Hi everyone! Guess who has five whole chapters drafted and a solid plan for the future? :D Said plan is this: based on my outline, there will be about ten or eleven chapters for this section before I'm forced into hiatus. I say 'forced' because there's only so much I can write before I catch up with the TV show in the alternate universe as well. This is not going to be a play by play, but time skips with zoomed in views of important moments. This hiatus, however, will be broken periodically (read: a few times a year) when new SPN episodes inspire visits from alternate Sam. Until we reach that point, though, we're back to the once-a-week updates every Wednesday!

Disclaimer now: all titles for part two are taken from titles for rock songs, with the exception of visit chapters, which will be structured same as in part one.

I do not own Supernatural, and I hope you enjoy the beginning of Part II: "A World So Newly Born".

John woke up slowly, something that hadn't happened since Mary died. The events of the previous day, he guessed, had exhausted him to such an extent that the nightmares couldn't come. Not, he realised with a groan, that that equalled a good night sleep. A crick in his neck and creaking joints spoke to the awkward, sitting up in bed position he had fallen asleep in.

Movement beside him had John looking down to smile at his boys. Waiting for the next Sam to appear, after dinner they had all climbed into bed together. At some point during the night Dean had slipped down to lay sprawled out on his back, one arm reaching over to clutch at John's jacket. Sammy had also slipped down, but he had curled into John's chest so much he was practically in his father's lap. Though, John realised as he stretched his arms, this was partially his fault as he had an arm around both his sons. There had been lots of hugs in the last day, as well as breakdowns and "chick flick moments", as Dean would put it, and John had a feeling they were making up for lost time.

Shifting, the eldest Winchester extracted himself from the pile. Dean groaned behind him, and Sammy mumbled sleepily, "Don't go." Heart breaking, John reached down to squeeze his middle child's shoulder. "I'm right here," he murmured. Sammy yawned and reached for him in turn, fumbling. Knowing he had to get up, John instead guided Sammy's hand to his brother's shirt. His fingers, so small compared to how big they would soon get, flexed in the material before latching on. John turned to go, satisfied his son was happy, and made eye contact with his eldest.

"Dean," John nodded.

"Dad," he said in return, sleep making his voice rough. He slid closer to Sammy, taking John's place as his pillow, though he never looked away from his father. "Where's Sam?"

John shook his head, "I don't know. He wasn't here when I woke up, and I don't think he came while we slept."

"Maybe he did and just didn't wake us?"

"No… no, the amount of visits we had yesterday, and how much noise he made, we would have woken up."

"You don't think -" Dean looked stricken now, and John hurried to cut him off.

"No, I don't think he's dead. The amount of times he appeared here seemingly close to death, I think he'll come here again for that. I think this is something different. A chance, maybe, to fix things he's already told us about."

Dean still looked uncertain, but he nodded. His father's words had soothed him to a point, but John knew they would all doubt it until they saw Sam again. And then Sammy spoke seriously, albeit still sleepily burrowing into his older brother. "Or maybe he did come and die, but didn't make enough noise to wake us up. If he bled out, or was already unconscious, we could've easily slept through his visit…"

There was silence for a moment, and then Dean shot out of bed, dumping Sam onto it - not that that lasted long, as Sam quickly processed what he'd said and followed his brother to the phone. John let them at it, instead spinning around to study the floor. Whoever or whatever caused the other Sam to visit didn't bother transferring back blood and bodily fluids, so if he could identify any new spots they could at least know if Sam had appeared, though not if he was still alive.

"Bobby, hey, it's Dean," Dean blurted in the background, distantly registering in his father's head as he processed the room's condition. "We need all the info you have on dimensional travel - yeah, that's right, you heard right, dimensional travel - I'm being serious, Bobby! Dimensional travel. Yes. ASAP."

There was the sound of a brief struggle, as well as a strangled yell of shock from Dean that John didn't bother investigating, and then - "Hi Bobby, it's Sam. Quick question, just want to cover all our bases here - a tall man with long brown hair hasn't appeared out of thin air anywhere recently that you've heard of, has he?"

"Giraffe!" Dean shouted into the receiver, followed by a thud and a stressed laugh as, John guessed, Sammy shoved him.

"No? Ok, well, if you hear anything, please let us know! - No, no the research comes first - yes - thank you so much Bobby, bye!"

More wrestling noises, this time a disgusted yelp of "Dean!" preceding his eldest once again greeting a hunter on the phone. John tuned them out now, satisfied they were asking all the right questions of all the right people. His job, he noted to himself, was not so straight forward. The number of times Sam had appeared bleeding and/or dying numbered too many to count off hand, and he hadn't exactly been keeping track of which blood spatter or pool came from which incident. As a result, some could have been from visits they were aware of, while others were old enough to have definitely been there before they rented the room, and still more looked fresh enough to have occurred while they slept. John groaned as his limbs creaked - he definitely wasn't as young as he used to be - and he knelt to study the closest dried blood pool. If the alternate Sam didn't appear soon, this might end up being an even longer day than the day before.

An hour later, the three Winchesters slumped in various positions around the room: John, head bowed and hands clasped together with his elbows resting on his knees, Dean, slumped over the phone on the table in a seat next to it, and Sam, legs dangling off the bed beside his father even as he lay back and stared at the ceiling. The boys had quickly exhausted the hunter phonebook, as no one had any new information right on hand. All agreed to keep an eye out, and some could do research, but nothing happened immediately. John gave up his goal of dissecting the carpet and surrounding area when they finished. There was no way, he realised, to tell when the blood arrived. Nothing stood out. Unless - until, John corrected himself - until Sam travelled again, whether or not his alternate son lived would be a mystery.

"Get up," John said quietly. Dean's head cocked and Sam twitched, but otherwise neither gave any sign they heard him. "Get up," their father repeated, sitting straighter himself. "Dean, open my journal to a new page. We're going to list everything we know, and then we're going to make a list of everything that we can change now. Sam may not be here now, but you can bet when he returns it will be to a better world than he left it."

His boys - and they were just boys, John noted with a twinge of regret - sat up slowly, but when Dean reached for the journal and Sam moved to join him at the table, it was with a newfound strength and purpose that he could only hope they continued to hold throughout the years.

I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!