Terribly sorry about the delay, folks! The next chapter may be coming later this weekend, but after that, I make no promises. I will finish; I just don't know how soon.
Spoilers if you're not caught up through Season 8.
PreviousChapter 5
Kith and Kin
By mid-November, Teyla was back to her usual self and sitting with Sam, Dean, Sheppard, and the rest of the senior staff in one of Woolsey’s weekly briefings, listening to the latest reports on how the defense preparations were progressing. McKay’s city-wide devil’s trap looked like a success to Dean, and the information had been shared with any cultures that had similar Ancient technology, including the kids on 677. Every civilization within the combined spheres of Lantean and Coalition influence-even the AI on the Sekkari seeding device, which was on a planet without a Gate-had received a warning regarding the threat from the Lucian Alliance, and all but the Asgard and possibly the Wraith and Proculans were taking it seriously and making appropriate preparations. Gates on planets known to house sentient but non-mobile life forms, such as the crystal dreamwalker entities on M3X-387, had been rendered inoperable by any means necessary. In short, the galaxy was as ready for a demonic invasion as it could possibly be.
Woolsey nodded thoughtfully as the last report was concluded. “It appears, then, that we have nothing more to do here than wait.”
“I would say so,” Sheppard replied carefully, but Dean didn’t think any of them had missed the significance of where Woolsey had placed the emphasis in his statement.
And sure enough, Woolsey turned to them. “Now, Sam and Dean, you put in a leave request almost a year ago, and that leave is scheduled next week and the week after.”
“Yes, sir,” the brothers chorused warily.
Woolsey smiled. “Relax. I’m not going to ask you to give up the holidays. But Gen. O’Neill and I both think that you and the Tok’ra are needed back in the Milky Way in the short term. So after you make your report to the Tok’ra and Homeworld Command, you’re being temporarily reassigned to the SGC, and the second week of your leave has been rescheduled to cover Christmas and New Year’s.”
“How long do you mean by short term?” Sam asked before Dean could.
Woolsey shook his head. “Gen. O’Neill wasn’t sure. I would think no more than a few months.”
Dean sighed. “You know there’s stuff gunnin’ for us back there.”
“I know. So does the General. Still, we feel that your knowledge of both the threat and the Stargate program, as well as the fact that you’re Tok’ra, makes you more valuable in dealing with other Milky Way leaders than any other hunters would be. That makes it worth the risk.”
Dean grimaced, and Sam slouched in defeat.
“You’ll be spending the bulk of that time at the SGC or at Homeworld Command. Both places are heavily warded, and even human security is exceptional. I’d be very surprised if an unexpected threat managed to get to you there-at least, one originating from Earth,” Woolsey amended.
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, well, we don’t have to like it,” Sam noted. “Orders are orders. When do we leave?”
“The scheduled dial-out is in two hours,” Woolsey answered.
After the meeting, Dean stomped off toward the brothers’ quarters, and Sam chased after him. “Dude, what’s your problem? You didn’t object to the idea of going back for a two-week vacation.”
“Nobody’s likely to find us in two weeks,” Dean returned. “But two months?”
Sam’s head bobbed. “Two months will scarcely be time enough to brief all the parties in the Milky Way who need our help,” Salim stated, “especially if the Tok’ra High Council or any other authority wishes for us to inspect sites around the galaxy in person. And you know Woolsey’s right about the SGC-we warded the place ourselves.”
Dean ran a hand over his mouth. “There are other hunters who could do that.”
“We’re the only ones already in the program.”
Bringing in other hunters increases the risk of unfriendly hunters learning our location, Dishon added.
“So they get Bobby to vet everyone!” Dean retorted aloud.
Sam took over again and frowned. “Dean... look, I’m not real happy about this, either, but what’s really going on with you?”
Dean stopped for a moment and spread his arms. “Maybe I like it here, Sam. Did that ever occur to you?” And before Sam could respond, Dean stalked away.
Lantea was so pleased by his declaration, she was practically purring.
It wasn’t until he was back in their quarters that something Salim had said registered for Dean. Before he could ask, though, Dishon said, Yes, Dean, I suppose we do think of ourselves as hunters now.
Dean blinked. You... seriously?
Well, we are your symbiotes. There is that. But honestly... our experience with you has been... unique. Our kind had no knowledge of these things, even those few who had blended with the Tau’ri since we renewed contact with Earth. And even now, we alone have had the experience of doing battle with demons and knowing the friendship of angels. We have seen Heaven and Hell alike through your eyes. Dishon gave the mental equivalent of a head shake. Should we live ten thousand years, we will never forget our lives with you. You have changed us forever. Saving people and hunting things is now our family business, too.
