Title: Endings & Beginnings Chapter Two
Author: Gillian Middleton
Characters: Sam & Dean
Rating: G
Total word count: 2200
Warning: A baby story.
Summary: Alternate universe story - Dean and Sam reunite after four years apart. Sam is burying his past, and Dean is holding his future.

But All Endings Are Also Beginnings

Part Two

By Gillian Middleton

Sam started out of a fitful sleep. The room was dim, lit only by a shaded lamp in the corner. Springs creaked and Sam blinked and yawned as Dean climbed out of the other bed and bent over the baby carrier.

"Shh, come here," Dean murmured, lifting the baby to his shoulder and patting her narrow back as the mewling cries grew louder.

"Want some help?" Sam whispered.

"Nah, I got it."

Sam lay on his side, mind remarkably clear as he watched Dean sooth the fretful baby, carrying her over to the kitchenette and grabbing a bottle of formula from the warmer. The first thing he'd noticed, when he could begin to think clearly again through his shock, was just how much stuff was involved in having a tiny baby around.

Tins of formula. Bottles and teats. Wipes and bibs and outfits so small that Sam had to hold them up in disbelief. And that wasn't even counting the diaper bag of doom, packed full of mysterious items and objects.

Dean seemed to know what he was doing.

Sam watched as Dean carried the baby to the bed and scooched back, leaning against the head board with his eyes half closed. Maddy was slurping greedily, little hands wavering as she patted the bottle and her father's fingers. It was odd, Sam mused. Four years since he'd seen Dean. Two years since that terse little text message telling him that Dad had died. Six days since the last time he'd kissed Jessica. The whole world had changed.

But stretched out here in yet another motel room, just a few feet from his brother's bed. It all felt so familiar.

"Dean?" he murmured. "What happened between you and Dad?"

Dean sighed, pulling the baby tighter to his chest. "No big bust up, or anything like that. We just started... splitting up for jobs. It seemed more practical to separate and meet up after a hunt. Then the separations got longer, and Dad called less and less." Dean shot Sam a glance. "Lot of things changed when you left, Sam."

"For me too," Sam admitted. "I just wish..." He sat up, pushing a hand through his hair. His funeral suit was neatly folded over a chair back, and Dean's t-shirt and track pants barely fit him. "I wish you'd called me, man. I needed to talk to you."

"Oddly enough what you needed wasn't my priority at the time, Sam," Dean said, a bitter twist to his mouth. The baby grunted and he pulled the bottle away and lifted her to his shoulder. Sam leaned forward, snagged the square of toweling and tossed it and Dean caught it and tucked it between his t-shirt and the baby's dribbling chin. Dean patted her back and shot his brother a glance, half shrugging. "Sorry," he said briefly. "I didn't mean that."

"Just because Dad and I weren't speaking," Sam said quietly. "Doesn't mean I wasn't a part of this family, Dean. You should have called."

"Yeah," Dean admitted somberly. "I should have."

"Was Dad...?" Sam tried to think of a way to ask. "Did he...?" But how do you phrase a question like that? Did our father die thinking I hated him? Did he hate me?

Was his death my fault as well?

"He missed you, Sammy." Dean patted the baby's back and she gave a tiny little burp. Sam tossed over a washcloth and Dean wiped her mouth and set her back to feeding. "And I'm pretty sure he regretted the hell out of that last fight."

"Did he say that?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "As if. When did Dad ever admit he was wrong about anything? But I know the man." Dean's long lashes lowered. "I knew the man. He was sorry about the way you two parted."

"He told me if I was going, not to come back," Sam said, traces of old resentment and pain threading through him.

"Yeah, and in the history of the world, how many times has a parent said that to their kid?" Dean retorted. "And in the history of the world, how many times has that kept the kid at home? It's just one of those stupid things people say, Sam." Dean slanted him a glance. "You said a few of those yourself, didn't you?"

Sam nodded. "I know. I'd give a whole lot to be able to take it back. But it's too late." Sam rubbed wearily at his eyes. "Is there a more pathetic phrase in the English language? Too late."

The baby had nodded off in his arms and Dean laid her down on the bed and unclipped her pink romper. Sam had already watched this process once, and he reached in the diaper bag and laid out disposable wipes, cream, and powder. Dean dealt with it swiftly and efficiently, and despite their serious conversation, Sam couldn't help a smile as hands more suited to guns and ammo unfastened the disposable and tossed it in the trash.

"What?" Dean said, wiping and powdering.

"How the hell did this happen, Dean?" Sam asked, nodding at the sleeping infant.

Dean shook out a diaper and wrapped it around narrow little hips. "Well, let's see," he said thoughtfully. "When a Mommy and Daddy love each other, they kiss in a special way."

"Ha ha," Sam said sourly.

Dean huffed a chuckle. "Yeah, well. After Dad," he said, pulling the romper suit back up and clipping it closed. "You know, when I wasn't really ready to talk to anyone? I kind of...uh..."

Sam remembered the tequila comment. "Crashed and burned?" he murmured, throat tight.

"Something like that." Dean laid a hand on the baby's round belly, stroking gently as little legs jerked and long lashes fluttered.

"I dropped out of school," Sam revealed and Dean stared at him in amazement. "Tracked down Caleb, visited Dad's grave. I looked for you, man."

Dean shook his head. "Probably better you didn't find me," he said. "I kinda hit rock bottom there for a while. You came back to school though?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Sam said bleakly. "I was lucky to get back in."

"With your grades? They were lucky to get you," Dean retorted and Sam smiled ruefully.

"That's not quite how it works, Dean."

Dean acknowledged that with a nod. "What about now?"

