After helping Charlie out on a case involving LARPing, magic, and a fairy, the Winchesters stopped at a motel on the way back to Rufus' cabin. The next morning, as they were getting ready to leave, a bright light shone from the closet and a man dressed in a suit with his dark hair combed neatly and gelled in place fell out of it. "Which one of you is John Winchester?" he asked, looking between Sam and Dean. Mack's stomach somersaulted at the use of John's name. When nobody answered him, the man continued in a desperate voice. "Please, time is of the essence. Which of you is John Winchester?"
"Uh, neither," Sam spoke up. "That's impossible," the man muttered to himself, pacing. "That's absolutely… What did I do wrong?" Dean frowned, "Who the hell are you, mister?" The man waved a hand at him dismissively, "Not now. I'm thinking." Mack grimaced at the man's mistake as her father grabbed the man, pushing him against the wall and pinning him with an arm across his chest. "Please, I can assure you there's no need for violence," the man said. "One of you must know John Winchester."
"I'll tell you what-" Sam told him, "when one of us falls out of your closet, then you can ask the questions." The man nodded, "Yes, my apologies. Is it absolutely essential, sir, that you keep your hands on me?" Dean backed up to stand next to Mack and the man straightened out his suit jacket. "Thank you. Gentlemen, miss, in the absence of all other explanations, I'm afraid this has been a marvelous, tragic misunderstanding. I'll be on my way."
"That's not happening."
"There are things of grave importance. I do not have time to deal with the likes of you." Dean grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the table and Sam grabbed the man. Dean took a hold of his wrist. "You're not going anywhere, 007, 'til we get some answers." Dean tried to cuff the man to a chair, but in one motion, he had broken away and cuffed Sam and Dean together to the chair. "How did he do that? You got to be kidding me!" Mack grabbed the key for the cuffs, giving it to her father. As soon as he and Sam were free, they headed out to the parking lot, Dean carrying a shotgun. The man had chosen to break into the Impala of all cars in the parking lot, smashing the driver's side window and climbing inside.
Dean cocked the gun, pointing it at the man's face through the broken window. "Nice taste in wheels," he growled. "Yours, I presume?" the man asked as Sam opened the passenger door. They dragged the man back to the room, running all the regular tests on him. "And there with the holy water," he laughed, wiping his face. "He's clean," Sam said, turning back to face Dean. "I could have told you that," the man replied, pulling his sleeve down to cover a cut on his arm. "Yeah, well, you can start by telling us everything before I beat it out of you," Dean growled.
"I'm quite certain this is all beyond your understanding, my alpha-male-monkey friend. And violence will not help you comprehend it any easier." Mack yelped as Dean shot up, pointing a gun in the man's face. "Dad!" she cried. "Let me tell you what I understand!" Dean growled, ignoring her. "Some asshat pops out of my closet asking about my dad, smashes up my ride. So why am I not getting violent, again?" The man blinked. "John Winchester is your father?" he asked. Before they could respond, there was a loud rattling noise. "What is that?"
The man noticed the closet door shaking. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "What?" Dean asked. "Run!" the man yelled. Just then, the closet door burst open in a flash of bright light and a woman stepped out. She was wearing an old-fashioned pale blue evening gown that was covered in what looked like blood and her red hair was curled and pulled back in a 50s style updo. "Henry," she laughed. "Silly man, you forgot to lock the door. But then spells never were your best subject, were they? Why don't you be a doll and give me what I want? And I promise I'll kill you and your friends here quickly."
"You know I can't do that," the man- Henry- shook his head. "You're not a fighter, Henry," the woman said. Dean raised his gun and the woman sent him, Sam and Mack flying into the walls. Henry tried to move, but the woman held up a hand to stop him. "Josie. I know you're still in there. You must fight this," he panted. "I'm afraid Josie's indisposed, pet," Not-Josie crooned. "It looks like it's just you and me." Dean stabbed her in the back with Ruby's knife. She screamed, falling to her knees as her body flashed with gold light. "Ohh! Aah!"