Aw, buddy. Dean would have hugged Dishon if he could.
Salim was right about what would be waiting for the Winchesters at Cheyenne Mountain. From the minute they walked down the ramp into the SGC’s Gateroom, they found themselves swept up in a week-long whirlwind of meetings, giving briefings, receiving briefings, checking defenses on- and offworld. The demonic faction attempting to reach Purgatory hadn’t lessened its attacks, though that wasn’t a matter that concerned Homeworld Command much. They were more focused on the faction working with the Lucian Alliance, which had increased its attacks on other planets. So far, however, that group of demons hadn’t been able to establish an offworld base that wasn’t already in Alliance control, nor had they succeeded in assaulting an Icarus-type planet long enough to try dialing Destiny. They had tried Vihanta again, but the Vihantans had been smart enough to figure out the devil’s trap Sam had burned around their Gate and copied it everywhere, making their settlements virtually demon-proof. The assault had failed almost before it began. The Vihantans had also finally mustered the courage to attack the Alliance base where Dishon and Salim had been working; the Alliance troops had been caught off-guard, and the Vihantans had sent them packing.
Dean still didn’t know why O’Neill had called them back to Earth. So far, it looked like the free peoples of the Milky Way were holding their own pretty well, and he was getting tired of sharing the same information over and over again. But he couldn’t be too mad about meetings that gave them a chance to visit with friendly alien acquaintances, however briefly. The briefing with the Tok’ra High Council was so boring that Dean left Dishon in charge and fell asleep, but the meeting with Bra’tac led into a long suppertime conversation about war stories that was a real blast for both Dean and Sam. And Lya was at the week’s final briefing on Sunday afternoon. When it was over, she sought Dean out to ask after him, Sam, and Bobby, and they had a pleasant chat for several minutes.
Then she asked, “And your son? How is he?”
The question caught Dean off-guard. “Ben? He’s... he’s fine.”
She looked at him for a moment, then took both of his hands in hers. “He is blood of your blood, Dean Winchester. Do not be ashamed to love him as your own.”
You have always suspected as much, Dishon noted as Dean cast about for an answer.
“It wouldn’ta mattered,” Dean told them both.
“Why not?” Lya asked.
“Because family don’t end with blood. And Ben, Lisa... they’re family.”
She smiled and let him go.
He was still reeling from that conversation later that evening when the brothers got back to their temporary quarters after supper. Bobby wouldn’t be there to pick them up for their Thanksgiving leave until morning, but a lot of the other SGC personnel had already gone home, either for the day or for the week. As the quiet of the base settled around him, Dean sat down on the lower bunk and found himself staring at the floor. He was sliding into shock, and Dishon wasn’t stopping him.
But Sam would. “Hey,” he said, sitting down beside Dean. “What’s goin’ on? What’d Lya say to you?”
“That Ben’s my son,” Dean confessed.
Sam blinked. “That’s good, though, right? I mean-”
“Yeah, yeah, no, I’m... I just... don’t know what to do now. He’s my kid. I need to be there for him. And I can’t do that if we’re in separate galaxies.”
Sam nodded slowly and didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he offered, “Maybe by the time we’re clear to go back to Pegasus, we can talk Lisa into coming with us.”
Dean huffed and shook his head. “No. Nothing’s changed. She’s not gonna want to leave Sioux Falls if Ben’s happy there. Something major’s got to happen before she’ll change her mind.”
Suddenly, with a flash and a bang, the door of the room’s metal wardrobe flew open and a tall, thin, dark-haired man in a light blue suit tumbled through it in the brief time it stayed open. Dean grabbed his zat and aimed it at the guy as he rolled to his knees and looked up at them. There was a brief but tense moment where nobody moved; the newcomer’s eyes were both wary and anxious. Then he spoke:
“Which of you is John Winch-”
Dean stunned him before he could finish the question, and Sam radioed for security. Seconds later, four Marines swooped in and carted the unconscious stranger off to isolation.
“Where the hell did he come from, Narnia?” Sam asked as he and Dean ran after them.
Why didn’t you let him finish the question? Dishon asked at almost the same time.
“He was askin’ about Dad,” Dean answered both of them. “Like he expected Dad to be here but didn’t know what he looked like.”
