Death Invents a Different Kind of Time, for ravelqueen, 1/2
Title: Death Invents a Different Kind of Time
Author: supernarttu
Recipient: ravelqueen
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~12,000
Warnings: None in Ch 1. A bit of violence in Ch 2.
Genre: AU. Henrys POV.
Summary: Henry gets a second chance. And it makes all the difference. But is it enough?
Author's Notes: So, this is my spin on one of ravelqueen’s prompts. I really like the character of Henry and once I read that particular prompt, this story just wouldn't leave me alone. There's this ripple effect going on, so there are some deliberate differences from canon as well as similarities to it. But since it's AU, it's my playground, right? :)
The Latin is from google translate, not mine. Also all medical/law studies bits are wiki'd and then twisted to fit my story so all mistakes are mine. Again, AU, I'm the queen, hee :)
The title was taken and tweaked a bit from a poem "I'm afraid of death" by Kathleen Ossip.
A *huge* Thank You to my betas, you know who you are, dudettes. *fistpumps*
---
Death Invents a Different Kind of Time
Chapter 1
I didn't know my son as a man, but having met you two,
I know I would have been proud of him.
The last thing Henry Winchester saw was his two grandsons. He felt sorrow and regret as his life slipped away and his mind drifted into darkness.
I’m so sorry. I failed you.
Then he was standing. He felt disoriented and thin somehow, yet everything had a strange kind of clarity.
There was a woman standing next to him, looking down at his feet. She was smiling, but there was a sadness to it. Henry followed her gaze and saw his own dead body lying there, his dead eyes staring back at him.
That was... He was...
“Henry Winchester”, she said softly and he looked at her. She was beautiful, but her beauty was different, more ethereal, more than the confined appearance of a mere mortal. She reminded Henry of an old statue he had seen a picture of as a child; a bronze woman, sitting by the water on a small boulder, her gaze always turned towards the sea. She had appeared frail and small against the never ending ocean of blue, but at the same time she seemed to possess a quiet, unyielding strength to withstand the tempers of the fickle sea, despite its dangerous storms and harrowing winds having defeated thousands and thousands of ships in the past.
The memory felt crystal clear to Henry, pristine and fresh like a brand new recollection of the same event he still could recall. He felt out of place. Ethereal. That word seemed to define him now, too.
“I have come for you, Henry.” The woman was looking at him, the expression on her face now pure serenity: it was vibrating off her frame, little strands of energy reaching out to him. She was wearing a long, white night gown, which seemed to float around her like she was under water, dancing around her ankles in a slow, gentle way.
"It is time to go home." Her voice was clear and gentle, a low hum of a lullaby. Henry felt himself drifting towards her, dazed, like in a dream. She was radiating warmth as she smiled again, her golden hair framing her face, making her features soft and striking at the same time.
He was at her side now and she leaned in, as if to whisper, and he could smell her gently swaying hair. The scent reminded him of his home, of her. Joanna. The first cold August day with the wind breezing through their old maple tree, making the leaves quiver and rustle and dance. A subtle yet painfully familiar aroma.
The woman looked at him with reassurance, her fingertips brushing against his jaw line. He felt a tiny spark and with that he came back to focus, to the sudden realization of now. The finality of it. The end. Henry gently pulled away from her, took a step back.
"No."
There was a flash of sadness in her eyes. She tilted her head slightly and remained silent, keeping her gaze on him.
"I'm not done here. I failed them. All of them. My son. My grandsons. Their lives have been nothing but constant battle and pain. So much suffering and death. I can change that. I have to."
"No, Henry." She looked away as she said that, looked towards something in the distance, in to the depths of oblivion maybe, or even further, her face unreadable. But Henry could feel sorrow shining through. Longing. The streaming energy reaching towards him dwindled, pulled back and wrapped itself around her, like a lovers embrace.
Then she looked back at him, her bright blue eyes shining. "It's not meant to be. Not for you."
Henry felt sudden anger. Who was she to decide?
“I don't give a damn if it’s not meant to be. I'm staying here. This is my choice. I will find a way to go back. Back to my family.” Henry softened his voice at the last sentence and turned to look at his grandsons. He watched as they gently picked up his body and quietly carried it out of the warehouse.
It felt so surreal, so wrong. He felt incomplete, over half of his life left unlived. It wasn't fair.
And then there was his son, John. Left orphaned at 4 years old, thinking he was abandoned by his father; abandoned to live his life in misery and darkness. A life filled with obsession and revenge. A hunter’s life that he had passed on to his children. The honorable but broken down men Henry had met. All that pain. It wasn't fair at all.
He looked back at her, his features stern, his whole being filled to the brim of renewed conviction and purpose.
"I'm not done here. Either help me or leave."
She silently studied him for a long while: the way he stood, tall and proud, the way he jutted his jaw in defiance, yet slightly trembling under her luminous gaze. Then she looked away again, into the unseen distance. "I shouldn't do this. But... I will help you, Henry."
Henry was taken aback by this sudden change of heart, his mind suddenly swimming with doubt and questions, yet all thoughts circling back to that same one, in the end. “Why?”
“Because a promise was made, long ago. I can give you what you wish. If it is truly what you wish for.”
Henry let out a shaky, relieved breath, gave her a small nod and a smile.
"Yes. I can make it right."
She nodded and came to his side, brushed her warm fingers against his cheek before she leaned in closer and gave him a tender kiss, the energy enveloping him into her warm, pulsing embrace. All the memories of his youth came rushing back with bright colors and smells and tastes.
Henry felt like he was floating, weightless. He was swimming in the ocean. He was running along an endless beach, above him a cloudless sky. He was kissing Joanna under that same old maple tree, her exuberant laughter dancing amongst the leaves, echoing in his head. He was caressing her perfectly round belly, feeling their child’s movements for the first time. He was running, playing in the backyard with his son. Little Johnny was giggling; stumbling after him, his knees and elbows smudged green by the grass. I love you, daddy.
And then everything went dark.
-
Henry woke up in his own bed, in his house in Normal, Illinois. The first thing he saw was his late wife’s picture by his bed, on the night table, where it had always been. Joanna had died two days before John's 2nd birthday. Henry still felt the pang in his chest every morning when he had to wake up, go on with his life, without her. The love of his life.
Her death had hit him and his son very hard, even though John had only been two at the time. They would have never made it without the help of their family friend Josie-
He suddenly jolted up, remembering everything.
Josie. The Initiation. Abaddon. The spell. His grandsons. John. John was dead. His son was dead.
Oh God.
He rushed out of his bedroom and straight across the hall into his son’s room, a rapidly tightening pressure around his chest, his heart beating a million miles a minute. John.
But John was there, alive and well, sleeping in his own bed in the same pajamas Henry had helped him dress into, before he had left for the Initiation and left John in the care of his nanny. His little boy, 4 years old. Henry sighed in relief and quietly made his way next to his son’s bed. John had a habit of kicking back the covers and had followed his usual pattern this time too. He lay on his back, his pajama shirt having ridden up, leaving his chubby belly exposed. He was half buried in his pillows and softly snoring away, and Henry felt his eyes stinging. Thank God.
Henry looked out his son’s bedroom window; it was dawn, the first rays of sun peeked through the curtained window.
What is happening? Am I dead?
He carefully pulled the covers on his boy and quietly left the room and went to the kitchen. He stood by the kitchen window as he waited for the coffee maker to finish its brewing. Everything looked normal, inside and out. Like he’d never left. Like that horrible night at the Men of Letters Initiation had never happened. Like that nightmarish time travel journey to the future had never happened.
But it had happened. Henry remembered every detail, every devastating revelation and the end, his end.
“Did she bring me back to 1958? Is this real?” he spoke out loud but somehow he knew that it was. This was real. He saw Norman the paperboy speeding by on his bicycle and heard the familiar thump against his front door soon after.
He walked to the front door and picked up the wrapped newspaper.
August 1st 1958
Henry’s heart skipped a beat. Three days. He had three days. Three days before Abaddon came to the Initiation and tore everyone to pieces and ripped him away from his son forever.
Make things right.
And he knew exactly what he had to do.
