Living Legacy

Act IV

"An angel?" Abaddon sneered, turning defiantly back to Castiel. She raised herself up in an attempt to intimidate, but the act was transparent. Dean could tell she was scared. "You can't kill me you winged freak."

"If I wanted to harm you," Castiel responded, his voice calm but forceful. "I assure you, I could."

Abaddon looked from the angel back to Dean, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Then what the hell do you want?"

Dean smiled. "We need you to do us a solid."

The demon snorted a laugh. "A little young for 70's slang, aren't you handsome?"

The hunter shrugged. "Just trying to appeal to your sense of irony."

Abaddon, curious, turned her back on the angel, crossed her arms over her chest and gave Dean her full attention. She cocked her head, letting a grin pull at her lips. "Color me intrigued, Winchester.

"We need smoke."

She chortled in amusement. "You want to light up with me? Seriously? Pretty trippy, and not exactly what I was expecting."

"Not that kind of smoke." Dean slid the gun and the brass key into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes never leaving the demon's face. His grin increased as hers faded in understanding.

"And just what would you need that for?"

He shrugged, stepping forward, almost within reach of the demon, stopping just far enough outside the circle to be safe. Dean was aware of Sam struggling to his feet and moving around the outside of the trap, crossing behind him to Henry, but he kept his attention focused on the demon. As soon as Henry freed his brother's hands, Dean knew Sam's curiosity would start getting the better of him, and he hoped Henry would be able to hold the younger man at bay, allowing time for their plan to play out.

"It's kind of need to know."

Abaddon's eyes narrowed as she studied the man before her. "If you want my help, I need to know." She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to see into his mind. "A spell? You actually think I would help you with some stupid plan to send all demons back to Hell?"

Dean, forewarned by Cas, had expected the demon to read his mind. He let a look of surprise filter across his face, quickly schooling his features into a casual smile – an acting job worthy of an Emmy. He glanced back at his brother, who shrugged in apology, obviously not aware Dean was already alerted to Abaddon's special tricks. If Sam was buying his act, Dean could assume the demon was, too. He needed to keep her guessing, off balance, believing she had the upper hand. He let his eyes drift to Castiel, still positioned inside the devil's trap, his angel sword tight in his grip, waiting for Dean's instructions. "It doesn't look like you have much of a choice."

Abaddon turned her head, eyes darting to the side, her grin faltering as she regarded the angel. After a moment, she turned back and set her shoulders, huffing a breath through her nose. "And what's in it for me? You're going to kill me anyway. Why should I even consider helping you?"

Dean tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Self preservation? I promise not to let Cas stick you with his little friend."

Abaddon raised an eyebrow. "Ooo, kinky."

Dean rolled his eyes at the smirk on her face. He tilted his head and bobbed his own brow at the angel in apology, but Castiel's expression remained dispassionate . With a huff of bewilderment, he turned his attention back to Abaddon.

"We exorcize you… send you back to Hell ahead of the swarm," he explained. "A demon with your…" he made a show of letting his eyes rake up and down her borrowed form, "… attributes… should have no problem clawing your way topside again."

Abaddon stared at the hunter. She tried to tear into his mind, but found she couldn't get a clear reading. It infuriated her and her lips thinned, livid that a mere human could thwart her so easily. She had no idea where he had learned the trick. No mere human was going to get the better of her.

"I've had stronger demons than you inside my head," Dean said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He didn't need to read her mind to know what she was thinking. Her frustration was written on her face. "You learn a lot in Hell."

Abaddon swallowed hard. She'd forgotten that this human had spent time on Alistair's rack. She wished she had more time to find out just how much he had learned. "Fine," she agreed, her voice clipped. She dropped her arms, leveling her gaze at the hunter. "But when I do find my way back, I'm coming straight for you." She delivered the threat smoothly, but the underlying spite was clear.

Dean merely snorted a laugh through his nose. "Get in line, sweetheart." He shifted his gaze, giving Castiel a crisp nod.

