Sam argued.

"Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least." Dean argued.

"Well, was there a number on the caller ID?" Sam asked me, but I shook my head.

"Nah, it said 'unknown'." I nodded.

"Well, where do the coordinates point?" Sam asked.

"That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois." Dean announced.

"Okay, and that's interesting how?" Sam asked.

"I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this."

I walked over to Dean and leaned down to look at the laptop.

"This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."

"Why does that sound familiar?" I asked Dean.

"Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see . . ." Dean trailed as he looked through the journal.

"Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths – till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go." Dean nodded.

"This is a job . . . Dad wants us to work a job." Sam snorted.

"Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?" Dean suggested.

"Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing." Sam said annoyed.

"Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!" Dean argued.

I stood back to let the boys argue, packing my bag quietly but listening.

"This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?" Sam glanced at me, but I remained silent.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his attention. "Dad's telling us to go somewhere, we're going."

------------------------

I stood outside the bar, leaning against the Impala while Dean and Sam did there little plan to talk to Daniel Gunderson, the partner of the cop who killed himself and his wife.

It was a tense ride down here, and I knew that it was best for them to argue it out themselves.

Eventually, Dean came out of the bar, pulling his leather jacket on his shoulders.

"How'd it go?" I asked as Dean stood next to me.

"He's in." Dean leaned on the car, and let out a breath.

"Feeling a little tense?" I asked as I glanced from John's journal to Dean.

He shook his head. "He's just . . ."

I nodded. "He doesn't get it."

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

"You ever think maybe he's thinking the same thing about you?" I asked gently as I closed the book.

"What do you mean?" Dean shook his head.

"I mean, you and Sam have different mind sets, you do whatever John tells you and Sam does whatever he thinks is best." I nodded. "You two are just clashing, both want to find John, kill the demon. Both want to do it their own way."

"And what about you? What do you want?" Dean asked. "What do you think is right?"

I let out a breath and shook my head. "It's not up to me? I'm just here to make sure you two don't kill each other."

"Is that why you came along?" Dean asked.

I shook my head. "I came along because you needed me." I nodded. "You knew I wasn't going to turn you down. You know how much you mean to me."

"I don't want you here just to keep Sam and I from killing each other." Dean shook his head.

"Then why do you want me here?" I asked.

Dean stared at me, almost as if he was studying my face, before looking over my head and up at the bar.

"Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy." Dean chuckled as he pulled away from me.

"I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting." Sam explained.

"Huh?" Dean asked confused.

"Never mind." I moved to see Sam. "What'd you find out from Gunderson?" I asked

"So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him." Sam explained.

"What about home?" Dean asked.

"He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids."

I nodded. "Sounds like the apple-pie life."

"Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him." Dean agreed.

"What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?" I asked.

"A lot."