Chapter 3

Reasons Why

For the first year, the wound was raw. The memory of leaving Alexandra Winchester behind in a small Nebraskan town hung over the heads of the brothers, darkening their moods. Every once in a while something would remind them of the event and an ache would return to their environment with renewed force. Now and again the subject of conversation turned to the young girl now lost to them and their dialogue would become tense and short. They lingered not long on the topic, but the thoughtful silence afterward lasted for hours.

The second year was a bit easier. Their upset remained whole, but was buried deep, its coverings dulling the ache. Every once in a blue moon, one or the other might comment on a thought that had drifted up from the lowest part of their psyches. It was not as much an ordeal as it used to be, but it still elicited a wince of discomfort, even if the initial memory was a fond one.

By the third year, Alex's memory sat quietly in the back of their minds, but was never spoken of. Sam and Dean had learned that there was no point in bringing her up.

Apparently the universe would not allow such a thing to happen, however, because not so long after Sam and Dean had managed to completely bury Alex in their subconscious, she was summoned abruptly and vividly to the surface in a way that had never occurred in the past three years.

There had been three unusual murders in town. The link; all had drowned but had been at least three miles from any substantial body of water at the time of their death. The entire affair reeked of something supernatural. So Sam and Dean were paying a visit, checking into a motel for a few days and running their investigation just like always.

And somehow, in this unremarkable little town (with the exception of the murders), in this random state, at this run-of-the-mill motel, a coincidence occurred. Several spots down from a navy minivan, Sam and Dean were climbing out of the Impala to unload their belongs.

"You know, this reminds me of that whole thing over in Massachusetts with the vengeful sailor," Dean commented, heading towards the trunk.

"Yeah, but this time, no adjacent ocean and no ghost ship," replied Sam. "I mean, we're as inland as it gets."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I hate this elevation. Makes me dizzy," Dean complained, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

"Good view, though; purple mountain majesty," Sam attempted positivity as he hoisted his own bundle.

Dean grunted in response, letting the trunk slam shut and heading towards the sidewalk that ran alongside the building. In that brief instant, Dean cast a careless glance for absolutely no reason over towards the navy minivan where a woman was unloading a young girl from the back seat; a five-year-old, blonde girl.

He froze where he stood on the sidewalk, his heart racing, his breath ceasing. His feet rooted to the spot where they had landed on the concrete, every muscle in his body going rigid. His brow was furrowed and his mouth hung open minutely, for little more than thirty feet away was Alex.

At once he questioned what fresh hell had just been rendered around him, torturing him with the presence of the girl he had worked so hard not to remember, and at the same time he thanked whatever had brought him this glorious glimpse at his daughter, whom he had so desperately wished to see for three long, agonizing years. Inwardly he rejoiced to see her grown, to know that she was alive and healthy and happy. Silently he raged at being so close and unable to run to her and hold her and reassure her that he had not abandoned her, had not forgotten her. So he stood, a statue of a father, watching from a distance.

Sam, upon realizing his brother had paused, turned back to him, a questioning look on his face. Once his eyes followed Dean's gaze, he, too, froze.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. Swallowing hard as he watched for a moment, he placed a hand on his sibling's shoulder to turn him about. "Dean, we should go."

Dean didn't say a word nor did he protest. He only hesitated, not wanting to rip his eyes away from his child but knowing that he had to leave her and her new family, lest they notice them. So he turned away, because it was important, as he and Sam saw it, that Alex hold no ties to them. She would lead a happier, better adjusted life if her memory was not jogged by the sight of the men she had once called father and uncle.

Though, thought Dean solemnly, she was so young when we left her, she probably doesn't even remember who we are. Who we were.

Heartbroken at the thought, he spared one last look over his shoulder as he departed the scene. The little girl, dressed in elastic-wasted jeans, a cottony T-shirt and "well-loved" tennis shoes, clasped her mother's hand as Pam led her towards the door of their motel room, stepping up onto the curb of the sidewalk. When her liquid green eyes fell with curiosity upon the Winchesters, they widened abruptly.

"Daddy!" Alex screamed in glee.

Tearing her hand out of her adoptive mother's, the girl streaked down the sidewalk towards Dean, an impossibly wide grin spread across her face. Pam called fearfully after her as she ran, but halted in her pursuit when she saw who Alex was running to.

What Dean ought to have done was fake it. Fake that he didn't know the girl. Pretend they had never met. Make her think she had made a mistake, recognizing him falsely as someone else. If he and his brother could have convinced her that they were not who they were, then perhaps she had a hope of living without interference from the ragged existence her father led. But Dean, his mind having escaped him in his shock, did none of this. Instead he turned slowly back towards his daughter as she raced to him and, when she was but a few feet away, dropped to his knees, arms outstretched. She catapulted into him, wrapping her arms all the way around his neck, her toes coming off the ground briefly. Dean encircled her tiny body in the affectionate embrace he never thought he'd be able to give her again.

Pam was standing only a few paces off her original position, stalk still, her hands covering her mouth in amazement. Her husband owned a similar expression from his place just behind her. Sam was slack-jawed in his disbelief. All bore witness to the reunion.

"Hey, baby girl," Dean's voice was tight as he clung to his daughter. Then he began to shake as the emotion of the moment worked to overwhelm him. "God, have I missed you!"

"I missed you, too, Daddy," Alex replied, her words soft in Dean's ear. Then, confused by her father's reaction, she pulled back, asking, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm just really happy to see you," Dean explained, smiling at her.

"Then don't cry!" Alex scolded him playfully, wiping the new-fallen tears off Dean's cheeks with her small, soft hands, making him laugh. "That's better."

Dean pulled her back in, covering her cheek and head in kisses. She giggled, a musical, high-pitched chiming.

