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Oh, she believes they grew up together, no problem. She even believes the fire. But she'll be damned if those two are actually related. Deputy Kathleen Hudak is not blind, thank you very much.
'He's my family,' too-young and too-handsome, not-actually-police, “Greg" kept saying, and at first she didn't hear what that declaration really meant, mainly because of the way the words struck a chord with her.
It made her think of her brother, how useless she had felt - in the force and she couldn't even find him, stood there helplessly when their parents got told the case had gone cold - when Riley disappeared. She blamed herself for it, stared at the empty seat next to her at Thanksgiving dinner every year. Over time it alienated her from the rest of her family too, even if her parents never outright told her they expected her to save him. There wasn’t a day she didn’t think of him. Riley was her family. And she’d never found him. That was on her.
But “Greg” didn’t exactly mean it like that.
He's my family.
It was the way he said it, with desperation in his voice, as if nothing else mattered, nothing was worth more, like as long as Sam was okay, he didn't care what happened to him. He said as much already. No, Sam wasn’t just his family, Sam was his only family. Cousins, her ass. Even she can spot a man in love when he's being that obvious about it.
"I’m just afraid if we don’t find him fast—please."
The look on his face broke her heart a little. It was as if he couldn't even begin to imagine a world in which this Sam didn't exist. She hesitated. She was never a goody-two-shoes exactly, but this was identity theft. Impersonating an officer. That was serious stuff.
And yet. She was a little afraid of what "Greg" might do if she booked him straightaway, if she didn't let him go after Sam. He would never give up, that much she knew. It was the manic devotion in his eyes that convinced her in the end. The kind of craziness that meant he was probably more trouble in a locked cell than out here, with her.
Perhaps it should have been obvious from when he gave her the picture, back at the station, actually. They needed one to show around, canvassing the neighborhood. He didn’t have to scramble to find one, like some people do, there was no talk of photo albums or picture frames being emptied. He fished it out of his wallet, ran his fingertips along the worn edges, in a decidedly non-cousin-like manner.
'That's Sam,' he said and there was something in his voice she should have recognized right away, but couldn’t identify at the time. It was what made her run his badge number in the first place - her instincts screaming at her that something wasn't right about this. “Greg” was… not like any other upset relative she’s ever encountered. (She wonders about this later, once it's all over, what made him say cousins - the lie falling off his lips painfully easy and well-practiced - but she knows really, she understands. She would have helped him find Sam anyway, but she's not sure that everyone at the station would have been as accommodating.)
Then, before she knows it, she's getting thrown into a cage and she finds Sam. He looks just as young and bright as on the picture, if maybe a little dirtier. A lot taller than she expected, not as fragile as "Greg's" overprotective behaviour made him out to be.
'Sam Winchester?’ she confirms. ‘Your- your cousin's looking for you.'
'Thank God,' Sam Winchester says, and he sounds so relieved, but so sure, like he's never expected anything different.
It finally dawns on her when she sees them interacting for the first time. Her head is achy - getting hit by a shovel will do that to you - she's dizzy and confused. But still. The sheer relief on "Greg's" face when he sees Sam is like nothing she's ever seen in her life. Sam smiles a sunshine bright smile right back at him through the bars of his cage, like "Greg" is the second coming of Christ or something.
They fall into pattern right then and there, easy rapport between them, the kind she recognizes from getting close to partners on the job. They share a smile, say things only the other can understand, make digs at each other. They know each other inside and out, she can tell. "Greg" calls Sam kiddo, and she swears it’s the exact same tone her ex-husband would use when playfully calling her ma'am.
“Greg” roams around like the decidedly-not-civilian-acting macho lunatic he is - and she wonders, not for the first time, what kind of grifters these two actually are, confidently walking into police stations with fake badges, getting out of handcuffs like it was nothing - but Sam stops him before he could go out there again.
'Hey. Be careful.'
Yeah. Not cousins. Or if they are, very fucked up ones. It's the way he says it, the same voice as "Greg's" when he called him family in the car. Deeper than familial love. Or at least different. More.
Things happen fast after that. She’s pretty sure she has a mild concussion, and she can smell the gunpowder on her fingers, which makes her slightly nauseous. The relief she was desperately hoping for doesn't come when she finds out what happened to Riley. It's not any better. She feels just as empty, just as guilty. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. A shiver runs through her when she imagines what "Greg" would have done, had he lost Sam.
She's blinded by grief at the time, as well as about to collapse from exhaustion - the adrenaline wearing off - but she manages a teary smile as she watches them walk away. She's glad they didn't lose each other.
'Don't ever do that again,' she hears "Greg" say.
'Do what?'
'Go missing like that.'
They are too far away for her to hear the rest of it, but a sob escapes her mouth when she hears laughter float back up from the end of the road. They are happy. They have each other. She wishes she could shoot the son of a bitch who took Riley from her all over again.