Saints or Sinners | {BOOK 3}

53| Legacies

The Impala drove along a narrow road and passed under a large bridge before Dean finally pulled to the side of the road. As soon as the car was in park, Henry threw himself out of the car and hurried the short distance to some bushes where he proceeded to throw up. Sam, Dean and I climbed out at a slower pace. Sam and I were a bit more used to Dean's reckless driving after being around him for so long.

"Are you okay?" I asked Henry.

"Yes, I will be," he responded, throwing up one more time before wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "It's just all the adventures I enjoy are usually of the literary nature."

"Yeah, well, now you're done blowing chunks, you want to tell us who Betty Crocker was?" Dean demanded.

"Abaddon. She's a demon."

"No kidding," Sam scoffed. "Where'd she come from?"

"Where'd you come from?" Dean added.

"She's from Hell. I'm from Normal, Illinois- 1958."

"Yeah, right," Dean rolled his eyes, turning to Sam and I. "Seriously? Dudes time-travelling through motel-room closets? That's what we've come to?"

"If you could just take me to John, we could clear all this up, I'm sure," Henry cut in.

"I've told you that's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead!"

It was silent following Dean's outburst, and Henry looked stricken as he turned his back to us.

"No," he breathed.

"What's it to you?" I asked curiously.

"Everything," he replied, turning back. "I'm his father."

⁘

After questioning Henry, Sam and Dean went over to the counter of the diner we'd stopped at to talk privately while they got us food. I remained at the table with Henry, who was looking at a black and white picture of himself with a young boy holding a baseball bat.

"You called Abaddon Josie," I said. "Was that the name of the vessel she's possessing?"

"Yes," Henry nodded. "Josie Dawson."

"D-Dawson?"

"You know the name?"

"It's my maiden name," I said as Sam and Dean joined us.

"How you doing?" Sam asked from his seat beside Henry.

"I'll be fine. After all, despite everything, I've just met my grandsons, haven't I?" Henry held out a hand to Sam. "Henry Winchester. It's a pleasure."

"Sam," Sam replied, shaking the hand.

"Hello, Sam."

Henry turned, holding out his hand to Dean, who just set down one of the baskets of food in front of me, then nodded at the one Sam had given to Henry.

"Dinner."

"This is Dean," I told Henry. "And I'm Ellie."

"Right," Henry nodded, shaking my hand instead.

"Well, this has been touching. How about we figure out how to clean up your mess, huh?"

"Abaddon. Yes. She must be stopped."

"How come she didn't die when I stabbed her?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my grandmother was possessed by a demon.

"Because demons can't be killed with run-of-the-mill cutlery," Henry said. "At the very least, you'd need an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds."

"That's what this is," Dean said, taking the knife I'd returned to him halfway out of his jacket.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Demon gave it to us," I said. "We've been around this block so many times."

"Now, that portal or whatever it was you came through- is it still open?" Sam asked.

"I highly doubt it. Why?"

"I'm just thinking if we can't kill this Abaddon-"

"-maybe we can shove her back where she came from," Dean finished Sam's thought. "How did you do it?"

"It's a blood sigil. Blood leads to blood. Or their next of kin."

"But Abaddon came through it, also, right? So can you create this blood sigil again?"

"My blood, an angel feather, tears of a dragon, a pinch of the sands of time- I- I would need those and... at least a week for my soul to recharge, but, yes, it's possible."

"You tapped the power of your soul to get here?" I asked in surprise. "I thought only angels could do that."

"You should know this," Henry responded, confused. "What level are you three?"

"What level?" Dean repeated the question.

"Level of knowledge," Henry said as if that was supposed to clear everything up. "You're Men of Letters, correct?"

We all exchanged a look, equally baffled as to what he could be talking about.

"I'm a little rusty on my boy bands," Dean quipped. "Men of what?"

"Men of Letters, like your fathers, who taught you our ways."

"Our fathers taught us how to be hunters," Sam said slowly.

Henry laughed at that.

"You're not. Are you? Well, hunters are... Hunters are apes. You're supposed to- you're legacies."

"Legacies of what?" Dean and I chorused.

⁘

Henry directed us to a street with several businesses including an antiques shop and a shop called 'nu' advertising salads and pita bread. We followed him down the street to door number 242, which had a sign for 'Astro Comics' above it.

"What's going on here?" he muttered to himself.

He reached out, touching a faded symbol that was carved into the wood on the door.

"No."

"Alright, well, this was enlightening," Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's hit the road, huh?"

"Give him a minute, Dean," I told him quietly.

"We just spent four hours driving, okay? All he did was stare out the window and request Pat Boone on the radio. He had his time."

"It's just a façade," Henry continued softly, "a way to rook our enemies into believing we are housed elsewhere."

"Okay, enough of the decoder talk," Dean snapped angrily. "How about you tell us what this whole 'Men of Letters' business is, or you're on your own."

"It's none of your concern," Henry shot back, rounding to face us.

"Why, because we're hunters? What do you have against us?"

"Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-asking-questions-later part, not much, really."

"You know what? Wait a second," Sam cut in. "We're also John's children."

"You're more than that, actually," Henry admitted. "My father and his father before him were both Men of Letters, as John and you two should have been. Josie should have done the same with James who should have taught you, as well. We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters- the very elite. They do the rest."

"So you're like Yodas to our Jedis," Dean said, but Henry didn't understand the reference. "Never mind. You'll get there."

"Okay, but if you guys were such a big deal, then why haven't we- or anyone we know- every heard of you?" I asked.

"Abaddon."

Henry turned then, entering the comic store.