Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.
For the record, I don't loathe John but he's not one of my favourite characters either. I'm in the middle, rather than on 'John Sucks' or 'John Rules' teams. He did the best he could under the circumstances, BUT his first priority should've been his sons. So I tend to write him sympathetically but not simperingly.
Thanks to LaughingLadybug and EmilyAnnMcGarrett-Winchester for their reviews :D
Henry thought that he had landed in one colossal joke. Not only had he apparently been absent for his son's life but John had grown up to be a hunter? Hunters were uncivilised barbarians, happier to swing around a blade or shoot blindly without asking questions! How could John be a hunter? He was a legacy of the Men of Letters!
"A hunter?" he said once this bombshell had been dropped on him. Before he could stop himself, his next words tumbled from his mouth unbidden. "My God, no! Hunters are brutal apes!"
"Hey!" little Dean Winchester said angrily. "That's our dad you're talkin' about!"
Henry felt pride begin to well in him. Above all, Winchesters prided themselves on family and to see his grandson sticking up for John was heart-warming. He also felt twinges of shame and guilt at calling his son, whose face registered hurt and anger no matter how he tried to disguise this, no better than an unintelligent, uneducated barbarian.
"I apologise," he said sincerely. "I just – a hunter? John, you're a legacy!"
He said the last part desperately. How could John have ended up as a hunter? Shouldn't he have been trained in the ways of the Letters? How did it get this bad?
"Legacy of what?" John said. In that moment, Henry knew that his son had absolutely no idea of his heritage
"The Men of Letters, of course," he said. There was silence for a few moments.
"The what?" John said. "Men of Letters? What the hell are they?"
Henry felt like burying his face in the table in frustration and woe.
"Come," he said. "I'll show you."
-ATGB-
A few hours later, the Winchesters finally arrived in Normal, Illinois. Henry was absolutely gobsmacked at all of the changes that the town had undergone in the last thirty four years. It was barely recognisable anymore! Where was everything that he knew? He was lost and he wasn't even in the streets!
"This is it!" Henry pointed at a familiar street, which was covered in snow. "Stop here!"
John parked the car and the four of them got out and strode down the street, Henry leading the way. Once he reached number 242, he paused and stared. What the hell?
"What's going on?" he said. Above the door was a dingy sign proclaiming the building to be some sort of bookshop and on the door was still the symbol of the Men of Letters but faded. What was going on?
"No…" he whispered, the full impact of his time travel hitting him in that moment. Abaddon had successfully wiped out the Men of Letters back in 1958…he was the only one left and he'd skipped thirty four years! The Men of Letters had been extinct for thirty four years!
"What's going on, Da – Henry?" John said. Henry's heart sank at his son's quick correction.
"It's just a façade," he said quietly. "A way to trick our enemies into believing we are housed elsewhere."
"Alright, that's it." John grabbed Henry and shoved him into the door. "You burst into my motel room, brought a demonic tagalong so now Sam, Dean and I are in danger, insulted me and then promised me an explanation, which I'm not getting. So talk. What the hell are the Men of Letters?"
Henry nodded and John released him. Henry heaved a deep sigh. How was he supposed to explain this?
"You're a legacy, John," he said quietly. "My father was a Man of Letters and taught me their ways, as did his father before him. You should have been one, John, and your sons should be Men of Letters when they grow up."
"What are they?" John demanded. Henry could sense that his patience was wearing thin and was simply grateful that John hadn't gutted him before now.
"We're preceptors," he said. "Beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters – the very elite, like the Campbells. They do the rest."
"Campbell?" John said sharply. "That was my wife's maiden name. Mary, her name was." Henry felt sympathy course through him. John had obviously loved his wife very much and had clearly lost her, judging by how he was raising his sons alone.
"Do you know what her parents' names were?" he said. John nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Samuel and Deanna. They died nearly twenty years ago. They're who we named our boys after."
"Samuel and Deanna…" Henry murmured. "Yes, we have heard of them. The Campbells were one of the families we contacted from time to time but they were far from the most elite."
"Mom was a hunter?" Dean said in surprise. John also looked gobsmacked at this new piece of information. Henry couldn't blame him; it wasn't every day you learned that your late wife had been a hunter. That meant that Sam and Dean were not only Men of Letters legacies but had a hunter heritage as well! It was as though they were destined to do great things…
"So what do you have against hunters, Grandpa?" Sam asked. Henry was stunned and touched at how quickly Sam had adjusted to this new development and how quick he was to accept him and Henry couldn't help but smile at him.
