"Henry. Why'd she do it?"
Henry turned, holding up a small wooden box engraved with the same symbol from the door.
"I think for this."
"Okay, what's that?" Sam asked.
"I wish I knew," Henry put the box back in his pocket. "Abaddon attacked the night of my final initiation. All secrets were to be revealed then."
"Let me get this straight. You traveled through time to protect something that does you don't know what from a demon you know nothing about?"
Henry looked at Dean, then turned and made his way further into the comic shop.
"Good," Dean muttered, spreading his hands.
I patted him once on the shoulder, then pushed past him to follow Henry and Sam down the hall. We came into a room where a young woman wearing black and a studded leather collar around her neck stood behind the counter. Her shirt had a cartoon picture of the devil with the words 'the devil made me do it' underneath.
"Hand me your... walkie talkie," Henry held out a hand without looking back.
"You mean my phone?" Sam asked.
"Even better," Henry took the phone and held it to his mouth. "Operator, I need Delta 457."
"Who are you... not calling?" Dean asked.
"Our emergency number."
"Yeah, not anymore."
Dean grabbed the phone and handed it back to Sam.
"They can't all be gone," Henry muttered. "There must be another elder out there who can help us figure out how to stop Abaddon and what to do with the box."
"Hey, uh, hi," I stepped forward, getting the young woman's attention. "Can we hijack your computer for a hot second?"
"Like you could fit a computer into this room," Henry laughed.
We all stared at him for a second, and then the young woman looked back at me.
"Sure."
"Thanks," I pulled the laptop around to face me. "Sam."
I stepped aside, letting him do the work.
"Yep. Alright, um... give me a name- anybody, who, uh, might have been there that night- one of those elders."
"Um... Ackers, David. Larry Ganem," Henry started listing as Sam put the names into the search engine. "Ted..."
"Okay, here it is," Sam interrupted him. "Um, August 12, 1958. A tragic fire at a gentlemen's club. Uh, 242 Gaines Street."
"This is 242 Gaines Street, but that was no fire."
"Larry Ganem, David Ackers, Ted Bowen, and Albert Magnus- all deceased," Sam read from the article he'd found.
"Albert Magnus," Henry repeated the name.
"He a friend of yours?" I asked.
"Even better," he smiled.
We headed to the cemetery where the four dead member of the Men of Letters were buried. Henry explained that Albert Magnus was an alias they'd use when going incognito. He believed the name was planted in the article so if a Man of Letters came looking for answers, they would know something was wrong. Sam and Dean worked together to dig up Larry Ganem's grave, that had a different symbol then the aquarian star from the door and box Henry was protecting.
Inside was a skeleton wearing a World War I uniform. The tag identified the skeleton as Thomas J. Carey III, who Henry didn't recognize. We figured Larry must have survived and was living with Carey's identity, so after covering the grave back up, we headed to a motel to do some more research. Sam and Dean sat at the table, Sam reading from John's journal while Dean used Sam's laptop. I was sitting with Henry on the couch, leaning my head back and closing my eyes while using an extra chair to elevate my feet. Henry was whistling.
"What is that? I know that tune," Dean said.
"'As Time Goes By,'" Henry replied. "I hope so. It's from 'Casablanca'."
"Right," Sam added. "Dad used to whistle it from time to time."
"Your father saw 'Abbott and Castello Meet the Mummy' at the drive-in one night. It scared the beeswax out of him. So I got him a little music box that played that song to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm."
"Wow. It's hard to believe Dad was ever scared of anything."
"Hey, uh, according to county records, Tom Carey lives in Lebanon, Kansas, and is a very happy 127-year-old," there was a snap as Dean shut the laptop. "I say we get some shut-eye, head over first thing in the morning."
I opened my eyes sleepily at that, raising my head and making eye contact with him.
"Wait, wait, wait," Sam said. "Listen to this. According to Dad's journal, he once tortured a demon that made his bones working for Abaddon, who, it turns out, is a Knight of Hell."
"What does that even mean?" Dean asked, confused.
"Knights of Hell are hand-picked by Lucifer himself," I explained. "They are the first-fallen, first-born demons."
"So very pure, very strong," Sam added.
"Wait, how do you know?" Dean asked me.
"Abaddon possessed my grandmother. My dad used to tell me bedtime stories."
He stared at me as Henry stood from the couch.
"Legend has it that archangels killed them all, which, as we have witnessed is not the case," he said.
"Unless she's the last of her kind."
"You say that belonged to your father," Henry gestured to John's journal.
"Yeah," Sam nodded.
"May I?"
Henry picked up the journal, flipping through the pages.
"It's a hunter's journal. I assume Men of Letters- you use journals, too?"
"I intended to. I sent away for one the day before my initiation," he lifted a photograph tucked into the inside cover. "As a matter of fact, judging from my initials here, this one, I believe."
"That was yours?" Dean asked.
"It must have arrived after... I'm beginning to gather I don't make it back from this time, do I?"
"We don't know for sure," Sam admitted. "All we know is that Dad never saw you again."
"What did he think happened to me?"
"He thought you ran out on him."
"John was a legacy. I was supposed to teach him the ways of the Letters."
"Well, he learned things a little differently."
I grimaced, sensing Dean's rising anger at his grandfather.
"How?" Henry asked, not picking up on Dean's attitude like I had.
"The hard way. Surviving a lonely childhood, a stinking war... only to get married and have his wife taken by a demon... and later killed by one himself. That man got a bum rap around every turn. But you know what? He kept going. And in the end, he did a hell of a lot more good than he did bad..."
"I'm sorry. I wish I had been there for him."
"Yeah, it's a little late for that now, don't you think?"
Dean stood up angrily, heading toward the door.
"It's the price we pay for upholding great responsibility," Henry turned to look at him. "We know that."
"Your responsibility was to your family, not some glorified book club!" Dean yelled, turning back to glare at him.
"I was a legacy. I had no choice."
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."
I flinched as Dean slammed the door on his way out. It was dead quiet for a moment, and Sam and I made eye contact, silently communicating. Rising to his feet, he made his way out the door, leaving me alone with Henry.