"Now," Sam repeated. All week he'd been running on grief and pain. Getting through everything one day at a time. All week had been questions and tears and counting down the days until Jess's funeral. Sam realized suddenly why he'd found it so hard to walk away from the graveside today. Because, until he'd seen Dean, he honestly couldn't think of what he was supposed to do next. "Now I'm here with you," he said tiredly. "I can't think past that."

"Get some sleep, man," Dean advised, lifting the baby and laying her back in her carrier. "Tomorrow we'll start making plans."

666

Sometime around dawn Sam woke up from a dream. He knew this nightmare, he'd dreamt it every time he closed his eyes for the past six days.

He'd dreamt it before that too, but he couldn't think about that just yet.

All he could do was gasp for breath and stare up at the cigarette smoke-stained ceiling of the motel room, eyes still burning from the golden blaze of fire in his dream.

"You okay?" Dean asked, and Sam turned his head on the pillow. Dean was standing by the bed, baby on his shoulder.

"Peachy," Sam said shortly, rolling over and heaving himself into a sitting position. He hated waking up feeling more tired than when he'd gone to bed.

"You want some coffee or something?" Dean offered and Sam nodded.

Dean studied him for a moment longer, then held the baby out. "Here," he said brusquely. "Hold her for me."

Sam automatically put out his hands, and Dean laid the squirming bundle in his arms.

"Uh, Dean," Sam said, instinctively drawing her back against his chest. "I've never done this before."

"Yeah, been there, done that," Dean said unsympathetically. He crossed to the kitchenette and grabbed a couple of mugs. "She's not a grenade, Sam," he smirked as Sam gingerly supported the fragile little weight.

Sam glared at him and firmed his hold, easing her up against his shoulder as he'd seen his brother do so effortlessly. His hand seemed to swamp her back, her head naturally rested against him. She squirmed and he patted her, taking a deep breath and recognizing the powder and the clean diaper scent.

"Hey, Maddy," he murmured, stroking her gently.

The sweet scent turned sour and Sam peered over at the curdled milk now decorating his t-shirt and soaking damply through the thin material to his skin.

"Not a grenade, hey?" he remarked as Dean's shoulders shook with laughter. "Yeah, laugh it up. It's your t-shirt."

666

"Just coffee, thanks," Sam said as the waitress pulled out her pencil. Her attention wasn't on him however, she was gazing into the baby capsule and cooing at Maddy.

"Look at that little princess," she simpered.

Dean smiled paternally, eyes taking in the ample cleavage exposed as the waitress leaned over and tickled the baby's chin.

Sam rolled his eyes and settled back against the worn old leatherette of the booth.

"Just coffee, please," he said a little more loudly.

"Sure, honey," the waitress said amiably. "And for daddy?"

Dean rattled off his order while the woman batted her eyelashes at him. "Never fails," he smirked at Sam as she winked at him and swayed away. "I guarantee I'll get free pie out of the deal."

"Tell me you don't use your poor motherless child to pick up women," Sam said sarcastically.

"Use is such a harsh word, Sammy," Dean returned. "Can I help it if single fathers are absolute babe magnets?"

Sam shook his head and fiddled with the sugar packets. "Dean, we have to talk about this." He looked around the crowded diner and lowered his voice. "About this hunt."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We'll look around town, ask some questions. See if there's a history of mysterious fires."

"So we're gonna do it? We're actually gonna hunt this thing down?"

"We're gonna try."

Sam accepted his coffee with an absent nod of thanks. "But, Dean, Dad tried for twenty years to find it. What makes you think we'll have a chance in hell of tracking it down?"

"Because it's started killing again?" Dean said. "I don't know, Sam. I just know we have to try." He glanced down at Maddy sleeping in her carrier, soft blanket pulled up over her chest. One little fist was bunched against her cheek, the other hand flexed against the fuzzy pink of her romper suit. "I don't have a choice."

"That's something else we're gonna have to talk about," Sam added. "What are you going to do with Maddy while we hunt?"

Dean looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm not gonna do anything with her, Sam. She's coming with us."

Sam stared at him, dumbfounded. "You're kidding me."

"Look, Sam, Dad managed to look after us while he hunted."

"Oh, you so don't want to go there," Sam said hotly.

"And it's not like she's walking around or anything. She sleeps, she eats. She's no trouble."

"Dean, are you crazy? We're not going on an Easter Egg hunt here! It's dangerous. You cannot drag a tiny infant along with us. No. No way."

"And where am I supposed to leave her, Sam?" Dean demanded. "Tell me someplace that's safe? You know a handy child minder that can ward off evil? Even assuming this thing can be warded off? Huh? Do you?"

Sam bit his lip, seeing for the first time the desperate worry in his brother's eyes. One hand clenched the side of the baby's carrier, knuckles white with strain.

"No," Sam answered honestly. "But how are we supposed to keep her safe while we hunt? I've seen what this thing can do now, Dean." Memories rose up in his mind, horrible, beyond belief. "It's not just some horror story any more. Jessica... She was..." He broke off, unable to continue.

Dean's angry frown softened and his hand loosened its tight hold. Maddy stirred and he stroked gently at her soft, round cheek. "I don't know, Sammy," he admitted quietly. "I just know I have to keep her close to me. If I can't protect her, no one can. And if it tries to take her it's going to have to kill me to do it."

Sam's gaze followed Dean's fingers as they delicately caressed peach-soft skin, watching the way, even in her sleep, his brother's daughter turned her head towards his touch. Her eyes opened, and in the bright morning light Sam could see that they were just like Dean's; hazel green, framed by long lashes.

if it tries to take her it's going to have to kill me to do it

"Me too," he said huskily, and Dean studied his face for long moments, then acknowledged the words with a nod.

Continued in Part Three