A/N: So… this is way overdue and I'm so so so so sorry, but I have been SUPER DUPER busy. Basically… I have a tube in my leg, so hopefully that is a good reason for not being on top of my posting duties. crosses fingers Because I feel terrible, I do. And I apologize.

A/N Part two: So… this is part two… and yeah, it's kinda all coming at you fast, but it will slow down, and expect a conclusion! Yes! Not right away mind you, because how fun would that be? So, as always, review and I shall post again, since this huge disgusting wound on my leg is getting better and I can live without being doped up on pain medication. Ookay, I might be a little over dramatic, but I have no pain tolerance, so cut me a break. LOL

Disclaimer: Same as always, the song is by Linkin Park

Warnings: None—ooh except, beware, this may seem like it's a little Dean/Eve, and it is, but believe me…I hate it when Dean ends up with someone, he's my man, trust me, I don't think I'll put him with anyone. devilish smile So you Mary-Sue haters, no disrespeckin (sorry, I just say Malibu's Most Wanted, and I've got the Frontin' bug).

NEW SUMMARY: The League will come for their young king, and a fight between hell and humanity shall spring forth from the ashes of all that have fallen. HE shall arise as never before and fight for which he fought to create. And if the king is able to resist, the light shall break through the darkness and the storm shall pass. The Winchesters have a clean slate, and Dean has gone to extremes to make sure it stays that way. But not everyone is who they say they are, and maybe, just maybe, Dean isn't as strong as he pretends to be. When the League refuses to give up, will the "new" Winchesters be able to defeat them? Or will the perish trying?

Part Two

Chapter Twelve: In The End

I kept everything inside

And even though I tried it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a

Memory of a time when I tried so hard
And got so far, but in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall to lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter

The voice coaxed him from his stupor.

It was foreign and oh so familiar at the same time.

Like the memory of a lost childhood friend. Not a stranger, but unfamiliar to this life.

But it spoke to him now. Touched him somehow.

"Are you going to wake up today?" A gentle touch to his… hand? Is that was that was? A hand? "I'm getting awfully lonely every day. You're much too cute to waste away like you are. And I know a certain inpatient who would love to see your smiling face."

Who? He wanted to cry. Who missed him? Who was he?

Who am I? He wondered.

Who are you?

"Your brother is resting, by the way. That's why you're stuck with me for now. Poor boy, he's absolutely exhausted, splitting his time between you and your father." She sighed. "You're being awfully selfish, staying in this coma." Her voice was light and had an air of teasing to it.

He wanted to meet the face attached to that voice.

"I know you hear me." She whispered, her hands on his face. "You respond sometimes. Two months is certainly long enough."

Two months?

"You missed his birthday, you know. I prayed you'd wake up, it would have been the best present… but you remain a vegetable." Was she bitter?

And for some unknown reason, he felt terrible about missing that person's birthday.

"I have half a mind to pull this damn plug, I bet you'd wake up if I did." She paused and then sighed, defeated. "My shift is over. You'd better be awake when I come back tomorrow." She kissed his forehead and he realized that she smelt faintly like… strawberries?

"Jessica…" The word came from his lips before he had a chance to think. The lips on his forehead stilled.

"Sam? Are you with me?"

His eyes opened slowly. The world he'd been away from for so long was blurry and gray.

"Oh my God, you are." She squealed. "Don't move."

No problems there.

"I'll go get the doctor."

- - -

"One more step, you can do it." The instructor assured him, his hands steady at the younger man's sore ribs.

"I can't." He was tired, shaking, sweaty, and he'd only made it halfway, relying mostly on the bars to walk.

Sure, he'd been torn into by invisible monster claws and then nearly crushed by a semi-truck. But since when had Can't been in Dean Winchester's vocabulary?

"I'll drop you if you don't try." The instructor promised. Dean took a deep breath and took another shaky step, wincing at the pull in his ribs. He hated the way his legs felt dead. He hated the way that he knew those metal staples running up his shin should hurt, but didn't. He hated the way he had to rely on a perfect stranger to just stand without falling.

"You're an ass." Dean grumbled. The man smiled and let Dean lean completely on the bar as he went to retrieve the wheelchair.

That damn chair, Dean hated that the most.

"But I motivate you." He corrected. "Good job today, Dean." He said softly, half carrying the man to the chair and setting him down gently.

"I took twelve retard steps."

"Better than no normal ones." He snapped. "Dean, you shouldn't even have been able to take two, but you're stronger than anyone I've ever met before. You're constantly improving, keep positive."