Abaddon turned back to the angel, flinching as he brought the blade up toward her, the sharp edge uncomfortably close to her face. She unconsciously leaned back, watching him, her face filled with loathing as he lifted her arm and touched the blade to the soft skin near her wrist. The angel uttered a few words in Enochian, causing her to cringe as the sound grated in her ears. Gasping as a small amount of dark smoke filtered from the incision the blade produced, she cringed as if in pain, watching the shadowy vapor coalesce inside the small glass vial held within the angel's hand. Once the vial was full, Castiel capped it and placed it back into the pocket of his trench coat.

Throwing a savage look at the angel, Abaddon turned back to Dean, one hand clamped over the still smoldering wound.

"Now send me back."

Her eyes widened as the hunter's smile faded, his face hardening, his gaze dark. He reached back, his hand closing over the handle of the long, curved machete his grandfather had pulled from under his own jacket. She took a step back, colliding with the form of the angel, unyielding behind her. Her surprise gave way to anger then fear as she stared into the cold, flat eyes of the hunter. "We had a deal."

Dean hefted the lethal looking machete, gripping it in both hands like a batter in the box. "I lied."

It was a perfect swing.

….

It took some time for them to dispose of the demon, burying her head, torso and limbs in separate boxes miles apart. The hunters had watched their grandfather's face turn green, the man not appreciating the finer points of the job, and Sam couldn't help but feel for him, knowing this part of hunting wasn't for the faint of heart.

He had been impressed with Dean's plan to obtain the demon smoke and render Abaddon harmless, though he'd wished there had been some way to save the woman Abaddon had been possessing. He knew his brother had had little choice, but Sam found himself longing for the days when he could have pulled the demon from the woman's body, allowing her a chance to live. But even if he had been able to yank Abaddon out, the woman was still gone. Castiel had been explicit, guaranteeing them that no human could withstand the possession of a Knight of Hell and live. Even if her body had survived the ordeal, her mind would never recover. The angel had assured them they had done the woman a favor.

Sam was more than willing to believe him but Dean wasn't completely convinced, and Sam knew that killing the innocent woman would be one more weight bearing down on his brother's soul. Her death was on them. They had brought Abaddon here, allowed the demon the chance to escape and possess her. What had happened to her was their fault and the responsibility of that decision was a burden they would have to bear for the rest of their lives. But if the spell worked, if they could rid the world of demons, save hundreds of people from the same fate, maybe some of that weight would be lifted. They had taken out of the last remaining Knight of Lucifer's army, trapping it so that it could never harm a human soul ever again. That had to count for something, right? After everything that had gone down with Bobby, with Cas, with Dick Roman and Purgatory, they desperately needed a win. Dean needed a win. Sam just hoped it would be enough to keep their heads above water for a while.

As soon as they packed the last of the dirt down over Abaddon's now buried head, they stepped back, wordlessly staring down at the grave.

"Is she dead?" Henry asked, stepping in between his grandsons. His eyes were locked on the packed soil, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed.

"Abaddon cannot be killed by conventional methods," Cas responded. He stood on the opposite side of the small mound of earth, his eyes also glued to the demon's grave. "But as long as the binding link remains buried inside it, the demon will not be able to escape. It is not dead, but it will be trapped in this prison for an eternity without help."

"Do you think anyone will look for her?"

Sam turned to regard his brother, sensing he wasn't talking about the demon. "I don't know." He picked up his shovel, hefting it onto one shoulder, stretching his arm and balancing his hand inside the handle. In some ways he hoped the woman had someone who cared enough about her to miss her, but he also wished, for Dean's sake, that her death would go unnoticed. "We probably shouldn't stick around to find out." Sam hated to leave the safety of Rufus' cabin – it had become their only home since Bobby's house had burned to the ground – but it was fairly close to the church and the convenience store and while they were confident they hadn't been spotted yet, they couldn't take the risk of being seen now, especially considering the carnage Abaddon had left behind.

