Sam groaned as he pulled the covers over his head to block out the sun that was spilling through the window. He ran his fingers through his hair. The white kitten, Cas, climbed up and crawled beneath the covers, nuzzling against his face. "Uh… Dean?" He said weakly, pushing back his covers and squinting in the light as he pulled the kitten into the crook of one arm. "When did we get a cat?"

Dean chuckled. "You don't remember? Of course you don't, you were totally out of it. You named it Castiel, then you cried, then you passed out. It's times like those I wish I had a camera."

"Oh god my head," Sam groaned, flopping back onto the bed. The kitten in his arms gave a little mew of surprise as it crawled over his chest and licked his face. "Speaking of Castiel… heard anything from the hospital?" He asked, stroking the kitten's fur.

"Bobby called right after you conked out last night. Cas is in a coma, and they think there's some possible memory loss. It doesn't seem too good right about now, but Bobby thinks he'll pull through."

"Coma…? Memory loss? Doesn't sound good at all." Sam said with a sigh. "I just… I can't do anything right… nothing…" The kitten mewed and he looked at it, tilting his head. "Well… I did save you I guess… we keeping it?"

Dean arched a brow. Just about as he was about to say something, he went into a short little sneezing fit, and then looked over at the kitten, glaring a little. "I think I'm allergic to Cas."

"Well… we can just keep him around until we leave right? We can find someone to take him…" Sam said with a little smile as the cat leapt up onto his shoulder and sat down there.

"Yeah yeah fine, whatever," Dean rolled his eyes. He sneezed again. "He can stay in the room while we go and get some coffee. You definitely need some after last night."

"Yeah, coffee would be good." Sam plucked the kitten off of his shoulder and sat it down on the bed. "So.. What is it that we're here to kill again?" He questioned, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Bobby says it's a Banshee. He told me a little bit about it, but you should bring your laptop along just in case."

"Okay… I'll pull it out and we can do some research." He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed some, climbing out of bed. "Keep an eye on little Cas. I'm going to take a hot shower and vomit some. Then I'll be ready for coffee." He said, grabbing some fresh clothes and walking into the bathroom.

Dean nodded as Sam left the room, glancing over for a moment at the kitten that sat on Sam's bed.

Cat Cas stared right back at him. Dean sneezed.

xx

Sam climbed out of the shower about ten minutes later, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. His head still ached and his throat was hurting from him getting sick from drinking so much last night. He grabbed up his laptop case from his bed, looking around for Dean and little Cas.

Dean slid behind the wheel of the Impala, and pulled it out of its parking space at the bottom of the parking lot, intent on bringing it to the front of the motel and picking up Sam from there. Halfway across the parking lot, the car jumped a little, followed by a loud THUMP! Dean's eyes widened a bit as he looked in the rearview mirror. "Craaaaaap…"

Sam rubbed his eyes as he stepped from the motel room, pushing the keycard into his wallet. He saw Dean driving over and he waved his hand a little, starting across the parking lot. He would have to tell Dean to stop at a drugstore so he could get some medicine for the killer headache.

Dean slowed down and stopped beside Sam. As Sam got into the car, Dean nervously fidgeted with the radio, settling on Foreigner's "Long Way From Home." Sam climbed inside and settled down in the passenger seat, his laptop on his lap. He yawned some and rubbed his eyes again. "Hey, Dean, did you see little Cas? I looked for him in the room, but didn't see him."

"Nope haven't seen him," He said quickly as they drove away from the motel and started down the road. "So, having a fun hangover?"

"Oh definitely," Sam said with a weak smile as he sank down a little in the seat. "We need to stop by a drugstore so I can stock up on some pain meds. I checked our stash, but we're out. We're also going to need some more bandages and things." He paused a moment then glanced over at Dean. "I'm sorry about going off and getting drunk on you last night… I just… I feel helpless. Ella's suffering and there's nothing I can do… It's like Jessica all over again…"

"I killed Cas," Dean said quickly. As much as he didn't want to talk about the cat he had just brutally ran over, it was a much better topic of conversation than their dead girlfriends.

Sam sat up quickly, his eyes growing wide. "You did what? And Bobby let you!"

"What? Oh no, I meant the cat," Dean said, slowing the car to a stop as they reached a red light. "And technically I didn't kill him. The car did."

"My cat is dead?" Sam said flopping back against the seat. "I have a pet for less than a day and it dies. You know… maybe I should skip the coffee and just get more alcohol."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're getting coffee, not alcohol, and definitely no more pets," He said, shaking his head. They pulled in the parking lot of Al's Diner, a small, cozy establishment on the outside, but smoky, crowded, and loud on the inside. The majority of the patrons were large trucker men, and a couple of middle aged women trying to wear clothes that you would normally see on girls in their twenties.