-
“…And now in local news. The body of Jocelyn Sands, a secretary from Normal, Illinois, was found yesterday after an extensive state wide search, in the Harlow wooded area of Bloomington, Illinois. She had been reported missing two weeks ago by her family -“
Henry switched off the radio. He was gripping his coffee cup so tight that it hurt, and he tried to steady his trembling hands. He felt nauseous. The guilt was weighing down on him like an iron chain and he kept seeing Josie's face every time he closed his eyes.
But there just had been no other way.
His fellow members from the Men of Letters had helped him cover up the crime, after he had arrived on the night of the Initiation and shot a raging, possessed Josie (and Abaddon) dead with the Colt, (a critical piece of information he had read in John’s journal in the future) saving his brothers and their Order. The members later assured him that there was no possibility that the death could be linked back to Henry or the Men of Letters.
Still, it was murder, and it would haunt him for the rest of his days.
-
Henry and John moved to Lawrence, Kansas in the early 60’s. The (unresolved) murder of Josie was still weighing heavy on him, and he needed to feel closer to his family.
His only brother Ben had moved to Lawrence five years earlier with his wife and two kids and had opened a garage there. He had tipped Henry off that there was a civil servants job available in Kansas when Henry had expressed a desire for a change, one night when they were talking on the phone. It was mostly the same thing Henry had been doing in Normal so he didn’t have to think about it too much. John was in school now, but they had no living relatives in Normal anymore and loneliness was starting to gnaw at him.
Even his fellow Men of Letters brethren had encouraged him to move, having noticed how Henry was still haunted by Josie’s death.
“It is a fresh start. It will do you both some good.” they had all said, his brother, and his Brothers.
Henry himself was just hoping that the constant nightmares of Josie would cease. He couldn’t seem to get certain images out of his head: the body of Josie lying on the floor, the bullet hole in her chest trickling little rivulets of blood, the Colt feeling hot in his hand after the shot, the warm gun pressing against his thigh as he had realized the finality of his deed. Josie's eyes, staring up, looking at nothing.
So they moved to Lawrence, Kansas. And they never looked back.
-
1973
“You know I like her, John. She’s a sweet girl. But you know how I feel about these, these hunters -”
“I know, dad. Believe me, I know. We’ve been over this a hundred times, at least. But she is different. She is beautiful and smart and fearless. And she doesn’t want to hunt. She wants to have a family and just live a regular life. I love her, dad.”
“John, please -“
“I asked her to marry me.”
“What?? John -“
“She said Yes.”
-
Two months later, Mary’s parents had died in an accident. Henry had been out of town at the time, but John later told him that Mary’s father Samuel had been drinking that night and had crashed the car with his wife Deanna in it. Both had died instantly, the bodies burnt almost beyond recognition.
John had brought Mary home to live with him and Henry. The first months the poor girl had been mostly silent and clinging to John for dear life. She just wouldn’t let him out of her sight. It was odd. She even followed John to Ben’s garage where he had been working ever since he’d gotten back from Vietnam a few years prior. But as more time passed, Mary started to heal and Henry had found her to be a lovely, strong woman and they became close friends.
A year later Mary and John got married in a small ceremony, in the fall of ‘74. They soon bought a house in Lawrence, a few miles from Henrys place, with the money Mary had gotten from selling her old home. ’Bad memories’, she had mumbled and Henry had not pressed the matter, understanding that people grieve in different ways.
Five years later Dean was born and everything finally felt right again. Mary’s pregnancy had been a difficult one and the birth seemed to follow form, but both mother and son came away unscathed, all the bad memories wiped away by the sight of tiny fingers and toes. The moment Henry saw his grandson for the first time, in John’s arms, was etched in his mind forever. Henry adored his new grandson, couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t imagine a life without him.
He could still faintly remember when he had travelled to the future (to that other, twisted future) and had met that older, worn down Dean. But the memories were faded now and it all felt like a vague dream. He didn’t even think about that time anymore, but try as he might, he just couldn’t forget it completely. It was always there, at the back of his mind, always present in his dreams. It was worst when he woke up. During those early hours, the memories and feelings of that time were so vivid and oppressive, he often felt heavy and sluggish yet strangely thin. The uncomfortable sensation thankfully always passed after a few minutes. By the time he sat down by his kitchen table, the daily paper in front of him and a cup of black, strong coffee in his hand, it was just a distant, unpleasant feeling in his gut.
-
“Mary? Is everything all right?” Henry was standing, still half asleep, leaning against his front door frame. His robe was hastily pulled over his pajamas and his glasses were askew on his nose as he had been awakened at the middle of the night by a god-awful banging on his door.
Mary Winchester was standing at his doorstep, trembling in the chilly night air. Her hands were twisting the hem of her shirt. She was terrified, on the brink of tears.
“Is everything all right? Is it Dean? Where is John?” Henry asked again and looked behind her, searching for his son when she seemed too anxious to reply.
“They’re okay. But I- I need to talk to you, Henry. Right now. It’s… it’s…” She started sobbing, her hands having abandoned the hem and hugging her torso now, her whole body shivering against the early autumn wind.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. Come in, it’s cold out.”
He ushered her in to his house and sat her by the kitchen table as he put the coffee machine to work. He sat next to her on the table and took her hand in his. Her hand was cold but she didn’t seem to notice. Tears were still streaming down her face and she kept looking at the wall, like there was something there only she could see. The clock on the wall said 1:00 am. Henry scratched his head, tousling his bed-ruffled, graying hair, confused. Where’s the fire?
“I’m in trouble Henry. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”
Henry felt a creeping dread, tingling up his spine.
“Mary?”, he asked, gently. “What is wrong, Mary? Please tell me.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly and tried to peer at her face. It was hidden behind her hanging blond curls, masking all emotion.
“I’m pregnant.”
Henry was caught off guard. “What?? But that’s good! Mary, that’s a good thing!” Henry smiled at her elated. She brushed her hair back and looked at him, tears still streaking down her cheeks. She gave a small tentative smile back.
“I am happy. So, so happy... But I shouldn’t be. Because something is coming.”
Henry was alarmed, the strange feeling in his spine creeping all over him now. “What?”
“My p-parents... they didn’t die in a c-crash.”
“What?? But you told me, John told me -“
“John told you what we told everyone. That it was a car crash. But we made it look like an accident. In reality something else happened. Something much worse. Oh God.” She was crying, her hands covering her eyes, her whole frame shaking. She got up and quickly walked to the window, turning her back on Henry. He was sitting still by kitchen table, completely confused.
“You-you made it look like an-“
“Me and my dad were working a case in the town next over.” Mary cut him off, speaking rapidly like she wanted to get if off her chest before she exploded. “The strange death of a local farmer. It turned out, his son had made a deal with a stranger. A stranger with yellow eyes. It was a demon. And we got in its way. We tried to… to exorcise it but... but -“
She started sobbing again.
“It possessed my dad.” she half whispered, her throat raspy from crying, and she continued a little louder. “I thought the exorcism had worked and we went back home. I...I met with John and he took me to the quarry. He...he k-kissed me and... oh God.”
“Mary-”
“No. You have to hear this, Henry. My dad came there. But it wasn’t my dad. He pulled John from the car and... and...”
“Mary, it’s okay. Whatever it is -“
“It broke John’s neck.”
-
October 1982
“It doesn’t matter how I know, John. The fact is that I do know. I want to help. I will find a way to stop it, son. I will go through the Archives, one by one -”
“I’m a full member now, dad, I’ve got it covered.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. I’m going to help whether you like it or not. That monster will not get near my grandson, you got that?”
(a heavy sigh)
“Fine. I- I’ll meet you in the Archives, tomorrow morning.”
”All right... We will fix this, John. I promise you.”
“Okay, Dad. See you tomorrow. Wait, Dad? Thank you.”
-
Sam was born on May 2nd 1983. The pregnancy was a smooth sail for Mary, which seemed to make everything a bit worse for her. Even the birth had been easy and once it was over and Henry had got the call that all was well and the boy was fine, he felt that he could breathe again, the months long feeling of dread having lessened significantly by that one phone call.