“He doesn’t know Dad’s dead,” Sam added, probably for Salim’s benefit. “That-no, I don’t know what that means. He could be one of Dad’s old contacts-”
“Which isn’t likely, since he’s our age. Or-”
“He could be a time traveler,” they finished together.
“Would explain the ’50s suit,” one of the Marines quipped. “He looks like he stepped out of Mad Men.”
They didn’t converse much after that, only briefing Landry in the observation room while Dr. Carolyn Lam took blood samples and ran scans on the stranger, who was now laid out on a bed, and the Marines searched his pockets for ID. When they found a wallet and a brass artifact that looked like a pack of cards, Landry went off to see what info Daniel could extract from them. Then the Winchesters turned off the observation room lights, so they couldn’t be seen from the other side of the glass, and settled in to wait. After a minute or two, Teal’c went into the isolation room to stand guard.
A minute or two after that, the stranger stirred and groaned. “Well, this is not what I expected the future to be like,” he said groggily.
“Indeed,” Teal’c returned.
The stranger shook his head slightly to clear it. “Where am I? What year is it?”
Teal’c said nothing.
The stranger sat up and squinted at him a little, then motioned toward his own forehead. “Why do you bear the sign of Apophis? Don’t tell me-”
“Apophis is a false god. A dead false god. Once I was his slave, but now I am free.”
“Oh.” The stranger blinked a couple of times as he processed that. Then he took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Well, this has been fascinating....” He paused, clearly hoping for a name.
“You may call me Murray.”
“All right, Murray, but it really is urgent that I speak with John Winchester immediately.”
“You cannot.”
“Look, I understand rules and regulations, but-”
“John Winchester is dead.”
The stranger’s eyes widened, and he paled as his smile vanished. “No. No, no, it can’t be.”
Teal’c tilted his head. “You speak as if you were a friend.”
“More than that. He’s my son.”
Dean felt the blood drain from his own face.
The stranger glanced around. “Look, I’m guessing this is some kind of government facility. My name is Henry Winchester; I’m from Normal, Illinois. I’m a Man of Letters. Surely there’s someone in your government who can verify my identity.”
“We are already checking,” Teal’c replied.
“If-if John’s... if John’s dead, then I need to speak with one of the men who was in the room when I arrived. They must be my grandsons or something.”
Teal’c tilted his head the other way. “On what do you base that assumption?”
“It’s a long story, but the means that brought me here was supposed to take me directly to blood kin. It was 1958 when I left. I was hoping to reach John, but....” Henry trailed off and looked away from Teal’c for a moment, then looked Teal’c in the eye. “Please-if it isn’t classified-how did John die?”
Teal’c held Henry’s gaze for a moment as if to test his sincerity before answering. “He gave his life to save his sons.”
“And they, too, are Men of Letters, correct?”
“I am unfamiliar with that name.”
“It’s a society. We study, observe, record-the supernatural, the unexplained.”
Teal’c inclined his head. “I do not believe such a society still exists on this planet.”
Henry somehow looked even more shocked. “But that’s impossible. We Winchesters, we’re legacies. My son and his sons should have been raised in the ways of the Letters.”
“They were not.”
“Y-you mean they’re out there, uninformed, unprotected against evil?”
“I did not say that. They are hunters.”
Henry let out an incredulous laugh. “Hunters? My grandsons are... are ignorant, violent apes?”
If Dean hadn’t already known what John had thought of his father for this now-explained disappearing act, that remark would have been enough to make him want to knock Henry into next week.
“No,” Teal’c rumbled dangerously, which wiped the beginnings of a smirk off Henry’s face. “They are the men whose knowledge and whose actions have kept two galaxies from being overrun by Hell’s forces. They deserve greater honor than any human can bestow.”
“Did you say galaxies?” Henry asked faintly.
Teal’c didn’t answer.
Henry looked away and swallowed hard, clearly fighting for composure. “Murray, please, I’ve got to talk to the men who were there when I arrived. They have to be my grandsons. Please.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Lam said quietly, coming into the observation room.
Sam and Dean turned to her with a chorused “What?”
“I was just coming to tell you. His DNA’s consistent with being a blood relative-paternal grandfather would fit. And he’s got that strange allele on the seventh chromosome and the ATA gene. No signs that he’s anything but human, and his telomeres are consistent with his being thirty years old, which is about how old he looks.”
“He said he jumped in 1958,” Sam reported.
Lam nodded. “His driver’s license says he was born in 1928, so that fits.” She looked over through the window into the isolation room, where Henry was trying to break Teal’c down with puppy eyes. “That man is your grandfather.”