Dean's eyes widened as the flashing stopped, but the demoness remained alive. "Well, that is no way to treat a lady," she said. Dean grabbed Mack's hand, dragging her with him as they ran out of the room with Sam and Henry. Dean and Henry climbed in the front seat of the Impala while Sam got in the back with Mack. "Go, go, go, go, go, go!" Sam yelled. Dean backed out of the parking spot, tires squealing while Sam was still closing the door. They almost ran into another car, narrowly avoiding a crash. A man from the motel office saw the almost-crash and ran out, yelling after them as they took off.
The Impala drove along a narrow road and passed under a large bridge before Dean finally pulled over on the side of the road. As soon as they stopped, Henry threw himself from the car, hurrying a short distance to the bushes and throwing up. Mack wrinkled her nose as she and the brothers also climbed out of the car and joined him. "Are you okay?" Sam asked him. "I will be," Henry nodded, vomiting again before wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "It's just all the adventures I enjoy are usually of the literary nature."
"Yeah, well, now that you're done blowing chunks, you want to tell us who Betty Crocker was?" Dean demanded. "Abaddon. She's a demon," Henry replied. "No kidding. Where'd she come from?" Sam asked. "Where'd you come from?" Mack added. "She's from Hell. I'm from Normal, Illinois- 1958." Dean scoffed, "Yeah, right. Seriously? Dudes time traveling through motel room closets? That's what we've come to?" Mack glared up at him and he frowned, thinking of their argument back at Rufus' cabin.
"If you could just take me to John, we could clear this up, I'm sure," Henry cut in. "I told you that's not gonna happen," Dena growled. "Why not?" Henry demanded. "Because he's dead!" Mack flinched at her father's side and Henry looked stricken as he turned his back on them. "No," he murmured. "What's it to you?" Sam asked curiously. "Everything. I'm his father." The blood drained from Mack's face and she backed up toward the Impala as Sam and Dean stared at Henry in shock.
"Alright, um… we should get somewhere we can talk," Sam said, looking over at Dean. "Let's go." He and Henry got back in the car, but Dean paused briefly when he noticed Mack. "Mack, what's wrong?" he asked her gently. She shook her head, staring wide-eyed at the Impala's backseat where Henry was now seated. "Talk to me, bug. What are you thinking?"
"I-I can't-" she choked, continuing to shake her head. "Hey, look at me. Look at me," he told her, crouching down so he was closer to her level. She tore her gaze from the Impala, staring back at him. "Talk to me. What's wrong?" She whimpered, swallowing hard. "W-what if he… if he's like…" Dean's heart dropped in his chest as he realized what she was thinking. The last time her grandfather and great-grandfather showed back up in their lives, it didn't end well for her. "Hey, listen to me. We don't even know if he's telling the truth yet. And if he is, he isn't John. Okay? He's not. You're safe, I swear. I won't let him hurt you."
She chewed on her lip, glancing over at the Impala again. "Mack," he got her attention again. "I won't let him hurt you. Understand?" After a beat, she nodded. Her terrified expression made her look like a little kid again and it made Dean all the more determined to protect her. "Do you want to sit up front with me and Uncle Sammy?" he asked. She nodded again. "Alright. Let's go." She grabbed his hand and he squeezed it comfortingly, guiding her around to the driver's side and letting her slide into the middle of the bench before he climbed in behind the wheel. He kept holding her hand comfortingly as they drove, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb.
They got to a diner, Sam and Dean questioning Henry in order to verify that he was actually their grandfather. He passed all their questions. His driver's license identified him as Henry Winchester from Normal, Illinois, he knew John's birthday, and the exact place he was born. There was no doubt about it; Henry was telling the truth. "I'm just saying before we break out the warm and toasties, let's not forget that, uh, H. G. Wells over there left Dad high and dry when he was a kid," Dean grumbled.
"But maybe he didn't run out on Dad- I mean, not on purpose," Sam suggested. "Maybe he time traveled here and, I don't know, got stuck." Dean shrugged, looking back at where Henry was waiting for them at a table. "Yeah, well, either way, Dad hated the son of a bitch." Sam huffed, "And Dad made up for that, how? By being father of the year?" Dean bristled, looking from Henry to Mack at his side. She hadn't said anything since he told her he'd keep her safe.