They had done research on the yellow-eyed demon for the last eight months. The Men of Letters Archives was massive and it took a long time to find information about the demon, and what they did find was just dribbles here and there. It was all vague and hearsay: second hand information that could not be directly connected to any solid source. It had been an extremely frustrating and exhausting search.
The yellow-eyed bastard had something big brewing, that was for sure. It was smart in ways a normal demon could ever be; it seemed to have been making deals for centuries now, but at the same time keeping its trail hidden, its plans unknown. The secrecy of it all was ominous.
As months went by, Henry became more and more afraid that they were not going to find anything tangible. Mary had made the deal for John’s life on May 2nd which had frightened her out of her mind once she had found out that the baby was due May 2nd as well, exactly ten years later. That was the night she had come knocking on Henry’s door, desperate for his help.
But the “anniversary” came and went and all was normal. Baby Sam was fine. They went home and began to get acquainted with the new baby. As weeks and months passed, they all started to be more hopeful that the demon wasn’t coming after all.
They still kept the warding sigils and such in place though. Just in case.
-
November 2nd 1983
“Uh. Yes? Hello?”
“Hello? Henry Winchester? I’m trying to reach Henry Winchester.”
(coughing sound)
“Sorry, yes... I am him. What is it?”
“Mr. Winchester.. I received this emergency contact number from John Winchester’s neighbor... Sir, I’m sorry... There’s been an accident at your son’s house. A fire.”
“...What??”
“There is a fire at your sons house. The fire department is not going to be able to save it, the damage is too severe. We’ve recovered your daughter-in-law and her infant son from the house, they are both all right, just suffering a slight irritation from inhaling all that smoke... But... We can’t find the father. We were told he was inside the house when we got there, but the fire had already spread too wide for us to save him. I’m very sorry, Sir.”
“...”
(faint sound of clatter)
“Mr. Winchester? Sir?? Mr. -”
(dial tone)
-
Henry and Mary buried John, the little that had remained of him from the fire, with heavy hearts filled with regret and loss. The funeral was small, private and short. Neither of them had the strength to be social or polite. The guests left one by one after the service, uttering few words of condolences or encouragement, to Henry and Mary. Both of them were grateful for it even if they didn’t show it.
Baby Sam and little Dean were sitting with Ben’s wife Annie and their daughters. Sam was his usual happy and smiley self and Mary just couldn’t seem to handle that in that moment, his cheeriness clashing with Mary’s profound grief. Henry thought it was unnecessarily cold of her, but tried to understand her pain nevertheless. Sammy was still too small to comprehend any of this so Henry didn’t think too unkindly of her. Maybe it was the only way she could focus on getting past the funeral.
Henry himself checked up on the boys every once in a while and tried to be as normal as possible. Dean was watching Sam like a hawk, not talking, not eating. Henry sat with Dean in his lap and tried to talk to him but the boy was silent and unresponsive, barely sipping the glass of milk Henry had brought him. So Henry just held him and whispered silly, important secrets in his ear, hoping to get a sign that he was still Dean in there. I will take care of him, son, he thought and gently squeezed the grief stricken boy.
Dean had been with Henry that night of the fire, having a sleepover. They had baked some s’mores and Henry had spoiled the kid rotten: three chocolate chip cookies, popcorn, Twinkies and a hot dog, washing them all down with a giant glass of ice cold chocolate milk... All Dean’s favorites.
Henry had made Dean pinky-swear not to tell his parents but Henry had been sure that the kid couldn’t keep that promise for long. Dean was loyal to the core and never lied to his mom and dad. It wasn’t a bad trait in a person, quite the opposite actually, so Henry had given him the go-ahead on the cookie jar, deciding it was worth the scolding he’d get from Mary later.
But that scolding never came.
-
Life got better, with time. Mary and the boys moved in with Henry after the fire. He had insisted on it, but Mary only agreed to move in if she could contribute to the expenses. And a few months after John’s funeral Mary found a job. It was a part time position at a local used cars dealership, working as a receptionist, 4 days a week.
The boys spent the days Mary was at work with Annie who was only glad to help; her own children having moved out several years ago and she was a bit lonely with Ben still working long hours at his garage.
Henry worked in his own civil servants job until he retired in 1995 at 65. His pension was moderate but with Mary’s extra income, they were all able to live reasonably well.
Henry enjoyed their family life; the comfortable routines, Mary’s cooking, the company. He had missed the sound of children in his house and the boys brought new life to his as well, new challenges and a new purpose.
-
Sam was a planner, Henry had noticed over the years. Ever since he was a kid, he had told his Grandpa he had big plans for himself. The occupation always seemed to change but his goals were always set high. A fireman, Sam had said when he was 5. A doctor, at 6. There was this one small period when he wanted to be a rodeo clown, but Dean had talked him out of it soon enough.
Aim bigger, Sammy.
So, the president of the United States was next. An astronaut, he had declared after that. Whatever the plans, Henry never doubted for a second that his grandson wouldn’t make them come true. Sam was a Winchester after all. Relentless didn’t even begin to describe him.
Sam was a cheerful kid, he liked to draw and write stories and play outside with other kids from the neighborhood. There was a playground close to their house and every day the kids would go there to play cops n’ robbers or hide n’ seek or pirate island. The excited screams and laughter echoing from the playground always warmed Henry’s heart.
But Sam's youth wasn't all puppies and rainbows. Around 4 years old, he started to have bad nightmares, several times a week. Mary and Henry used to wake up to him screaming and flailing in his sleep. It was always the same: Sam would shout and struggle severely but after a few minutes he would quiet down and go back to sleep, only to start again an hour later.
It happened a few times a night and was exhausting for the rest of them but Sam was completely oblivious to it all. He never remembered what he had dreamt about or that he'd even had a nightmare. They didn't seem to affect him at all.
Mary had had the boy checked out, many times, but every time the doctors had reassured her that nothing was wrong, physically or mentally.
"Night terrors are normal for a boy this age, Mrs. Winchester."
"It's just a phase, sometimes it just lasts a bit longer, Mrs. Winchester."
"Some children are just prone to hyper brain activity at night, Mrs. Winchester."
By the time Sam was 6, they had heard it all, but the nightmares still remained and no one seemed to know why. They tried some sleep therapy but it only helped his physical symptoms: he no longer screamed or flailed frantically, it was mostly just restless tossing and turning.
Henry had talked to one of his fellow Men of Letters who was a physician and he had surmised that in some rare cases, a very intelligent person could have more nightmares because his or her brain processed and absorbed more data during the day, than an average person's brain. That it was just the brain's way of analyzing the information overload. And since the nightmares didn't seem to have any negative effect on the boy, he didn't think it was anything worrisome.
"He will grow out of it once his brain develops some more. I'd say around 10 it will get better."
Turned out his friend was right: by the time Sam was 10 his nightmares stopped and they could all sleep easy again.
School-wise Sam was a smart kid and his learning curve never saw a downturn; he was the a book worm and proud of it. He excelled in school, straight A’s all around. There seemed to be no subject that he didn’t enjoy, and even in sports he shone, having joined the school’s junior soccer team in the first grade. He had different hobbies but by far his favorite was reading. Maybe that was the reason he loved school so much.
"I have homework, do not disturb!" was a sign Sam had made in the second grade, and he'd hung it on his door when he'd come home from school. Homework. The kid was possibly the only boy in the world who loved homework. Henry always smiled at the memory of Sam sleeping in his bed, buried in half a dozen of books, fatigue having finally won the battle over his studies. Eternally seeking knowledge. A future Man of Letters if there ever was one.
Henry and Sam shared a love of books and they both were a familiar sight at the local library: sitting side by side, elbows touching, reading for hours. Then later they would talk about it, what they’d read, as Sam was getting ready for bed. The kid’s brain seemed to be a virtual black hole, sucking up every bit of knowledge it could find and storing it away for later use. Sam was a “whole new level of geek”, as his brother “lovingly” liked to remind him at every turn.
-
Dean was an active kid, with an active imagination. He didn't have an imaginary friend, he had several, on top of the real friends that he had. Mary was always confused if there was an actual boy coming over for dinner or just "Jimmy" who liked peach cobbler and bike racing. She had dutifully set a plate, even for Jimmy, and they all addressed him accordingly, following Dean's cues and expressions.
