A/n: Originally this was an outtake special for my fic "I am the Other" but it got too long, and I actually want to explore the plot more so I'm posting it as a separate story.

"Saving people. Hunting things. The family business." Except this family business had destroyed each and every one of the people they loved. Hell, it destroyed them too. She stared across the room at her brother, the harden warrior bent on revenge, plotting to kill the one thing that once meant more to him then his own life. She knew if he survived this he'd never be the same, but at least what was left of the world could go on, could live. If he didn't survive she couldn't even begin to think of the consequences. A world without him was a world with no hope. She couldn't lead in his place; she wouldn't be able to. She wasn't strong enough anymore.

She glanced down, tears already coming as she put a shaky hand on her stomach. The life that had once inhabited her womb had been gone for years, but she could not shake its loss. Of all the lives she had witness taken; it was the lost of her pure and innocent unborn child that she could not overcome. The jagged scar across her temple, well hidden under her sandy blonde hair, attested to that. She looked towards her brother again, still bent over the map on the table in front of him. Her attempt to take her own life had taken most of her abilities, but now and then she could see as she had done before Hell spilled onto the planet. And she tried to see now, wondering as she often did if her brother mourned with her, afterall it had been his child too.

Two years earlier…

Jamie walked across the compound towards the main cabin that she shared with Dean. It was the largest of the many log structures that littered the landscape, though not by much. It was barely bigger than the motel rooms they had all too often occupied on the road.

The road. She closed her eyes and tried to will the memories away. The brush of her black leather jacket against Dean's worn brown one. The feel of her silver handled gun in her pale hands. Sam's low voice echoing with the signal. The rush of the kill. The sight of the body, painted with its own blood. The celebration afterward, even when they were bruised, and tired, and just wanted to get drunk and pass out.

It was nearly midnight and she paused, looking up towards the guard tower to make sure the night shift turnover happened without incident. As soon as she saw Yeager take his post she started walking again. "Jamie!"

A figure came towards her out of the shadows, and she fingered the gun strapped to her thigh, though she recognized the voice. Chuck stepped into the light, holding a clipboard aloft. "What is it, Chuck?" She asked.

"Just thought you'd want to know that we had three more refuges show up. Family, mom and two kids." Chuck handed her the clipboard and she scanned it over.

"They get everything, food, blankets?" She looked up at him. He nodded and she handed him back the clipboard. "Good."

"Oh, and the duty log is there too, if you wanna look that over. Oh and Dean's scheduled mission for tomorrow." Jamie sighs, taking the clipboard back and flipping through the rest of the pages.

"It all looks fine, Chuck." She looked at him. "Why, is there something bothering you?"

Chuck shook his head. "Just a nagging feeling. But what do I know; I'm not a prophet anymore." He smiled as she handed him back the clipboard. "Night Jamie."

"Night Chuck." She watched him walk away and then frowned. He was no longer a prophet, and neither was she. With Michael and the angels gone they no longer received visions from Heaven. But of course with Jamie it was not that simple. She was a psychic in her own right, with powers not tied to Heaven. She could still see the future, and that had been Chuck's implication. She sighed and moved her hair away from her face, finally walking up the steps to her cabin.

She paused in front of the door, hearing the sound of glass shattering and a woman crying. She waved two fingers towards the door, causing it blow open and stepped inside. "Dean?" A young brunette, half naked and wrapped in her jacket ran past her, sobbing. She slammed the door shut roughly as she hurried out. A large black pan came flying past and Jamie held her hand out, deflecting it with her telekinetic power so that it hit the wall and not her head. "What the hell?"

"And stay out!" Her brother gulped down another shot and slammed the glass down so roughly it shattered on the table, already littered with broken glass. Jamie raised an eyebrow and then walked over to her brother.

"What the hell are you doing?" She demanded.

"Leave me alone, Jamie." Dean muttered.

"You're drunk!" She had to step back from the strong scent of alcohol radiating off her brother. "Holy shit." Her brother drank a lot. Had for a long time. In their line of work it was hard not to, hell she herself drank more then was probably acceptable, but when Lucifer was released and she and Dean became the leaders of humanity's only chance at survival Dean drank just a little less. He certainly didn't drink himself into an angry stupor. He was not a mean drunk; she had only seen Dean this pissed off and violent when he was sober.

"Get out, Jamie!" He yelled at her, continuing to slam the alcohol down his throat.

"No! What the fuck are you thinking?" She took a couple more steps forward and reached for the alcohol bottle. Dean snatched it away from her, holding it out of her reach. "Give me that!"

"No! Get out, leave me the hell alone!"

"Dean!" She reached for the bottle again and this time her brother lashed out. He shoved her back into the table with enough force that she crashed to the ground. She sat there for a moment, stunned, and then looked up at him. "Dean." She whispered. Her brother looked away, gulping down more of the bottle until it was empty. He threw it to the floor and more glass went flying. Jamie got to her feet and stared at her brother. "Did something happen? Did she do something to upset you?" She gestured to the door, indicating the girl that had run out.

