The television show "Numb3rs," including the characters Don Eppes, Charlie Eppes, Alan Eppes, and Margaret Eppes, is copyrighted by CBS Paramount Network Television and Scott Free Productions. The television show "Supernatural," including the characters Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and John Winchester, is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment Inc.

Charlie paused for a moment. "I had two students, one of them exceptionally able in a class I teach, the other of whom talked to me in my office several times. And I never had any idea that both of them had a bizarre outlook on the world, or connections so extreme that their lives would be endangered. I've never been – not just as horrified, but as – completely taken by surprise, as I was this morning."

"Well, but you can't blame yourself for that," Don said. "I've talked to plenty of family members, co-workers, friends of perpetrators, and you'd be surprised how many never saw it coming. Of course, some of them did, and some of them were just in denial, but sometimes there really isn't any way to predict."

"You're trying to spare my feelings. I appreciate it. But you and I both know that those kids might have been giving me every signal in the world that there was something wrong, and I probably wouldn't have noticed."

Don was silent.

"It may be a weakness of mine," Charlie continued, "that I usually find my work to be far more absorbing than the people around me. I watch you when you read people's faces, say something that was obviously the right thing at the right time, have a hunch that something's off-kilter. And I've always said to myself, well, we all have different strengths."

"Exactly."

"But maybe this is a weakness I need to work on. The way that some people need to work in the classroom. I'm going to be better about this, Don. It's – appalling that it took the deaths of four people to make me see it. But maybe those of us who aren't so good at – making human connections, maybe we need to work on that. Maybe we all need to look out for each other a little."

"You sound like Sam Winchester."

"Hm," Charlie said grimly, and headed down the hall.

Don followed, bemused. Professor Charles Eppes befriending people? Trying to understand what makes them tick? In a way, it sounded funny. But he knew what happened when Charlie announced that he intended to work on something. And he had seen Charlie connect with people before, although it was usually only other mathematicians. If he were to turn that insight and enthusiasm loose on society as a whole – well, you had to grin at the possibilities.

When the Eppes brothers got to the elevator, the Winchester brothers were standing there, having a quiet but intense discussion of their own.

" – I'm avoiding talking to him," Sam was saying. "I just have the feeling that if Dad and I go around one more time, he's going to say something unforgivable, or I will, and we won't talk to each other again for years, maybe ever."

"That's not gonna happen," Dean said patiently. "Just come by the motel and say goodbye before we leave. You don't even have to do the thing with us."

"What thing?" Charlie asked.

"Strip joints. Dad and I like to check 'em out every town we hit."

"Funny," Don said, because he actually thought it was. "Not quite as funny as saying a spell to trap a devil in a cookie jar, but pretty funny."

"I admit," Charlie said, and his gentle words belied the burn in his voice, "I don't understand the need in some people for magical thinking. But even given that you yourselves have that need, it is reckless to the point of negligence that you indulge a damaged girl's fantasies."

There was a moment's silence before Dean said, "You know, Professor, if that was trash talk, you suck at it."

"She has obviously heard of you or knows you from somewhere, trusts you. And instead of using that trust to encourage her to get the help she needs, you encourage her occult beliefs."

"Uh, were we in the same room?" Sam asked. "Because I remember suggesting that she – that she not be a Hunt Club member anymore."

"Which is not the same thing as telling her that the Hunt Club is delusional nonsense that almost got her killed."

"You know, it wouldn't hurt if you backed off," Sam said. "If I told you that calculus was delusional nonsense, you know what you'd say? 'How would you know, when you don't know a damn thing about it?'"

"Ah," Don said. "Can I field this one, Charlie?"