"Don't tell me to keep positive. My Dad and brother are in goddamn comas and I can't feel anything from the waist down. How am I supposed to stay positive?"

"You were almost dead when you got here. You're a miracle. You know you broke a county record? You were dead seven times, God must really want you on this earth."

"God doesn't give a rat's ass about me."

And yet it had been God's will that had saved him from heart failure, or at least that was what Reverend LeGrange had believed. But when does faith meld into the supernatural?

"The glass is always half full with you, isn't it Dean?" Someone asked gently. Dean turned around and smiled at her.

"My favorite nurse." He muttered. "How is he?"

"He's awake."

And Dean's world came back together.

- - -

"Now, he might not remember you."

"I don't care."

"He might be a little groggy, and he might be asleep again."

"I don't care! I just want to see him!" Dean yelled as she pushed him down the hall.

"Okay, I know you feel like you've been here long enough to run the place. But there are other patients who aren't too damn lazy to get better, so keep your voice down."

"Just let me see Sam." Dean whispered. She stopped him in front of the door and knelt down in front of his chair.

"Dean, you have to understand. He was in a coma for almost two months. He might not be himself… he might not remember things… but we have the most skilled professionals who will be here to work with him. If you can relearn to walk after everything…"

"Thanks for the sermon, father. I just want to see my brother." Dean stood up shakily, bumped her out of the way and opened the door.

Sam was awake. He was sitting up in his bed, trying in vain to turn the pages of the picture book Dean had been forced to make.

"In case he wakes up and doesn't remember…" The doctor had told him as he requested Dean make a "memory book".

"But I'll be here." Dean had argued.

"Mr. Winchester have you ever heard that phrase? A picture is worth a thousand words? Well, we live by that."

Dean watched Sam touch each face, his eyes squinted, trying to remember.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, leaning against the door. Sam turned and looked at him.

"You…" Sam pointed to the picture. It was of Sam and Dean at Dean's "graduation" he'd actually been undercover as a senior in order to investigate the mysterious string of murders at the high school. But the experience had left an everlasting impression on all three of them.

"You know me?" Sam whispered. Dean nodded, taking a few steps towards Sam's bed.

"Yeah… I know you." Dean whispered.

"Are we… brothers?" Sam asked. Dean nodded again, sitting in the chair next to Sam's bed. "You're Dean."

"Yeah."

"So I'm Sam?"

"Sammy." Dean said with a smile. He'd been prepped for this, for Sam not to remember him. But it hurt more than anything he'd ever imagined. "Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

"Jessica…" Sam whispered absently. "Who is Jessica?" He flipped through the book for a picture of her, landing on a photo of a woman with long blonde hair. "Is that her?" He asked, pointing to the picture. Dean smiled gently and shook his head.

"That's our mother." Dean corrected. He flipped to the last page and pointed. "That's Jessica." Sam smiled at the picture, flipping back and forth between Jessica and Mary, the two women in his life.

"Who is she?"

"She was your girlfriend."

"Was?" Sam asked, looking up at this stranger's—no, his brother's—eyes. Dean nodded.

"She died." He whispered.

"Is that how… I?" And Dean knew what he was asking. Dean shook his head.

"No, she died about a year ago. You, our Dad, and I… we were in a car accident." Dean explained. Sam smiled.

"You seem pretty healthy." He smirked. And Dean knew Sam was in there somewhere.

"Yeah well, what can I say? You're a pathetic weakling." He shrugged. "And besides, a coma is getting off pretty easy I'd say." Compared to the weeks of intense pain, the grueling physical therapy and the agonizing weeks I've spent waiting for you and Dad to just twitch.

"Were you hurt bad?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged.

"I've seen worse." Though he couldn't remember a time. "I'll be a wheelchair for a while, but I've all ready proven these Doctors wrong by walking already."

Sam was looking at the picture book again. "Is this my car?" He asked.

"Hell no. The Impala is mine… was mine…" Dean pretended to wipe away a tear. "Except she's not exactly in commission right now."

"We crash her?" Sam asked and Dean smiled.

"Yeah."

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, Sam."

"Where is our Dad?"

- - -

Dean had insisted on pushing Sam to their father's room. The wheelchair had proved to be an effective walker, and Sam had been intuitive enough to put on the brake each time they started going too fast and he knew Dean was falling forward.

"Alive one hour and all ready the best damn brother a guy can ask for." Dean was breathing heavily, and Sam felt something growing in the pit of his stomach. Worry? Concern? All for this guy who claimed to be his brother.

"Maybe we could get a nurse and another wheelchair?" Sam offered softly.

"That's something you're gunna have to relearn, Sammy-boy. I'm a stubborn bastard and its my way or the highway."

