Chapter 2
Tears on My Pillow

Dean's stomach was beginning to inform him that it was lunchtime when he finally heard a sleepy "Dean?" He turned his head and opened his eyes to find Sam looking at him in mild confusion.

He smiled. "Hey, Sammy."

"Did... did I freak out or something?"

"You had a reason. But yeah."

Sam sighed. "I don't remember."

That wasn't really a surprise; the shrink had warned them that bad episodes could prompt Sam's mind to blank out whatever had caused them, and it had happened a couple of times before. Dean nodded. "It's okay."

"I get confused," Sam continued. "I can't always remember what's real—and-and not just because... y'know, I see things sometimes. I have these really horrible dreams."

Dean frowned a little in confusion and concern. "Like?"

"There was one where I let you get turned into a vampire. I-it was like I didn't have a soul."

Dean's frown deepened.

"Then there was one where... you went to Purgatory, and I didn't even look for you."

"Why not?"

"I-I don't know. I hit a dog. Dean, it made no sense. And then..." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Then there was one where you had done something, and I was mad at you, and you were mad at you, and... and you left and came back with the Mark of Cain, and it turned you into a demon!" He sniffled and opened his eyes again, looking at Dean with a depth of heartbreak that was almost unfathomable. "You know I love you, don't you?"

This was no time for snark about chick flick moments. And yeah, maybe Dean had needed to hear it as much as Sam needed to say it. But there was only one thing Sam needed to hear right now, and Dean meant it with all his heart. "Yeah. I know."

Sam's sigh of relief wasn't audible, but his eyes looked a whole lot happier.

Dean waited a safe number of seconds before adding in a lighter tone, "Considering the way you've been huggin' me for the last three hours..."

"Oh! Uh. Sorry." But the corners of Sam's mouth twitched upward even as he finally let go of Dean.

"Hey." Now that Dean's arms were free, he could finally brush the hair out of Sam's eyes again as he returned the smile. "No need to be sorry, little brother. We're good."

Sam's smile brightened. And when Dean sat up with an exaggerated groan, Sam actually chuckled a little.

Dean smiled more broadly and patted Sam's shoulder. Then he got serious again. "Now, about why you freaked out. We got some unexpected company this morning. I don't know the full story yet, but the short version is, our grandfather—Dad's dad, the one he thought ran out on him—used some kind of time travel spell and came here looking for Dad."

Sam blinked and frowned a little. "I... I kind of remember that. Is he tall, dark hair?"

"Yeah. He was bein' chased by some demon, Abaddon. Cas and his buddies took care of her."

Sam nodded slowly and looked away as more bits of memory came back. "There was something else, though, something..." His frown deepened as he looked at Dean again. "Did he say he was—"

Dean held up a hand. "He was trying to help, okay? He didn't know."

"B-but he wanted to—"

"Get a place here in town and have you move in with him."

Sam blinked several times as he processed that. "Oh. Okay, that... that's not what I thought he said."

"Yeah, I know that's not what you thought. You freaked out so bad, I had to give you a night-night pill."

"I wish you wouldn't call it that," Sam groaned, wincing and scrubbing a hand over his face, but it didn't hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward again.

Dean chuckled slightly. "Anyway, I thought you should know, 'cause he's still here—unless he ran off with Cas or something."

"Oh, he's still here," Lisa said from the doorway. "I just hope he isn't mad at me."

Dean turned to her. "Why?"

"He started looking like he was going to bolt, so I spiked his iced tea with about half a dose of Benadryl."

Dean grinned. "You evil genius."

She shrugged and smiled that smile that meant she was trying not to laugh. Then she looked past him to make eye contact with Sam. "Hi, Sam."

Sam smiled. "Hi."

"Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. That was a pretty epic meltdown."

Sam huffed. "Yeah. But I think I'm okay."

"You get anything out of him, Lis?" Dean asked.

Lisa shifted to lean against the doorframe. "He kept going on about this society called the Men of Letters that you and your dad were supposed to join. Sounds like some kind of cross between reference librarians and military intelligence, only for the supernatural. Abaddon attacked them the night of Henry's initiation, and one of the elders gave him something to keep safe. So he tried to jump forward in time, find your dad, get his help finding out what the thing is, and then eventually go back to 1958. He was really not happy when I told him you two were hunters."

Dean frowned. "Why not?"

"Basically, he thinks all hunters are dirty, dumb, and violent."

"Well, nobody's perfect," Sam deadpanned in a tolerable Davy Jones impression.

Lisa chuckled. "Anyway, when I got him up to speed about the changelings and the Apocalypse and everything, he started asking where to find a hoodoo shop."

"And that's when you drugged him?"

"Well, he was acting a little jetlagged anyway. At least he was with it enough to lie down on his own steam. Oh, and he still thinks we're married," she noted, looking at Dean.