"We need to find someplace safe for Kevin." Dean picked his shovel up and turned toward the Impala, not waiting to see if the rest of their bedraggled party followed.

"I can help with that," Henry announced as they approached the car.

Dean opened the trunk, tossed the shovel in then stood aside waiting as Sam followed suit. He closed the trunk and wiped his hands against his jeans before turning to their grandfather and eyeing him coolly.

"You have a time share in Boca you been holding out on us?"

Henry laughed, shaking his head. "No. Better." He nodded toward Dean's jacket, waiting for the younger man to catch on.

Dean's brows rose in understanding and fished the brass key from the depths of his left pocket. "The Men of Letters' Archive?"

Henry nodded, a smile ghosting on his lips. "It's warded, secure and secluded. A perfect place to keep a prophet safe from evil." He looked from Dean to Sam, his eyes taking in the weariness of his grandson's faces. "And a good place for a hunter to safely rest."

They had filled Sam in on Henry's extracurricular activities as they drove between burial sites, Dean unable to hide his amusement over his geeky little brother's unabashed interest in the ancient order.

"I'm sure Sammy will have an aneurism if this place is everything you say it is." Dean dodged his brother's elbow, smirking at the gleam of enthusiasm in the younger man's eyes.

"There's still one problem," Sam sobered, his eyes finding Henry's. "We need to get you back to your own time. I still remember Dad saying you and he made up."

"Perhaps I can help with that," Castiel stepped forward, his blue eyes flashing in the late afternoon sun.

"Is your mojo back to full power?" Dean asked, not wanting the angel to take on more than he was capable of handling.

"I believe I have enough… mojo… to transport Henry to the correct time."

Dean gazed at the angel for a moment, assessing. He nodded once, concluding Cas was being truthful and not simply trying to make up for past transgressions. His trust in Castiel was far from restored, but the angel had been there when they needed him, and if he could return Henry to his own time – Dean would be grateful.

"Okay," he sighed. "If you're willing, Henry, Angel Airways it is. Make sure you get some Pepto when you hit ground. Trust me, you'll need it."

…..

Since Henry hadn't arrived with anything other than the clothes on his back, it didn't take long for him to make himself ready for his journey back to 1972. They had returned to the cabin at Henry's insistence so he could say goodbye to Kevin. He'd spent a bit of time with the teenager and wanted him to know how much he had enjoyed his company.

After Sam explained their plan to move their base of operations to the much more secure Men of Letter's bunker, Kevin had plied Henry with a myriad of questions. Henry, delighted with the prophet's enthusiasm, told him he would find all the answers – and more – inside the archives. He made Kevin promise to treat them with respect and wished him luck in whatever life brought him.

"Wait," Kevin stopped, understanding that Henry was telling him goodbye dawning as the older man gave him a warm hug. "You aren't coming with us?"

Henry shook his head, his hands on the teenager's shoulders, squeezing affectionately. "I'm afraid not. I have… another place I need to be." He caught Dean's eye over Kevin's head, pleased at the minute nod the hunter returned. "But I know you will be okay, Kevin," he assured, returning his attention to the prophet. "And I know you will make us all proud."

Kevin smiled at the conviction in Henry's voice. "I'll do my best, sir."

As soon as Kevin left to pack up his things in the back room, Henry turned to his grandsons. Sam and Dean stood behind the couch, shoulder to shoulder, a united front, as Henry believed they should be.

"I guess this is goodbye."

Sam snorted a soft sigh through his nose, his lips twisted in a sad grin. "I wish we had more time, Henry." He stepped forward, opening his arms, welcoming his grandfather's embrace.

The older man nodded, patting Sam's back with his hand, squeezing his eyes against the burn developing behind them. "Me, too, Sam. Me, too."

When Sam stepped back, Henry turned to Dean, not expecting the same response, surprised when the older brother stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.

"Say hi to Dad for us."

Dean's hug was brief, the hunter noticeably less comfortable than his brother with the gesture, but Henry couldn't stop the tear that trickled out from below his closed lids. He nodded. "I will. Of course, he'll think I'm nuts."

Dean laughed, his eyes softening as the memory of meeting his father in the coffee shop in 1973 surfaced.

"Hey Winchester, say hi to your old man."

"Not as much as you'd think."

Dean moved back next to his brother, allowing Castiel to step between the three men.

"Are you ready?" he asked Henry, his hand hovering near then older man's head.

"Are you coming with me?" Henry asked, his eyes locked on the angel's hand, his body bending away betraying his nervousness. "I would really like it if you would accompany me… if that's possible?"

Castiel looked back at the hunters, not sure what the proper protocol would be.

Sam shrugged. "It is his first time," he reasoned.

Dean nodded in agreement. "It is quite a trip," he agreed. He turned to Castiel and ginned mischievously. "Just don't stay out past curfew, Cas. You know how Sammy gets."

Sam rolled his eyes, an affectionate grin lifting his lips.

"I will return promptly," the angel replied without a trace of humor. He turned back to Henry. "Are you ready?" he repeated, waiting patiently as the man took in the faces of his grandsons.

"I'm proud of you boys," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "I never got to know you as kids, and I wish I could have, but I want you to know, no man could ask for two finer grandsons. Your father raised you well, and I'm glad I had the chance to know you both."

Sam nodded at the older man's heartfelt words, his eyes bright, his smile tremulous.

Dean gradually raised his eyes, capturing Henry's for a moment before dropping them to the floor between them. It was just a moment, but the emotion in those familiar green eyes would be something Henry would never forget. He swallowed, his throat thick and nodded at Castiel. "I'm ready."

Castiel lifted a hand and gently touched Henry's forehead…

…..

Henry could tell he was home. The sounds, the feel, even the air was different. He opened his eyes, not aware he had closed them when Castiel had touched him, surprised to see the angel still standing before him. They found themselves on a suburban street in Lawrence, outside Henry's home. He looked around, wondering if anyone had noticed two men pop into existence from nowhere like magic.

His neighbor, Bob, was out mowing his lawn and waved as he turned the mower toward the back yard. Henry waved back.

Apparently dropping in from the sky was perfectly normal.

"They would not have perceived our arrival," Castiel explained as if he could read Henry's mind. "It is a bit of misdirection we have come to use to… keep everything under the carpet."

"Um, rug," Henry corrected, one side of his mouth lifting in a grin. "I think you mean 'under the rug.'"

Castiel nodded without argument. "Why did you truly want me to accompany you?" he asked without preamble, catching Henry off-guard. "I do not believe someone such as yourself, who is familiar with the supernatural, would be hesitant to be transported through time."

Henry outright laughed. "Hard to fool an angel, huh?"

"Difficult, but not impossible," Castiel intoned regretfully.

Henry frowned in confusion but decided not to ask for clarification. He turned and began walking up the cement path to the house. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

"That could have been accomplished in 2013."

"Yes, but I wanted to speak with you about something and I didn't want you allowing my grandsons to talk you out of it."

Castiel followed the old man to the porch, waiting while he took a seat on the peeling swing that hung down on rusted chains. "What is it you wished me not to discuss with Dean and Sam?"

"I was speaking with Kevin and he informed me that there were still two ingredients the boys needed to complete their spell."

Cas nodded, tilting his head, puzzled. "The actual meanings of the two remaining ingredients are still uncertain. As far as I know, the Prophet has not yet been able to determine what constitutes 'The Word' or 'Devotion of the Resolute'."

Henry nodded. "I believe I do." He stilled the movement of the swing, his eyes taking on a distant quality. "I think it means the sacrifice of someone's devotion." He focused his gaze back on the angel. "I want you to take my memories."

Cas' brow furrowed and he shook his head. "I do not understand."

"Devotion of the Resolute," Henry explained. "Both Kevin and I believe it means the complete devotion someone has shown for someone or something in their life. I have devoted most of my time and energy to my work. Because of that I have forged a deep divide between me and my only son. I would gladly sacrifice that devotion for the chance to reconnect with John. Dean and Sam have given me that chance, and knowing it would help my grandsons in their quest would be more than I could ever hope of achieving through the Letters."