A waitress placed a couple trays of food on the counter in front of Sam and Dean. "Here you go," she said. "Thanks," Dean told her. He took two of the trays, Sam grabbing the other two and the trio made their way back over to Henry. "Look, Dad was a damn asshole, and I swear if this guy shows any sign of acting like him, I'm gonna kill him. I freaking hate time-travel, man," Dean muttered as they were walking over. Sam took a seat next to Henry, Mack and Dean sitting across from them as they put the trays down. "How you doing?" Sam asked Henry.
"I'll be fine. After all, despite everything, I've just met my grandsons and great-granddaughter, haven't I?" Henry held a hand out to Sam. "Henry Winchester. It's a pleasure." Sam took his hand, shaking it. "Sam." Henry smiled, "Hello, Sam." He held his hand out to Dean next, but Dean just picked up a basket of food and placed it in front of him. "Dinner," he said. "This is Dean," Sam informed Henry. "And that's Mckinley."
"Right," Henry retracted his hand. "Well, this has been touching," Dean said sarcastically. "How about we figure out how to clean up your mess, huh?" Henry nodded, "Abaddon. Yes. She must be stopped."
"How come she didn't die when I stabbed her?"
"Because demons can't be killed by run-of-the-mill cutlery. At the very least, you'd need an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds," Henry replied. "That's what this is," Dean said, taking the knife part way out of his jacket. "Where'd you get that?" his grandfather raised his eyebrows in surprise. Dean shoved the knife back in his jacket. "Demon gave it to me. We've been around this block so many times."
"Now, that portal or whatever it was you came through- is it still open?" Sam asked. "I highly doubt it. Why?" Henry looked over at him. "I'm just thinking if we can't kill this Abaddon-"
"- maybe we can shove her back where she came from," Dean finished. "How did you do it?"
"It's a blood sigil. Blood leads to blood. Or their next of kin."
"But Abaddon came through it, also, right? So can you create this blood sigil again?" Sam queried. "My blood, an angel feather, tears of a dragon, a pinch of the sands of time- I- I would need those and… at least a week for my soul to recharge, but, yes, it's possible," Henry nodded. "You tapped the power of your soul to get here? I thought only angels could do that." Henry frowned, looking from Sam to Dean. "You should know this. What level are you two?"
"What level?" Dean echoed. "Level of knowledge," Henry stated like it should have been obvious. "You're Men of Letters, correct?" Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "I'm a little rusty on my boy bands. Men of what?" Dean asked. "Men of Letters, like your father, who taught you our ways." Sam and Dean glanced at each other again. "Our father taught us how to be hunters," Sam said slowly. "You're not," Henry laughed, then became serious when he saw their expressions. "Are you? Hunters? Well, hunters are… Hunters are apes. You're supposed to- you're legacies."
"Legacies of what?"
Henry directed them to a street with several businesses including an antiques shop and a shop called 'nu' that advertised salads and pita bread. They followed him down the street to door number 242, which had a sign for 'Astro Comics' above it. "What's going on here?" Henry murmured, touching a faded symbol on the door. "No." Dean took a deep breath. "Alright, well, this was enlightening," he clapped his hands together. "Let's hit the road, huh?" Beside him, Mack shifted in place, eager to move on as well. "Give him a minute, Dean," Sam told him.
"We just spent four hours driving, okay? All he did was stare out the window and request Pat Boone on the radio. He had his time."
"It's just a façade," Henry continued, "a way to rook our enemies into believing we are housed elsewhere." Dean huffed angrily. "Okay, enough with the decoder talk," he snapped. "How about you tell us what this whole 'Men of Letters' business is, or you're on your own." Henry rounded on them, anger flashing in his eyes as well. "It's none of your concern," he shot back. "Why, because we're hunters? What do you have against us?" Mack shrank back away from her father as he and Henry argued, glancing over her shoulder and debating running back to the Impala. "Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-asking-questions-later part, not much, really." Sam noticed Mack's reaction to Henry and Dean fighting, and immediately tried to defuse the situation. "You know what? Wait a second. We're also John's children."