"Because hunters are a bunch of unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-later barbarians," he said. He nearly smirked at the look on John's face, which showed that he couldn't help but agree with this assessment.
"Sounds like Dean," Sam snickered.
"Hey!" Dean punched Sam, who scowled and punched him back.
"Boys!" John said sharply.
"My point exactly," Henry said smugly.
"So if you're such a big deal then why haven't any hunters I've met ever talked about you?" John said. "I know the best and none of them have heard of you."
Henry's face twisted.
"Abaddon," he snarled, turning around and opening the door. He had to see what was inside! John, Sam and Dean followed him.
"What about Abaddon?" John said. "Why did she follow you? Why did she even attack you?"
'The box!' Henry remembered. He felt around in his pocket and held up the small engraved box.
"I think for this," he said, putting it away after John had thoroughly examined it. "I wish I knew what it was. Abaddon attacked us the night of my final initiation. All secrets were to be revealed then."
"So hold on a moment," John said, his voice tinged with anger. "You travelled thirty four years into the future to protect something you don't even know about from a homicidal demon who's out for your blood?"
Henry just shrugged. If you put it like that then yes, it did sound ridiculous. But Henry had been given a mission from the elders and he had to carry it out! And besides, even if he had given Abaddon the box, she still would have killed him and left John and Millie alone! At least this way, Henry could still be with his son, though he felt guilty for dragging John and the boys into this sort of danger.
Once they had emerged into the room that had been the site of Abaddon's massacre, Henry couldn't help but stare. Gone were the fancy decorations and the large table – instead, the room was covered in dusty bookshelves and the only other person around was a man with straggly black hair, who was staring at them curiously.
"No," Henry whispered disbelievingly. What had happened to this place? What was going on? He was so confused! "They can't all be gone. There has to be another elder out there who can help us figure out how to stop Abaddon and what to do with the box!"
"You know what this means," John said. Henry shot him a confused look. "Research. C'mon."
-ATGB-
As he drove them to the local library, John couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Henry. The poor guy had just been thrust over thirty years into the future, into an alien world where everything he knew was long gone. But at the same time, he was pissed. What sort of father was he, to jump into the future willy-nilly without a care for his family in order to protect some stupid box? Especially when he didn't even know what was inside!
"Alright, give me a name," John said once they were inside the library and had a stack of newspapers dating back to 1958 in front of them. While he, Henry and Dean researched, Sam sat nearby with one of the few books he possessed, reading quietly. John was glad that his younger son wasn't as much of a handful as Dean could be sometimes, though he was certain that would change later. If kids didn't get their rebellious phases early (like Dean) then it came back with a vengeance later on and boy would that suck.
"Um…David Ackers," Henry said after a moment of thought. "Larry Ganem. And, uh, Ted Bowen."
"You got that, Dean?" John said to his son.
"David Ackers, Larry Ganem, Ted Bowen," Dean rattled off. "Got it, Dad."
John caught sight of Henry looking at him weirdly. For some reason, this irked him.
"What?" he snapped.
"I'm sorry," Henry said. "I just can't for the life of me understand why you would raise your sons in such a life. Would it not be more beneficial, both for you and them, to try and give them as normal a life as possible before training them to be hunters?"
John nearly hit him. How dare Henry criticise his parenting? He certainly hadn't been around to help his wife raise John! Millie had been all alone and even remarried, though it hadn't been the same!
"Listen up," he snarled. "These are my kids, so I raise them how I say I raise them. You want a say, you stick around and help raise me. I've been doing the best I can for the past eight years with the crappy life that I've been dealt, so don't you dare criticise me! And also, if you wanted me to become a Man of Letters so bad then maybe you shouldn't have skipped out on me!"
Dean and Sam were watching with wide eyes. John was aware that this was the most raw emotion he'd shown around them in a long time but it needed to be said! Henry couldn't just disappear for thirty four years and then waltz back in and act like a parent as though nothing had happened!
"I am truly sorry, John," Henry said, looking down. "I swear that I'll make it up to you if it's the last thing I do. I have to. You're right – my responsibility was to my family, not the Men of Letters. The only reason I didn't go back – if I could have escaped Abaddon – was that I didn't want to put you in danger. I planned on travelling to when you were a fully trained and initiated Man of Letters and enlist your aid then. Once we have finished here, I'll collect the ingredients for the spell and go back to make things right."
Well, that was the crappiest of all crappy excuses. But even though he was still pissed, John couldn't help but see Henry's perspective. If he was in possession of something that a powerful demon really wanted then John knew that he wouldn't have gone back home and put Mary and the boys in danger. But at the same time, Henry had been a father and his duty was to his wife and son, not some glorified book club!