"You would not remember them."

Henry nodded, already aware of what he would be giving up. "I know. I'm not supposed to even know they exist. I had a chance not many people get, and I am willing to give it up to help them in their mission. What they've undertaken is a noble, righteous pursuit. If I can help in this small way, I will consider my life worthwhile… even if I can never know I contributed at all."

"But they will know."

A sad smile graced the old man's face. "Yes. They will. And hopefully, they will understand why it was so important for me to do this for them."

Castiel stood, gazing at the old man, his mind whirling with indecision. He knew the Winchesters had placed their grandfather's wellbeing in his hands and he did not want to cause further harm to the tenuous relationship between Dean and himself. But he could tell Henry was adamant, his belief that his sacrifice would bring his grandsons one step closer to their goal was something the angel could not dispute. Somehow, he knew Henry was right. He knew the man's memories would qualify as the next ingredient for the spell.

And Henry was willing to give them. Castiel could see no other way for the Winchesters to obtain that ingredient except through someone's sacrifice. It was fitting for that someone to be a Winchester. Dean and Sam would be upset – at first – but Castiel hoped his friends would see that their grandfather's sacrifice was one he made on his own volition.

The angel nodded, his decision made. "Very well. But I will only take those memories pertaining to your work. I will leave the memories of your son intact."

Henry sighed in relief. "Thank you. When John returns home, we can make a new start."

"May I ask you something?"

Henry shrugged. "Better do it now."

"Why did you wait to make this offer until now?"

Henry chuckled. "Do you think my grandsons would've gone along with it?"

"No," Castiel answered immediately, honestly. "I believe they would've done whatever necessary to dissuade you."

Henry raised a hand, palm up. "That's why. They're good boys, and they've been through so much. I couldn't put that on them." He pushed himself up from the swing, stilling the movement with one hand. "Tell the boys… " He stopped, his lips pursing as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "Just tell them I love them."

…

The short, non-descript man pulled his sweater closer around his torso, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He watched as the two men entered the small house, understanding of why he had been pulled to this location beginning to dawn. He easily perceived the trench coated man as a fellow angel, though one he was unfamiliar with, and from a quick reading of his aura, discovered the other man was about to sacrifice a part of himself for the cause.

It meant the tablet had been found and interpreted.

It meant there was a prophet.

It meant there was someone undertaking the quest.

He had waited a long time for this to come to pass.

He hid himself from view as the angel on the porch turned, his blue eyes searching the quiet Kansas street, his brow furrowed as if he sensed he was being watched.

Metatron waited, hidden, until the angel, his search availing nothing, turned and followed the human into the house, closing the door behind him. Metatron stepped from the curb, onto the street in front of the small home, and regarded the house with knowing eyes, regret, compassion and sadness merging with resolution in his gaze.

He had known this day would come. Watching. Hiding. Disappointed, but resolved by what had come to pass.

He had never doubted God's word. He had merely prayed for Him to be mistaken. He should have known better.

But now his mission could be fulfilled.

It was time.

….

Dean tossed the last of the bags into the Impala's trunk, closing it with a resounding thud. He laid a hand on the shining black metal, giving it a gentle pat. Despite the number of times he and Sam had performed the pack-up and move ritual over the years, their true 'home' had always been there when they needed her. He reminded himself his baby was due for some TLC – oil change, brakes, wash and wax… the works… as soon as they finished saving the world.

Again.

A soft breeze wafted across the back of his neck, ruffling his short hair. He was pretty sure he heard a faint ruffling of feathers…

"You are not standing right behind me, are you, Cas?"

One side of his mouth lifted in a knowing grin. The telltale scrape of leather on grass indicating the angel had taken a few steps back. Dean turned, the grin still playing on his face. He leaned back against the warm metal, arms crossed against his chest, left ankle hooked over the right.

"Have a nice trip?"

