Back from the break, Dean rushes over as Sam collapses to the ground and babbles out the details. Just as Sam manages to stagger back to his feet, however, a fire engine screams down the street behind them. Dean takes off to follow it as Sam pushes Andy back against a fence. "You're staying with me." Mrow.
Over at the gas station -- and from the faded logos on the pumps, it looks to be an old Phillips 66, so let me be the first to suggest they change their advertising tagline to "Self Immolation With A Smile!" -- Dean's arrived a few minutes too late. "What's up with your visions, man?" he demands. "This wasn't even a head start!" Sam hasn't a clue, so Dean decides to dig around a bit at the station for further information while Sam continues to guard Andy, despite the fact that Andy couldn't have placed the death call to the badly wigged slab of rib-eye now sizzling on the asphalt.
A short time later, Sam and Andy are perched across from one another on a tree stump and the back bumper of a truck, respectively, as Andy wonders, "You get premonitions of people about to die?" Sam nods his head. "Death visions?" Andy clarifies. "Yeah," Sam confirms. "Dude, that sucks," Andy opines, and I'm inclined to agree. "Depends upon who's dying," Raoul interjects. "I'd go into greater detail, but southeastern Cuba's positively beastly this time of year." "When I got my mind thing," Andy continues, "it was like a gift, you know -- it was like I won the Lotto." "But you still live in a van," Sam sniffs. "I don't get it -- you could have everything you ever wanted." "I have everything I need," Andy shrugs. Sam takes a moment to think about that, then evaluates Andy once more before concluding, "So you really aren't a killer, huh? That's good. That means there's hope for both of us." Just before Sam can really get his pissy little pity-party on, though, Dean arrives with the following bits of information, culled both from the local police and from a quick records search performed by Ash, whom Dean called on the way over: The victim was a forty-one-year-old single woman named Holly Beckett, who gave birth at the age of eighteen back in 1983, on the same day Andy himself was born. Andy confirms he was, indeed, adopted. DUN! Well, D'OH!, really, because that would mean it was Andy's adoptive mother who got herself pinned to the ceiling with a foot-wide gash in her torso right before she went nuclear, so that throws the whole pattern off for The Ceiling Demon's mommy-free children, doesn't it? No matter, because that's not important right now. What is important is the fact that Ash was unable to confirm that Holly was Andy's birth mother, because the records are "hard-copy only, sealed in the county office." "Well, screw that," Andy duhs. Heh.