Disclaimer: I do not own the concept or characters from the show "Supernatural." Any other characters not related to the show or the Nightwold series, however, are mine and are not to be used in any other fan fictions. Some concepts were also borrowed or loosely adapted from L.J. Smith's "Nightworld" and "The Vampire Diaries" series. This chapter has information on the episodes up until 04/02/09. I will not include any spoilers for future episodes of Season 4 until they are released on TV. This is the start of a new trilogy. The first trilogy is: "Possession," "Broken," and "Sacrifice," followed with a new trilogy, starting with "Mission." This story takes place following the events in "Mission," and has the same characters from the first trilogy. I do not own any quotes used in the actual episodes.

"Hello, Castiel," Zachariah greeted, nodding to his former friend and colleague. The angel didn't bother to acknowledge Sam's existance. Sure, he understood why he was shunned, but he still couldn't help but feel offended. After all, shouldn't forgiveness be in their nature? That obviously wasn't the case.

"Zachariah," Castiel addressed.

"So, you called me," the angel said, putting his arms behind his back.

"We have some questions regarding Jamie Winchester," Cas stated.

"No offense, Cas, but that's official angel business. It's no longer your concern," the elder angel replied.

Sam could feel his blood start to boil. There Cas was, trying to help, knowing he was going to be frowned upon--and yet there he was, next to Sam none-the-less, asking for assistance. And, once again, an angel was being a dick.

"Look, angel business or not," Sam started trying to hold back his frustration. "This is about the well-being of a little kid."

Zachariah twisted his torso towards Sam, cracking his neck to the side.

"Samuel, nice to see you--human again. At least for the most part."

The hairs raised on the back of his neck. What did he mean 'for the most part?'

"Zachariah, please. Why are spirits coming to Jamie," Cas pressed, brows furrowed with concern.

"He's a sensitive. When you took him as an infant, it only heightened his innate spiritual sensibilities. The psychic abilities were already there, thanks to his mother."

Sam couldn't help but bite his tongue at the tone in Zachariah's voice when he referred to Abby. It was obvious that he didn't consider her to be a suitable parent for anyone or anything. The angel had no respect for the boy's mother, even though she had nearly sacrificed her immortal existence for the sake of all humanity. What more could they ask of her to prove herself?

"But why are you speaking to him," Sam asked abruptly, his heart pounding.

"It's not your concern."

"The hell it isn't! He's my--"

"Son," Zachariah spat. "He's Dean's son, placed into his care by divine intervention. You may have given him existence, but you are not his father."

Sam's heart shredded in two. Truth be told, he thought he didn't deserve to be Jamie's father after he found out what he did to Abby. There was no way. It was his penance to stay away as much as possible. But, Dean wanted him to be involved in be the uncle they never had as kids. The boy needed someone like they needed a Bobby in their lives as kids. So, after reflecting on his misgivings, he did as Dean asked and created a nice Uncle-Nephew relationship with the boy. However, as he witnessed Jamie aging, the similarities between himself and his 'nephew' were becoming more and more apparent. Jamie was still small in stature, but Sam knew from his own life that that would change. Come sixteen, that kid was going to sprout up and surpass his older brother. His mannerisms, his walking gate, the way he ran his hand through his hair...it was too close to his own. It was becoming a constant reminder. There were times he'd catch Abby over the years, looking from him to her son and back again, with remorse in her eyes. That's what killed him.

"I know--I know what happened was wrong, but it wasn't my fault," Sam finally responded.

"Wasn't your fault," Zachariah laughed. "Samuel, you had the choice to be good and not follow that path. Whether or not you felt your intentions at the time were noble, you were doing evil. You were doing his work. You were the one who made it all possible."

"Zachariah, that's enough," Cas interrupted.

"I appreciate you trying to protect your 'friend,' Castiel, but he's going to get you in more trouble than it's worth. As for the boy; we're keeping an eye on him."

Sam's pulse stopped.

"We've been watching him since he was given back to Abigail and Dean. As you were given Azazel's blood, you also past it on to your offspring. True, the exorcism seemed to helped, but we're keeping up our guard. We can't let another episode like we had years ago....right, Samuel?"

"Jamie is nothing like--"

"You," the angel mocked

"He's a little boy," Cas stepped in between Zachariah and Sam. "He means no harm."

"Sam was once a little boy too, Cas. You of all people should know that. It doesn't mean that he won't go down the wrong path eventually."

"Let's just have faiththat the boy's family will make sure he takes the right one," Cas argued.