Castiel nodded. "Your grandfather has a very charming home."

Dean's brows rose at the angel's choice of phrase and he stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, deciding it may be easier to just let this one go. He was saved from commenting as Sam bounded down the steps of the cabin, his laptop bag over one shoulder. He maneuvered the bag through the partially open window of the Impala's front passenger door before joining his brother at the rear of the car, leaning a hip against the fender.

"Kevin's taking a last sweep," he explained, crooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the rustic cabin. "He'll be out in a minute."

At Dean's nod, Sam turned his attention to the angel. "Is Henry okay?"

Sam had wanted to ask Henry so many questions about the Men of Letters, their mission, their history, but Henry had assured him he would find answers in the archives. He had seemed thrilled that his more 'scholarly' grandson had taken such a keen interest in not only the information the archives held, but the Men of Letters organization itself.

Dean was sure Sam would dig through the piles of books and information, discovering everything there was to know about the order their grandfather gave his life to. Maybe it would give Sam a purpose, the missing something that hunting had never provided. Sam had always wanted normal, but Dean believed he had simply wanted something noble that didn't involve the killing, the destruction, the darkness that their job required. Maybe this could be it for his brother. Sam always was the brains of the outfit – give the kid a centuries old archive and Dean suspected he could be so much more.

Dean noticed that Castiel hadn't answered his brother's question, instead, he stood staring, his blue eyes soft, apologetic, a sight that pinged Dean's radar.

"Cas?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Something you want to tell us?"

Castiel shifted on his feet, dropping his gaze, unable to keep eye contact. That put Dean on high alert.

"What?" he demanded. He pushed himself off the car, taking a step closer to the angel. He felt Sam close in behind him, his brother's hand landed lightly on his shoulder in restraint. He took a breath and leveled his gaze at the angel. "Did something happen?"

Castiel sighed, a gesture that did nothing to quell Dean's trepidation. The angel reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper, holding it out toward the hunters. "You should read this."

Dean turned, exchanging a wary glance with his brother, the confusion on Sam's face mirroring his own. His brow furrowed as he snatched the paper from Castiel's grip, opening it as his brother leaned over his shoulder.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he read the first words…

My Dearest Grandsons,

Please don't be upset with Castiel, as he was only doing what I requested. As you know, Winchesters can be pretty persuasive when we put our minds to it.

I don't know what you will find within the Men of Letters' compound. Without the key, there would have been no way for anyone to turn off the wards, making it impossible to enter the protected space. There were only a few others in the compound with me when I was working on Abaddon, and if they left the bunker, as I'm almost positive they would have eventually, there would have been no way for them to return.

I don't know if any of the Men of Letters remain, but even if they are gone, I believe, with all my heart, that the two of you are our legacy. It now falls to you to protect the knowledge housed within those walls. I hope you find a way to use that knowledge to make the world a better place.

I waited to make my request to Castiel alone because I was certain you boys would have tried to talk me out of it. I realized, after my discussions with Kevin, that I had the power to aid you in your quest to rid the planet of demons. One of the last ingredients you will need is the Devotion of the Resolute. I believe my devotion to the Men of Letters qualifies. I have asked Castiel to take those memories and give them to you for use in your spell. He has assured me it is possible and I am ready, because I believe your quest is a noble one – far more important than anything my knowledge could ever produce.

This small sacrifice is the only contribution I can make to your cause. Please accept it in the spirit it was given. I will do everything in my power to reconcile with your father and I pray his memories of me – and yours – are good ones.

You boys have been tasked with a heavy burden, one you have carried all your lives with pride and strength. I know you will succeed. I believe in you both. You are, after all, Winchesters.

Good luck, Your Grandfather, Henry

Dean stared at the letter, the penmanship reminding him of his father's journal entries – neat and precise. He should be angry. He never wanted Henry to sacrifice anything for them. It was another layer of guilt that could finally be enough to bury him, but he was surprised to find that while he was saddened by what Henry had lost, he wasn't angry at all. He was upset that another person's life had been sacrificed for the damn job, he grieved for a loss he should never have even known. But mostly he was proud to carry Henry's name.