"Even if you're falling over exhausted?"

"Especially then." Dean grinned, somehow managed to run a hand through—over—Sam's hair. They'd cut it—shaved it actually—and there was a little length to it, but nothing compared to what it used to be. "Here we are." Dean paused in front of the door and sighed heavily, he was shaking and he doubted he'd be able to let go of the wheelchair and open the door. "Ah crap." He muttered. "This is one of the few times you'll see me ask for help, Sam, so cherish it." He sighed. "Aimee!"

She'd obviously been close, expecting this, because she was there almost instantly, with another wheelchair and capable hands to open the door.

"Look at us, two fu …"

"Okay, I excused your potty mouth before, I won't keep doing it." Aimee scolded, hitting his shoulder softly.

"Sorry. Two asses who can't even take care of themselves." Dean corrected and grudgingly sat down in the wheelchair.

"You shouldn't exert yourself like that, Dean." She said softly. "You quite possibly could rip something." She nudged him. "And with only one lung in commission."

Dean growled at her, but Sam didn't miss the glance Dean shot at him.

Why didn't he want Sam to know he was so hurt? They got in a car accident. Injuries happened in car accidents.

"I'm fine." Dean grunted angrily. "We could have made it just fine without your help."

"Yeah sure, you were falling over." Sam joked. Dean stared at him, but Sam saw those smile lines in the corner of his eyes slowly appear.

God, it's so good to have you back, Sam.

"Okay, you just dropped a brother point." Dean explained. "You bow to me, remember that."

"For some reason, I really doubt that." Sam whispered. Dean laughed heartily.

"I miss you, little brother." He mumbled, his hand resting protectively over his ribs. Aimee was watching him, her brow creased.

"I think I should take you back to your room…" She started. Dean shook his head.

"Sammy wants to see Dad… I should be there." Dean explained, staring at the door, mentally preparing himself for this.

Aimee looked pointedly at Sam.

"Actually, Dean… maybe I could do this alone?" Sam asked softly. Dean looked at his brother in disbelief, and then at Aimee who was smiling and nodding.

Dean groaned and hung his head. "Damn, you two are all ready teaming up against me." He sighed. "You really want to do this alone?" Dean asked, his green eyes shining. Sam nodded. "Okay… fine." He looked at Aimee. "Okay Minx, have your way with me."

- - -

Aimee rolled him into the room. "Just press this button if you need anyone, okay Sam?" She asked softly.

"Thank you… for that." Sam muttered. Aimee's impossibly big smile got even bigger.

"You mean your brother?" She asked. Sam nodded.

My… brother… right.

"Oh that big lug, you just have to know which buttons to press." She explained. "Now, I want you to keep on eye on him once the two of you blow this joint. He's going to have to move around like an arthritic eighty year old for quite a long time…" she punched Sam's shoulder lovingly. "And you, well, you're not going to be doing any heavy lifting any time soon either." She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Now, if only your father would open his damn eyes, the three of you could get your lives back on track."

"Yeah… I wish I knew what track that was." Sam whispered. Aimee knelt down in front of him, a gentle hand on her knee.

"Oh Sam… you'll figure it out. And Dean is here for you, believe me, he's like a walking memory bank. That man remembers every little twitch you made during those two months, I'm sure he's capable of filling you in on all the important stuff." She laughed. "And I'm sure he'll remind you of all the embarrassing stupid stuff you did and make himself look like some kind of God."

Sam forced himself to smile.

Christ…

He was like an unwritten novel. All the pages were blank. He had the title and the dedication page—To Dean Winchester of course, he'd known the man for a few hours (technically) and he all ready felt he owed him more than his life—but that was all. It was up to him to rewrite the entire thing and he had no idea where to begin.

Sam didn't even notice that Aimee had left.

He stared at the man lying on the bed, a respirator making his chest rise and fall, a tube down his nose leading to his stomach...

Sam realized he must have been in the same shape. And Dean had had to endure this with both his brother and his father, alone, and for two whole months.

"So, I guess you're my father." Sam said gently, keeping his distance from the stranger lying unconscious a few feet from him.

Sam studied the man's face.

So many faint scars.

Too old to be from the accident.

Sam bowed his head forward as a headache attacked him suddenly.

Dean had many scars. And in those pictures, when he'd seen his own face, he'd noticed scars too.

They stood in the grimy hotel room, just taking each other in. It'd been so long… too long. Sam's skin still tingled from their embrace.

He hadn't hugged his father in so long… too long.

Then the shadows came. The shadows tore their father from them, and then they turned on the brothers.