"You're more than that, actually," Henry admitted in a softer tone. "My father and his father were both Men of Letters, as John and you two should have been. We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters- the very elite. They do the rest."
"So you're like the Yodas to our Jedis," Dean translated, but Henry didn't understand the reference. "Never mind. You'll get there." He glanced back at Mack, who still looked like she was on the verge of taking off. "Okay, but if you guys were such a big deal, then why haven't we- or anyone we know- ever heard of you?" Sam queried. "Abaddon." Henry turned, entering the comic store. Sam gave Dean a look, and then followed Henry, allowing him to have a quick moment with Mack.
"Mack, you can head back to the car," he told her. "We'll try to be fast." She nodded, taking the keys from him and heading back down the street to the Impala. He watched her go and then entered the comic store to find his brother and grandfather.
After finding an article about a fire that occurred in a gentlemen's club on August 12, 1958 located where the comic store was, they headed to the cemetery to dig up one of the graves of the four dead members of the Men of Letters. One of the names in the article- Albert Magnus- was an alias the Men of Letters used when going incognito according to Henry. Inside Larry Ganem's grave was a skeleton of a WWI vet named Thomas J. Carey III, who Henry didn't recognize. So, they headed to a motel to do some more research. Mack curled up sleepily in one of the beds while Sam looked through John's journal and Dean looked up information on Thomas. Henry was whistling on the couch.
"What is that?" Dean looked up from the computer. "I know that tune." Henry stopped whistling, looking over at him. "'As Time Goes By'," he answered. "I hope so. It's from 'Casablanca'." Sam nodded, "Right. Dad used to whistle it from time to time."
"Your father saw 'Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy' at the drive-in one night. It scared the beeswax out of him. So I got him this little music box that played that song to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm." Sam frowned, "Wow, it's hard to believe Dad was ever scared of anything." Dean interrupted the conversation, obviously uncomfortable discussing anything about John. "Hey, uh, according to county records, Tom Carey lives in Lebanon, Kansas, and is a very happy 127-year-old," he shut the laptop. "I say we get some shut-eye, head over first thing in the morning."
Sam held up a hand, "Wait, wait, wait. Listen to this. According to Dad's journal, he once tortured a demon that said he made his bones working for Abaddon, who, it turns out, is a Knight of Hell." Dean frowned across the table at him. "What does that even mean?"
"Knights of Hell are handpicked by Lucifer himself," Henry explained. "They are the first-fallen, first-born demons." Sam nodded, "So very pure, very strong." Henry stood from the couch, "Legend has it that archangels killed all of them, which, as we have witnessed, is not the case." Dean looked at him, "Unless she's the last of her kind." Henry gestured to the journal in front of Sam. "You say that belonged to your father?"
"Yeah."
"May I?"
Dean watched warily as Henry picked up the journal, flipping through the papers gingerly. "It's a hunter's journal," Sam said. "I assume Men of Letters- you use journals, too?" Henry nodded, "I intended to. I sent away for one the day before my initiation." He lifted a photograph tucked inside the front cover of the journal, revealing the initials H.W. stamped into the leather. "As a matter of fact, judging by my initials here, this one, I believe."
"This was yours?" Dean asked, voice breaking a little as he got choked up. "It must have arrived after…" Henry looked up. "I'm beginning to gather I don't make it back from this time, do I?" Sam swallowed, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "We're not sure," he admitted. "All we know is Dad never saw you again."
"What did he think happened to me?"
"He thought you ran out on him," Dean replied bitterly. "John was a legacy. I was supposed to teach him the way of the Letters," Henry said. "Well, he learned things a little differently," Dean continued. "How?" Sam gave Dean a warning look, but Dean pressed on angrily. "The hard way. Surviving a lonely childhood, a stinking war… only to get married and have his wife taken by a demon… and later killed by one himself. That man got a bum rap at every turn. But none of that excuses what he did to Mack… or us." Henry frowned, furrowing his brow curiously. "What did he do?" Dean was quiet, not answering. "It's, uh… probably better you didn't know the details," Sam told him. Henry nodded in understanding.
