A/N: Wow, y'all gave such great responses to Chapter One that I had no choice but to put up the next chapter! So here it is! I won't usually update two days in a row but I thought I'd give you guys a little more to bite into. Keep following and reviewing; I love hearing what you think!


I wrestled long with my youth.
We tried so hard to live in the truth,
But do not tell me all is fine,
When I lose my head, I lose my spine.
"Hopeless Wanderer" –Mumford & Sons

Dean woke to the pain. It was a fire, flames licking up his legs and creating an explosion across his back. He groaned into the pillow and bit his lip to keep from crying out. He cracked his eyes, waiting for the fuzziness to fade but the confusion stayed as he woke in the strange room. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being in the Impala and hoping he wouldn't drive himself off the road. As he tried to reach for his gun, he couldn't help but gasp as pain sliced through him and then he remembered.

That damn Wendigo. It had been stupid to go alone but no one else was around. Dean had long been lulled into a false sense of security on hunts; he had turned all but invincible once Sam had left. This was the first time a monster had gotten the better of him in a while and god, he was paying for it. After a minute of deep breaths, he raised himself up on his forearms, stifling another groan. The first thing he saw were the pill bottles on the bedside table. He gripped them with stiff fingers and squinted at the label. Pain medication. The heavy kind too, if he was thinking correctly, which wasn't exactly a guarantee at this point. He popped the lid and dry-swallowed two of them before even spotted his brother sleeping next to him.

Sam.

Even through the pain and the haze of his mind, Dean felt something unhinge inside himself at the sight of his little brother. It was as if he could finally relax now that Sam was in eyesight, now that the brothers were together again. It was back to the way it was supposed to be.

Sam was folded into a chair only a few feet away, his legs propped up on the bed but carefully placed as to not disturb Dean. He was unshaven by a couple of days, the dark scruff covering his brother's face like a mask. He was thinner than Dean remembered too; he had lost some of that Hunter muscle most of them carried around. His cheekbones looked sharper. But Dean could tell even now his little brother had also lost some of that nervous anxiousness that had haunted him for so many years on the road.

So he must be in Sam's house. A blurry memory of a dark-haired woman infiltrated his thoughts but the pain meds were kicking in and details were slipping away.

Dean settled back onto the bed, gingerly raising his arms to cradle his head and he felt his own facial hair scratch against his forearm. His stomach growled but he forgot about it promptly as the medicine dragged him under and he lost himself on the current of unconsciousness.

That was how Kat found the two of them a little while later, both sleeping, both completely peaceful, Dean snoring softly. She smiled at the toddler in her arms who smiled back just on principle.

"There's Daddy," she whispered and the toddler waved his chubby arm at Sam's still body. "And there's your Uncle Dean," she whispered not as enthusiastically, "I guess." The toddler waved at the man on the bed too and Kat had to smile again. "We're going to let those sleeping beauties rest while you and Mommy go make some lunch. How's that?" The child gave a happy gurgle and clapped his hands. Kat shut the door and carried her son into the kitchen, putting him down on the floor with a couple toys before turning to the stove. For a minute, she simply leaned against the counter and stared at her reflection in the microwave.

There was a strange, seriously injured man sleeping in her guest room. A man who was supposedly her brother-in-law. She guessed she should have known better; Sam had always been the mysterious type. When she met him three years ago, he had claimed to have no living family although he spoke somewhat fondly of a father who had taken him on road trips during Sam's childhood. Kat was fine with just knowing the basics; she had her own history to forget. Sam knew she had served in the armed forces but rarely brought it up, taking her lead. They had a silent agreement from the moment they met to live in the moment, plan for the future, and not to dwell on the past.

The two had met at the grocery store of all places. She was staring at a recipe and muttering to herself and he was standing on the other side of the aisle, just kind of staring at the cans of Spaghettios. When she had backed up to get a better look at the bottom shelf, she had knocked right into them.

