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Chapter Eleven
Sam missed his brother.
He missed all of his family—even Castiel now he'd had time to calm down—but it was Dean that filled the nights while he sat awake throughout the darkness, wishing his grace would still allow him to sleep as it replenished.
He wanted to see him, but he had no idea how or if it would even be a good idea. Dean would look at him with hatred again, and missing him would be nothing compared to that. He could go to him without being seen, invisible, but would he be able to resist showing himself so he could talk to him?
He didn't know.
Sam slumped back on the couch and closed his eyes. He was feeling at a loss and low. He just wanted his brother. He'd lived without him before, but that had been different. He'd not known Dean was living a happy life with a new brother at the time—a brother that was Satan.
You're wasting time with this, Sam. How is it helping anyone to sit around in this place? Gabriel asked. You've got power, buddy, archangel power. You should be working the Michael problem. What about other vessels? You could track him down with them.
"Yeah, but that could be anyone," Sam said. "Me and Dean have no idea how Nick was our bloodline, but Lucifer used him."
You think Michael would go for a generic alternative to a Winchester? Be serious. He used Adam and your Dad here. Is this other version going to be much different? If it's not Dean, who is it?
Sam sat upright and pushed his hair back from his face. Gabriel was right. Michael wasn't going to lower himself to a secondary vessel. He'd want a good one. Even if he didn't take Dean, there were others. Sam didn't believe John would ever say yes. Not again. He'd been innocent when he'd given consent in 1978, before he'd spent two decades as a hunter. He wouldn't make that mistake again, and he wouldn't be tricked.
Yeah, but there are other Winchesters that might, Gabriel pointed out.
"But there's no angels that can bring them back."
Zachariah had bought Adam back for Michael. Right now, Michael was nothing more than disembodied grace. Unless Gabriel was wrong. Would Michael lower himself to taking a lesser vessel just to get access to the one he wanted?
Sam needed to know. He concentrated on the distant voices that were whispering in his mind and spoke, hoping he was doing it right. This was his first attempt at speaking on angel radio.
"Dumah, are you listening?"
There was nothing for a moment and then a tentative voice answer. "Lucifer?"
Sam sighed. He couldn't correct her without opening himself up to questions, but he hated to be called Lucifer. Of all the people Chuck could have chosen to swap him with, it had to be the one living monster he hated more than anyone else.
"Yes. I need information."
"What do you need to know?"
"Michael. Is there any news on him? Has he been in touch with anyone?"
"Not with any angel. We're still residing in Heaven, and he hasn't attempted to come here."
"He doesn't need the portal though, does he? He can fly. I did when I left after it was opened."
"No. He's not come yet, though we are aware that he might. There is little he'd want from us though. There are so few of us and so our use for him is minimal."
"Okay," Sam said. "If that changes, let me know. I want to hear everything, no matter how small."
"I will. What do you plan to do to him?" she asked nervously.
"I'm going to kill him."
There was a pause and then she said, "Good."
Sam was on the point of withdrawing from the exchange when he realized there was something else he could ask her. He knew little about his family line since John hadn't been much into genealogy and had barely told them anything about their family at all. The angels, having cared enough about the Winchester line to intervene and get John and Mary together with the help of a cupid, would know more.
"One more thing," he said. "Who else is in the Winchester line that Michael could use as a vessel?"
"There's only Dean Winchester living."
"What about the ones that are dead? If he found a vessel or reaper to help, who could be brought back to use."
"It would need to be within a certain generation of Dean. His father, John, or his grandfather Henry would do, but no one further back than that."
"And Dad would never do it," Sam muttered.
"You mean God?" Dumah asked, her confusion obvious. "I don't think he'll interfere at all."
"No, I meant…. Yeah. God. And no, he's not going to get involved. But Henry could work…"
He could. If Michael found a willing reaper to bring him back and a way to persuade the grandfather, he would be a near-perfect vessel."
Sam felt a sinking in his stomach. Henry, brave as he'd been, wasn't like Sam or Dean. He'd not lived the same kind of life they had. He might not stand up if Michael or his reapers tortured him. Sam was going to have to protect him from himself somehow.
You know what you've got to do, Sam, Gabriel said calmly.
Sam winced. He did know, but he didn't want to desecrate his grandfather's grave to do it. He'd done it to strangers hundreds of times before, but that had been different. That had been to stop spirits. Henry was at peace.