"We could be," Dean replied without thinking—but even when he realized he'd inadvertently proposed, he didn't take it back.

She blinked at him in shock for a moment before straightening with a deep breath. "Okay, that is a conversation we need to have later. You guys hungry? I ordered pizza."

Sam sat up with a not-so-exaggerated groan and stood a little unsteadily. Dean waited for him to get his land legs back before following him and Lisa downstairs to the dining room, noting as they passed the living room that Henry was sacked out on the couch.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked with a confused frown as they sat down at the table. "We don't have a tradition of a 'sacred annual pilgrimage to Vegas' or anything like that, do we?"

Dean blinked. "I wish."

"Okay, I thought that one was a dream. It was way too bizarre to be real."

"In what way?"

"I got dosed with love potion and wound up married to Becky."

Dean shivered, which made Sam laugh.

"Who?" Lisa asked.

"Becky Rosen, Sam's #1 fangirl," Dean explained. "She was waaay too excited to find out he was real."

Sam grimaced in embarrassment even as he kept laughing. "Deeeean..."

"Dude, you brought her up. I didn't need to know what you two get up to in your dreams."

Sam spluttered, and Lisa fought valiantly not to laugh. Dean snickered and grabbed a box of pizza.

The three of them ate in companionable silence for a while. Somewhere around his third slice, though, Dean spoke up again. "So, Sammy, Cas said he'd be by sometime to talk to Henry."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"Depending on what Cas has to say, Henry might make another offer to have you move in with him. You gonna be okay with that?"

Sam sighed. "If you mean will I freak out over it, no. But... I'm not okay. What we talked about earlier helped, but I can't guarantee I won't lose it again, and right now, Henry's pretty much a total stranger. I mean, I don't want to be a burden on you and Lisa..."

"You're not," Lisa assured him, putting a hand on his arm. "Ben and I care about you, too, not just Dean, and not just because you're Dean's brother. Plus, you guys nearly died saving the world. I expect you to have a few issues. Now, admittedly, it might be easier if you could have your own place or move in with Bobby, but you can't, so you're welcome to stay. And as long as you help out as much as you can, it's not like you're freeloading."

"Are you sure?"

Dean huffed. "Dude, you think I'd just let you lie around and be lazy?"

Sam had to chuckle at that.

Dean was just contemplating a fifth piece when Henry woke with a start, sitting bolt upright with a deep, audible gasp. After looking around wildly for the space of a few harsh pants, he slumped against the back of the couch and put a hand to his head. "It's real... holy cats..."

"You doin' okay there, Henry?" Dean asked.

"Not really." Henry rubbed his forehead a little. "I was... I was hoping it was all a dream."

"Yeah, no such luck. You want some pizza?"

Henry grimaced, moving his hand to his stomach. "No, not really. Thanks."

"Can I get you something else?" Lisa offered. "Soda, coffee?"

"I... might take some black coffee. Thank you."

"Coming right up." Lisa got up and went into the kitchen.

With a groan, Henry pushed himself up off the couch and started dragging himself to the dining table. "Can't believe I sacked out like that. I guess going from late night in one year to mid-morning fifty-two years later is worse than jet lag."

"Could be," Dean replied, trying not to give away what he knew of time travel and of the real reason Henry fell asleep.

But Sam stopped the conversation from going any further down that line by standing up and offering Henry his hand to shake. "Hi. I'm Sam."

"Sam. Henry Winchester." They shook hands, and Henry continued, "You're looking better."

Sam huffed and smiled a little. "Thanks. I'm feeling better. I'm sorry about earlier; you just... kind of caught me off guard."

"And I'm very sorry I did so. I had no idea."

"Well, even if you had, it's not like you had any way to call ahead."

Henry chuckled uncertainly and sat down beside Dean.

Sam sat down again himself. "Lisa said you came here from 1958?"

"I did, yes. She also tells me you guys are hunters, which... I'm sorry, I'm just having trouble understanding. You and your father should have become Men of Letters—unless..." Henry gulped. "Unless I... don't make it back from this time."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam cleared his throat. "We don't know. All we know is that Dad never saw you again."

"Oh, no," Henry groaned and slumped forward with his head in his hands. "I... can't say I regret coming here. I didn't have much choice, and I did—do—have a responsibility to uphold, but... I never meant to hurt John."

Lisa was on her way back with the coffee, so Dean reined in what he really wanted to say. Instead, he said, "Your responsibility was to your family. And Dad, he had to learn everything the hard way when a demon killed our mom. Got a lot of things wrong, but he did the best he could." Then he looked over at Sam even as he kept talking to Henry. "And I doubt even you could have found us a better way out of the Apocalypse."

Sam smiled a little. "Primary sources."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"That's what we had, primary sources—Death, Gabriel. When it comes to research, primary sources are the best. And I mean, if even Cas didn't know Lilith was the final seal until it was too late..."