"We don't have faithin people, Cas...you know that," Zachariah smirked before he turned back to Sam "We'll be around."

With a flash of lightning and the flutter of wings, the angel was gone.

Sam's fists were clenched. It had taken everything in his body not to just bum rush the bastard. Not only had he showed no respect for Sam, but he was making remarks about his son.

"Sam."

A hand rested on his shoulder, gripping it gently.

"Sam, I know what you're thinking."

"Do you," he turned to his friend.

"I warned you that he'd show little regard for either of us."

"Cas, the least he could have done is shown some for my son who's done nothing wrong."

"He's human Sam; he's already considered wrong. But, he's right. He was born with Azazel's blood. That's something he's stuck with...but it's not something that needs to consume him. You know that."

Sam closed his eyes and took in a deep breathe. It was true, Jamie didn't have to follow his same dark path. He could be normal as he grew. He'd be fine. But he couldn't help but think of his first sign of power; psychic visions. Jamie was already speaking with angels and ghosts. He could see a clear picture of his son in his mind and it terrified him. It was his son with yellow eyes.

Abby gingerly lifted Ruby from the couch and onto her swollen feet before leading her into the downstairs bathroom. She physically urged Ruby to lay down on the floor, her head flush against the cold tile.

"God that feels good," Ruby murmured.

"Told you. It was an old trick I used to use. Some nights I'd sleep on the floor in here. Dean almost stepped on me a few times. I had to put notes on the door to warn him," she smiled.

She reached for a clean washcloth, soaking it in the cold water running from the faucet. Abby sank down next to her friend, placing the chilled fabric on the back of her neck.

"Uh, that's heavenly," she moaned. "Relief!"

Abby reminded her that the morning sickness wasn't going to last forever.

"So, you haven't told him yet," Abby whispered.

"No."

"You're still scared to?"

"Yeah. It's just...I know he's not going to want it, Ab. He's made it clear he doesn't want kids. Sam doesn't think he deserves any. I--I didn't plan this, Abby, I swear."

"I believe you," she soothed, running a hand through Ruby's warm hair.

"But will he?"

Abby paused.

"You really think he'll think you got pregnant on purpose, Ruby?"

She didn't answer, meaning, yes. Ruby definitely felt guilty, which was probably attributing to her feeling shitty.

"Ruby, hun," she said. "Take it from me, he won't think that."

"I'm scared Abby."

With a sigh, Abby recounted her own misgivings and fears when she was pregnant with her own children. It was, of course, a new experience. It was human nature to fear the unknown.

That's when Abby recognized the sound of breathing close by, and not from in the room.

Knock. Knock.

"Dean, you don't have to knock after you eavesdrop. It doesn't make it any less rude," Abby scolded as the guilty party entered.

Dean popped his head around the cracked door, his eyes looking guilty.

Dean. Dean. Dean. What was she going to do with him?

She raised her eyebrow and scowled.

"Sorry," he said, his eyes to the floor instantly. "I thought something was goin' on. I just wanted to check on you."

Her eyes softened. Damn. His puppy dog, guilt-ridden eyes would be the death of her.

"Ruby's just not feeling well, right Ruby," Abby said, nudging her back to remind her to be quiet.

"Ab…I was at the door long enough to know what's really goin' on. So, are you gonna tell him, Ruby?"

Shit. Not good. Dean couldn't--no, wouldn't, keep anything from Sam.

Ruby remained silent, but Abby could see a change in her body. She was stiff and uncomfortable; her face on the verge of tears.

Dean rubbed his eyes with his hands before leaning his shoulder against the door frame.

"Look," he started, setting his gaze to the mirror. "I know what it's like not to be the first to know."

'Ouch.'

"Sam was the one that told me and he had let all out during a fight. I'm over it now…but to know the person that's carrying your kid doesn't have the guts to tell you--it sucks. It's a real slap in the face. So, do us all a favor and tell him and soon. He deserves to know, and I don't wanna be the one who has to tell him because his wife is too scared. Seems wrong to me."

The room was heavy was emotion. Abby could feel Ruby's mind churning; if she told Sam, would it ruin their marriage? Would he hate her?

Dean's thoughts were filled with the hurt he felt the moment Sam had revealed Abby's condition:
"Sam, it was just a fling," he lied. "I mean, she's hot and all but…I'm not looking for anything long term. I got a year left. Gotta live it up."

"Tell that to the woman carrying your kid!"