Dean and Sam made their way to an empty booth on the farthest corner of the diner, and sat down.

Sam pulled out his laptop and sat it down on the table, flipping it open. "Well, amazingly this place has a wifi connection." He went onto the internet and began to tap a few keys on the keyboard. "Alright… banshee. Irish and Scottish legend of a fairy that screams or wails to warn people of a coming death. If there are several banshees gathered in one place then it means that someone important or holy is going to die. Sometimes the banshees leave silver combs and when a person picks it up then that person will be spirited away by the banshee. They can appear in various forms: ugly old hag, a gorgeous woman of any age that suits her, hooded crow… it's known in Celtic lore as the hag of the mist."

"I bet they love that nickname," Dean snickered, looking up as an older woman approached their booth holding a pad of paper and a pen.

"Hey there. What can I get you two?" She said, smiling.

"Hm? Oh… uh… coffee, black." Sam said, glancing up at her then back down at the computer. "Oh, Dean, listen to this. They have also been referred to as fallen angels, demons."

The woman arched a brow.

Dean looked up at her and smiled politely. "I'll have the same. And a…" He glanced through the flimsy menu book on the table. "A bacon cheeseburger." He handed her the menu.

She nodded slowly, taking the menu, still eyeing Sam carefully as she walked away. Sam pressed a few more buttons on the keyboard, ignoring the look she gave him. "Demons. Think this could be a seal thing, Dean?" He said without looking up. He did not wait for an answer before continuing. "They normally stick around a particular Irish or Scottish family and do not leave until every member of the family has died and been buried. They either love their family or hate them. Some people say that the banshees get their prophetic knowledge because the members of the family each have a silent Observer that reports back to her. Supposedly they don't follow their families to foreign lands but… apparently this one did. Oh, it has some family names of some of the banshees: Kavanagh, Kearney, Coughlan, Breckenridge, Blair, Darrow, Bla…" He froze as he saw the name and stared at the computer screen.

Dean arched a brow, leaning back in the seat, his hands resting on the table. "What?"

"Blackwood," Sam finished quietly.

Dean's eyes widened. "So what does that mean? They were… related to some banshee, or what?"

"Means that their family had a demonic woman and her lackey following them around to prophesy their deaths." Sam said, running his fingers through his hair.

"You're kidding me…" Dean muttered. "This is insane…"

"It's possible that this banshee followed them here and now it's hanging around another member of the family. Ella could have some family living here…" Sam said with a small frown as the waitress came back with their food and drinks.

Dean nodded at the woman and thanked her quietly as she walked off. "Could be. We'll have to-" He was interrupted when the intro to Ted Nugent's "Stranglehold" started to play from his jacket pocket. He pulled out at the cell phone, arching a brow when he looked at the caller-id before he flipped it open. "Chuck?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he looked up over his computer. "Chuck?" He mouthed then he narrowed his eyes. "Ask him why he didn't tell us about Jael or Jonah and the Hellhounds."

"Dean! I'm really glad I got a hold of you. I was afraid I wouldn't reach you before you ditched this phone." Chuck said quickly. "I really need to talk to you. I've been seeing things and I thought I'd give you a little heads up."

"Heads up? Like when you gave us a heads up about Jael leading Ella and Oshea to their deaths? Oh wait, you didn't do that, did you?" Dean scoffed, shaking his head.

"Look, Dean… I'm really sorry about that. But if I had told you about that then… then you would have tried to stop it and this is the way it needs to be." Chuck said quietly. "They would have died some way whether you had stopped Jael or not. Everyone dies at some point, Dean. This was their time. You… you also can't ask for them back. Summon Zachariah and tell him you don't want them back… or something."

"Chuck, you do not have a say in this. Zachariah already told us no. Oshea and Ella are staying dead, you happy? So screw you very much," He slammed the phone closed and sighed.

Sam frowned as he watched his brother. "What did he say, Dean?"

"He said for us not to try to bring back Ella and Oshea. That it was 'their time.'" He shook his head. "He had some other news though, but we didn't get to talking about that."

Sam shook his head, taking a drink of his coffee. "Forget him, Dean. We don't need some high and mighty prophet to help us. We can do this ourselves. The deaths have all been concentrated in this particular part of town. Apparently these things can't venture too far from the person they're watching over. I say we go talk to some people, try to figure out if any Blackwoods live around."

He nodded as he started in on his burger. "Sounds good to me."