"Yeah, that's a good point."

"Holy cats," Henry whimpered and took a desperate swig from the mug Lisa had just set in front of him.

"Need some Irish in that?" she asked.

Henry shook his head. "No. Thank you, but I... I ought to keep my head clear, at least until Castiel returns."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, immediately followed by Cas appearing just inside. "Hello," he said.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied.

Sam looked somewhere between baffled and amused. "Dude, did you just walk through the door?"

Cas tilted his head a little. "Given the state you were in earlier, I thought knocking would be a good idea."

The brothers both laughed.

Lisa, ever the good hostess, asked, "Can I get you anything, Cas?"

Cas shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm glad you're calmer, Sam," he added as he came to the table and sat down across from Henry. "What I have to say concerns you as well."

Sam blinked. "In what way?"

"I think I know of a way Henry's errand can help you—help all of us, in fact."

Henry frowned a little and set down his mug. "I'm all ears."

"My garrison has been investigating Abaddon's attack on the Men of Letters. The other members who were there that night were reported to have all been killed, but in fact, one man survived. Larry Ganem."

"Larry. Good. He's the one who—gave me something for safekeeping. Where is he?"

"I'll take you to him... if you'll help me find some information. I believe the Men of Letters may have knowledge about the angels that has not been revealed to those of us in the lower echelons. Specifically, how to sever the link between an angel and its vessel and ensure that the vessel can never again be taken."

Dean's eyes widened, and though he and Sam leaned forward at the same time, it was Dean who spoke. "You can cut Sam's link to Lucifer?"

"And... and make it permanent?" Sam continued. "Like the anti-possession sigil?"

"I believe it's possible," Cas replied, "but I don't know if any angel below the archangels received the knowledge. It was never something that we needed to do before now. Bobby's been looking, but it's said the Men of Letters held texts of lore that had otherwise vanished from the earth."

Henry nodded slowly. "I've heard that, too. I... I don't know where the rarest antiquities are kept, though—but Larry might."

"He should." Cas paused. "Of course, if it is possible to seal a vessel against possession, you and Dean should also undergo the ritual."

"What? Why?" Henry asked at the same time Dean said, "Hey, whoa, Michael's in the Cage. What—"

Cas sighed. "Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse."

The humans all swore (well, Henry came close).

"Bobby and I have hidden the Horsemen's rings, and I've taken all the other precautions I can, but I'm not strong enough to oppose him openly, nor is there a way for me to gain power that doesn't come at an unacceptable cost or risk worse disaster. And I fear he may find some other way to open the Cage. What that might be, I don't know."

"Probably try to bind Death," Sam said. "Lucifer did."

Henry stared at him.

"The only way to be sure he won't succeed," Cas continued, "is to ensure that none of the Winchester line can be taken as vessels. And... severing the connection may also help Sam with the problems I can't heal."

"Cas, if you need my permission, you've got it. Do it. Do what you have to."

Dean nodded. "That goes for me, too."

Henry swallowed hard. "I'm still not sure I quite understand what's going on, but Dean, you're right. I do have a responsibility to my family. If helping Castiel will help Sam, then I'm in."

Dean shot Cas a Don't let him do anything stupid look. Cas nodded once and vanished with Henry, leaving the other humans to recover from this latest bombshell.

After a long moment, Dean looked over at Sam. "So was this part of what Cas promised you?"

Sam frowned. "What?"

"He said he'd promised you something, before you jumped."

Sam's frown deepened in total confusion. "Dean... I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Larry," Henry pleaded, "my grandsons' lives are at stake. The world is at stake! And Abaddon is dead!"

Castiel was not impressed with Larry Ganem, whose blindness was more than physical. And his opinion of the man dropped further as Larry shook his head emphatically. "Abaddon was only a hired gun. Her death is immaterial to the threat we face. We must make sure that knowledge doesn't fall into the wrong hands!"

"Even if that means it's lost forever? Even if that means the world will end?!"

"Enough of this," Castiel growled, spreading his wings in a spectrum he knew Larry's soul would be able to sense even without the aid of his eyes. "The attempt to free Lucifer may already be underway. Give Henry the coordinates."

Larry was awed, but only briefly. "Castiel, far be it from me to gainsay an angel, but—"

"Now."

Larry hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and picked up the pen Henry had pressed into his hand a moment earlier. Yet he paused again with his hand over the notepad. "What guarantee do I have that this information will remain safe?"

"No more than you had before we arrived."

"What do you mean by that? I'm—"

"You live in constant fear, yet for fifty-two years, you have lived in a house too poorly warded to keep out even Azazel's daughter, never mind a demon as powerful as Abaddon. By the grace of God, Hell's forces have been too focused on other matters to pay any attention to you. But any number of the greater demons could have possessed your wife at any time, and you would not have known until it was too late."