Dean was a natural in making friends and those friendships lasted throughout his life. There was just something about him; he seemed to pull his kind of people towards him: loyal, kind and funny with a touch of sneaky on the side. That was Dean in a nutshell, if you wanted to put it as curt as possible. In reality, Dean was a lot more than that. Not a big planner like his brother, more of a "living in the moment" -type of kid.
Dean's academic life had been a little different to Sam's. He too had been a good student for most of his youth but after elementary school, his priorities had...shifted some. Funnily enough, Dean’s grades were never an issue; they were always solid B’s all around. School just held no interest for him: he was a restless spirit, much happier chasing girls or hanging out with friends and getting into brawls.
And hunting, but Mary was having none of it.
“You graduate first. Then we’ll talk.”
Dean and Mary used to have big fights about it, ever since he hit 13; Dean saying school is useless to a hunter, Mary arguing that hunting doesn’t put food on the table and a steady job is important, hence education is important. The two had butted heads about it from time to time and Henry had become a master at playing the peacemaker.
As much as he was saddened that Dean had shown no interest in The Men of Letters, he was glad that Dean was interested in helping people. And hunting was an important profession. Henry’s earlier preconceptions about hunters had dispersed once he had gotten to know a few, through Mary. She didn’t hunt anymore, not since her parents had died, but she still kept in touch with the community and helped those in the area, giving research assistance and other helpful advice.
Dean seemed to have a sixth sense about these things because he was always around when a hunter was nearby, asking questions and sucking up their knowledge like a sponge. After some badgering, Mary finally let Dean help with the research and promised to support Dean’s hunting career as long as Dean took school seriously graduated. So school it was for Dean, even if it drove him up the wall at times.
-
Dean graduated from high school in 1997 at age 18 and to everyone’s surprise, instead of diving head on into hunting; he enlisted into the Marines, following in his father’s footsteps. Mary had been less than thrilled, but it was Sam who’d had the biggest fit about it.
The brothers argued about it for days, usually ending it with:
“You’re wasting your potential!”
“Let me tell you what you can do with that potential, you little bitch!”
“Dean! Don’t talk to your brother like that!”
Henry himself had just congratulated the kid. Dean had appreciated his Grandpa’s support with a big grin and a wink, confiding he had many girls to say goodbye to, before vanishing through the front door.
After Dean had left, Sam had come to Henry, expressing his desire to join the Men of Letters one day. “I’d like to do good, like Dean.”, he’d said and Henry had given him a proud clap on the shoulder, promising to stand by him when the time came.
Dean returned three years later and declared he was now ready to become a hunter. Mary made sure Dean learned from the best and sent Dean to her close friend and a hunter extraordinaire, Bobby Singer. Henry had met him many times over the years and knew he was a good man, a bit grouchy at times, but a good hunter and a friend. Bobby gladly took Dean under his wing and taught the kid everything he knew, even hunted with him until Dean wanted to strike out on his own.
As a “Hunting School Graduation present” as he jokingly called it, Bobby had given Dean one of his less than scrappy cars from his junk yard. He knew Dean loved to fix up old classics, having spent his summers working at Pete’s Garage (what was once Ben’s Garage), and a black -67 Impala seemed to fit his style to the tee. And the old hunter had been right, Dean had been elated, declaring it love at first sight, and he’d had the car up and running smoothly in no time. He even named her Baby.
“It’s a car, dude.”
“Shh, baby. Don’t listen to that jealous bitch. He just wants you, ‘cause he knows he can’t have you.”
-
Sam graduated from high school in 2001 and immediately applied to Stanford Law. There was no trepidation over whether he’d get in or not. Every single university would be a fool to reject him with his grades and recommendations and phenomenal LSAT score. It was only a matter of when they could all celebrate it officially.
Sam’s dreams of becoming a lawyer had cemented while he was in high school. His class had taken a field trip to the Career Expo in Wichita and he had become fascinated by a civil rights attorney’s speech there. Later he had told Henry how she hadn’t sugar coated the work; how an important, yet strenuous profession it was, the obvious challenge written all over it pulling Sam in like a moth to a flame.
He had always dreamt of doing something that helps people, but he also wanted a career that was intellectually challenging; an ongoing process, which would give him a chance to make a difference and have room to evolve and advance.
After the Expo Sam had looked up everything he could find about studying law; the requirements, the degrees, the responsibilities, the terminology. It consumed his time for months as he became obsessed about finding out if he had truly found his calling.
And after all the facts had been laid down, pulled apart and examined, after all the angles had been carefully dissected, and after a long deliberation, Sam had come to the same conclusion Henry had on that very day when Sam had started talking about that attorney: he wanted to pursue law.
-
On the day Sam was leaving to Stanford, Henry and Dean had surprised him with a car Henry had bought and Dean had fixed up at the garage. It was a Mustang, a really gorgeous old Mustang. Even Sam had to admit that it was a thing of beauty as he admired her, his eyes shining with wonder and appreciation.
“You should’ve seen this piece of crap when Grandpa brought her in the first day. Man, I should get a Pulitzer Prize for this beauty. It’s just a total shame she’s going to be driven by a little old lady, isn’t it, Samantha?”
Dean quipped and mock punched his little brother on the shoulder with a smirk. Sam was too emotional to return with anything better than “That’s not how you get a Pulitzer, Dean.”, and had grabbed his brother in a quick, tight hug before Dean could protest. Dean did roll his eyes at the gesture but Henry could see he was swallowing back tears as well.
The boys had always been close and up until the time Dean enlisted, they had rarely been apart from each other for more than a week or so. They had always had each other's backs. Dean was always including Sam in his adventures and Sam was as loyal as they come, many times taking the fault for his brother's reckless ways. Although, Henry was quite sure the opposite had happened too; Sam was a sweet kid, but he did have his mischievous side as well: his pranks always seemed to be a bit more crafty and subtle and just a bit more devious, compared to Dean’s more rascal like jests.
The boys, as they got older, had grown out of it, eventually, but there were times when an unfortunate Nair incident would occur, or some itching powder was found in someone’s underwear drawer. Those were the days when Henry gladly left the house and let the brothers sort it out themselves. “Boys will be boys.” Mary had said on more than one occasion, sometimes out of love, sometimes out of frustration and Henry heartily agreed. Boys will be boys.
Henry was pulled back from his reminiscing by Sam who was touching his arm and smiling; Henry realized it was their turn to say farewell. He wrapped the kid in a big hug and whispered some parting words filled with encouragement and praise.
Take care of yourself, son.
I will, Grandpa. You too.
Remember to have fun every once in a while, okay?
Heh. I’ll try.
Mary moved out soon after Sam’s departure and rented a small apartment in the city. It was closer to her job, she had rationalized, with unshed tears in her eyes and Henry had quickly nodded and agreed. He also missed the solitude. But he would miss her too.
-
2003
“…The Men of Letters welcomes you, Samuel Winchester, to our brotherhood of Scholars, Scribes and Teachers. What you witness inside these walls shall never be shared beyond these walls. Rise brother. Take your Oath of the Letter.”
(voices chanting)
Tolle gradum
Custodi verbum.
Benedicat nos sapientiam.
Benedicat nos veritatem.
Cum finis appropinquavit.
Salutem perducat.
Dea nescia nostri scientiam
Palladem.
-
November 2nd 2005
“For Christ’s sake, Mary! It’s three o’clock in the morning! Can’t this wait?!”
“No. It can’t. This is important, Henry.”
“You know how I feel about calling past midnight, especially after -“
“No, no. You don’t understand. This is about that night. The night John -“
“What about it, Mary? I really don’t want to talk about that night again. We agreed not to… It’s over, okay? He’s gone. Let it be.”
“Listen! When John came in and woke me up, he had Sam and he gave him to me and told me to go, to run… I was so confused, so scared. I thought I was just imagining things.”
“Go to bed, Mary. I can’t listen to this. Please… just, let it be.”
“...but later I just forgot! I-I don't understand how I could- Maybe all the smoke and the flames and the heat…but, I forgot, Henry!”
“What are you -“
“John’s eyes. When he gave Sam to me. John’s eyes were yellow.”
