New city. New motel. It's been over a week since Dean and Cas kissed for the first time and Dean's still uncertain where they stand on that. They've kissed only once since, and it was rather impulsive and in the parking lot. There's something in Dean that longs to be close to him again, to feel Cas's body against his, to see those striking dark blue eyes only inches from his.

But there's something else holding him back.
Who is he to think he can ever have a relationship with someone, especially an angel? He's a time bomb of anger and violence and desperation. He's never committed to anything.
"Cas, I'm bored," he declares, sitting at the tiny motel dining table with his feet propped up on it. This is the first room they've decided to share.
"Okay," Cas says with a frown. "So…?"
"I've been restless," Dean sighs. "I've been trying to hide it, ignore it, whatever. But I'm used to being busy. Hunting down people and…killing them—but anyway, I usually have stuff to do. I think sitting around is making my urge to kill something worse."
"What do you want to do, then?"
This is the part Dean isn't certain how to say. "I want…I don't know, I'm guessing this is stupid at this point. But I want to…I wanna find out who my parents were." He glances at Cas, who has his head tipped to the side and a slight frown on his face. "I mean, I remember them, vaguely." He stares out the window. "My mom's name was Mary. She had long blonde hair and this…this beautiful smile. She'd sing me…I think it was Hey Jude," he says with a slight laugh, "instead of lullabies. And my dad…John. He was hard to make laugh, but Mom could always do it if she wanted. Sometimes he'd let me sit on his lap while he drove down our street, which I thought was just the coolest thing." He shakes his head. "He had this big black car from, like, the sixties. I don't really remember it, except that he loved it."
Dean finally looks up and remembers Cas is still there, listening with a sort of sad furrow in his brows. Dean rubs a hand over his face.
"It doesn't really matter. I just—it'll give me something to do."
"I can tell you…what I know about them," Cas offers. "I learned a bit when I looked you up after you poisoned me."
"Really?" Dean asks, sliding his feet off the table and leaning slightly toward Cas. He can't explain why he cares all of a sudden—maybe he's always cared, but only now is he human enough to notice it. "Shoot."
Cas inhales and looks away, thinking. "Mostly I know about how they died. Do you…still want to hear that?"
"Yes. All I ever knew was that it was a car accident. They never told me what they were doing, just that I had to stay with a babysitter—and they just…never came to take me home."
Cas speaks carefully. "They were hit by a vehicle much larger than their own—I don't know what you call them. It was a head-on collision and it wasn't their fault. This all happened in the morning, yes? The other driver had been driving all night, I believe, and hadn't stopped to rest." He sighs. "Your mother died almost immediately. Medical help came, but they could only try saving your father. He was unconscious the whole time and he didn't…didn't make it to the hospital."
Dean's jaw tightens, but he's mostly expressionless.
Cas pauses. "I…I don't know much about them in life. Your mother came from a family of hunters."
Dean looks up with raised eyebrows. "Hunters? Like, demon hunters?"
Cas nods. "And your father came from a family of people who collected knowledge about the supernatural. The Men of Letters. Those things may have had something to do with why they were gone, but that was as far as I learned. I wish I could tell you more."
Dean nods slowly. Then he scoffs slightly. "I guess it's a good thing they can't see me now, huh?"
"Nothing you've done is your fault, Dean. Not what you're thinking, anyway."
Dean rolls his eyes and feels guilt grip his insides. "Don't get me started, Cas."
A silence falls between them.
"They're in heaven now," Cas adds quietly, "if that changes anything."
Dean looks up at him. "They are? How do you know?"
"I—I know a lot of the souls in heaven. I know about them the same way I knew all of this. It's not like angels get to interact with human souls in their individual heavens—not only is it frowned upon, but specific souls can be nearly impossible to find. But I can find out who's there."
"What about my brother?"
Cas looks startled. "Your brother?"
"Yeah." He frowns. "I'm surprised you didn't find anything about him. I mean…there's not much to tell. He got adopted, I went into foster care. We saw each other every few months, sometimes a week at a time. But I heard he'd—I thought he died of some illness recently after I got to hell." He's surprised by how difficult it is to think and talk about all this. He's never cared much since he became a demon, or if he did briefly, he just buried it.
"Dean."
He looks up with a frown. "What?"
"I never found anything about a Sam."
"So?"
"I don't know. It would have made sense for me to find out about him. I mean, if he died, he should have gone to heaven, even if his soul was so young."
Dean just shakes his head, then stops cold.
He never had proof that his brother died.
He never knew for certain.
"Cas…hand me my phone."
The angel does so, frowning.
Dean searches the name Sam Winchester. It can't be a very common name, but surely…
A couple of Facebook pages show up and Dean selects the first. Sam Winchester, age 33. Lives in Kermit, Texas. Born in Lawrence, Kansas. He was last active eight hours ago.
33. Lawrence.
"You've got to be freakin' kidding me," Dean says under his breath as he looks more closely at the profile picture displayed. The man looks familiar, but it takes him a moment to place him.
Kermit, Texas.
He was the bartender there. He must have been. Dean had hardly spoken to him, since Crowley had been distracting him, but he remembers well enough.
Dean's mind is working a mile a minute, and it doesn't take long for him to put pieces together.
He stands suddenly and steps over to Cas, grabbing him by the front of the shirt.
"Take me to Albuquerque. Right now."
Cas looks alarmed. "What?"
"Albuquerque, New Mexico," he growls. "There's a portal to hell there. I need to find Crowley."
"Why?"
"Because he knew. He knew about Sam. I know he did. And he never bothered to tell me."
Cas stands up, though Dean still keeps a hold on his shirt. "Dean, you're angry, I—"
"Of course I'm angry! My brother is still alive."
"I know." Cas puts his hands on Dean's upper arms. "But think about it. What are you going to do if you find Crowley?"
"I don't know, probably kill…" He stops himself before he finishes.
"Exactly. You can't afford that, Dean, and you know it."
Dean breaks their eye contact and looks down at Cas's hand on his arm. He lets go of Cas's shirt. "You're right, dammit." Though he's still frustrated and he feels his rage like concrete in his chest, he smiles slightly and pushes it down. "Always the angel on my shoulder, eh, Cas? In which case, I guess I'm my own devil."
Cas looks puzzled. "I'm not—on your shoulder—"
"Shut up," Dean chuckles. Then he sighs. "I need some time to think about all this." He gives the angel a quick kiss on the lips and steps away from him. "I'm going for a ride, I'll be back in an hour, maybe."