"I'm so sorry!" she had said, blushing. "I didn't see you."

"It's okay," he said, looking just as guilty. "I wasn't paying attention." He gestured to the canned noodles unnecessarily.

"Spaghettio fan?" she asked. Sam chuckled and looked down for a second before meeting her gaze.

"Not quite. I used to eat them a lot as a kid. I haven't had them in years."

"I'm not sure I've ever had them," she admitted, staring at the white and red can. "Anything with a cartoon noodle on it doesn't seem right."

"Probably a safe bet," he said, smiling. "I'm Sam by the way."

They fell in love quickly and passionately, marrying just four months later. Kat had never once questioned the pace of the relationship; it just always felt right with Sam. When she asked him if there was anyone he wanted to invite to the wedding, he only shook his head.

"No friends?" Sam thought of Sarah, Ellen, Jo, Bobby.

"No. None that could make it."

Three months after that, she was pregnant. It was unexpected but they took it in stride. Kat hadn't even known she wanted children before meeting Sam but as soon as he was hers, she knew she couldn't leave this Earth without leaving behind a part of themselves. Parker had changed their lives, strengthened their relationship. Everything had been going great.

"Daddy!"

Kat whirled around and found Sam in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Parker was reaching for his father and Sam obliged, bending down to pick up the toddler.

"Hey babe," she said, smiling at the sight of Parker reaching for his father's long hair.

"Hi," he said, walking over and giving her a kiss. Still in Sam's arms, Parker mimicked Sam's actions and gave his mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. All three of them laughed.

"Down," Parker demanded, wriggling in his father's grip. Sam put him down and the adults watched the child resume playing with his toys, a couple cars he drove around in circles at their feet.

"So," Kat said, breaking the silence. Sam sat on a chair at the kitchen table and she came to sit across from him. "Are you going to tell me where you learned to stitch up someone who looked like they just went through a meat grinder? Or, I don't know, that you have a brother?"

"Kat, I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he started. "It's just…" She gave him a questioning look when he trailed off. "Complicated," he finished. Kat rolled her eyes.

"Sam Winchester, I married you and birthed your spawn. I'm here for the long haul. Lay it on me." He smiled but only for a moment, already too lost in his past to find much humor in the situation. There was a reason he'd spent the last three years trying to forget where he'd come from.

"You won't like it."

"So you have a brother I didn't know about. What's the big deal? Is he a serial killer or something?" She laughed at her own joke but Sam's serious expression didn't change. "Oh my god," she said a second later. "Sam, do not tell me we're harboring a felon in our house."

"No!" he said quickly. "Dean's good, I promise." She nodded.

"Okay, then what?"

So he told her.

He told her about the fire when he was six months old, about hitting the road with Dean and John, about Stanford and Jess. Sam told her about hunting down Azazel and opening the gates of hell. He omitted the part about Ruby but he was completely truthful when he talked about the angels and Lucifer, the leviathan and the trials.

It took the better part of the afternoon and lunch lay forgotten on the counter. They paused only to feed Parker and then put him down for his afternoon nap. Kat never once looked at him as if he were a crazy person, not even when he talked about being checked into a psych ward because he was hallucinating Lucifer. By the time they finished, Dean still hadn't woken up.

"Sam." His name was the first thing she'd said in a while.

"I know," he said, taking a swig of beer. Her own sat untouched in front of her. "I know it's hard to take in. You probably want to pick Parker up and make it a run for it about now. I wouldn't blame you." The way he said it made her think it wasn't the first time it had happened to him. How many other women had he told this to? And how many women had run away from him?

"The guns," she said. "The knives." So much of it made sense now. His obsessive compulsive need to check the doors and windows before he went to bed. She'd thought he was just being an overprotective father when he got up in the middle of the night – sometimes more than once – to check on Parker. But maybe he was doing it because he was afraid.

