A/N: Been having big issues with this chapter. Grrr. I had to make a couple corrections and the site was being buggy and wouldn't post the corrections. So I took it down and reposted a couple times. If anyone got a bunch of different emails about a new chapter being posted, sorry about that.
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Johnny?"
John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I know how it sounds, Bobby."
"It sounds like you've lost your damn mind." Bobby said plainly.
"No kidding."
Bobby took a bottle off the shelf next to him and poured a drink. "Look, this sounds crazy. Even for us crazy."
"Bobby, I know. I get it, okay? But listen to me. Yesterday, I had two kids. Sam and Dean…"
"You got two kids named Sam and Dean…"
"I don't have twins, Bobby! Sam and Dean are four years apart!" John said, for what felt like the hundredth time since he arrived.
"Alright, alright. First things first. What was Sammy's birthday again? The Sammy that you know?"
"May 2, 1983." John replied.
"Okay. First thing, let's se if we can find any births of a baby boy named Samuel on that day. Agreed?"
"Agreed." John said.
"But let's start tomorrow. You're beat, and so are your kids. Get some sleep."
John couldn't deny it was true. He'd sent the boys to bed a couple of hours earlier, even though it had only been eight o'clock. He'd been mildly surprised when both simply responded 'yes, sir' and walked up the stairs. But instead of feeling pleased, all he felt was a painful, empty ache. Was he actually missing Sam's arguing? Bobby headed up to his room, leaving John downstairs to sleep. But sleep was a long way off, because a memory was forming that fought to escape.
"Daddy!"
John walked in, ragged and aching from the rough hunt. He'd wanted so badly to get home to his boys that he'd driven straight through for twelve hours to get there. A rare smile glimpsed his face when five-year-old Sammy came bursting out of Bobby's house and running towards him. John threw open the door just in time for Sammy to jump into his lap.
"Daddy! Daddy! You came back!"
"Of course I came back, Sammy. I'll always come back for you."
But that hadn't always been true. John had missed birthdays, school functions, nightmares, Christmases, Sammy's first school dance, and more things than he could remember. Over time, the admiration Sam had held for John in his early days had started to wane, and the fights had steadily increased. Not just in volume, but in severity.
"Sammy, I'm so sorry, buddy. I love you and I'm so sorry."
"John Winchester."
John jumped, taken totally by surprise with the visitor. "Who the hell…?" He stopped when he recognized the visitor. The witch that he'd been hunting before coming home to find Sam's planned Thanksgiving. "You."
"Yes, John Winchester, me." The witch stepped forward a few paces away from John and observed the room. "Tell me, have you discovered your surprise yet?"
"You mean other than the fact that I ganked you before I came home?"
"You did kill me, yes. But you see, some witches, some very special witches such as myself, can still cast spells as a spirit." she said with a grin.
"Luckily for me, I know what to do with spirits."
"Get rid of me and you have no hope of getting your son back." The witch said.
"Where is he? Is he alright?"
"He is safe. That is all I will tell you." The witch said. "Assuming you want him back, I will tell you how to do so."
"How about I just send you back to hell where you belong?"
"Do that and you'll never see your boy again."
John hesitated. Should he trust the witch? Was he willing to risk Sam's life on trusting her? Was he willing to risk Sam's life on not trusting her? One thing was sure-he wanted Sam back.
"What do I have to do?"
The witch smiled. "You simply have to live."
"Live?"
"Live with the son that you wished for in order to get back the son that you had."
"No way. I want Sam back now." John said.
"Patience is a virtue you should practice more often, John."
"It's not in me." John said. "I want my son. Now."
"No." The witch said simply. "You'll get him back when you've truly learned to love what it is you have."
"What does that mean? I love Sam now."
"Do you?" The witch asked. "Do you love Sam as he is? Or as you wish him to be?"
John was never given a chance to answer. The witch disappeared, and all John was left with was a hole in his heart. There was a stinging truth to the words. John had never been exactly appreciative of Sam. He tended to focus on the negatives. Sam's attitude towards hunting. The way he never seemed to have a good, or even neutral, word towards his father.
Like you ever have one towards him.
"Dad?"
John jumped. The new Sam was standing in the entrance.
"You okay, sir?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." John lied. "Go on back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
"Okay." Sam answered, though he was clearly still unsure. "Good night, Dad."
"Good night."
Whoever this new Sam was, he was clearly only interested in pleasing his Dad. When John offered Sam a smile, intending it to be reassuring, he felt nothing but guilt when Sam looked confused. As Sam turned and walked up the stairs back to his room, John shook his head. This looked like his world, but it didn't feel like it. As John shook his head to clear it and attempt to get some sleep, a new problem occurred to him. The witch had said that to get his real son Sam back, he had to live with the new Sam. But she hadn't said how long.
What if he got attached to this new Sam?