He looked at the Winchesters. "There is no such thing as the Hunt Club. If there was, it was Pam's group alone who called themselves that. But apparently there's some sort of network of people like you who consider themselves to be hunters – maybe hunters of demons, maybe hunters of evil generally. That was what Pam's group was into, and she honest to God believes that some sort of demonic force descended on Jon Wendell, or on her group generally, and killed everyone but her. She thought she was still in danger from it, so you – " he looked at Sam – "gave her some sort of pendant, I'd assume some sort of protective symbol." Looking at Dean, "You and your father heard about this mass murder and, for some reason, came to the conclusion that hunters in general were endangered. Maybe you'd also heard about that Carson guy who was mixed up with Pam's group and fell off a roof. I don't know, of course, if you really think Sam's in danger from some kind of supernatural being, but it was a good excuse to get him to join forces with you. Who knows, maybe your dad thinks a demon's responsible for Sam's wanting to go to college. Anyway, Pam told you about this jar, which she apparently thinks will trap the demon that's after her, and off we all went to find it. I suppose she was planning on doing the magic spell herself when you talked her out of it just now. I'm not sure why you did that. Maybe you realized that a role-playing game has gone too far when people get killed. Or maybe you actually think she would be in danger if she did the spell herself and, God help you, you're actually going to be standing by this jar at midnight, chanting and burning incense and hypnotizing yourselves into thinking that something's actually happening." He shrugged his shoulders. "So? Would you still say we don't know anything about it?"

A smile of admiration was on Dean's face. He was trying to hide it by turning his head, but he couldn't stop it.

"Well," said Sam. "Hard to know what to say. Except, my dad doesn't think a demon made me want to go to college. He thinks my priorities are screwed up, I think I should live my own life – really pretty typical stuff. Oh, and the whole jar thing. Dean told me that he tried to keep that a family project, but Charlie insisted on helping to look for it."

"I thought it was a gift from her dead friend that had sentimental value," Charlie said. "I didn't realize, until her reaction just now, how seriously she took that ridiculous demon story."

"So you were wanting to help her as much as – to the greatest extent of your understanding. Can't you give us enough credit to believe that we're doing the same? Even if our understanding is way different?"

Charlie looked a little started; then resistant; then he nodded his head. Don punched the elevator button, and they waited for it silently.

The ride back to the Eppeses' house was quiet until Dean pulled to the right to allow a police car, lights flashing and siren screaming, to speed by them.

"What do you think? Are they on their way to Mark and Todd's Discount Electronics Hacienda?" Dean asked.

Don laughed. "You know, it struck me about a half-hour ago: You only pulled a gun on them in self-defense, and the jar we took away, we gave back to the rightful owner. If a jury was listening to this whole story, I'm probably the only one they'd convict for any crime, taking away their gun."

"You're not thinking of returning it?" Sam asked.

"God, no. Turn it in to LAPD, maybe. Tell them I saw it in a trash can in Hollywood. Something like that."

"I hope – I mean, there won't be any bad effects for you? For your career?"

"Only if anyone finds out, which I don't think they will. Whether the police show up at the house or not, I doubt if Mark and Todd are going to complain to anyone about someone stealing their stolen cookie jar. And we didn't go in with the intention of taking it at gunpoint."

"Hell no," Dean said. "I was prepared to give them my credit card number and security code. This is it, right?"

He pulled into the Eppeses' driveway and put the car in park, but left the motor running. Charlie and Sam both got out.

"Are you going to stay in town for awhile?" Don asked Dean.

"Nah, we're off to Baja tomorrow."

"What's in Baja? -- Never mind. You be careful, Dean. The world can get a lot worse a lot faster than it did this afternoon."

Dean gave Don a strange smile. "I'll keep that in mind. I'll tell you, Don, if I ever needed someone other than my dad or Sam to watch my back, you're the guy I'd ask."

Don was more than a little surprised. "Well, thanks. Have a good trip."

When he got out of the car Sam was saying to Charlie, " – Joe's place?"

"Of course."

"Well, I'll see you there. Sweet roll and coffee to go."

"Yes. Or – or I may stay for breakfast sometimes, talk with you and Joe a little."

"That'd be great," Sam said. "You know, I didn't know you were family friends, but Joe's wondered a couple of times why you come in almost every day but you never hang out."

Don extended his hand. "Sam, it was good to meet you."

"Don, thanks so much for the invitation to the party. I'm really sorry we couldn't stay longer. Tell your mom – "

He hesitated, a wistful look making his face seem even younger than it was.