Crowley stands at the entrance to an empty cell, staring at the opposite wall.
He doesn't know exactly what happened here, but he doesn't need to.
"Where's Alastair? I'll speak to him now," Crowley says upon his return to hell. He's just hung up with 911.
Not a single demon looks him in the eye, nor says a word.
"I asked you a question," he says slowly.
"We—he escaped, sir."
Crowley raises his eyebrows. "Escaped?"
The demon looks to the others for support, but gets none. "Y—yes. We made it to the cell and chained him—like you asked, sir—but as soon as we left, he was gone. We don't know how."
"You don't…know."
The demon just looks at him.
"Then why are you idiots all still standing here?!" he bursts out. "Find him!"
The demons scurry away and Crowley sighs. Of course Alastair escaped. No one knows hell as well as he does except Crowley. Crowley isn't certain he'll see him again after turning him down, but if he knows anything about Alastair—which unfortunately, he does—he's not done.
Now Crowley has his proof. He hadn't bothered to visit the cell until now, but after one of the demons told him there'd been a message left for him, he thought it was worth his time.
Written across the wall opposite him in what appears to be charcoal from god knows where is exactly what Crowley might have expected.
WHEN I KILL YOUR FAVORITE PET YOU'LL SEE MY WORTH
But it leaves Crowley in a sticky situation.
Dean wouldn't be impossible to find, but difficult. It could take him long enough to find him that Dean would be dead by that time—Alastair, it seems, already has tabs on him. But he'll have to warn him somehow, because though Crowley knows normally Dean couldn't be defeated by him, he has no idea how much he's changed in the months they've been apart. Even a small amount of humanity returned to him and Alastair may very well be good enough to kill him.
So Crowley takes his only option, though he's not optimistic enough to consider for a moment that it might work.
He pulls out his phone and dials Dean's number.

Many miles and a world away, Dean's phone rings.
Cas looks over at it. It's sitting on the couch where Dean had left it. He picks it up and checks the screen, which says it's Crowley calling.
Cas frowns, flips the phone to silent, and lets it go to voicemail.