"No." Dean finally whispered, leaning over the sink.

"Then what is it, Dean?" She frowned. "It's not the anniversary of Dad's death, or Bobby's, and it's not Sam's birthday, so what is it, Dean?"

Her brother turns sharply towards her at the mention of her twin's name. "You wouldn't understand." He scoffs and shoves past her to get another bottle of booze. Jamie shakes her head in disgust.

"I used to be able to." She says softly. He stops drinking and looks at her. "You used to tell me everything." He stares at her and then shakes his head and looks away, taking another long swig of the bottle. Jamie sneers and raises her hand, curling it into a fist. The bottle shatters in Dean's hand, spraying him with glass and alcohol.

"What the fuck?" Dean rushes at her and grabs unto her, throwing her against the wall. "You damn bitch." He grabs her arms and pins them above her head.

"Get off me, Dean!" He knocks her head against the wall, and her sight goes blurry. She turns her head and sends a powerful telekinetic blast at him, causing him to fly across the floor. She gasps, dropping to the floor and rubs her eyes. After a moment Jamie gets up and walks over to Dean who groans as he picks himself up. "The fuck?" She curses at him.

He stares down at her and she stares up at him. He grabs her suddenly around the throat and shoves her against the wall again, leaning in and kisses her passionately. She yelled out and pushes him back. He gasps and looks down before slamming her against the wall by the throat. With his free hand he grabs unto her shirt and tears it open. "You have no right!"

"Dean!" She grabs the hand around her throat.

"Shut up!" He smacks her across the face. "I am in charge here! Me! You follow my orders like the rest of those pathetic cocksuckers out there."

"You're right Dean. You are in charge. You're right." She says, trying to defuse the situation before it goes any further. It doesn't work. She stares into the green orbs that are her older brother's eyes and doesn't see the Dean she knows.

He smacks her a second time, causing her head to spin and her vision to blur. "I said shut up!" He takes a step back, tightening his grip on her throat. "You stupid son of bitch. If you had just listened to me none of this would have happened!"

She winces at the revelation. He's not talking to her. He's talking to Sam. She swallows with difficultly. "You're right." She says for a third time. "You're right, big brother, I should have listened to you. It's my fault."

"It's all your fucking fault!" He knocks her against the wall. "All of it! Mom, Dad, everything that is fucking wrong with my life is your fault!"

"I'm sorry." She whispers.

Dean stares at her and then lets her go, sinking down to his knees. He closes his eyes and starts to sob. She sinks to the floor and coughs, sobbing softly with him. After a few moments she crawls over to him and looks up at him. He looks at her. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you so much." He leans in and kisses her. "Please, please don't push me away. Please. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He reaches for her ripped shirt and peels it off. "Please." He continues to kiss her. She bursts into tears, not sure what else to do. "No, no, Sam, please don't cry, please. I'm sorry. Stop crying, please." He continues to undress her. "I'm going to make it all better. I promise. Your big brother is here now, and I'm not going to send you away ever again."

She feels his cold, callous hands on her breasts. His fingers ghosting over her nipples and she shivers at his touch. He nuzzles the sensitive spot under her collarbone, trying to entice a response from her. Gently he kisses away the tears, his soft lips warm on her skin. "I'm going to hell." She sobs. It's a stupid response in the face of their world, it IS hell just beyond their doorstep. There is no such thing as sin and vice anymore, not when the fires of perdition have spread into every corner of the Earth.

He shushes her softly, whispering denials into her ear. She shudders at his hot breath against her flesh, against the feel of his bare chest rubbing against her torso. He grabs her hand and guides it down his body, resting it gingerly over the bulge in his boxers. She squeezes her eyes shut and gasps out with a sob as he holds her wrist down, forcing her fingers to curl around his clothed erection. As he reaches out to touch her more intimately she bursts into fresh tears even as she tries to resolve herself to this fate. She deserves this. This is his right. Dean has marked every woman in the camp. And even now, she is his. By her very title, the voice crying out the desert, she is his. Michael bound her to the righteous man, to his vessel, and called her to serve him. It doesn't matter that Michael is gone, that her power of prophesy is no more, that Dean thinks she's Sam.

She has no memory of what happens next, after Dean sheds his boxers and pulls her up so that he can press her back against the wall. After he lifts her hips unto his and grinds their pelvises together. For all her sight and all her power that one moment she buries into the depths of her brain that never sees light. Instead, she wonders if Dean is imaging himself and Sam in one of the grubby, barely clean beds in a run-down motel room after a hunt. It's pre-Castiel, of course. Maybe there's blood on the towels on the floor, and a sewing kit on the table, and plenty of alcohol bottles littered everywhere. Sam would comforting Dean, telling him that the most important thing is that they're both alive, stroking his back and shoulder as Dean lies between his legs. The fantasy makes it easier. It's easier for her if she just imagines that its Sam's body Dean is taking. Sam's thigh he's caressing. Sam's lips he's kissing. And it's Sam who cries out Dean's name like a porn star in the throes of orgasm.