-End of Part 1-
(To Part Two)
Author: supernarttu
Recipient: ravelqueen
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~12,000
Warnings: None in Ch 1. A bit of violence in Ch 2.
Genre: AU. Henrys POV.
Summary: Henry gets a second chance. And it makes all the difference. But is it enough?
Author's Notes: So, this is my spin on one of ravelqueen’s prompts. I really like the character of Henry and once I read that particular prompt, this story just wouldn't leave me alone. There's this ripple effect going on, so there are some deliberate differences from canon as well as similarities to it. But since it's AU, it's my playground, right? :)
The Latin is from google translate, not mine. Also all medical/law studies bits are wiki'd and then twisted to fit my story so all mistakes are mine. Again, AU, I'm the queen, hee :)
The title was taken and tweaked a bit from a poem "I'm afraid of death" by Kathleen Ossip.
A *huge* Thank You to my betas, you know who you are, dudettes. *fistpumps*
---
Death Invents a Different Kind of Time
Chapter 1
I didn't know my son as a man, but having met you two,
I know I would have been proud of him.
The last thing Henry Winchester saw was his two grandsons. He felt sorrow and regret as his life slipped away and his mind drifted into darkness.
I’m so sorry. I failed you.
Then he was standing. He felt disoriented and thin somehow, yet everything had a strange kind of clarity.
There was a woman standing next to him, looking down at his feet. She was smiling, but there was a sadness to it. Henry followed her gaze and saw his own dead body lying there, his dead eyes staring back at him.
That was... He was...
“Henry Winchester”, she said softly and he looked at her. She was beautiful, but her beauty was different, more ethereal, more than the confined appearance of a mere mortal. She reminded Henry of an old statue he had seen a picture of as a child; a bronze woman, sitting by the water on a small boulder, her gaze always turned towards the sea. She had appeared frail and small against the never ending ocean of blue, but at the same time she seemed to possess a quiet, unyielding strength to withstand the tempers of the fickle sea, despite its dangerous storms and harrowing winds having defeated thousands and thousands of ships in the past.
The memory felt crystal clear to Henry, pristine and fresh like a brand new recollection of the same event he still could recall. He felt out of place. Ethereal. That word seemed to define him now, too.
“I have come for you, Henry.” The woman was looking at him, the expression on her face now pure serenity: it was vibrating off her frame, little strands of energy reaching out to him. She was wearing a long, white night gown, which seemed to float around her like she was under water, dancing around her ankles in a slow, gentle way.
"It is time to go home." Her voice was clear and gentle, a low hum of a lullaby. Henry felt himself drifting towards her, dazed, like in a dream. She was radiating warmth as she smiled again, her golden hair framing her face, making her features soft and striking at the same time.
He was at her side now and she leaned in, as if to whisper, and he could smell her gently swaying hair. The scent reminded him of his home, of her. Joanna. The first cold August day with the wind breezing through their old maple tree, making the leaves quiver and rustle and dance. A subtle yet painfully familiar aroma.
The woman looked at him with reassurance, her fingertips brushing against his jaw line. He felt a tiny spark and with that he came back to focus, to the sudden realization of now. The finality of it. The end. Henry gently pulled away from her, took a step back.
"No."
There was a flash of sadness in her eyes. She tilted her head slightly and remained silent, keeping her gaze on him.
"I'm not done here. I failed them. All of them. My son. My grandsons. Their lives have been nothing but constant battle and pain. So much suffering and death. I can change that. I have to."
"No, Henry." She looked away as she said that, looked towards something in the distance, in to the depths of oblivion maybe, or even further, her face unreadable. But Henry could feel sorrow shining through. Longing. The streaming energy reaching towards him dwindled, pulled back and wrapped itself around her, like a lovers embrace.
Then she looked back at him, her bright blue eyes shining. "It's not meant to be. Not for you."
Henry felt sudden anger. Who was she to decide?
“I don't give a damn if it’s not meant to be. I'm staying here. This is my choice. I will find a way to go back. Back to my family.” Henry softened his voice at the last sentence and turned to look at his grandsons. He watched as they gently picked up his body and quietly carried it out of the warehouse.
It felt so surreal, so wrong. He felt incomplete, over half of his life left unlived. It wasn't fair.
And then there was his son, John. Left orphaned at 4 years old, thinking he was abandoned by his father; abandoned to live his life in misery and darkness. A life filled with obsession and revenge. A hunter’s life that he had passed on to his children. The honorable but broken down men Henry had met. All that pain. It wasn't fair at all.
He looked back at her, his features stern, his whole being filled to the brim of renewed conviction and purpose.
"I'm not done here. Either help me or leave."
She silently studied him for a long while: the way he stood, tall and proud, the way he jutted his jaw in defiance, yet slightly trembling under her luminous gaze. Then she looked away again, into the unseen distance. "I shouldn't do this. But... I will help you, Henry."
Henry was taken aback by this sudden change of heart, his mind suddenly swimming with doubt and questions, yet all thoughts circling back to that same one, in the end. “Why?”
“Because a promise was made, long ago. I can give you what you wish. If it is truly what you wish for.”
Henry let out a shaky, relieved breath, gave her a small nod and a smile.
"Yes. I can make it right."
She nodded and came to his side, brushed her warm fingers against his cheek before she leaned in closer and gave him a tender kiss, the energy enveloping him into her warm, pulsing embrace. All the memories of his youth came rushing back with bright colors and smells and tastes.
Henry felt like he was floating, weightless. He was swimming in the ocean. He was running along an endless beach, above him a cloudless sky. He was kissing Joanna under that same old maple tree, her exuberant laughter dancing amongst the leaves, echoing in his head. He was caressing her perfectly round belly, feeling their child’s movements for the first time. He was running, playing in the backyard with his son. Little Johnny was giggling; stumbling after him, his knees and elbows smudged green by the grass. I love you, daddy.
And then everything went dark.
-
Henry woke up in his own bed, in his house in Normal, Illinois. The first thing he saw was his late wife’s picture by his bed, on the night table, where it had always been. Joanna had died two days before John's 2nd birthday. Henry still felt the pang in his chest every morning when he had to wake up, go on with his life, without her. The love of his life.
Her death had hit him and his son very hard, even though John had only been two at the time. They would have never made it without the help of their family friend Josie-
He suddenly jolted up, remembering everything.
Josie. The Initiation. Abaddon. The spell. His grandsons. John. John was dead. His son was dead.
Oh God.
He rushed out of his bedroom and straight across the hall into his son’s room, a rapidly tightening pressure around his chest, his heart beating a million miles a minute. John.
But John was there, alive and well, sleeping in his own bed in the same pajamas Henry had helped him dress into, before he had left for the Initiation and left John in the care of his nanny. His little boy, 4 years old. Henry sighed in relief and quietly made his way next to his son’s bed. John had a habit of kicking back the covers and had followed his usual pattern this time too. He lay on his back, his pajama shirt having ridden up, leaving his chubby belly exposed. He was half buried in his pillows and softly snoring away, and Henry felt his eyes stinging. Thank God.
Henry looked out his son’s bedroom window; it was dawn, the first rays of sun peeked through the curtained window.
What is happening? Am I dead?
He carefully pulled the covers on his boy and quietly left the room and went to the kitchen. He stood by the kitchen window as he waited for the coffee maker to finish its brewing. Everything looked normal, inside and out. Like he’d never left. Like that horrible night at the Men of Letters Initiation had never happened. Like that nightmarish time travel journey to the future had never happened.
But it had happened. Henry remembered every detail, every devastating revelation and the end, his end.
“Did she bring me back to 1958? Is this real?” he spoke out loud but somehow he knew that it was. This was real. He saw Norman the paperboy speeding by on his bicycle and heard the familiar thump against his front door soon after.
He walked to the front door and picked up the wrapped newspaper.
August 1st 1958
Henry’s heart skipped a beat. Three days. He had three days. Three days before Abaddon came to the Initiation and tore everyone to pieces and ripped him away from his son forever.
Make things right.
And he knew exactly what he had to do.