"I kept them only to protect us. I haven't used them at all since I left Dean just over three years ago. I hope I never have to touch them again." She couldn't help but glance down the hall to where their sleeping child lay. He would be waking up soon.

"Are we in danger, Sam?" He leaned across the table and took her hand; her fingers were cold and they curled slightly away from him but he didn't let go.

"No, Kat. You and Parker are perfectly safe."

"And you?" He hesitated but nodded.

"And me. Nothing's coming after us." She watched his hesitation with a practiced eye and he felt her suspicion rise. After three years she was pretty adept at knowing when Sam was telling the truth or not. Or holding some part of it back. He should have known better by now not to try and skirt around reality.

"I wasn't sure when I first moved away if something would follow me. Ever since I was six months old, there's been something to run away from. When I left, there were still things out there I thought would come after me." He shrugged. "But nothing has and I don't think anything will if it hasn't by now."

"And that's what Dean was doing before got here? Hunting?" Sam sighed.

"Yes, Dean kept hunting after I left. I don't think he'll ever stop. He shouldn't have gone after the thing alone, but there was no one there to help him so…" he trailed off. Kat detected a tone of guilt under the words. She leaned back against her kitchen chair and finally took a drink.

"Okay," she said after a moment, still trying to process it all. "Okay. My husband used to hunt monsters." There was a look on her face Sam couldn't decipher.

"Kat, I understand if you're freaked."

"No, I think I'm good. I mean, it's kind of a lot to take in, you know? But I either believe you or I don't. And I think I do."

"Kat, I've done things. Horrible things." He shook his head, unable to go on, images of all the lives lost in the last decade flashing in his mind. His mother, his father, Bobby, all those he hadn't gotten to in time. For God's sakes, Sam had started the apocalypse. Who could love him after knowing that?

"Hey," she said quietly, putting down her drink and grabbing his hand. She squeezed tight. "Everyone has done things we regret, things beyond our control." Her own pain flickered in her eyes. "You and I just have done more of it." He knew she was talking about being overseas, about killing people, the soldiers and the innocent civilians. It haunted her, he knew. Every so often he woke up to her talking in her sleep, always muttering, sometimes screaming.

"I wish you had told me sooner," she said. "But I understand why you didn't."

"It wasn't because I didn't trust you or didn't want you to know…it was just because I don't ever want to be that person again."

"Sam, I'm glad I know now. You can't just throw away your past. It's a part of you, even if it's a part you want to forget. We might try to block it out but that doesn't mean it goes away. It just becomes less important." Sam looked down at his lap. She was right; his past was never going to disappear. It was going to follow him around until the day he died. It was going to haunt him.

"So you're not scared of me?" She let out a snort and rose to walk around the table. She straddled his lap, tugging on the ends of his hair.

"No, Sam, I'm not scared of you." She bent to kiss his neck and he tilted his head back in pleasure. "Actually," she whispered. "The thought of you hunting down all the bad guys kind of turns me on." She shifted, pressing herself against him and kissing him harder, on the neck, on the jaw, up to his lips, which met hers hungrily.

"Couch," she muttered and he stood, lifting both of them up, her legs wrapped around his waist. But they had just made it to the living room when a crying came from the baby monitor. Parker had woken up.

"No," Kat said against Sam's lips. "Let's ignore him." He laughed and she felt his breath on her face. The crying grew louder and Sam detached himself from her, not even looking at his wife's pouting face from her spot on the couch as he knew he would likely ignore their child if he did so.

"Hey, buddy," he said as he entered his son's room and flipped the light on. Parker was standing in his crib, tiny fists clutching the bars like an inmate, face red with tears. "Geez," Sam said, picking the child up and checking his diaper. "We didn't leave you for that long." The toddler sobbed into his father's shoulder for a minute longer than quieted. After changing him, Sam carried the child out to the kitchen, pausing at Dean's room on his way. He was surprised to find his brother waking up.

"Sammy? What was that noise?" Dean spoke even though his eyes weren't quite open. He didn't see the toddler Sam held.