"No!"

Sam lifted his head with a gasp and stared at his father in horror. The broken movie still playing in his head.

What did they do?

"Who… who are we?" Sam whispered.

And John's answer came in the form of a twitching finger.

- - -

We're not going to go down like this, Dean promised himself. The two—three—of us are going to walk/wheel—whatever the hell—out of this damn hospital, together, and start again.

Yeah, that's right, start fresh.

Sam couldn't remember a damn thing, and Dean would give up fixing the Impala—which was never going to happen, even if he hit bankruptcy like those ass-faces at the bank sad—before he told Sam the truth and ruined the kid all over again. They had a real chance this time, especially if John had a few holes in his memory too.

Dean was more than willing to pretend away the last twenty six years if it meant keeping his surviving family together and alive.

He could just see it, "oh and by the way, we kill ghosts and demons for a living because the biggest and baddest demon in the history of demonic activity has this huge ass cult and they want you because you're their king according to this legend that says Dad and I are going to die and you're going to become the root of all evil. Oh yeah, and basically, you've been living your whole life with the blood of Mom and Jessica on your hands—forehead—and even though they died because they loved you, it's totally not your fault. I just thought you should know. Now let's go kill it together as one big happy family!"

Yeah, that'd get both of them one way tickets to the mad house.

So, instead, he'd rewritten their lives and cut out all the bad things. Dad was in the army, so explaining his "good little soldier" policy and unattached parenting and their constant moving, not to mention a few scars. Their house burnt down because of a blown fuse, nothing else. He figured he could BS anything else on the fly if he needed to.

Oh, and another big thing he'd done, he'd called Missouri and asked a big favor.

"Dean, child, how are you?" Missouri had nearly yelled into the phone. Dean grinned.

"Fine, Missouri."

"You're a liar, boy. I can feel your pain from here. Tell those godforsaken doctors to up your pain meds." She demanded. Dean laughed softly.

"I'm just sticking around for therapy and for Sam and my Dad." Dean explained.

"They're going to pull through this, I know it. I can feel it."

"Well then, that's a damn good sign." Dean said honestly.

"But you didn't just call to chat, did you Dean?" She asked slyly. Dean shook his head, and normally would have felt stupid since she couldn't see it, but he had a feeling she knew he'd done it.

"Actually, I need a favor, Missouri." Dean threaded his hand through his messy hair and let his head droop forward. "Sam doesn't remember a thing, he's essentially a blank slate… and I don't want to re-write him the same way."

"Dean…"

"Just hear me out, Missouri." Dean pleaded. "That life,"

"Your life, Dean." She corrected. "The only life the three of you have ever known. You can't just change that."

"That life almost killed them." Dean whispered, ignoring her last tirade. "It did in a way." He added. "I won't, I can't just let it all happen again. If they recover from this, Missouri, you know them. They're going to go after it again, and it will kill them. It's going to kill Dad, and me, and then take Sammy. I won't let that happen."

"What are you going to do, Dean?" Missouri yelled. "You can lie to him, but he's got gifts! Gifts you can't explain without telling him the truth!"

"That's where the favor comes in." Dean said softly. "Is there anyway you could… give them to me?"

There was silence on the other line.

"Missouri?"

"You're asking me to dabble in dark magic, Dean." Missouri asked. "I'm not strong enough to do that." She admitted. "It'd pull me in."

"Then find me someone who can do it."

"You're not meant for those abilities, Dean." Missouri explained softly. "You won't be able to handle it."

"You calling me inadequate, Missouri?" Dean teased.

"This is no laughing matter, Dean Winchester!" Missouri roared. "I don't think you understand what you're asking! You'll be taking on a whole part of your brother! Not only will it connect him to you, but you'll be taking on more than you're meant to and he'll have less, leaving him even more open to darkness's seduction."

"I'll find a way to shield him, and besides, I'll be there to protect him."

"Not for long, I'm afraid… Dean, you may not survive something like these. The sheer power of Sam's visions could kill someone not prepared for them. Sam was genetically altered to be able to withstand those visions."

"I don't care." Dean admitted. "I have to try this." He listened to Missouri's lengthy sigh. "Are you going to help me, or not?"

The answer didn't come immediately, but when it did, it was strong and final. "No, I will not help you with this one, Dean. And I pray, for your sake, that no one else agrees to help you either. Please, find another way."

Dean hung up after that.

- - -

After that option fell through, Dean fell back to plan B. That one had panned out, thankfully because after that, his options were slim and unreliable.

"Thanks for doing this, Eve." Dean whispered as she helped him lay back on the bed. She nodded, smiling softly, trying to work around the bulge of an eight month pregnant stomach.