" – Tell your mom I had a great time, would you?"

"Sure will. You take care of yourself, Sam."

"You too."

Sam got into the front seat, and the gorgeous Impala pulled back.

"He seemed a little odd, with that message to Mom," Charlie said, watching the car drive away.

"The Winchesters' mother died when Sam was a baby."

"Oh." Charlie thought a moment. "Awful. I'm not even sure I could handle it now."

"Yeah. It's the way of the world, parents go before their kids, but it's never something you want to think about. And when the kids are little children – " Don shook his head.

"That explains their father."

"What, you think if Mom had died when we were little, Dad would've turned against higher education?"

"No. But I imagine he would have wanted to keep the remainder of his family together at all costs."

Don grinned at Charlie as they started for the front door. "You're pretty good at this connecting-with-people thing when you try."

"What was it Sam said, more than one way to fight the good fight?"

"And learning about people is going to be your way?"

"Well, I've got to do something. You're with the FBI. I'm never going to catch a menace to society by writing on a white board."

Don chuckled and held the door for his little brother.

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From the Pasadena Star-News, May 12, 2001:

Two mysterious twists were added to a mysterious crime yesterday when the victim and a motel owner both made statements to reporters.

Stephen Hostetler, 46, disappeared in the early morning hours of Sunday, May 6th, after making a run to a convenience store in his quiet residential neighborhood of Arcadia. His wife Elena found his car in the driveway of their home, the bag of groceries apparently untouched on the front seat.

Approximately 20 hours after Hostetler's disappearance, he was helped into the emergency room of Huntington Memorial Hospital by a man who told a nurse that he had found Hostetler nearby, wandering in the road and unable to speak. The man, described as an attractive white male in his early twenties who was wearing a leather jacket, left the hospital without giving any further information, and was seen by a witness getting into a long black car.

It was obvious, according to Dr. Nola Boyce of Huntington Memorial, that Hostetler had been through "some kind of ordeal." His blood pressure was spiking at dangerously high levels and he appeared to be afflicted with severe muscular pain or cramps. His inability to speak had apparently been caused by a caustic substance passing through his throat, although, according to Boyce, no trace of the substance was found elsewhere in his system.

It was unknown at the time whether the man who brought Hostetler to the hospital was in fact a Good Samaritan or was in any way connected with Hostetler's abduction and ordeal. When Pasadena police were finally able to interview Hostetler, using written messages, they released a statement that the driver of the black car was no longer considered a suspect, but was asked to call police on the chance that he may have seen something useful in the area where he found Hostetler.

Yesterday Hostetler called reporters to his home, speaking to them in the driveway with his wife at his side. Leaning on a cane, his voice rasping, Hostetler stated that, while he was glad the Good Samaritan was no longer a suspect in the case, he felt that simply lifting suspicion from him didn't go far enough.

"Those guys saved my life, maybe my soul," he stated. "I don't know where I'd be now if it hadn't been for them and that bottle thing. I don't even know if they're anywhere they'll hear this, but if they are I want them to know I'm grateful."

Questions about exactly what had happened and how a "bottle thing" had helped went unanswered, as Hostetler's voice gave out and his wife helped him back into the house.

Only two hours later, a very different view of the disappearing Good Samaritan was offered by Denny Long, owner of the Valhalla Motor Hotel in Duarte.

Long admitted that, as early as Monday afternoon, he knew that a guest at the motel who had checked out that morning fit the description of the leather-jacketed young man in the black car who was a person of interest in the Hostetler case. He did not come forward at that time, he stated, because, "I mind my own business and I expect other people to mind theirs."

However, Long said, he had since discovered that the young man, who was accompanied by his father, "a tough-looking guy," allegedly gave him a fraudulent credit card.

"I'm sick of hearing this secret Good Samaritan bull," Long said. "They knew they weren't going to be paying for their stay here. That's the only reason they're not taking credit for this supposed good deed."

Attempts to track the name on the card, "F. Damien Karras," have not resulted in any likely leads, and the occupants of the black car, whether life-savers or swindlers or both, appear to have vanished without a trace.

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THE END