-
“…And now in local news. The body of Jocelyn Sands, a secretary from Normal, Illinois, was found yesterday after an extensive state wide search, in the Harlow wooded area of Bloomington, Illinois. She had been reported missing two weeks ago by her family -“
Henry switched off the radio. He was gripping his coffee cup so tight that it hurt, and he tried to steady his trembling hands. He felt nauseous. The guilt was weighing down on him like an iron chain and he kept seeing Josie's face every time he closed his eyes.
But there just had been no other way.
His fellow members from the Men of Letters had helped him cover up the crime, after he had arrived on the night of the Initiation and shot a raging, possessed Josie (and Abaddon) dead with the Colt, (a critical piece of information he had read in John’s journal in the future) saving his brothers and their Order. The members later assured him that there was no possibility that the death could be linked back to Henry or the Men of Letters.
Still, it was murder, and it would haunt him for the rest of his days.
-
Henry and John moved to Lawrence, Kansas in the early 60’s. The (unresolved) murder of Josie was still weighing heavy on him, and he needed to feel closer to his family.
His only brother Ben had moved to Lawrence five years earlier with his wife and two kids and had opened a garage there. He had tipped Henry off that there was a civil servants job available in Kansas when Henry had expressed a desire for a change, one night when they were talking on the phone. It was mostly the same thing Henry had been doing in Normal so he didn’t have to think about it too much. John was in school now, but they had no living relatives in Normal anymore and loneliness was starting to gnaw at him.
Even his fellow Men of Letters brethren had encouraged him to move, having noticed how Henry was still haunted by Josie’s death.
“It is a fresh start. It will do you both some good.” they had all said, his brother, and his Brothers.
Henry himself was just hoping that the constant nightmares of Josie would cease. He couldn’t seem to get certain images out of his head: the body of Josie lying on the floor, the bullet hole in her chest trickling little rivulets of blood, the Colt feeling hot in his hand after the shot, the warm gun pressing against his thigh as he had realized the finality of his deed. Josie's eyes, staring up, looking at nothing.
So they moved to Lawrence, Kansas. And they never looked back.
-
1973
“You know I like her, John. She’s a sweet girl. But you know how I feel about these, these hunters -”
“I know, dad. Believe me, I know. We’ve been over this a hundred times, at least. But she is different. She is beautiful and smart and fearless. And she doesn’t want to hunt. She wants to have a family and just live a regular life. I love her, dad.”
“John, please -“
“I asked her to marry me.”
“What?? John -“
“She said Yes.”
-
Two months later, Mary’s parents had died in an accident. Henry had been out of town at the time, but John later told him that Mary’s father Samuel had been drinking that night and had crashed the car with his wife Deanna in it. Both had died instantly, the bodies burnt almost beyond recognition.
John had brought Mary home to live with him and Henry. The first months the poor girl had been mostly silent and clinging to John for dear life. She just wouldn’t let him out of her sight. It was odd. She even followed John to Ben’s garage where he had been working ever since he’d gotten back from Vietnam a few years prior. But as more time passed, Mary started to heal and Henry had found her to be a lovely, strong woman and they became close friends.
A year later Mary and John got married in a small ceremony, in the fall of ‘74. They soon bought a house in Lawrence, a few miles from Henrys place, with the money Mary had gotten from selling her old home. ’Bad memories’, she had mumbled and Henry had not pressed the matter, understanding that people grieve in different ways.
Five years later Dean was born and everything finally felt right again. Mary’s pregnancy had been a difficult one and the birth seemed to follow form, but both mother and son came away unscathed, all the bad memories wiped away by the sight of tiny fingers and toes. The moment Henry saw his grandson for the first time, in John’s arms, was etched in his mind forever. Henry adored his new grandson, couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t imagine a life without him.
He could still faintly remember when he had travelled to the future (to that other, twisted future) and had met that older, worn down Dean. But the memories were faded now and it all felt like a vague dream. He didn’t even think about that time anymore, but try as he might, he just couldn’t forget it completely. It was always there, at the back of his mind, always present in his dreams. It was worst when he woke up. During those early hours, the memories and feelings of that time were so vivid and oppressive, he often felt heavy and sluggish yet strangely thin. The uncomfortable sensation thankfully always passed after a few minutes. By the time he sat down by his kitchen table, the daily paper in front of him and a cup of black, strong coffee in his hand, it was just a distant, unpleasant feeling in his gut.
-
“Mary? Is everything all right?” Henry was standing, still half asleep, leaning against his front door frame. His robe was hastily pulled over his pajamas and his glasses were askew on his nose as he had been awakened at the middle of the night by a god-awful banging on his door.
Mary Winchester was standing at his doorstep, trembling in the chilly night air. Her hands were twisting the hem of her shirt. She was terrified, on the brink of tears.
“Is everything all right? Is it Dean? Where is John?” Henry asked again and looked behind her, searching for his son when she seemed too anxious to reply.
“They’re okay. But I- I need to talk to you, Henry. Right now. It’s… it’s…” She started sobbing, her hands having abandoned the hem and hugging her torso now, her whole body shivering against the early autumn wind.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. Come in, it’s cold out.”
He ushered her in to his house and sat her by the kitchen table as he put the coffee machine to work. He sat next to her on the table and took her hand in his. Her hand was cold but she didn’t seem to notice. Tears were still streaming down her face and she kept looking at the wall, like there was something there only she could see. The clock on the wall said 1:00 am. Henry scratched his head, tousling his bed-ruffled, graying hair, confused. Where’s the fire?
“I’m in trouble Henry. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”
Henry felt a creeping dread, tingling up his spine.
“Mary?”, he asked, gently. “What is wrong, Mary? Please tell me.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly and tried to peer at her face. It was hidden behind her hanging blond curls, masking all emotion.
“I’m pregnant.”
Henry was caught off guard. “What?? But that’s good! Mary, that’s a good thing!” Henry smiled at her elated. She brushed her hair back and looked at him, tears still streaking down her cheeks. She gave a small tentative smile back.
“I am happy. So, so happy... But I shouldn’t be. Because something is coming.”
Henry was alarmed, the strange feeling in his spine creeping all over him now. “What?”
“My p-parents... they didn’t die in a c-crash.”
“What?? But you told me, John told me -“
“John told you what we told everyone. That it was a car crash. But we made it look like an accident. In reality something else happened. Something much worse. Oh God.” She was crying, her hands covering her eyes, her whole frame shaking. She got up and quickly walked to the window, turning her back on Henry. He was sitting still by kitchen table, completely confused.
“You-you made it look like an-“
“Me and my dad were working a case in the town next over.” Mary cut him off, speaking rapidly like she wanted to get if off her chest before she exploded. “The strange death of a local farmer. It turned out, his son had made a deal with a stranger. A stranger with yellow eyes. It was a demon. And we got in its way. We tried to… to exorcise it but... but -“
She started sobbing again.
“It possessed my dad.” she half whispered, her throat raspy from crying, and she continued a little louder. “I thought the exorcism had worked and we went back home. I...I met with John and he took me to the quarry. He...he k-kissed me and... oh God.”
“Mary-”
“No. You have to hear this, Henry. My dad came there. But it wasn’t my dad. He pulled John from the car and... and...”
“Mary, it’s okay. Whatever it is -“
“It broke John’s neck.”
-
October 1982
“It doesn’t matter how I know, John. The fact is that I do know. I want to help. I will find a way to stop it, son. I will go through the Archives, one by one -”
“I’m a full member now, dad, I’ve got it covered.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. I’m going to help whether you like it or not. That monster will not get near my grandson, you got that?”
(a heavy sigh)
“Fine. I- I’ll meet you in the Archives, tomorrow morning.”
”All right... We will fix this, John. I promise you.”
“Okay, Dad. See you tomorrow. Wait, Dad? Thank you.”
-
Sam was born on May 2nd 1983. The pregnancy was a smooth sail for Mary, which seemed to make everything a bit worse for her. Even the birth had been easy and once it was over and Henry had got the call that all was well and the boy was fine, he felt that he could breathe again, the months long feeling of dread having lessened significantly by that one phone call.
They had done research on the yellow-eyed demon for the last eight months. The Men of Letters Archives was massive and it took a long time to find information about the demon, and what they did find was just dribbles here and there. It was all vague and hearsay: second hand information that could not be directly connected to any solid source. It had been an extremely frustrating and exhausting search.