Larry blanched. "I... I thought..."

And suddenly Castiel realized he had stumbled upon a bargaining chip. "Give Henry the coordinates, and I will strengthen the wards on this house as we leave."

That did the trick. Larry was cautious to write the numbers legibly, but he still wrote as quickly as he was able and handed the paper to Henry.

"Thanks, Larry," Henry said with a genuine smile and squeezed his mentor's shoulder. "Let's go, Castiel."

"We should leave through the front door," Castiel replied. "I will strengthen the wards from the outside."

Larry's wife showed them out and watched as Castiel put his hand to the wall and placed better wards around the house. Then she nodded to him and went to report to Larry that he had kept his word.

"Why did you need to do that from out here?" Henry asked.

"I warded the house against angels as well," Castiel explained. "This way, Raphael and his followers won't be able to use Larry's knowledge against us."

"Oh. Uh, here are the coordinates." Henry handed over the paper.

Castiel studied the numbers, nodded, and flew both of them to the outside of the Men of Letters' cache. There Henry drew the warded puzzle box he carried from his pocket, opened it, and used the key it hid to open the door. The interior of the place was dark and bigger than Castiel had expected, but Dean had taught him how to locate and operate a breaker box, so he soon had the lights on.

And Henry, somehow seeing evidence of just how rapidly the place had been vacated to deal with Abaddon, sat down halfway down the stairs and wept.

Castiel was never sure what to do when someone cried. Sam and Dean did it so seldom—indeed, fought not to cry—that they had given Castiel little practical experience in that regard. But he knew Henry needed to give vent to his grief, so he simply hung back and held his peace.

After a few minutes, Henry fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Forgive me, Castiel. I know time is short."

"Not that short," Castiel replied gently.

Henry wiped his face, took a deep breath, and looked up from the command center to what lay beyond a large, open doorway. "There. If this place has what we're looking for, it's in there." He jumped up and started down the stairs again.

"Bobby would like this place," Castiel observed as he followed Henry down to the library. "He enjoys reading new books."

Henry chuckled. "Well, these aren't exactly new, though they might be new to him." Then he went over to a wooden box that held a number of small drawers, pulled out one drawer, and began searching through the cards it held.

Castiel waited until Henry gave him instructions on where to find several books that might be helpful. These he retrieved and brought to one of the tables in the center of the room, and between them they searched for some time—he wasn't sure how long, but long enough that Henry had need to eat and sleep. About the time Henry woke, however, Castiel discovered a book that not only held the rituals he needed but also might help him persuade Raphael of his folly. Henry agreed and helped Castiel find the Men of Letters' store of rare ingredients to gather what was needed.

"The one thing we don't seem to have," Henry noted as Castiel packed everything into a small satchel, "is the tears of an angel."

"With good reason. Few angels have felt such emotion... at least since the Crucifixion."

Henry picked up an empty bottle and looked at Castiel apologetically. "I hate to ask..."

Castiel sighed and sat down. "I don't know whether I'll be able to, but I'll try."

With a nod, Henry opened the bottle and came over to stand beside him. "Um... th-think of something sad, I guess."

Castiel closed his eyes and thought—of Dean and his many sorrows, of how many more would burden him if the future Sam had warned him of were not averted; of Sam from that future, so devastated by Dean's death, and how broken Castiel had sensed their relationship had become; of Sam now, suffering daily for the mistakes he'd made; of the mistakes Castiel himself would have made without Sam's warning and the terrible, terrible toll they would have taken on Earth, on Heaven, on Sam, on Dean...

And suddenly Henry was rubbing his back gently. "I'm sorry, Castiel. I'm so sorry."

Only then did Castiel realize that he was sobbing.

As he opened his eyes, Henry pressed a handkerchief into his hand and held up the bottle, now full of clear, slightly glowing liquid. "I got plenty. Thank you. But take all the time you need."

Castiel sniffled and hiccupped—embarrassingly human reactions, or might have been in other company—and tried to regain his composure as he wiped at his face and eyes with the handkerchief.

"What, um... dare I ask?"

Castiel narrowly avoided another hiccup as he drew in a ragged breath and shook his head. "No. It's better you not know."

Henry rubbed his back again. "Okay. Take your time."

It took several more deep, progressively less ragged breaths for Castiel to feel in control of his emotions once again. One last deep breath, and he stood and handed the handkerchief back to Henry. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry to have put you through that."

Castiel smiled a little. "I've given my life for Sam and Dean twice now. To weep for them was no imposition."

Henry opened his mouth, closed it again, ducked his head, and put the vial of tears in the satchel. Then he fastened the satchel, picked up both it and the book, slid the satchel strap over his shoulder, and nodded once. "I'm ready."

Castiel nodded back and flew them back to Lisa's house.