Well, this is it... I want to thank all of you for accompanying me on this journey. It's largely thanks to your support that it has evolved to the point where it needs to be separated into two parts, and that this fic is being put on hiatus while the second one is written. Thank you.

I do not own Supernatural.

The next time the light came, it appeared over the bed - and for good reason, apparently, as this Sam travelled lying down. He dropped softly onto the mattress before whirling upright. Eyes wide, Dean stared up at his older younger brother, taking in all the changes. The last Sam had been in bad shape, what with all the blood and signs of torture, not to mention the hallucinogenic apparently running through his system. That was all gone now, and for that Dean was thankful - but in other ways, Sam looked worse. The man who had never appeared with a beard now bore scruff, and he looked older than ever before. Sam looked worn, and against the grey jumpsuit that stood out even worse.

"Sam?" John frowned, holding his hands up in surrender. "You ok, son?"

Nodding slowly, his older younger brother lowered himself down to their level. "Yeah, sorry…Dean and I have been in a prison that officially doesn't exist for awhile now, so I'm kind of jumpy."

"A what?" Dean asked.

"What did you do?" Sammy cried at the same time.

Sam huffed, then grumbled, "Apparently, exorcising the president of the United States looks like a lot like an assassination attempt when you purposefully draw him away from secret service and he ends up unconscious after the fact."

"You what?" John said. "The president?"

Sam grinned, but Dean couldn't help but notice it didn't reach his eyes. "Besides that, are you ok?" he asked.

Sammy added, "And you never answered my question about Mom."

Now, other Sam's eyes lightened into something - fond? Loving? And yet at the same time, longing. "Yeah, uh… Dean managed to provide sibling counselling for God and His sister, and as a reward Amara brought Mom back to life."

All three alternate Winchesters looked bewildered, and they cried out questions throughout the sentence.

Dean, making a face, said, "Sibling counselling?"

John asked, "God's sister?"

Sammy, however, was the one who waited till the end to cry, "Mom's alive?!"

"And healthy as ever," Sam smiled wanly. This time, however, it was John who noticed. While his sons shot question after question at Sam, so fast that the words were unintelligible, John suspected he knew why.

"Boys," he said evenly, making eye contact with the two youngest in the room. "How 'bout you two head to that diner down the road and pick up dinner? Burgers, fries, and milkshakes for all of us."

The suggestion quickly sucked all the air out of the room, though it didn't take long for them to get their breath back. "What?!" Dean and Sammy shouted together.

"But Mom -!"

"You can't -!"

"Boys." The word came out short, John barely holding back the growl that was meant for the monsters they hunted, not his sons. "That's an order. Go pick up dinner."

Sammy immediately began protesting, prattling on about how it was their mom and they had a right to know. Dean, about to join him, caught sight of older Sam in the corner of his eye. He hadn't said a word during the entire debate, or even since announcing their mom was ok. At some point, he had backed up quietly and sunk down on the bed, a feat considering how squeaky the springs were. Everything about him, from his scruff to the way his shoulders slumped and his head bent to meet them, like it weighed too much to bear, screamed that something was wrong. "C'mon, Sammy," Dean said suddenly, hooking an arm around his younger brother and hauling him backwards, thankful Sammy hadn't grown into Samsquatch yet. He wouldn't have the muscle and height to swing alternate Sam around for a while yet.

"But Dean-!"

"Sammy," Dean mock-glared - or at least, he thought he had, but the way his brother subsided, no longer resisting, told him he hadn't quite managed to hold back the fierce protectiveness bubbling up inside him. Releasing him, he spun Sammy around and threw an arm over his shoulder now, giving it a light squeeze to tell him he hadn't meant it. His younger brother smiled up at him, and after the day they'd had Dean would take it.

Sammy waited until the impala's engine started to talk. "Why'd you leave?"

"No chick flick moments," Dean grunted, pulling out of the parking space smoothly.

"This doesn't count," Sammy glared. "Why'd you give in? Don't you wanna know about Mom?"

The impala's brakes squealed harshly from how hard Dean had stomped on them, and both boys winced. "Of course I do," Dean muttered, easing off the brakes and pressing down on the gas again while giving the impala a few pats to her dash in apology. "Sorry, Baby… I just…" Dean shook his head, not wanting to put his feelings and thoughts into words.

"Just what?" Sammy pressed, and the elder sighed. He had watched his father learn that older Sam needed words today, and use them himself because of that. He could use words for younger Sammy who needed them just as much.

"He's still you, Sammy," Dean said. He felt his younger brother staring at him, but focused on the road instead. Just 'cause he used words didn't mean he had to make eye contact while doing so. "He's still you, and I'm still supposed to protect him. And the way he looks right now… he looks…"

"Tired," Sammy murmured. "I noticed."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Tired. And I have a feeling a good talk with Dad, who knew Mom best, will help him a lot. If that's all I can give him, that's what I'll do - even if it means we wait till the next visit to find out about Mom ourselves."

Sammy was silent, and Dean risked a glance over to find him staring contemplatively out the window. A moment, and then - "I understand," Sammy said, and Dean turned away as his brother turned back to him.

John watched his sons exit before turning to his alternate son. "Sam," he said evenly.

Sam met his eyes. "Dad. What's the private father-son moment about this time?"

Sighing John sat beside him, watching as Sam's eyes followed him - curious, yet wary. He didn't know what to expect, John realised, heart stuttering for a moment. Loving father or angry sergeant. Thankful once again for the opportunity to heal their relationship, he began, "Mary was always tough." Sam blinked in surprise, but didn't interrupt. "She grew up as an only child to a hard man who alternated between doting and ordering. She learned how to fight because of it, how to get her way with words when she could, and fists when she couldn't. I think she would have made a great hunter, and -"

"She was," Sam said softly, so softly John almost missed it. As it was, he must have misheard.

"What?"

"Mom was a hunter, Dad." Sam looked at him, shoulders straightening. "The Campbells have a large family tree of hunters. She retired to marry you, but now that she's in the future and you're gone and Dean and I are adults, she's gone back to hunting because she feels like she can't do anything else. And Dean and I try to help, but she won't let us, and logically I know that it's probably because she still thinks she should be taking care of us, and we won't let her cause we can take care of ourselves, so she hunts, and the cycle repeats. But we feel like she's rejecting us cause she doesn't know us, and now we can't even see each other cause we're in solitary, and it's just…"

John hadn't said a word during Sam's outburst, simply listening. He had been right about why his alternate son appeared so exhausted, to a point: dealing with and processing the knowledge that someone traveling across time and dimensions to you imparted was one thing, still big, but different than time travelling thirty years into the future to stay. Helping someone through that would also be hard, especially when they were the mother you barely remembered. Adding in hunting and the Winchester life just made things more complicated. At the moment, he didn't want to touch the fact that Mary had been a hunter. Maybe it was a little selfish, but right now his son needed him more than the memory of his wife, so when Sam broke down at the end of his spiel and hunched over into himself, John wrapped an arm around him and tugged him close.

By the time Dean and Sammy returned with dinner, Sam had finished crying, disappeared, and failed to reappear however many months older. John, still sitting on the bed watching for him, waited a moment longer and then turned to them. "He's not back yet," he told them.

Sammy nodded as he set the food down, no trace of his anger from before in sight. "Think he'll show up soon?"

John shrugged, standing stiffly as he made his way to a seat by the table.

"Think we'll get a break now?" Dean wondered. "It is way past dinner time, and those burgers are calling my name."

In another dimension, Gabriel smirked to himself as he swaggered down Broadway. They could all use a break, he figured. He was getting bored cooped up, and the amount of stress the alternate Winchesters were going through would give anyone ulcers. It would make Sam happy, as well, to appear in an alternate dimension where things had already changed. And ok, maybe it would be fun to see the different situations he could make Sam pop in. He could picture them already, and laughing Gabriel pushed through the doors of the theatre.

*Not stating what musical Gabe is at Broadway for, but personally I'm imagining Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

As always, please review! Also, enjoy a tentative summary for part two, 'A World So Newly Born':

When the alternate Winchesters wake up the next morning with no sign of Sam, they get on the road to do what they do best as they wait for him to return, while also changing their world using the information Sam gave them throughout his visits. As the years pass, though, one question lingers over them: is the other Sam dead, or will he randomly show up one day?