The yellow-eyed bastard had something big brewing, that was for sure. It was smart in ways a normal demon could ever be; it seemed to have been making deals for centuries now, but at the same time keeping its trail hidden, its plans unknown. The secrecy of it all was ominous.
As months went by, Henry became more and more afraid that they were not going to find anything tangible. Mary had made the deal for John’s life on May 2nd which had frightened her out of her mind once she had found out that the baby was due May 2nd as well, exactly ten years later. That was the night she had come knocking on Henry’s door, desperate for his help.
But the “anniversary” came and went and all was normal. Baby Sam was fine. They went home and began to get acquainted with the new baby. As weeks and months passed, they all started to be more hopeful that the demon wasn’t coming after all.
They still kept the warding sigils and such in place though. Just in case.
-
November 2nd 1983
“Uh. Yes? Hello?”
“Hello? Henry Winchester? I’m trying to reach Henry Winchester.”
(coughing sound)
“Sorry, yes... I am him. What is it?”
“Mr. Winchester.. I received this emergency contact number from John Winchester’s neighbor... Sir, I’m sorry... There’s been an accident at your son’s house. A fire.”
“...What??”
“There is a fire at your sons house. The fire department is not going to be able to save it, the damage is too severe. We’ve recovered your daughter-in-law and her infant son from the house, they are both all right, just suffering a slight irritation from inhaling all that smoke... But... We can’t find the father. We were told he was inside the house when we got there, but the fire had already spread too wide for us to save him. I’m very sorry, Sir.”
“...”
(faint sound of clatter)
“Mr. Winchester? Sir?? Mr. -”
(dial tone)
-
Henry and Mary buried John, the little that had remained of him from the fire, with heavy hearts filled with regret and loss. The funeral was small, private and short. Neither of them had the strength to be social or polite. The guests left one by one after the service, uttering few words of condolences or encouragement, to Henry and Mary. Both of them were grateful for it even if they didn’t show it.
Baby Sam and little Dean were sitting with Ben’s wife Annie and their daughters. Sam was his usual happy and smiley self and Mary just couldn’t seem to handle that in that moment, his cheeriness clashing with Mary’s profound grief. Henry thought it was unnecessarily cold of her, but tried to understand her pain nevertheless. Sammy was still too small to comprehend any of this so Henry didn’t think too unkindly of her. Maybe it was the only way she could focus on getting past the funeral.
Henry himself checked up on the boys every once in a while and tried to be as normal as possible. Dean was watching Sam like a hawk, not talking, not eating. Henry sat with Dean in his lap and tried to talk to him but the boy was silent and unresponsive, barely sipping the glass of milk Henry had brought him. So Henry just held him and whispered silly, important secrets in his ear, hoping to get a sign that he was still Dean in there. I will take care of him, son, he thought and gently squeezed the grief stricken boy.
Dean had been with Henry that night of the fire, having a sleepover. They had baked some s’mores and Henry had spoiled the kid rotten: three chocolate chip cookies, popcorn, Twinkies and a hot dog, washing them all down with a giant glass of ice cold chocolate milk... All Dean’s favorites.
Henry had made Dean pinky-swear not to tell his parents but Henry had been sure that the kid couldn’t keep that promise for long. Dean was loyal to the core and never lied to his mom and dad. It wasn’t a bad trait in a person, quite the opposite actually, so Henry had given him the go-ahead on the cookie jar, deciding it was worth the scolding he’d get from Mary later.
But that scolding never came.
-
Life got better, with time. Mary and the boys moved in with Henry after the fire. He had insisted on it, but Mary only agreed to move in if she could contribute to the expenses. And a few months after John’s funeral Mary found a job. It was a part time position at a local used cars dealership, working as a receptionist, 4 days a week.
The boys spent the days Mary was at work with Annie who was only glad to help; her own children having moved out several years ago and she was a bit lonely with Ben still working long hours at his garage.
Henry worked in his own civil servants job until he retired in 1995 at 65. His pension was moderate but with Mary’s extra income, they were all able to live reasonably well.
Henry enjoyed their family life; the comfortable routines, Mary’s cooking, the company. He had missed the sound of children in his house and the boys brought new life to his as well, new challenges and a new purpose.
-
Sam was a planner, Henry had noticed over the years. Ever since he was a kid, he had told his Grandpa he had big plans for himself. The occupation always seemed to change but his goals were always set high. A fireman, Sam had said when he was 5. A doctor, at 6. There was this one small period when he wanted to be a rodeo clown, but Dean had talked him out of it soon enough.
Aim bigger, Sammy.
So, the president of the United States was next. An astronaut, he had declared after that. Whatever the plans, Henry never doubted for a second that his grandson wouldn’t make them come true. Sam was a Winchester after all. Relentless didn’t even begin to describe him.
Sam was a cheerful kid, he liked to draw and write stories and play outside with other kids from the neighborhood. There was a playground close to their house and every day the kids would go there to play cops n’ robbers or hide n’ seek or pirate island. The excited screams and laughter echoing from the playground always warmed Henry’s heart.
But Sam's youth wasn't all puppies and rainbows. Around 4 years old, he started to have bad nightmares, several times a week. Mary and Henry used to wake up to him screaming and flailing in his sleep. It was always the same: Sam would shout and struggle severely but after a few minutes he would quiet down and go back to sleep, only to start again an hour later.
It happened a few times a night and was exhausting for the rest of them but Sam was completely oblivious to it all. He never remembered what he had dreamt about or that he'd even had a nightmare. They didn't seem to affect him at all.
Mary had had the boy checked out, many times, but every time the doctors had reassured her that nothing was wrong, physically or mentally.
"Night terrors are normal for a boy this age, Mrs. Winchester."
"It's just a phase, sometimes it just lasts a bit longer, Mrs. Winchester."
"Some children are just prone to hyper brain activity at night, Mrs. Winchester."
By the time Sam was 6, they had heard it all, but the nightmares still remained and no one seemed to know why. They tried some sleep therapy but it only helped his physical symptoms: he no longer screamed or flailed frantically, it was mostly just restless tossing and turning.
Henry had talked to one of his fellow Men of Letters who was a physician and he had surmised that in some rare cases, a very intelligent person could have more nightmares because his or her brain processed and absorbed more data during the day, than an average person's brain. That it was just the brain's way of analyzing the information overload. And since the nightmares didn't seem to have any negative effect on the boy, he didn't think it was anything worrisome.
"He will grow out of it once his brain develops some more. I'd say around 10 it will get better."
Turned out his friend was right: by the time Sam was 10 his nightmares stopped and they could all sleep easy again.
School-wise Sam was a smart kid and his learning curve never saw a downturn; he was the a book worm and proud of it. He excelled in school, straight A’s all around. There seemed to be no subject that he didn’t enjoy, and even in sports he shone, having joined the school’s junior soccer team in the first grade. He had different hobbies but by far his favorite was reading. Maybe that was the reason he loved school so much.
"I have homework, do not disturb!" was a sign Sam had made in the second grade, and he'd hung it on his door when he'd come home from school. Homework. The kid was possibly the only boy in the world who loved homework. Henry always smiled at the memory of Sam sleeping in his bed, buried in half a dozen of books, fatigue having finally won the battle over his studies. Eternally seeking knowledge. A future Man of Letters if there ever was one.
Henry and Sam shared a love of books and they both were a familiar sight at the local library: sitting side by side, elbows touching, reading for hours. Then later they would talk about it, what they’d read, as Sam was getting ready for bed. The kid’s brain seemed to be a virtual black hole, sucking up every bit of knowledge it could find and storing it away for later use. Sam was a “whole new level of geek”, as his brother “lovingly” liked to remind him at every turn.
-
Dean was an active kid, with an active imagination. He didn't have an imaginary friend, he had several, on top of the real friends that he had. Mary was always confused if there was an actual boy coming over for dinner or just "Jimmy" who liked peach cobbler and bike racing. She had dutifully set a plate, even for Jimmy, and they all addressed him accordingly, following Dean's cues and expressions.