Abaddon finally found the door Henry had used to escape from the Men of Letters’ lab and reestablished the portal with ease. Of course the idiot hadn’t thought to place a lock on the other end; from what her host, Josie Sands, knew of him, he never had been terribly skilled at spellwork. Smirking, Abaddon strolled through the portal, assuming that Henry would still be present wherever it came out.
But he wasn’t. The grey, industrial-looking room she stepped out into was empty of humans. She saw a bunk bed and a couple of packs that might have held personal belongings and therefore clues as to which relatives Henry had run off with, but she didn’t have time to search. She needed that box, which meant she needed Henry, and that meant starting the room-by-room approach all over again. Seething, she stepped out into the hall.
Unfortunately, the hall was currently empty, and she had no idea which way to turn. Fortunately, the rooms she passed all had windows in their doors, so she didn’t have to bother with blasting doors down to look inside each room. But they were all empty, too, and every vent she passed that might have led outside was warded. She grew more and more frustrated as she wandered, unable to get her bearings and feeling increasingly trapped.
Finally she turned a corner and heard voices. There were several doors ahead on both sides of the hall, and the voices, which were talking about Henry, were in one room to the right. But there was a door open on the left, so she took a chance on glancing in there before attempting to get information from the humans. Henry might be there, alone and vulnerable, and maybe she could use him as leverage to get out of this place after she’d gotten the box.
That room was empty, too-but it had a huge window that looked out on something Abaddon hadn’t seen since Ra was chased out of Egypt. Curious and confused, she stepped further into the room, drawn toward the window.
When had the humans figured out the chappa’ai?
Getting close enough for answers wasn’t going to be possible, however. Abaddon suddenly felt as if she’d walked into a wall, and looking up, she saw a metal devil’s trap bonded to the ceiling. It was strong metal, too, and didn’t bend when she tried to force it to deform without breaking the concrete. And then, before she could try again, someone walked up behind her in the hall.
“Lt. Johansen?” a male voice asked in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
Abaddon rounded on him, her eyes a furious black.
The little man gulped and fell back a step or two. “ Kah-uh-Exor-ah-G-GABRIEL!”
And Gabriel came. His vessel wasn’t much bigger than the man who’d called on him and didn’t look terribly angelic at all, but Abaddon could see the angel inside, one she’d thought had died long ago. He took one look at the scene and manifested his sword with a snarl. “Abaddon.”
There was only one way out of this scenario alive. Abaddon left Josie to her fate and escaped into Hell.
Gabriel quickly caught Josie as Abaddon’s smoke vanished through the floor. “She’s alive, Walter. Alert the infirmary.”
Walter Harriman, the senior Gate technician who’d found her, grabbed his radio and called for a medical team. “That’s not Lt. Johansen, is it?” he asked then.
“No, TJ’s still on Destiny. This lady’s name is Josie Sands.”
“How’d she get here?”
“That’s a good question.”
“It is indeed,” said Landry, coming up behind Walter, “especially since she’s the second uninvited guest to show up in the last half hour. My guess is she followed Henry Winchester, however he got here.”
Gabriel blinked. “Henry? John’s dad? He disappeared in ’58.”
“Yes, well, he reappeared in Sam and Dean’s quarters a short time ago. He’s in isolation, being interrogated by Teal’c.”
“Huh.” Gabriel glanced down at the much taller woman in his arms, but Josie was unconscious and not close enough to the surface that he could glean much from her mind. And he wasn’t about to press and compound the trauma of having been possessed by a major demon like Abaddon.
“As long as you’re here, Gabriel, Dr. Jackson would probably appreciate your help. Mr. Winchester was carrying some kind of artifact, a brass box, but Dr. Jackson can’t get it open or tell us anything about it. The only external carving he can recognize is a....”
“Unicursal hexagram,” Daniel supplied, joining them and holding up the object in question. “Also known as the Aquarian Star.”
“Also known as the symbol of the Men of Letters,” Gabriel noted, glancing at Josie again, “who also disappeared in ’58. Looks like Abaddon crashed the party... and I’d like to know why.”
“Mr. Winchester’s been insisting that he’s a member of the Men of Letters.”
“Yeah. Yeah, he was.”
The medical team arrived then, and Gabriel handed Josie over to be taken to the infirmary.
Daniel looked at the box again as the medics whisked Josie away. “My guess is, Mr. Winchester brought this here for safekeeping. Sure wish I could figure out what it is.”