He was clearly lying. He was still hurt that she hadn't told him right away. His mind had finally accepted why she hadn't, but to not have had those few months before his trip downstairs…

Her own mind was filled with one repeating word: Guilt. If she could only go back? Why didn't she just go to him and tell him? Why? Because she was scared. Abigail Stuart was a sad, lost, lonely woman who in many respects was still seventeen. No family to guide her. No friends at the ready to support her relationship with a human. Nothing.

"I'm going to put Jamie in bed and then April wanted to talk," Dean said with a sad smile. "Meet you upstairs soon?"

"Yeah," she softly replied.

'I love you,' she mouthed.
There it was again, that same incredibly sad smile. It pulled at her heartstrings. Oh, if only she knew back then how much she was going to hurt him later on.

"Ruby, he's right," she finally whispered, playing with her sister-in-law's strands. "You've gotta tell him and sooner than later. Don't be a fuck up like I was."

No answer.

She brushed back brown, wavy locks to find Ruby fast asleep on the floor. Abby smiled down at her sleeping friend. Softly, she rose to gather a blanket and pillow for Ruby to sleep with. Tonight, although the floor was harsh, it was cool and comfortable; she'd do better in there. She lifted the lithe girl's head, sliding a pillow from the couch to support her neck. With the smoothed afghan gently caressing her friend's body, she closed the door behind her and set off to the bedroom.

Dean fought with himself: should he head upstairs or wait up for Sam? Maybe he should head out to Cas'?

A large yawn broke his thoughts. Fuck. He was way too tired.

He trudged up the stairs, checking on both his sleeping children and guests. April had headed upstairs after revealing what had happened that evening with Jamie.

Poor kid. At least he didn't seem too spooked by his experiences. Well, at least he knew what they were up against. His plans for the next day were investigating and deaths on the properties and hopefully getting a name so they could salt and burn some bones. Getting rid of the spirit was the best idea for everyone involved, ghost included.

The door creaked slightly as he made his way into their bedroom. His heart almost stopped when he saw her in the bed. After the last time they had been in the room…no, he wouldn't think about that.

With a smirk, he stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and slid under the covers.

She was already asleep, her breathing soft.

God, she was beautiful, he thought, brushing the hair away from her face. He had to admit, he was pretty fucking lucky.

He curled up around her, wrapping her securely in his arms.

"G'night babe," he whispered, gently kissing the back of her neck.

He was surprised when she flipped around the face him, tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

He cupped her face in his hands.

"For what," he asked, brows furrowed.

"For not telling you. Don't lie and tell me you weren't upset," she whispered.

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

"My Abby," he smirked, brushing the hair from her forehead. "Always such a drama queen."

"I'm serious , Dean!"

"Hey, calm down…alright, it was bad then. I thought you were actually being a complete bitch. Feel better?"

"No."

"Well, then let's shut up about it and move on. "

She didn't look like she was gonna be able to that night. Abby may be a good faker in front of the world but she couldn't fake her way out of anything with him…and he meant anything.

"Listen, babe, it's done. It's in the past...it's over and finished," he laughed. She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I don't wanna live my life like that, ya know? We have time together--limited from my end."

"Well, mine too," she hissed matter-of-factly.

Dean was puzzled by her response.

"What do ya mean by that, Ab?"

"Well," she sighed, tugging carelessly at the neckline of his shirt, "When you go...I'm going to follow."

He drew her away from him, his hands clamped on her upper arms. Dean quickly sat them up together in bed.

"What the fuck do you mean you're gonna follow? You better not mean what I think you mean."

"Who's being a drama queen now, Dean," she smirked, tryin' to lighten the mood. That shit wasn't goin' to work.

"Not the time to screw around. What the hell are you talking about," he asked again, this time with more fervor.

"Not all vampires are like me. If life got too hard, you'd have to find a way to...well, you know. Me? All I have to do is walk outside without this on," she tapped her bracelet. "Dean, I don't think I can make it with out you again. No--I know I can't do it again."

He rolled his eyes. Of course she could. She'd left him not that long ago and had seemed to be survivin' just fine on her own. True, she went a little batty, but she was still around. And he had left for what was gonna be for good. Dean was dead; dead as a doornail and yet Abby had walked on. He couldn't figure out why after her near death experiences, if she was born immortal, why would she wanna end it? On top of that...their kids. Their kids took after their mother, as being part vampire. That meant they too were immortal. Dean would be damned if the mother of his children left them behind. If he could have had his mother forever, he would've.

"No, you have to stay for them," Dean whispered, nodding his head in the direction of the kids room. "The kids are gonna need you some day after I'm gone."

"Death of parents is part of the human experience-"

"In our case it doesn't have to be so why the fuck would you put them through that?! Especially since we both lost our parents," he said, slightly disgusted.

"So you want me to stay here, forever, for them?"

"Yes."

"How could you be so cruel," she sobbed.

"How could you be so fucking selfish, Abby."

She wiped unshed tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It's not selfish, Dean. Selfish was wanting to turn you into a vampire if they said you weren't going to wake up in the hospital...or thinking of turning you against your will as a way to get you out of your deal. Those thoughts were selfish. I'm not thinking that way anymore," she tugged lightly on his shirt, her eyes averting his own. "You're human. I know that. I knew that when I decided that I cared about you. I've lost human friends and lovers before. In what seems like an eye blink, they're gone. I learned to live with it. But with you? Dean…I've lost you too many times to lose you again for good."

He swallowed hard.

"I never thought of giving up my earthly immortality for anyone before, you know? It never really seemed like an option. But if I lost you…I don't see another option. Dean," she looked up at him, her dark eyes shiny. "You're my soul; if you go, so do I."

Dean tugged her to him, holding her head against his chest. She sobbed quietly, her hands lightly fisting his top. He did his best to soothe her, telling her it was ok, all the while running his fingers through her ebony hair. His hands rubbed her back, trying his best to comfort her. Abby's own arms quietly wrapped around his body as her tremors started to stop. His lips grazed her forehead.

He wasn't done with the discussion. There would be hell to pay if he left their kids behind…but he didn't have the heart or strength to do it that night. Instead, he held her close and told her that he loved her.

"I love you too, Dean. More than you could ever know."

"I think I could take a guess," he chuckled, his face being tickled by her hair.

"So," she changed the subject. "What did April want to tell you?"

"I'll tell you later, babe. First thing first; get some sleep."

She agreed and snuggled up against him, happily drifting off to rest soon after. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. He had way too many things on his mind.

He still couldn't open his eyes. They were too heavy. Funny, but the rest of him felt extremely light, as if he could float away at any second. It was peaceful….very soothing.

His moment of nirvana was interrupted by the abrupt slamming of a door.

"We're in the clear."

"Good."

"He didn't wake up yet?"

"No. He's out. His neck is pretty bruised. I gave him some pain meds but he's really drained. Speaking of drained, shouldn't you have asked him to borrow his power?"

"Sorry but we were kind of in a jam, if you couldn't tell. Oh wait--maybe you couldn't because you were too busy getting beat up by a girl!"

"You--you never grow up, do you, Wes?! You're still a dick!"

"And you're still a little bitch, Jesse!"

The emotions radiating off the other two men in the room was toxic. Even in his sleep, he could feel the loathing.

"I promised him I wouldn't, but it just happened, alright? If I hadn't, all of us would be dead! No, correction…most of us would be dead."

"You would have joined them to save your own hide, wouldn't you?!"

"But of course," Wes said.

"So you're still a coward after all these years! I should have known."

"Oh, how I miss dueling," Wes lamented. "I miss the days when you could accuse someone of sullying your good name. Pistols at dawn, that sort of thing. Those were the days. Why oh why didn't they mass produce the Colt so we could have had that much fun? I would have loved to have done you in and stood over your bullet-riddled body."

"Well, we could always run at each other with large machetes," Jesse joked.

"Well, well…he's not dead yet! When did you develop a sense of humor?"

There was a devastatingly long pause, followed by a drawn-out sigh.

"Would you have really rejoined them? Gone back to her," Jesse hesitatingly asked.

"Yes."

"I knew you were cruel, but to sacrifice us to save yourself--"

"It wouldn't be for my benefit, believe me."

That's when it clicked into Dylan's mind; Wes would let himself be brought back to the clutches of whoever 'her' was in order to protect April. It wasn't about the vampire's self-preservation at all. It was really all about leading them away from the girl.

"I meant what I said, Wes. If I go back to her, I'm not leaving."

"Suit yourself, Jesse. She's kind of a pain in the ass. Girls today are fun to play with but are so--how should I put this--less pure than they used to be. Do you get my drift?"

Dylan's mind was shot with a wave of anger and jealously.

"Calm down, friend," Wes chuckled. "Believe me, you can have her."

His own mind was swallowed up by feeling once more, but this time, it was...confusing. There was jealously again, lots of it, followed by wave after wave of remorse and regret. He only wished he knew which one it was coming from.