Chapter 4

In the News

Pam and Doug were on a family vacation. They were on their way to Yellowstone when they stopped to overnight in Colorado at the motel. They were due to leave the next morning. And they did. Sam and Dean said good-bye to the family before they went their separate ways – the Hurstwines northward and Sam and Dean into town to investigate the murders, FBI suits and ties donned. They tried to pretend it was a normal good-bye, with simple hugs and farewells. Yet, it had been agreed last night that once the Hurstwines left, they were never to attempt to contact Sam and Dean again, no matter what. With any luck – if it could be called that – Alex would never see them for the rest of her life. Maybe she'd even come to forget them, though Sam made the point that between the age of two and five she had held onto their memory. Nonetheless, this was the plan, and they set it into action.

And the process of forgetting started all over again. It was a little farther along this time, but the wound had been reopened. Dean caught himself crying more than once. It burned inside him, the desire to see her again, the hope that fate would allow their paths to cross at least once more in their lifetime. At the same time he wished with all of his being that she could be free of him completely.

It was not to be. Four years was all it took.

"How's the job hunt going, Sammy?"

"So far," he didn't even bother to look up from his laptop, "looks like we might have the day off."

"Sweet," Dean twisted the cap off a bear, plopped down onto one of the beds and turned on a local football game.

Just as Sam was about to close his computer and join his brother in rooting for the home team – wherever they were at the moment – a series of not uncommon yet somehow surprising sounds came to him: "Hello, Dean," followed by Dean's squawk of surprise and the creaking of springs as the elder Winchester started where he sat.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean grumbled.

The trench-coated angel had appeared directly beside the bed, not more than a foot away from Dean's head. Right on form, Castiel acted as if this were completely normal in spite of the numerous explanations Dean had given him concerning "personal space."

"What is it?" Dean grumbled. "And don't tell me the world is coming to an end again, 'cause we were just about to get some time off."

"I have a question," and the angel dangled a pair of leopard-fur-lined handcuffs in front of the older Winchester. "What exactly is the purpose of this device?"

Sam laughed. Dean looked at the sex toy suspended in front of his face, his expression perplexed.

"Well," he began. "They're handcuffs."

"That was my initial impression, as well," commented Castiel. "However, they seem to be covered in this plush fur. Is this some humane method of incarceration?"

"Cas, where did you get those?" Sam asked.

"I was invited into the dwelling of a woman," Castiel elaborated. "She told me she had information concerning my current mission, but it had a price and she was only willing to complete the transaction in her apartment. So I followed her and she suggested these," he indicated the handcuffs, "but I was in doubt as to their function, and therefore unclear on the deal."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean breathed.

"So I thought I'd refer to you, who are better versed in such matters."

"Well, Cas…," Dean began. "They have to do with bondage."

"As in a slave to their master?"

"In a sense."

"It's more of a…," Sam jumped in, "personal matter."

"She desires that I be a servant in her household?" Castiel seemed taken aback. "That will not work. I am already a servant of the Lord."

"Don't you have access to the internet?" Dean asked.

"I could gain access, yes," Castiel replied. "What should I search?"

"Try, 'handcuffs and bondage.' That ought to do the trick," Dean suggested, grinning.

"Sam, may I borrow your laptop for a few minutes?" Castiel turned to the younger brother.

"Sure, Cas, I was just finishing up anyway. I'll just erase my history when you're...," Sam's voice trailed off in disbelief.

The page that was open on his computer had reloaded during the conversation. The new headline was accompanied by the image of two familiar faces and a pile of wreckage that was once a vehicle. His mouth hung open as he read, horror filling him.

"Is everything all right, Sam?" Castiel questioned at the silence.

"What? Yeah," the younger Winchester replied. "I'm fine. I just realized, I think I'm going to use this for a few more minutes. Would you be able to find a different computer for now?"

"Yes."

There came a sound of fluttering wings and he was gone.

"What's up?" Dean asked. "Find a case?"

"No, I don't think so," replied Sam. "Just an interesting article I'd like to read more into."

"'Kay," replied Dean, who then returned his attention to the game on TV.