Gabriel raised one eyebrow. “Have you asked him?”
“We need to talk to him.”
“No.”
“He’s our grandfather.”
“And Dad hated the shol’vah.” Why that had come out in Goa’uld, Dean had no idea, though he had been cussing in that language a lot since his first blending with Dishon. But the word conveyed the precise reason for his disgust well-Henry was, in John’s mind and therefore in Dean’s, a traitor to his family. “Besides, you heard what he thinks of hunters.”
Sam spread his hands. “He’s got information we need, and he’s not going to give it to Teal’c. We have to talk to him.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to him.”
“Dean, you cannot push this one off on Dishon. Henry doesn’t know about the Tok’ra, and he doesn’t have the clearance to find out.”
“All right, then you talk to him.”
“Well, one of you needs to talk to him,” said Gabriel, coming in with Landry and Daniel. “He’s been followed.”
Both brothers frowned as they stood and chorused, “Followed?”
“Yup. Demon called Abaddon-got trapped and smoked out, but she’s seriously bad news, and we need to know what her game plan is. May be able to get something out of her host, but since she’s currently unconscious....”
“We think Abaddon might have been after this,” Daniel added, holding up the box the Marines had taken from Henry. “But I’m drawing a blank on what it is. I can’t get any kind of readings from it at all.”
Dean knew Sam was right about letting Henry know about Dishon, and he did understand why everyone thought he and Sam needed to talk to Henry. He still couldn’t feel anything but contempt for their long-lost grandfather.
Sam huffed. “Okay, I’ll do it.” And he snatched the box out of Daniel’s hand and stalked out of the observation room.
Landry turned to Daniel. “See what information you can find about the night of Mr. Winchester’s disappearance. I’ll go see how things stand in the infirmary.”
Daniel nodded, and both men left.
As Gabriel joined Dean at the window, Sam walked into the isolation room and whispered something to Teal’c, who nodded and withdrew. “Hey,” Sam said to Henry. “I’m Sam.”
Henry looked significantly happier now that Sam was there. “Sam! Henry Winchester. I’m John’s father.” He stood, and they shook hands. “And the man who shot me-”
“My brother. Sorry about that; you kind of took us by surprise.”
“I understand. I hope he won’t hold that against me.”
“Well... to be honest... Dad wasn’t exactly your biggest fan. And my brother’s having trouble seeing past that, not to mention your opinion about hunters.”
Henry frowned. “Wait, what could John-” Then it dawned on him. “I... gather I don’t make it back from this time.”
“We don’t know. All we know is that Dad never saw you again.”
Henry ran a hand over his mouth. “I never meant for this to happen, Sam. But I had no other choice, no other way out.”
“What happened?”
“It was the night of my final initiation into the Men of Letters. A demon, Abaddon, attacked us, and several of the elders were killed. But one of them gave me something-” Henry frowned and started patting his pockets.
Sam held up the box. “This?”
Henry nodded. “Yes. He told me to keep it safe. But I knew I could never get out of the building on foot, so I ran to a lab and performed the spell that brought me here. ‘Blood leads to blood.’ I’d planned to reach John, but... obviously, I missed my mark somehow.”
“Abaddon followed you here.”
Henry paled. “Oh, no.”
Sam held up a hand. “It’s okay. This base is heavily warded. She was trapped and exorcised safely, and her host is in the infirmary right now, getting checked out.”
“Josie? Josie’s alive?!”
“Alive, yeah, but unconscious.”
Henry ran a hand over his mouth again, but this time Dean could see that he was trembling. “Is... will she....”
“If there is anything wrong with her that mortal medicine can cure, trust me, she’ll get the help she needs here.”
Henry sagged in relief. “Thank God. Josie’s one of my best friends; we were kids together, came up through the ranks of the Letters together. I hated seeing her possessed.”
Sam nodded, his eyes unfocusing with memories. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m... I’m sure you did.” Before Henry could ask, though, Sam pulled himself together. “Look, long story short, we need to know what Abaddon wanted. Josie might be able to tell us something when she wakes up, but until then, you’re our best source of information. What was she after? This?” He held up the box again.
Henry shook his head slightly. “Probably.”
“What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
Dean didn’t know whose mental curse at that was louder, his or Dishon’s.
Sam only sighed. “All right, we’ll see if we can find someone who does, someone who survived the attack. Can you give me some names of people who were there that night?”