"One second, Dean. I'll be right back." He hurried into the living room, handed his son to Kat, gave her an apologetic look and went back to the guest room where Dean was awake and struggling to sit up.

"Here, let me help," Sam said, putting an arm under his brother's shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," Dean said, face pale. "I think I've been hit by a truck. Or a plane."

"I noticed you helped yourself to the pain meds," Sam said, reaching for the bottles. "Want more?" But Dean waved them away; he had no intention of falling asleep again.

"I gotta walk around a little," he said.

"Dean, maybe you should wait."

"At least let me get to the freaking bathroom," his brother complained. He took a couple tottering steps but Sam's arm was there when Dean reached out. The two of them walked slowly and Sam waited outside the door when he got there.

"Does he know?" Kat said, passing by on her way to the kitchen. Sam shook his head and suffered her disapproving expression. "You gotta tell him."

"I know."

"No more secrets, remember?" She wagged a finger under his chin, slapped his butt and carried on down the hallway.

"What don't I know?" was the first thing out of Dean's mouth when he opened the bathroom door.

"I can see your eavesdropping habit hasn't died," Sam said, ignoring the question.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Sammy?"

"Of course there is, Dean. I haven't seen you in over three years. I'm married. Surprise." Dean grunted and they made it to the kitchen. Dean stopped in his tracks when he saw the toddler at Kat's feet.

"What's that?" he asked gruffly. Parker paused, looked up at Dean, scooted a little closer to Kat's legs and went on playing.

"That is my son," Sam said. "Parker." Dean pursed his lips. He hadn't really expected Sam to have any kids.

"Huh."

"And," Sam said, walking over to put an arm around Kat. "This is my wife, Katherine."

"Just call me Kat. Nice to meet you, Dean," she said. Dean lowered himself stiffly into a kitchen chair, eyes still on the baby.

"This is really weird, Sam."

"I know. It's weird for me too sometimes." Dean gestured at Kat.

"Does she, uh, know?" He started to rub the back of his neck then stopped when he couldn't lift his arm higher than his waist.

"As of…" Sam glanced at the clock. "An hour ago."

"Wow."

"It was a bit of a shock," Kat agreed. There was a silence as Dean glanced from Sam to Kat to Parker to Sam again. Sam could almost see the gears functioning in his brother's head but he didn't say anything; Dean would sort it out in time. He shifted in his chair and winced, the well-worn lines returning to his face as he fought the pain. Finally, he focused his eyes on Kat.

"Well, thanks for helping patch me up." He didn't really sound all that grateful. If anything, he sounded betrayed…and maybe a little annoyed. Kat smiled sweetly.

"No problem. Thanks for bleeding all over my white tile floor." Dean's expression changed to something more like respect then he nodded at Sam.

"I like her." Sam grinned and kissed Kat's cheek.

"Me too." Parker had been watching the exchange quietly, sitting by his parents feet, cars in hand, mouth slightly agape. The expression he wore was eerily similar to Dean's when he didn't understand what was going on. The little boy glanced up at his father, who wasn't paying attention and then pushed himself into a standing position and tottered over to Dean's chair before Kat or Sam could grab him.

"Car," he said, shoving one of the toys at Dean's fingers. Dean pulled his hand back as if shocked.

"Parker, sweetie," Kat said, moving forward. But Parker was undeterred and he thrust the toy at Dean again.

"Car," he repeated.

"Yep," said Dean. "That's a car." He looked more closely at the object. "Holy crap, is that a –"

"Black 1967 Chevy Impala?" Sam said, grinning. "Yep. It's his favorite one." Dean took the car from the toddler who crowed in delight.

"Car!" he said happily.

"Good choice, little man," Dean said. "But you know what's even better? There's a real one sitting in the driveway." Parker looked up at Dean with wide eyes and Dean realized with a jolt that the toddler's eyes were the same color as his own. So he hadn't adopted Kat's baby blues or Sam's wild hazels, but Dean's searing greens, like Mary's. He swallowed against the sudden lump in the back of his throat. Sam swung the child into his arms and tickled him.