While they were still together, Pam advanced towards them slowly, moving as if she had gone weak-kneed in her surprise.

"You're… you're her father?" she asked, incredulous.

"You didn't tell her?" Dean questioned her.

"We didn't know," she replied.

Sam gave the tiniest huff of amazement, "She remembered." He stepped over to his brother and niece and knelt down beside them. "All these years. She remembered you, Dean."

Looking up from her father's shoulder as if she hadn't noticed the younger Winchester until he came close enough, Alex gasped in surprise. "Uncle Sam!" she called as she threw herself at the younger Winchester.

Sam laughed, gripping her tight. "I'm gonna lose it," he joked while fighting back tears.

And for the first time in a very long time, the Winchester brothers were happy.

"I still don't understand why you'd just let her go like that," Pam shook her head in disbelief. "I would never be able to give up Matt!"

"Of course, it was hard, but we had to," Sam insisted.

Pam and Doug and Sam and Dean sat together in the motel room, indulging in instant coffee from the miniature coffee maker while Alex played with her older adoptive brother Matt on the far bed.

"The lifestyle we live is as dangerous as it gets and absolutely inescapable," Dean countered.

"But that's just what I don't get!" persisted Pam. "If you fight supernatural beings, then wouldn't she be safer with you – people who know how to defender her from these things – than with people who don't? We had a problem, for God's sake!"

"Yeah, you had a ghost problem," growled Dean. "We have problems with friggin' heaven, hell and purgatory combined. Ghosts are easy. Ghosts are normal. God, we sound insane," he turned to his brother, hearing himself.

"Well… then… why not just quit?" Pam wouldn't let up.

"We can't quit," Dean snapped.

"Of course you can! Everyone quits! People can quit anything anytime!"

"Not us," Sam replied. "No one quits hunting. Something always pulls us back in."

"And if Alex stayed with us, she'd become a hunter, too," added Dean. "This job is a black hole. People born into hunting families just become hunters, no question. It's like a curse."

"Especially in our family," commented Sam.

"Yeah, no shit," Dean murmured.

"Dad was a hunter. Mom was a hunter before dad. Mom's mom and dad were hunters. That's three generations."

"And I'll be damned to hell – again – if there's gonna be a fourth," there was steel in Dean's voice and he glared up at the Hurstwines, green eyes blazing.

Pam sighed. "Well…."

"Daddy!" Alex had come bounding across the room. "Come play with us!"

"I'm afraid I can't, baby girl," Dean responded. "I'm having a serious talk with… ah, what the hell. Sam, you got this?"

Sam smiled, "Sure."

Dean gave his brother a thumbs up and left, tugged along by his daughter.

"It's not that we don't want her," Doug spoke up for the first time in a while, "we just… we want her to be happy and sometimes we wonder about what it'll be like in her future. You know, you hear so many stories about children growing up and having all these psychological problems as teenagers if they've been adopted, abandonment issues and all that."

"We used to worry about that, too," Sam acquiesced. "A long time ago, before we finally managed to let go. That was about two weeks ago," it was meant as a joke but actually didn't fall too far off the mark. "And really, it's better than some of the things that could have happened to her had she stayed with us."

"I guess I'm just having difficultly imagining things being that bad," Pam shrugged. "Our poltergeist wasn't that rough."

"Yeah," Sam grimaced, "imagine a horror movie and add a little logic, angels – who aren't always on your side – and purgatory…. Detract a little logic, too, actually."

"That bad, huh?" Doug's lip curled questioningly.

"We once had to autopsy some creature who had been eating people alive in the woods. Its organs were covered in blue goo. There was a cat's head in its stomach," Sam's eyes glazed over at the memory, still disgusted at the thought.

Pam gagged on the spot.

"I'm okay," she mumbled.

Still trying to throw optimism into the pot, Doug commented, "If you grow up with that kind of thing, though…."

Sam was adamant, "Oh, if you grow up with it, it's still gross." He took a swig of his coffee. "And it's not really just what you see, either, even though that could traumatize you for life. People get killed so easily in this line of work. No hunter lives a long life. I can't count how many times Dean and I have died."

Pam gave a small laugh, thinking it was a joke. When Sam looked confused, she said, "You… you're kidding, right? Or not. Maybe you're not. But wait, does that mean you're – oh, God, you're not zombies, are you?"

"Oh – no! No, we're not zombies," Sam reassured her. "No, we just… well – it's, it's complicated."

"I'll take you're word for it," Pam seemed to have had enough and turned her attention to the two kids and Dean over in the other half of the motel room. The two men followed her example.

They were playing some kind of battling game. At one point, it looked like Matt "shot" Dean, who went flying backwards onto the bed, playing dead.

"Nice to have a soft landing for once," they could hear him joke.

"Have you been shot before? Like in real life?" Matt sounded amazed.

"Sure, couple times," replied Dean.

"What's it like?" inquired Alex.

"It sucks," Dean kept it simple.

"Do you think I'll ever get shot?" Matt asked.

"With luck, no," Dean answered. "Now weren't you people going to tie me up and throw me on the train tracks?"

"Look at them," Pam said gently, warmth in her face. "They look like they're having so much fun.

"Sam, you're brother's so happy. Can't you convince him to reconsider? We'd hate to loose Alex, of course, but… we don't want to be the people who kept a daughter away from her father, and a father away from his daughter."

"I can't," Sam was blatantly downcast. "I want to, believe me. But… I can't. We have to do what's best for Alex."

"Not a lot of people would be that selfless," mentioned Doug. "Even parents with their kids."

Sam reclined in his chair with a gusty release of breath. "Well, Dean and I are used to not getting what we want."