"I'm sorry. I wish I had been there for him," he apologized. "Yeah, it's a little late for that now, don't you think?" Dean snapped. He stood up angrily, walking toward the door. "It's the price we pay for upholding great responsibility. We know that." Sam cringed as Dean turned back to glare angrily at Henry. "Your responsibility was to your family, not some glorified book club!" On the bed, Mack shifted in her sleep, whimpering a little. "I was a legacy. I had no choice."
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."
Dean walked out the door, slamming it behind him. The loud noise startled Mack awake, and she looked around frantically before her eyes settled on where Henry and Sam sat together at the table. Sam stood, heading out the door after Dean while Henry started reading through John's journal.
After a confrontation with Abaddon that ended with her chopped into separate pieces, Henry ended up dead. Following his burial, they headed to the coordinates they'd gotten from Larry. It led them to a spot on the outskirts of Lebanon, Kansas where the entrance to a bunker was built into a bank that couldn't be seen from the road unless someone knew where to look. "When was the last time somebody was in this place?" Dean asked. "Sixty-five, seventy years ago," Sam replied.
They headed down a short flight of stairs to the door, Dean taking out the key Henry had given them and unlocking it. As they entered, they took out their flashlights, shining them over the railing to the level below. There was a bunch of 1950s style communications equipment. "Son of a bitch," Dean breathed. "Look at this," Sam said. "Ham radio, telegraph, switchboard. This was their nerve center."
"Henry did say that they ran dispatch on their own team of hunters," Dean shone his light on a table with a chessboard, ash tray, glass and a dirty coffee cup. "Wow. Halfway through their coffee and a game of chess- looks like whoever was manning the hub left quick."
"On the alarm call that ended the Men of Letters."
Dean opened a switch box, flipping a lever. Lights flooded the room and he flipped a second lever next to the first. "Son of a bitch," Sam swore. They headed down the stairs, walking through a doorway into a large, attractively furnished room filled with bookshelves, polished wooden floors and large wooden tables. "Sammy, I think we found the batcave," Dean grinned excitedly. Mack left them, heading down the hall and peeking in a couple of the many doors- they were all identically furnished bedrooms.
Dean found her in one of the rooms a little while later after he and Sam had claimed their own rooms. She was packing a bag, choosing what to leave in the room and what to take with her. "What do you think you're doing?" Dean demanded. "I still wanna leave, Dad," she told him, turning to face him. "I promise to check in regularly, and hey, now there's a permanent place for me to return to, right? I swear I won't disappear off the face of the Earth."
"I told you, I don't want you leaving because something always happens to you when I'm not there to back you up." Mack huffed, turning back to put the last few items in her bag and zip it up. "I'm going, Dad. I took one of the burners from the car, and I swear I'll call to check in. I need this." He regarded her silently, debating how worthwhile it was to argue the matter further. He could easily put his foot down and insist she stay; he was her father, and she wouldn't be able to overrule him. But she was a Winchester, which meant she was stupidly stubborn and wouldn't stop pushing until she got what she wanted.
"You swear you'll check in?" he asked. "As often as I can without getting myself into danger," she nodded. "And you'll come back here as soon as it's over?"
"Da-ad."
"I'm serious, Mckinley. I don't care if you want to go on more than one hunt, but you have to come back here in between so I can see that you're okay beyond a text or a phone call. That's my one stipulation if I'm going to agree to this." She sighed, nodding again. "Fine. I promise I'll come back when I finish before I think about heading out again."
"Thank you. One more thing." She huffed. "What?" she asked. "Will you please wait until morning to head out?" he requested. "Alright," she agreed. He smiled, walking closer to her and pulling her into a hug, pressing his lips to her head. "I love you, bug."
"I love you, too, Dad," she murmured, hugging him back.