Dean was a natural in making friends and those friendships lasted throughout his life. There was just something about him; he seemed to pull his kind of people towards him: loyal, kind and funny with a touch of sneaky on the side. That was Dean in a nutshell, if you wanted to put it as curt as possible. In reality, Dean was a lot more than that. Not a big planner like his brother, more of a "living in the moment" -type of kid.
Dean's academic life had been a little different to Sam's. He too had been a good student for most of his youth but after elementary school, his priorities had...shifted some. Funnily enough, Dean’s grades were never an issue; they were always solid B’s all around. School just held no interest for him: he was a restless spirit, much happier chasing girls or hanging out with friends and getting into brawls.
And hunting, but Mary was having none of it.
“You graduate first. Then we’ll talk.”
Dean and Mary used to have big fights about it, ever since he hit 13; Dean saying school is useless to a hunter, Mary arguing that hunting doesn’t put food on the table and a steady job is important, hence education is important. The two had butted heads about it from time to time and Henry had become a master at playing the peacemaker.
As much as he was saddened that Dean had shown no interest in The Men of Letters, he was glad that Dean was interested in helping people. And hunting was an important profession. Henry’s earlier preconceptions about hunters had dispersed once he had gotten to know a few, through Mary. She didn’t hunt anymore, not since her parents had died, but she still kept in touch with the community and helped those in the area, giving research assistance and other helpful advice.
Dean seemed to have a sixth sense about these things because he was always around when a hunter was nearby, asking questions and sucking up their knowledge like a sponge. After some badgering, Mary finally let Dean help with the research and promised to support Dean’s hunting career as long as Dean took school seriously graduated. So school it was for Dean, even if it drove him up the wall at times.
-
Dean graduated from high school in 1997 at age 18 and to everyone’s surprise, instead of diving head on into hunting; he enlisted into the Marines, following in his father’s footsteps. Mary had been less than thrilled, but it was Sam who’d had the biggest fit about it.
The brothers argued about it for days, usually ending it with:
“You’re wasting your potential!”
“Let me tell you what you can do with that potential, you little bitch!”
“Dean! Don’t talk to your brother like that!”
Henry himself had just congratulated the kid. Dean had appreciated his Grandpa’s support with a big grin and a wink, confiding he had many girls to say goodbye to, before vanishing through the front door.
After Dean had left, Sam had come to Henry, expressing his desire to join the Men of Letters one day. “I’d like to do good, like Dean.”, he’d said and Henry had given him a proud clap on the shoulder, promising to stand by him when the time came.
Dean returned three years later and declared he was now ready to become a hunter. Mary made sure Dean learned from the best and sent Dean to her close friend and a hunter extraordinaire, Bobby Singer. Henry had met him many times over the years and knew he was a good man, a bit grouchy at times, but a good hunter and a friend. Bobby gladly took Dean under his wing and taught the kid everything he knew, even hunted with him until Dean wanted to strike out on his own.
As a “Hunting School Graduation present” as he jokingly called it, Bobby had given Dean one of his less than scrappy cars from his junk yard. He knew Dean loved to fix up old classics, having spent his summers working at Pete’s Garage (what was once Ben’s Garage), and a black -67 Impala seemed to fit his style to the tee. And the old hunter had been right, Dean had been elated, declaring it love at first sight, and he’d had the car up and running smoothly in no time. He even named her Baby.
“It’s a car, dude.”
“Shh, baby. Don’t listen to that jealous bitch. He just wants you, ‘cause he knows he can’t have you.”
-
Sam graduated from high school in 2001 and immediately applied to Stanford Law. There was no trepidation over whether he’d get in or not. Every single university would be a fool to reject him with his grades and recommendations and phenomenal LSAT score. It was only a matter of when they could all celebrate it officially.
Sam’s dreams of becoming a lawyer had cemented while he was in high school. His class had taken a field trip to the Career Expo in Wichita and he had become fascinated by a civil rights attorney’s speech there. Later he had told Henry how she hadn’t sugar coated the work; how an important, yet strenuous profession it was, the obvious challenge written all over it pulling Sam in like a moth to a flame.
He had always dreamt of doing something that helps people, but he also wanted a career that was intellectually challenging; an ongoing process, which would give him a chance to make a difference and have room to evolve and advance.
After the Expo Sam had looked up everything he could find about studying law; the requirements, the degrees, the responsibilities, the terminology. It consumed his time for months as he became obsessed about finding out if he had truly found his calling.
And after all the facts had been laid down, pulled apart and examined, after all the angles had been carefully dissected, and after a long deliberation, Sam had come to the same conclusion Henry had on that very day when Sam had started talking about that attorney: he wanted to pursue law.
-
On the day Sam was leaving to Stanford, Henry and Dean had surprised him with a car Henry had bought and Dean had fixed up at the garage. It was a Mustang, a really gorgeous old Mustang. Even Sam had to admit that it was a thing of beauty as he admired her, his eyes shining with wonder and appreciation.
“You should’ve seen this piece of crap when Grandpa brought her in the first day. Man, I should get a Pulitzer Prize for this beauty. It’s just a total shame she’s going to be driven by a little old lady, isn’t it, Samantha?”
Dean quipped and mock punched his little brother on the shoulder with a smirk. Sam was too emotional to return with anything better than “That’s not how you get a Pulitzer, Dean.”, and had grabbed his brother in a quick, tight hug before Dean could protest. Dean did roll his eyes at the gesture but Henry could see he was swallowing back tears as well.
The boys had always been close and up until the time Dean enlisted, they had rarely been apart from each other for more than a week or so. They had always had each other's backs. Dean was always including Sam in his adventures and Sam was as loyal as they come, many times taking the fault for his brother's reckless ways. Although, Henry was quite sure the opposite had happened too; Sam was a sweet kid, but he did have his mischievous side as well: his pranks always seemed to be a bit more crafty and subtle and just a bit more devious, compared to Dean’s more rascal like jests.
The boys, as they got older, had grown out of it, eventually, but there were times when an unfortunate Nair incident would occur, or some itching powder was found in someone’s underwear drawer. Those were the days when Henry gladly left the house and let the brothers sort it out themselves. “Boys will be boys.” Mary had said on more than one occasion, sometimes out of love, sometimes out of frustration and Henry heartily agreed. Boys will be boys.
Henry was pulled back from his reminiscing by Sam who was touching his arm and smiling; Henry realized it was their turn to say farewell. He wrapped the kid in a big hug and whispered some parting words filled with encouragement and praise.
Take care of yourself, son.
I will, Grandpa. You too.
Remember to have fun every once in a while, okay?
Heh. I’ll try.
Mary moved out soon after Sam’s departure and rented a small apartment in the city. It was closer to her job, she had rationalized, with unshed tears in her eyes and Henry had quickly nodded and agreed. He also missed the solitude. But he would miss her too.
-
2003
“…The Men of Letters welcomes you, Samuel Winchester, to our brotherhood of Scholars, Scribes and Teachers. What you witness inside these walls shall never be shared beyond these walls. Rise brother. Take your Oath of the Letter.”
(voices chanting)
Tolle gradum
Custodi verbum.
Benedicat nos sapientiam.
Benedicat nos veritatem.
Cum finis appropinquavit.
Salutem perducat.
Dea nescia nostri scientiam
Palladem.
-
November 2nd 2005
“For Christ’s sake, Mary! It’s three o’clock in the morning! Can’t this wait?!”
“No. It can’t. This is important, Henry.”
“You know how I feel about calling past midnight, especially after -“
“No, no. You don’t understand. This is about that night. The night John -“
“What about it, Mary? I really don’t want to talk about that night again. We agreed not to… It’s over, okay? He’s gone. Let it be.”
“Listen! When John came in and woke me up, he had Sam and he gave him to me and told me to go, to run… I was so confused, so scared. I thought I was just imagining things.”
“Go to bed, Mary. I can’t listen to this. Please… just, let it be.”
“...but later I just forgot! I-I don't understand how I could- Maybe all the smoke and the flames and the heat…but, I forgot, Henry!”
“What are you -“
“John’s eyes. When he gave Sam to me. John’s eyes were yellow.”
-End of Part 1-
(To Part Two)