"No," John said gruffly. "No more time jumping. You want to make it right, you stay here and help instead of running away from your problems again."
And besides, even though it pained him to admit it, John really wanted his father to stick around instead of taking off again, though he'd never say this out loud. The last thing he needed was to appear weak in front of Sam and Dean! They looked up to him! And he was determined to be a better role model for them than Henry was for him – call him a hardass and a drill sergeant but John made sure that he always did the best he could in the circumstances for Sam and Dean, even if his best was totally crappy and nowhere near good enough. He knew that Sam and Dean secretly resented him a little for the crappy life he was giving them but he hoped that they also recognised that he would always be there for them. Of course he would be!
"If you wish," Henry said. "I promise, John, I'm sorry and I will do my best to make up for it."
"Well then, get researching," John said, both to end the moment and quell the looks that Sam and Dean were sending him. "We can't stick around too long or Abaddon'll find us."
Luckily for them, it only took ten minutes of sifting through newspapers before Dean found a match.
"August 12, 1958," he read. "'Tragic Fire at Gentlemen's Club, 4 Dead'."
John snatched the paper with a nod at Dean and scanned it.
"A tragic fire at a gentlemen's club, 242 Gaines Street," he said.
"That bookstore was 242 Gaines Street," Henry said. "But that was no fire."
"Killed were Larry Ganem, David Ackers, Ted Bowen and Albert Magnus," John continued. "Mean anything to you?"
"Albert Magnus," Henry murmured. "Yes. I know where we need to go."
-ATGB-
John was less than thrilled at having to take Sam and Dean out to a cemetery, especially at night, but Henry had made a convincing case. With Abaddon on the loose and normal demon protections having no effect against her, it was really much safer to bring the kids to the creepy graveyard rather than leave them behind as easy pickings for the demon. Well, that was very much paraphrased but that had been the general gist of Henry's speech.
"I don't like it here, Dad," Sam whispered as they trudged through the cemetery with flashlights.
"Quit being a baby, Sammy," Dean said.
"Your brother's right, Sam," John said. "Better here than back with the demon."
Sam shut up after that. John felt bad for the poor boy – not too long ago, he had still been innocent and now he was even being shoved into a case – but between him being scared or captive or dead, John was going to take scared any day.
"These were my friends, my mentors," Henry said wistfully as they examined the headstones they'd stopped in front of. "Our last defence against the Abaddons of the world."
"Well, they're dead now," Dean said bluntly.
"Dean!" John swatted the back of Dean's head.
"What?" Dean scowled. "Just sayin' it as it is!"
"Here's Albert Magnus!" Sam piped up, shining his flashlight on a headstone.
"Good work, Sam," Henry murmured, leaning in to examine it. Sam swelled with pride and John couldn't help but feel stabs of jealousy. Sam never acted that way around him! "Albertus Magnus, the greatest alchemist of the middle ages."
"So why's he here?" Dean said. "And in that newspaper article?"
"He's not," Henry said. "This was the alias we'd use when going incognito. I believe someone planted his name in that article…so that if a Man of Letters came looking for answers, he'd know something was amiss."
"So someone wanted you to come here," John said. "Why?"
"That's the question," Henry said.
"Hey, what's that?" Sam pointed at the Men of Letters symbol on Albert Magnus' grave. "That's on your pin and the box and it was on the door!"
"That's our crest," Henry said. "The Aquarian Star, representing great magic and power. They say it stood at the gates of Atlantis itself."
"Cool!" Sam seemed to have forgotten about his fear of the cemetery. John busied himself with examining each headstone and frowned when he came to the last one.
"This one's got a different symbol," he said. "Larry Ganem. March 23rd, 1926, to August 12th, 1958."
Henry crouched down in front of the headstone.
"The Haitian symbol for speaking to the dead," he said. "This is the message. You ever exhume a body, John?"
"Dean, go get the shovels," John ordered. Dean hastened to obey, soon returning with three shovels. John took one and Dean held one out to Henry, who looked at it as though it was a poisonous creature.
"What is this?" he said.
"Uh, a shovel." Dean's unspoken 'duh' resonated throughout the cemetery and John couldn't help but smirk proudly.
"I know that," Henry said. "But what am I supposed to do with it? I don't partake in strenuous physical activities."
"You stick with us, you play by our rules," John said. "As of now, you're a hunter. Grab a shovel, princess, and start digging." He would be lying if he said that he didn't take a small amount of pleasure from this.