When it's over she drags from the room and helps him into bed. She tucks him in and throws their clothes into the laundry basket. Then she steps across the hall into her own room and changes into clean jeans and a t-shirt. The utility belt is on the bed, and she snatches it up, buckling it around her waist, down her hip, and around her thigh. She can't pull the belt tight enough, she wants her breath to catch with every exhalation, but leanness of her stomach won't allow it, even though she carries the majority of her weight at her hips.

Her brush lies vacant on the dresser and she snatches it up, unwinding her strawberry-blonde locks from the braid that has become a staple of her appearance. It's almost odd to see her hair fall loose in soft but forced waves down her shoulders. Picking up her grey military jacket from where she discarded it she sees a single drop of blood on the hem. She rubs her fingers over it. Other then it's color and this stain it's identical to his in every way. The general's bars on one sleeve. The "Winchester" patch over the front pocket. The pentagram drawn in sharpy on the opposite sleeve. On hers that pentagram falls directly over her anti-possession tattoo. She takes a breath and slips it on before hurrying out of the cabin.

"Castiel! Open up!" She yelled, knocking on the door to the ex-angel's cabin. Castiel slides the door open, a lit joint in one hand. He looks at her strangely, eyeing the vodka bottle clasped in her hand, noticing that her hair is unbound and her jeans are just-washed, and then steps aside so she can walk in. "Can I stay here tonight?" She asks, not looking at him. Instead she gulps from the bottle.

She never drinks vodka. Not anymore. Not since she was a rogue hunter, estranged from her father and alienated from her brothers. Not since before she knew him. Before he proclaimed her the Prophetess of the Apocalypse, before she was the voice crying out in the desert, before Sam. "What happened to you, Jamie?" He asks, take a step towards her. He reaches out to her but she pulls aside. "Who did this to you?"

"Did what?" She asks, quietly. "No one did anything to me. Dean's got a girl and they're…loud. That's all." He knows she's lying. He doesn't need his residual angel abilities for that. But she obviously doesn't want to talk, so he shuts his mouth and offers her his bed.

"You know, eventually you're going to have to talk about what happened with him." It's been three weeks. She's barely spoken a word to Dean in all that time. She avoids him whenever possible; often she spends the night with Castiel, much to the annoyance of his numerous women. They all know that Jamie Winchester does not share her men. Not that their relationship was like that. It never had been.

The ex-angel is sitting crossed leg on the bed, staring at her. She's sitting on the edge, a bucket by her feet and a white stick in her hand. "Especially since, unless I'm illiterate, that says positive."

She glances down at the stick and then towards him. Those piercing, clear, blue eyes of hers have a way of haunting him to the pits of his soul. He'll never understand how Dean could get drunk enough to turn those blue eyes green. "I can't. What do I say…you got drunk, beat the shit out of me, thought I was Sam, raped me, and now I'm pregnant?"

"For starters." She scoffs, getting off the bed and walking over to the wall. "Jamie." Castiel got off the bed and put his arms around her. "You're going to have a baby." He whispers, putting his chin on her shoulder. He rubs her stomach and smiles.

"I'm having a bastard sired by my own brother." She mutters. "Not to mention the world is ending out there. You don't bring a baby into this."

"Maybe this is exactly why you bring a baby into this. Hope isn't dead yet, Jamie. Not while you and Dean are here fighting for a future. And this child, this child will be born of you both, he'll have all that is good and strong in both of you."

"All that was good and strong in both of us is long gone. Dean may be Michael's vessel, but the angels are gone. And I am not the voice. Not anymore."

"You two were good and strong before the angels. Before Dean was the Righteous Man. Before you were the Prophetess. Your child is a Winchester. The descendant of John Winchester and Mary Campbell. His father is the great demon hunter. His mother is the vampire slayer. No other child can say that."

A tear slips down her face. She puts her hand on her stomach, looking down. She then leans back into Castiel. "You're right. Thanks." He hugs her closer.

"Jamie?" Dean walks into Castiel's cabin. He and Jamie turn towards him. "Jamie? What has been going on with you the last couple of weeks? I need you here, and you're so distant."

"I'm pregnant, Dean." She says softly, glances at him and then at the floor.

"What?" He says automatically. "You're…you're pregnant?" She nods. He immediately looks at Castiel. "Dude! I told you before that my sister is off limits!"

"Oh please." The ex-angel brushes off the insinuation with a dismissive hand. "We all know that if I was going to sleep with a Winchester which one I'd choose."

"Cas isn't the father." Her voice has lost its command, its resolve, its potency. Dean hasn't failed to notice.

"Then who is? Tell me so I can kick his ass."

"That might be difficult." Castiel says with a slight smirk, his face twisted in amusement. Jamie glares at him.

"Why? Is he dead?" Dean crosses his arms and looks at his sister.

"He's you." She tells him, quietly.

"Huh?"

"He's you." She says louder. "You're the father."