Henry started rattling off names, and Gabriel frowned and shook his head at each one until Henry named Larry Ganem. Then Gabriel held up a finger and disappeared for a split second. “Ganem survived,” he told Dean when he returned. “I’ll have Inias go get him while I get Josie back on her feet. Go tell those two we’ll have a briefing in fifteen.” And before Dean could object, he was gone again.
Dean, be civil, Dishon cautioned. I believe he fully intended to return to your father in the past.
“Look, I don’t care what he intended,” Dean shot back. “His first responsibility was to his family, not to some glorified book club.”
I don’t disagree. But has it occurred to you that your father’s insistence on putting family first might have been driven by fears evoked by what he perceived as Henry’s abandonment?
“So?”
So he may have been overreacting. And so, my dear friend, are you.
Dean rolled his eyes and used the walk from the observation room to the isolation room to get his game face on.
Sam turned in surprise as Dean walked in. “Hey.”
“We’ve been able to locate a survivor,” Dean said, barely sparing a nod for Henry. “Larry Ganem.”
Henry nodded. “Good, good. Larry’s the one who gave me the box. He’ll know what it’s for.”
“Gonna bring him in, get Josie on her feet. Gen. Landry’s gonna want a briefing in about fifteen minutes.”
Sam nodded, but Henry frowned. “I don’t understand. What is this place?”
“Classified,” the brothers chorused.
“But-I have clearance....”
“Not for this, you don’t,” Dean growled.
“We don’t know that yet,” Sam amended. “Until we do, we’re not authorized to tell you anything.”
Henry’s confused frown didn’t let up. “But the other man, Murray... he said you boys are hunters. Have hunters begun working for the government?”
“No,” Dean snapped at the same time Sam said, “Well-” They looked at each other for a moment.
Then Dean sighed and relented. “Hunters, in general, have not. But long story short, there was a situation where they needed us and we needed them, and we worked out an arrangement that works for all of us. Okay? It’s just Sam and me, and sometimes a friend of ours comes in to consult.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, Henry, this is my brother, Dean.”
Dean nodded. “Hi.”
Henry started to hold out his hand for Dean to shake but evidently thought better of it and stuck his hand in his pocket as he nodded back. “Dean. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dean didn’t respond.
“Isn’t there anything unclassified you can tell me?”
Sam shrugged. “Like?”
“Well, what year is it?”
“It’s 2011-November 20, the Sunday before Thanksgiving.”
Henry blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Just over a year. No wonder you’re working for the government.”
“Wrong,” Dean stated flatly before Dishon could express his puzzlement. “The world’s not gonna end in 2012, and the Apocalypse is last year’s news.”
Henry stared. “What?”
Dean indicated Sam and himself with his thumb. “We stopped it.”
Sam nodded once.
Henry blinked a couple of times. “A-are you sure? I mean, it could still-”
“It won’t,” the brothers chorused.
“Trust me,” Dean continued, “we’ve lost too many people tryin’ to save this damn planet, including Dad. We’re not gonna accept failure now.”
“How can you be sure?” Henry pressed.
“That is classified,” Sam snapped before Dean had a chance. “I don’t care what clearance Landry gives you. There are some things you don’t need or want to know.”
Henry looked shocked at Sam’s shift in tone, but Dean wasn’t. For one thing, talking about it meant talking about what Sam and Salim had done to return Lucifer to the Cage, and neither they nor Dean nor Dishon was anxious to revisit those memories. For another, that was exactly what Dad would have said, and Sam was a whole lot more like Dad than he sometimes wanted to admit. And in this instance, Dean thought Dad’s-er, Sam’s reaction was right on the money. He didn’t want some greenhorn bookworm judging them, even if the man was their grandfather.
“Yes, I do need to know,” Henry insisted. “The Men of Letters are preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that man does not understand. We have a responsibility to preserve every piece of knowledge we can find.”
Dean bristled. “Your responsibility was to your family. Dad grew up without you and your precious knowledge; he had to learn everything the hard way. And me and Sam, we didn’t have to start from scratch, but we still had a hell of a lot of trial and error of our own. What good’s knowledge when you lock it away and don’t use it to save your family, huh?”
Henry flinched and turned away without a word.
Dean started to say something more, but Dishon said, Dean. Leave it. He’s only just learned of your father’s death; to say more now would be cruel.
So Dean crossed his arms and let Henry chew on his point for the moment-not that he felt any more charitable toward his grandfather, but he knew Dishon was right. And he really didn’t want to pick a fight... not a verbal one, anyway. But he did reserve the right to zat Henry again for good cause.
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