Sam read. Off of highway 90… head on collision with a semi truck carrying a full load… vehicle rolled down a steep drainage ditch… the driver was declared dead on impact… the passenger was airlifted… died after five hours in Intensive Care.

After a few minutes, Castiel reappeared.

"I no longer want these," he said, dropping the handcuffs onto the bed beside Dean, and disappeared again.

"You know, for a warrior of heaven who's been around for several millennia, he sure scares easy," Dean commented, relocating the cuffs to the bedside table.

Sam didn't laugh.

"You all right, man?"

Sam pulled himself back to the present. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need to run make a call."

He shut down the computer and went to leave, grabbing his phone off the table. Outside in the hallway of the hotel, he found via the Internet the number he was looking for and dialed. Halfway through the inquiry, Dean peaked out through the door, unbeknownst to his younger sibling.

"So you're holding the wake tomorrow night, but the funeral is the day after? And that's in the church? Okay, which church is that? First Lutheran. Got it. At 11am? Great. Thanks. Yeah, you, too," Sam finished the conversation.

He turned, and stopped on the spot, seeing Dean in the doorway to their room. One of his placating smiles was written across his face.

"So who died?" Dean asked casually, but underneath his tone was something slightly accusatory. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Sam sighed, knowing he was caught in the act. There was no attempting to hide it from Dean. In all honesty, he hadn't been trying very hard, knowing he'd have to tell him sometime.

"Doug and Pam Hurstwine."

The expression on Dean's face changed within the second.

"Come again?"

"I just saw a headline in the online publication of their town paper," Sam elaborated. "They got into a car crash this past Monday on their way back from a school reunion. Doug was dead on impact and Pam died a few hours later. Internal bleeding."

"Were they alone in the car?"

"Yes."

"Don't spare me, Sammy," it was nearly a threat.

"Yes, Dean, they were alone," replied Sam. "As far as I know – the article said they were the only ones in the minivan."

They stood for a moment, quiet. Then Dean spoke up again. "I thought those things were supposed to be safe, those minivans. They had a minivan, right? Aren't they loaded with some arsenal of airbags?"

"I guess it just wasn't enough," replied Sam. "It was a head-on collision with a semi on a highway. They rolled down a ditch; there's only so much a canvas bag of air can do."

"Yeah, I guess."

Silence spanned another gap.

"Look," Sam began, "I know we didn't know them that well, but… their funeral's the day after tomorrow at their local church. We can get there in time if we want to… pay our respects."

Dean looked confused, gazing intently at the dirty, worn carpet of the hallway, his brow furrowed. He was soundless for a long time, lost in thought, until Sam pulled him out of it.

"Dean?"

"I just don't know what to do, Sam," he said. "It's been four years. We've come this far, pretending we're not who we are, staying out of her way. So, her parents die and we're just going to pop back into her life? Again? Confuse her again? Is that really something she needs right now? And for what? To say farewell to people we barely knew?"

"Dean–,"

"And then what? What happens to her now? We're there, and we don't take responsibility for her? That doesn't seem quite right to me. But at the same time, how are we entitled to her in any way? We knew her for two years and one day of her life out of the current nine she's lived. I mean, honestly, she's a Hurstwine now more than she is a Winchester. And good for her, goddammit.

"She should go to someone in her family, or her godparents if she has some.

"She… she wouldn't go into foster care, would she? As an adopted child, she wouldn't get spewed into the system, right?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Stanford Prelaw, you ought to have the answer stashed in there somewhere," Dean chided.

"I don't. If I ever learned it, I've long since forgotten," said Sam.

Dean sighed. "Well, if we stay in the back for the service, she may never see us. Maybe we could hang out at the reception, ask a couple questions about what's going to happen to the kids, just maintain a low profile."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Sam agreed.

"Okay, let's roll."

A/N; Okay, maybe my depiction of Cas isn't as accurate as it could be, but I thought, Eh, it's funny, and left it as is because... I mean, that's half the reason Cas is on the show anyways, right? Much needed comic relief?

Thanks for reading!