"That's your Uncle Dean. He's going to teach you lots of things one day. Can you say Dean?" Parker giggled and ran his remaining car over Sam's cheek. "Parker, can you say Dean?"

"'Ean!"

"Close enough," Sam said. He sort of shrugged at Dean and gave a lazy smile.

"'Ean, 'ean!" Parker shouted and Sam pulled his head away so the toddler's shrieking didn't burst his eardrums.

"Alright," Kat said, reaching for the child. "It's dinnertime for Einstein here." She strapped him into the high chair at the head of the table, next to Dean.

"You hungry?" she asked, putting tiny pieces of chicken and carrots on Parker's tray.

"I don't know," Dean said. The pain was coming in waves now, rolling through him in pools, making him long for the pills by the bedside.

"How about a little something?" Kat urged, setting a place in front of him before he could answer. "Then you can go back to bed. But if you don't eat now you'll feel worse than ever tomorrow." She put a chicken breast on his plate and another in front of Sam who was busy helping Parker keep his food on the tray and off the floor.

"So, uh, what do you do?" Dean asked. "For work?" She and Sam shared another one of their sideways glances but Dean was too busy cutting his chicken to notice. The knife and fork trembled in his hands and he only looked up when she didn't answer right away.

"I'm a writer." It wasn't hard to tell Dean was unimpressed. He was hoping for something more exciting. Like a bartender. He could totally see her as a bartender.

"Not a big reader?" she asked, pulling out a chair for herself. Sam snorted and Dean was about to defend himself when the doorbell rang. The three adults paused, the air around the table seemed to deflate as Kat slowly pushed her chair back out.

"I'll get it," she said. Dean watched her go; half of him wanted to grab a gun and go with her, just in case someone – or something – had followed him here. His old habit of protectiveness stirred as he shifted his gaze to Sam but his little brother didn't seem worried. In fact, it seemed as if Sam was making an effort not to look in Dean's direction.

"Hi, Bethany." Dean heard Kat say and he relaxed. No gun necessary.

"I just heard. I'm so sorry, Kat."

"Thank you."

"I brought you some lasagna. The note on the top tells you how long to heat it. Did you get your oven fixed yet?"

"Yes, Sam took care of it last week. Thanks so much for the food. It's so kind of you, I'll be sure to let Sam know." There was a pause in the conversation and Dean noticed that the pot of food that had been on the porch earlier was now on the kitchen counter.

"Is he here?" the woman asked. Sam was still refusing to look at Dean, who had put down his silverware.

"Now's really not a good time," Kat said and the response was a long sigh.

"Well, let me know if there's anything else I can do. You were such a godsend when Jack had his surgery a couple years ago; I'd love to repay the favor."

"Thank you," Kat said again. She walked back to the table, carrying a casserole dish covered with tin foil.

"That was Bethany Burgess. She brought over some lasagna."

"That was nice of her," Sam commented, not looking at his wife. Dean was beginning to get annoyed.

"What's going on?" he said, his voice coming out louder than he expected it to. But the familiar desperate anger was welling in his chest, his ears roaring to the beat of a frantic mind. Something was wrong.

"'Ean!" When nobody laughed, Parker's face fell.

"Come on, little guy," Kat said, ignoring her untouched dinner. "It's bath time. We're going to let the big boys talk."

Sam sat back in his chair and set his napkin on the table as if throwing down a white flag.

"Sammy, what's going on?" Dean knew the look on his brother's face; it was the one people wore when they were trying to figure out how much of the truth to tell. Dean himself had worn it multiple times over the years. Lying to John about how much trouble Dean had gotten into. Lying to Lisa about how much he missed hunting. Lying to Sam about more things than he could remember.

"I'm sick, Dean."