He looked up from the letter, letting his hand drop against his leg. His fingers held the letter tight, the paper crinkling softly from the pressure of his grip. His eyes welled as he cast them down, and a sad smile crossed his lips, grief for a grandfather he would never have. The angel produced another vial from his pocket, similar to the one that held his grace and Abaddon's smoke. This one was filled with a fluid, golden mist, that churned beautifully within the glass.

Huh, who would've thought memories were actually golden?

"How could you let him do this?" Sam shot toward the angel, his voice trembling after reading Henry's words. Dean could feel his brother's frustration radiating from him as Sam reached out and grabbed Castiel's arm. "You were supposed to protect him!"

Cas didn't react to Sam's aggressive move, and Dean placed a hand on his brother's sleeve, waiting until the younger man withdrew, taking a step back. He reached out and took the golden vial from Castiel, holding it reverently in both hands as he turned to his brother.

"You're okay with this?" Sam asked, incredulous that his brother wasn't seething with anger as he was.

Dean shook his head. "No. I'm not," he answered honestly. "But what are we gonna do, Sammy? It happened forty years ago. We can't change the past. Henry did this for us. To help us the only way he knew how. We can't just dismiss that. "

Sam's head moved from side to side, every instinct in him wanting to rage against what had happened, but the calm, resolute look on his brother's face gave him pause. He swallowed, blinked against the rush of angry tears, but realized his brother was right.

"He was our grandfather, Dean."

"I know. And he did what any Winchester would do." Dean gave his brother a sad smile, shrugged one shoulder. "Sacrifice is kind of our family motto, right?" He waited, his eyes holding Sam's, until the taller man's shoulders slumped and he nodded in agreement.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked the angel, all trace of anger gone from his voice. His brow furrowed as a memory tugged at his mind. "I remember Dad saying something about Alzheimer's?"

Castiel bowed his head. "I did not take all his memories, just those which applied to the Men of Letters. He would still have remembered who he was, who your father was."

Dean was nodding thoughtfully, his own memories supporting the angel's claims. "I remember Dad saying he was able to know his father after he came back. He died soon after Dad married Mom, but they were closer. So maybe Henry found a way to give everyone what they needed."

He opened the trunk and moved a few of the bags, uncovering the box that held the other ingredients. Nestling the bottle inside between the others, Dean felt a surge of pride, knowing his grandfather's sacrifice had gotten them that much closer to pulling this whole thing off. Securing the box once again, he leaned back and closed the trunk. Taking a deep breath, he squinted off into the setting sun, finding himself strangely at ease. Henry's letter had instilled a confidence in him that had been waning since his return from Purgatory, settling something inside him he had thought was gone. After his time there, he wasn't sure he could cut it anymore, he wasn't sure he even wanted to commit to this life, this job. But their grandfather was right, this was their fight to win. And now, thanks to him, they had a real chance

"Well, thanks to Henry, we're on the ten yard line, first down and goal to go." He smiled, the light of the sun reflecting in his eyes. "Let's get our offense on the field, Sammy."

Kevin leaped down the steps and approached the older men, his backpack slung over a shoulder. He shook his head. "I should've said something a long time ago, dude, but if you really want to inspire me, Stop with the sports metaphors."

Dean laughed and slapped the teenager on the back, causing him to stumble forward from the force. "We'll work something out, kid. Get in the car."

….

As the big black car pulled away, Metatron materialized in the clearing behind Castiel.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

Castiel turned, his head tilted, not the least bit startled by the other angel's sudden appearance.

"I am not fond of that mode of transportation," he answered, his eyes searching the smaller vessel before him. "I do not know you, my brother."

The scribe smiled. "No, Castiel, but I know you. And I believe you are just the angel I need."

The End…

…to be concluded next Tuesday in the Sue-Pernatural finale, 'Worlds Collide.' I hope you stick around!