"I don't think it's a very good idea." She admitted. "But, if you think it will help protect your family…"

"I do." Dean said honestly. Eve nodded.

"Then I have faith in your choice." But the quiver in her voice spoke otherwise. "You have his blood?" She asked. Dean nodded and handed her the vial he had "borrowed" from his comatose brother.

"What do I do?" Dean whispered, lying back.

"Unbutton your shirt." She whispered back, lighting the candles and turning off the lights. She pulled out the knife that had been blessed by every Shaman in her blood line and set it on the bed. She then poured the vial of Sam's blood into a stone bowl, like the Priestesses before used mix potions, and dipped her finger in. Dean trembled slightly in remembrance of the crazy bitch Meg.

"I'm just putting his blood on the blade." She explained as she then ran her finger over the blade, nearly covering it in crimson.

She looked at him, her eyes flashing in the light of the candles and if they weren't both so scared, on so many different levels, they might have thrown away all the freaky voodoo crap and had their way with each other, but this was important, life or death essentially.

"Now, this may sting." She warned and pressed the blade just under his sternum. "Blood to blood." She said quietly, dragging the knife down in a straight line, splitting the skin and drawing blood. "What once belonged to one, now belongs to both. Blood to blood. Seal this bond." She stopped the blade just about his bellybutton and then ran it back up, only this time, the cut closed itself. "Blood to blood. Protect them both." She stopped right before the cut was completely sealed and grabbed Dean's pendant, touching it to the blood—his and Sam's blood—and blessing it. Then she sealed the cut.

The pendant shimmer softly and then returned to normal.

"There, you're done." She whispered. Dean sat up, buttoning his shirt. Eve got off the bed and blew out the candles.

"Eve?" Dean asked softly. She turned, her long hair cascading over her shoulder as she did so. "Where is Josh?"

Her eyes fell to the floor. Dean got off the bed and they stood across the room from each other, their hearts beating in the silent intensity of the moment. "Eve?"

"Let's just say this child won't know its real father."

And that was all the answer Dean ever needed. He walked over to her and lifted her chin slowly.

"He's crazy to leave you." Dean whispered. She smiled softly, her eyes filling with tears.

"I always thought he was crazy to love me." She admitted, her hands falling upon her stomach, connecting with the baby growing inside her. "Angela is spending some time with him this week… him and his new girlfriend. He met her in the army." She shook her head. "The jerk! Seven months pregnant and he uses that "I didn't plan for this to happen" excuse on me." She put her face in her hands and cried softly.

Dean wrapped strong arms around her.

"If it means anything… I'll be here." Dean whispered. "For the baby…" the last part was spoken softly, awkwardly, but with more raw emotion than Dean Winchester knew he possessed. "For you…"

Eve looked into his eyes, and their gaze locked.

And as their lips drifted closer, Dean realized that she had those same eyes, the same eyes he'd fallen in love with. Janie's eyes.

He pulled away, and turned his face, eyes falling to the crimson colored carpet. "I'm… I'm sorry, I can't." He whispered.

She nodded, her lips twitching between a frown and a bitter smile. She put her hand on his arm. "It's all right… we shouldn't… it's… it's wrong."

There.

She'd said it.

He had been in love with her sister, her now dead sister. She was almost popping out a kid, the second with her soon to be ex-husband.

She was a dark Priestess with an addiction to dark magic, an addiction she'd carry in her blood.

He was a soldier against the darkness, heart and soul. He set out to kill anything evil, anything that threatened his family.

They were night and day.

They could only meet in shadows, and shadows fade.

It couldn't be.

And they just had to accept it.

Dean nodded, leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and then left.

She fell to her knees and sobbed, her head falling into her hands.

He stayed by the door, his forehead pressed to the almond colored oak, listening, aching for her. But then he remember his mission, he remembered Sammy, and left without stopping or looking back once.

When Dean was four, he learned there are some paths in life that he cannot travel.

After his first hunt, Dean realized he'd never live a normal life or travel a beaten path.

After his first kill, Dean realized he'd walk a path traveled only by his father, himself and Sam. But then, and until recently, that had been enough.

It wasn't until that moment that he'd finally realized that now, he was traveling alone.

- - -

So, please excuse the errors, I have no Beta and I can't correct my own work, it's a peeve of mine. So yeah, sorry. Oh, and the chapter was origninally going to be a one shot on its own, with the beginning as my version of how season two should start, but I was out of ideas so I combined it with this story. So yeah! Here is the love child.

Leave me a message and make me smile!