Part 3 – family remains

Men of Letters Bunker
Library

Crowley provided late afternoon entertainment after Sam returned from the movies.

"Hellloooo!" The King of Hell called out cheerily. "Moose? Anyone home?"

Sam stepped into the doorway of the library cradling a shotgun in his right arm. The devil's trap on the ceiling was relatively new, something he'd painted there two years before. Crowley was definitely not the demon it was intended for.

Dressed in black, just as smarmy as ever, Crowley smirked at the hunter and his shotgun. "Hello, darling. Is that for me? Oh, you shouldn't have." He jerked a thumb up at the devil's trap. "Love what you've done with the place."

"What the hell do you want?"

"Me? Nothing at all." Crowley shrugged. "I want to see you lot back together, that's all. Family is so important nowadays." Crowley's sincere tone of voice was totally convincing.

That is, it would have convinced anyone but Sam. The youngest Winchester brother glared at him.

"Oh come on, Sam. I know why you're so surly. You figured Dean would choose to stay by your side like a good little demon. He didn't. That stings. The infamous Winchester brotherly bond has been dealt a serious blow. Besides, I think you're being really unfair about this."

"What?" Shooting this bastard suddenly seemed like a really good idea.

"I mean, holding big brother to a higher standard than you isn't right. After all, you didn't look for him when he was in Purgatory. Remember? We had a betting pool in Hell. Nobody saw this coming. I certainly didn't. I had short odds on you setting up housekeeping with an ugly girl and her dog. Again. Of course, I won the pool anyway. It's good to be King."

Sam smiled unpleasantly. "Thought you had a best friend forever, huh? Didn't last long."

"Touche," Crowley murmured.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you tell me where Dean is?"

"Why not? I mean, he's no good to me, is he? Wasting the talents of a Knight of Hell on a sound stage when he could put them to good use making a real difference. Working for me, that is." Crowley pulled a book off the shelf nearby, flipped it open, glanced at the contents and frowned.

He tossed the book on the floor. "I knew you wouldn't keep current on entertainment. That you'd be totally obsessed with bringing your wayward sibling back. I mean, all work and no play makes Sam a very dull Moose. All I did was point you in the right direction. Your big brother had a good thing handed to him and he didn't have the sense enough to appreciate it. Typical of you Winchesters."

"Cry me a river, you hellish sonofabitch," Sam snarled. Dean wouldn't have left the bunker in the first place if it hadn't been for you!"

The King laughed. "You've got that all wrong. Leaving here was Dean's idea. As soon as he opened those pitch black peepers of his he was off and running. I've never seen a fledgling demon pick up on the art of teleportation that fast. I was really impressed. He has mad skills, as they say."

"I don't believe you," Sam grated out.

"Fine. Don't. Blame it all on me if that makes you feel better."

"Now that I've got you, why should I let you go?"

"Well, let's just say I could be useful to you. If Dean goes off the grid again I can provide intel as to his whereabouts. I have a lot of contacts topside. Everywhere. Especially in show business. Or not." Crowley looked around the library with a smile. "I could stay as long as you want me to. Read books. Micro-manage Hell from here. We could be best buds. Stay up all night long examining the color of the lint in our belly buttons and expressing our feelings. How about it, Sam?"

Sam wordlessly raised his shotgun, aimed and blasted a hole in the ceiling. He'd have to patch it, but what else was new.

"Leave. NOW."

"No to the best buds/house guest routine? Okay then. I'm sooo disappointed. Well, I won't keep you. You've got things to do, after all. Tracking down big brother. Seeing what kind of life he's made away from you. I expect you and Lieutenant Columbo are going to pay him a visit very soon." The mischievous glint in Crowley's eyes was unnerving. "Good luck with that."

The King disappeared in a snap of red hellfire.

Men of Letters Bunker
Library
Two hours later

Sam sat back in his chair. His laptop sat on the table before him, blandly unaware that the image on its screen was breaking his heart and pissing him off at the same time.

You black-eyed sonofabitch, Sam thought.

Dean's photo on his member profile looked good. Too damn good, really. He looked directly into the camera and he smiled, wide and cheerful. He looked healthy and happy, as if he were having the time of his life.

The damn Mark is making him do that, Sam thought. It's not Dean.

Sam glanced at the top of the page. Apparently Dean had turned into quite the joiner. Had affliations with SAG and AFTRA now.

Whoop de doo.

Dean's job descriptions were fairly straightforward: Actor. Stuntman. Stunt Double. Stunt Fighter.

Sam scrolled down to the skills section.

Actor, All Around Stuntman, Fire (That figures), Billiard Player, Stunt Driver (He left Baby for this?), Fights (So what else is new?), High Falls 100ft + (Guess he's not afraid of heights anymore) Horse Falls, Horseback Rider (WHAT? Since when?), Wire Work, Weapons, Wrestler.

Sam glared at his absentee big brother. Damn you, Dean.

A familiar sensation tickled the back of his skull.

"Hello, Cas."

"Sam." The angel fidgeted as he blinked into view at Sam's side. He was just outside Sam's personal space. Maybe all the explanations throughout the years about "personal space" were finally taking hold. Castiel leaned sideways a little and frowned. "Is that Dean?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. That's the webpage of the North American Stuntperson Association."

"Oh. What name is he using now?"

Sam knew full well that Castiel could have read what was on the screen with his eyes closed standing on a country road somewhere in Europe if he wanted to. This particular angel of the Lord was obviously practicing his people skills, which up until this point were really lacking. There had been times Sam wondered if he'd skipped class the day God passed them out. Still, if trying to be sociable eased the angel, Sam had no problem with playing along.

"Tristan 'Sonny' Hooper," Sam said out loud. He frowned. "Tristan? That's a dumb name."

"Tristan is one of the Knights in the legend of King Arthur. The name means 'sad' or 'sorrowful'. Perhaps that bears some hidden meaning for him."

"Uh huh." Sam clearly wasn't interested. "He's been busy. Says here in the past 2 years he worked on two movies, Run For The Border with Jeffrey Dean Morgan and The Takedown. With Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, no less. On tv he was in Gotham, NCIS, NCIS: New Orleans, Daredevil, Grimm, American Horror Story: Hotel, Marvel's Agents of SHIELD, Fear the Walking Dead, Ray Donovan and Sharknado 4: Oh Hell No, Not Again! Currently working on My Bloody Valentine 2: Heart of Darkness."

Castiel looked thoughtful. "Huh. The movie business. I never imagined the Mark of Cain would influence Dean like this."

"I can't picture Dean keeping bees like Cain did." Sam gingerly massaged the tender space between his eyes. It was starting to throb.

"Ummm...is his contact information listed?"

"Backinblack2Y5 at aol dot com. No phone number listed. Professional contact is the Nine Sisters Talent Agency. That's in Vancouver and so is the movie shoot. I'm headed out there today."

Castiel brightened. Transport was something he understood and usually did well. "I can take you there, Sam. Right now."

Oh crap.

Speaking of which, the last time he'd flown Air Castiel he couldn't poop for a week. Sam sighed. He was resigned to the fact that he was going to have to take one for the team. He was on a mission. Whatever it took to drag Dean back home kicking and screaming.

"Okay. Let me pack some things I'll need."

TBC

BTW: Tristan is Jared Padalecki's middle name.