Dean looked up, flashlight in one hand, bowie knife in the other as the door opened. He relaxed as Sam crossed the salt lines without any problems, watching as his brother half-sat on the desk.

"Here," Dean said, retrieving his journal. Opening it and flipping through the pages, past some of the notes and copies of bulletin posts he'd made, Dean did pause when he hit a space where he was somehow missing a page. It looked like it'd been torn out. Still, try as he might, he couldn't think of what he would've wrote there, especially when he left off at the notes on that ghost haunting Sam. Mentally shrugging, Dean put that onto the burner, and instead flipped through several blank pages to where he'd made copies of the maps that had been put on the bulletin board. "Looks like the patients here have made some maps; probably been here long enough to cobble these together."

Dean unfolded the pieces of paper, laying them out on the desk so Sam could get a look, shining his flashlight on it.

"So where'd you have in mind?"