It's not like he'll know, Gabriel pointed out. He's in Heaven. You're just doing it to a shell. And this is bigger than protecting a sense of decency. It's the world.
"Okay, thank you, Dumah," Sam said. "I'll be in touch."
He felt more than heard her nervous acknowledgment, perhaps wondering what else the devil would want from her.
You might as well get it over with, Gabriel instructed. It's not going to get any easier by waiting, and Michael might be closing in on a reaper even now.
"Yeah, I get it!" Sam snapped. "I'll do it."
He stretched his wings and twitched them irritably and then drew them in and went to the basement to find what he'd need. The shovel was going to be easy, Rufus' cabin was fitted out for grave desecrations, but it was going to be harder to find a curse box. He would need one to put the ashes in and ward it against angels—including himself—to be protected. He was going to need Violet's help for that.
Focusing on one thing at a time, he grabbed a shovel, salt, and lighter fluid then took flight to Illinois to the cemetery he and Dean had buried Henry among the other Men of Letters. They'd not wanted to salt and burn him as that had been a hunter's end, whereas burial was how the Men of Letters were laid to rest. That was convenient now as he was going to need to salt and burn him, but it was still something he'd rather not do.
He set down beside the grave with its handmade marker and looked around. It was just after midnight and the cemetery was empty. He knew how long it usually took him to dig up a grave, but he figured angel strength was going to speed the process.
He stuck the shovel into the earth and cut away a tuft of grass, tossing it to the side, then did it again until the grass was gone and he was working with softer earth.
Even with angel strength, it took time for Sam to reach the coffin they'd broken into a funeral home to steal, Sam himself insisting on doing it properly for Henry. He scraped away the surface dirt and then broke the lid open, revealing the remains of his grandfather. It hadn't been long enough for it to become bones, but without embalming, it was shrunken and mummy-like now, with the features gone. Sam climbed out of the grave and looked down at it.
"I'm sorry about this Henry," he said. "It's better this way though. This way you get peace."
Sam tore open the salt and shook it over the body then poured the lighter fluid on top and dropped the box and can to the ground. He took a book of matches from his pocket and lit one. Violet had said he was capable of pyrokinesis, and he'd managed it a couple of times, but he wanted to do this in a human way. He wanted to cling to as much of Sam Winchester, Dean's brother and Mary's son—Henry's grandson—as he could.
Sam dropped the lit match into the hole and stood still as the flames roared up and heated his face. He watched it burn and then raised his eyes and called, "Violet, I need you."
She arrived without a moment's pause. Sam guessed she would abandon anything she was doing when he called as her fear for him was potent.
"Lucifer," she said, bowing her head jerkily and them looking up at him with wary expectation. "What are you… What can I do?"
"I need a curse box warded against an angel," Sam said. "Powerful warding. I don't even want an archangel to be able to get into it. Can you do that?"
She nodded. "I can, but… Can I ask why?"
"I don't want Michael to get at these ashes," he said. "It's the one vessel that he'll be able to access."
"Okay," she said tentatively.
Sam could see more questions in her eyes, and he nodded and said, "Go ahead and ask. I know there's something else."
"Why don't you want him to take the vessel?" she asked. "I thought you planned to fight him."
"I do, but I don't want him in a strong vessel," Sam said.
That wasn't entirely true. Though it would be better for him to fight Michael in a weaker vessel, he was more horrified at the idea of Henry's soul being disturbed to facilitate a consent.
"I see. Of course. I will bring a box. There are hunters that store them."
"Don't hurt anyone to get one," Sam warned.
She looked startled. "You don't want me to hurt a hunter?"
"I don't," Sam said fiercely. "Do it covertly and carefully. I'll be here."
She nodded and disappeared, and Sam took a breath. He felt guilty for what he had just done to Henry, even though he knew Gabriel was right that it was just a shell.
He tugged the grave marker free from the earth and dropped it into the fire.
It felt oddly right to remove it and let it burn. This was no longer Henry's grave. When Sam was done, there would be nothing of him left here.
It was the best way. He was protecting his grandfather by doing this.
He was protecting the world.
So… Henry is out of the game. I've always wanted to write Henry but never had a chance to do it apart from a vague idea for a sixth part of the Brotherhood world that I didn't write. One day I will hopefully have a chance.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx