AN: Sorry for the long break. Was on a weekend trip with the kids. A big thank you to all the reviews and follows. I hope this new chapter doesn't disappoint. Enjoy!

***sn***

John took in his surroundings, trying to get to grips with the sudden change of time and place. But as much as the place itself boggled his mind, the fact that he was with his sons who were older by ten years from one moment to the next almost freaked him out. And then there was Castiel... an angel!

Angels weren't real. Any hunter he knew would agree on that. And yet, John had seen with his own eyes that Castiel possessed powers that no human being could have. Normally he would have been wary, hell, he still was wary. But his sons seemed to know the man... angel... whatever he was. And they trusted him.

Returning from his thought, John became aware of both Sam and Dean staring at him in expectation. He was still holding the Colt in his hand and decided to keep it just in case.

"What is this place," John asked nobody in particular.

"It's a bunker, the headquarters of the Men Of Letters," Sam provided, his eyebrows quirking up somewhat expectantly, erasing the look of awe on his face upon seeing his father.

"Men Of Letters?" John frowned. "Never heard of them. What are they?" His boys exchanged a meaningful look. "Damn it, what's going on here, boys? What's happening? And Sam, don't they have any scissors in 2016?"

Sam swallowed and then chuckled nervously. "Take a seat, Dad. It's a long story."

"Care for a bruski?" Dean asked, walking to the fridge. He took out three bottles and raised his eyebrows in a question towards Castiel, who denied the unspoken question with a shake of his head. Dean shrugged and walked to the big world map table, putting down the bottles. "Sit your ass down, Dad," he said slightly more forceful than Sam had.

"Who do you think you're talking to, Dean?" John felt anger welling up at the lack of respect in his oldest's voice. "I thought I taught you better..."

"Dad," Dean said, holding up a hand and then flipping the cap off his beer. "Chill. I know it's hard to bend your mind around it first time you get angel mojoed to another time, but this in our time. We're not the same we were ten years ago. We've been through things, seen things you haven't ever heard of. So, with all due respect, we do it our way." Dean raised his eyes to meet his dad's. "Sir," he added.

John exchanged a long glance with his eldest, and the tension was palpable. John Winchester was a military man. He was used to bark out orders, to obey orders of higher ranking men, and to do so without question. He'd raised his sons like that. But he got that he was out of his depth right at this moment. So he nodded and grabbed a beer, sitting down next to Sam at the table with the world map.

"Alright son," he agreed. "Just answer some things for me. Why did you need to travel back ten years to get me and the Colt? Don't we have it in this year? Where am I, I mean, my older version? What are we hunting and since when do we know about angels." John had a zillion more questions but these ones were the most pressing.

Dean glanced at Sam and took a sip of beer. This was going to be interesting. "You wanna do this, Sam?"

"Nah, dude," Sam replied. "You fetched Dad, you fill him in."

"Why, thanks... bitch," Dean growled. Sam just smiled briefly and sipped on his own bottle.

"Alright, Dad. Just don't freak out. The Colt kinda got lost in time. We need it to kill Amara."

"Amara?"

"Big sister of God," Sam supplied.

"Hey, you didn't want to fill Dad in, so zip it," Dean barked in Sam's direction.

"Jerk," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean stared at Sam before turning back to his father.

"Apparently the big guy locked up his big sister and due to circumstances we... I accidently set her free. Now we gotta kill her before she swipes the whole planet. For that we need the Colt. It's our only chance." John was looking at Dean, transfixed as he tried to take in the news. "You, errr, your older self...," Dean stumbled over his words, having no idea how to tell his father he traded his life for his. John caught on and stretched his hand out to put it over Dean's.

"It's okay, don't say it. I don't want to know." Grateful, Dean looked up to his father. "So now you got the Colt, let's kill her."

"It's not that easy," Dean shook his head. "There's more to it than just the Colt."

"More?" John looked at Dean, then at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam decided to join in. "We need six hunters of Cain's blood line to bless the Colt with a spell written in Etruscan and then the bullet from the Colt had to destroy Amara's heart AND the mark at the same time."

"Six?" John exclaimed. Dean nodded. "Wow," John exhaled. "Where do you find six blood related hunters that are alive?"

"You don't," Sam stated. "That's why we'll have to get three more."

"Three more? Sam, there are no other hunters in our family." John looked at his youngest, worried. The boys exchanged a glance.

"Yes, there are," Dean stated quietly. "In fact, we should probably gather everyone as fast as possible so we have to tell the story only once."

"Sam this time," Castiel spoke for the first time since they arrived. "Where will we fetch Henry?"

***sn***

Henry Winchester felt his own blood well through his fingers as he looked at Abaddon's head rolling on the floor.

"We did it," he mumbled, watching his grandson, Dean, crouch down in front of him.

"No, you did it. For a bookworm, that wasn't bad, Henry," Dean replied.

Henry smiled as he leaned heavier into Sam's arms. He had been appalled when he found out his grandsons were Hunters, not Men Of Letters. By now, he found that they were mostly the same, just with a different approach. They cleaned the world of evil.

"I'm sorry I judged you two so harshly for being hunters. I should have known better," he whispered.

"About?" Sam prompted.

"You're also Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's always hope." An eerie feeling overcame the dying man. Was this how it felt when your soul moved on? Time seemed to freeze, stand still. Sam and Dean were still like statues. A movement in his peripherals caught Henry's attention. An unknown man approached him, dark hair, wearing trenchcoat.

"Who are you?" Henry wished he had the strength to do something.

"Don't be afraid," the stranger said. "You'll be alright." The man's stretched out hand started to glow as he reached for Henry. Squeezing his eyes shut, the Man Of Letters expected pain. But all he felt was a warmth spreading through all of his body and then the pain was gone. Vanished. In fact, he felt great.

Henry opened his eyes, looking around. Dean was still kneeling in front of him, unmoving. He looked up the stranger, puzzled.

"Who are you? What is happening?"

"His name is Castiel, Henry. He's an angel of the Lord."

Henry looked up, squinting his eyes at the figure peeling out of this Castiel's shadow. He took in the long frame and his eyes grew wide and it was all he could do to prevent his jaw hitting the ground. Frantically, he turned around and stared at the freeze-framed man behind him. It was Sam, his grandson. But the man in front of him was also Sam.

"This is impossible," Henry whispered, taking in both frozen figures of his grandsons before redirecting his gaze at Sam's doppelgänger and the angel? The Men Of Letters knew all about angels, the was more than enough lore in their headquarters to prove their existance. Yet none of them had ever laid eyes upon one.

"Henry," Sam number two addressed him. "I know, the Men Of letters know about angels. Still, this whole situation must be totally blowing your mind. You just time travelled to this time from 1950-something, but," Sam sighed, not knowing how to explain this to his grandfather. "Time has moved on. And we kind of need your help in our time now, in 2016, else all this," he pointed around at his own suspended self and his brother, at Abaddon's severed head, "has been in vain." Sam's eyes were pleadingly resting on Henry.

"2016?" Henry swallowed. Absentmindedly his hand moved over his shirt, where the fatal wound had been, still coming away bloody. He looked down.

"Sorry about that," Castiel murmered and Henry moved his eyes up to study the angel. Then he addressed Sam, again.

"I take it I never made it back to my time, then."

Sam closed his eyes briefly and shook his head no. Henry took a deep breath, letting the air out in a hiss.

"Alright, it seems like there's nothing else to do but to help my family," he gave his consent. "Now, how do we get to 2016? I don't really have the ingredients to make a time jump."

"Cas here can zap us there," Sam explained.

"That makes sense," Henry nodded. "You need an angel feather to tap your soul and perform the time jump. Only logical, that angels can leap through time."

"But there's one thing you ought to know, Henry," Sam added warily.

"Yes?" Henry asked, curious.

"You're not the only relative we're bringing back. When we get to the bunker, you will meet our dad... your son."

***sn***

Amara was concentrating hard. She was trying to create a mind to mind connection with Dean, to find out where he was hiding out. Something was blocking her efforts. It couldn't be Dean himself, for he had no idea that she could get into his head and consciously shield himself.

She knew he was somewhere in Kansas, Lebanon being the place she most often could create a link, unbeknown to him. But she couldn't pinpoint his exact location. It had to be her brother's doing. There was no other option. And it made her anger towards him build up even more. Oh, she wouldn't want to be in Sam's shoes when she got her hands on him.

***sn***

"Who's Henry?" John asked Dean when he'd cleared his head of witnessing Sam and this Castiel disappear into thin air.

Dean swallowed hard, looking somewhat nervous. How do you explain to your father that the man he thought abandonned him was going to be here shortly, looking exactly like he did last time John saw him?

"Dean?" John's voice took on a stern tone. "What are you not telling me? And don't even try to think you can fool me. I can see it in your eyes when you're lying to me."

Dean chuckled briefly, memories of situations like these flooding his mind. "Yes, Sir," he rasped. Then he cleared his throat and stood tall, looking straight at John.

"Henry is your father. Our grandfather." Dean noticed the shock and disbelief in his father's eyes at this revelation.

"No," John snarled. "He left me when I was a kid. He never returned. There's no way he is alive. I would have found him. He...," John trailed off when he realized Dean was keeping a serious face effortlessly. "You have to be joking." Suddenly John's throat felt parched and he fumbled for the beer to gulp down a few swallows.

"No, Dad. I'm not joking. And he did not abandon you. It's a long story, Dad."

John gaped at Dean for a second, then nodded his head slowly, as if to convince himself he heard right. Finally he looked at his oldest again and spoke.

"Alright, Dean. Fill me in."