"What am I looking for?" Ash asks by way of response as the scene cuts a little bit forward in time. Incidentally, the growth atop Chad Lindberg's head has never so clearly been a wig as it is right now, to the point where I keep expecting him to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he will gaze upon his reflection in the mirror with craziness and loathing before ripping that shit off to show us the scar! Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah: Sam, in hushed tones, tells Ash to track down all of the other psychics like Sammy himself, nationwide. Ellen interrupts to note that not all of The Ceiling Demon's super-special kiddies endured The Great Mommy Immolation Of 1983. Sam acknowledges this, but instructs Ash to begin with that detail.
A short time later, Dr. Badass bangs through the door of his lair to amble up to Sammy at the bar, flicking a bit of folded paper around in the air with a prideful, "Done, and done!" "That was fast," Sammy gulps around a mouthful of ale. That would likely be due to the fact that Ash was able to unearth a mere four survivors of The Great Mommy Immolation Of 1983: "Sam Winchester, of Lawrence, Kansas; Max Miller, of Saginaw, Michigan; Andrew Gallagher, from Guthrie, Oklahoma; and, uh, Scott Carey." Ash grimaces as he flips the wad of paper down on the bar. "You got an address?" Sam asks. "Kinda," Ash winces. "The Arbor Hills Cemetery, in Lafayette, Indiana. Plot 486." "So, he's dead?" Sammy gapes, eyebrows all a-flutter. "I sure hope so," Ash replies. "Otherwise, we got some super-special psychic scratching on the lid of his coffin right about now." Oh, he does not, even though he so totally should have. Instead, Ash relates the scant available details of Scott's pre-credits murder, adding that the local constabulary find themselves woefully short on suspects at the present time. Sam thanks Ash for his assistance and immediately heads off towards his stolen automobile for the long drive to Indiana. Amusingly enough, Ash wastes not a moment to snatch up Sam's half-empty pint to finish it. Heh. "Sam!" Ellen calls out to stop him before he's made it to the door. "I gotta call Dean," she insists, "I gotta let him know where you are." Sam shakes his shaggy head around. "I'm trying to find answers about who I am," he explains, "and my brother means well, but he can't protect me from that. Please." Ellen heaves a wary sigh, but agrees to keep her mouth shut. That should last.