"And I'm just as confused as the rest of you," Henry said with a completely straight face as he took another drink. "Apparently angels are real... and they wear trench coats."
Dean shook his head. "No, I'm not buying it."
"Dean, you saw him," Sam replied. "He wasn't a demon."
"You don't know that."
"Then what was he?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly."
Dean looked away in frustration before finally answering. "You know why I don't buy this? Because if angels are real, then where the hell have they been all this time?"
Nobody answered. Dean continued before anyone could interrupt.
"Mom always used to tell us angels watched over good people. That God was looking out for us."
He laughed bitterly. "So where were they when our family got ripped apart? Where were they when everything went to hell? Now some guy shows up in a trench coat claiming he's an angel, and I'm supposed to believe Heaven suddenly decided to care?"
Sam understood exactly what Dean meant. It wasn't really about Castiel. It was about everything that had happened to their family.
"I know what you're saying," Sam said quietly. "But denying what we saw isn't going to change it."
Dean didn't answer. He turned and headed upstairs. A few seconds later the bedroom door closed.
Henry watched him go before looking back at Sam. "I'd leave him alone for tonight."
"Yeah. Right now he's angry at the idea more than anything else."
Bobby had been watching Henry instead of the stairs. "And you, boy."
"What?"
"Next time you've got somethin' important to tell us, try givin' me a better explanation than callin' it a dream."
Henry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll try harder next time to come up with something more believable than the truth."
Bobby snorted. "That right there tells me you're still hidin' somethin'."
"I'm hiding a lot of things."
"I know." Bobby stood up and gathered the empty beer bottles. "Get some sleep, Sam. I got a feelin' this mess is only gettin' started."
Sam let out a tired sigh. "Yeah... good night, Bobby."
"Good night, Sam," Henry said, raising a hand as he headed toward the hallway.
"Night, Henry."
After everyone went to sleep, Henry walked to the kitchen and grabbed another beer.
At least he didn't have to worry about angels sniffing him out — Castiel hadn't sensed he was a half-angel. Good. He sat down on the couch, and somewhere between his second beer and the late hour, sleep dragged him under.
***
The next morning, Henry appeared inside the exhibition hall wearing a black hoodie, his face hidden beneath the hood.
The museum hadn't opened to the public yet. Only a handful of security guards made their rounds. Henry ignored all of it and walked straight toward the display case in the center of the room.
Inside it rested his silver blade.
He looked at it for a moment, smiling. "Yep. It's time you came back to me."
He drove his fist through the display glass. It shattered across the floor. He reached in, picked up the blade, and slid it back into its sheath.
The alarm started blaring. Several guards came running from different directions.
"There! Stop!"
"Drop the exhibit piece!"
The guards raised their firearms. Henry turned around, smiled beneath the hood, and gave them a casual wave.
"Goodbye."
He disappeared before anyone could react. The guards stood frozen, staring at the empty space where the thief had been a second earlier.
Back at Bobby's salvage yard, Dean finished loading the last of their gear into the Impala while Sam climbed into the passenger seat.
Dean looked into the rearview mirror and frowned. "Okay, where's Henry? Doesn't he know we're leaving?"
Sam checked his watch. "He said he was going to get something to eat and would be back soon."
Dean muttered a curse and drummed his fingers on the wheel. The next moment the temperature inside the Impala plummeted. Their breath turned white. Frost spread rapidly across the windows.
Both brothers recognized the signs instantly. "Ghost," Dean managed.
Before either of them could reach the iron rounds or salt in the trunk, a pale figure blurred into existence on the back seat. Two ghostly hands shot forward and clamped around their throats.
Dean clawed at the invisible grip while Sam struggled beside him, neither able to pry the icy hands away. Their vision blurred as the pressure tightened, breathing growing harder by the second.
Just as darkness crept into the edges of their sight, the door flew open. Henry stood outside holding an iron rod.
Without a word he swung it straight into the ghost. The rod smashed through its torso. The spirit screamed in agony as its body was thrown across the back seat before vanishing into thin air.
The crushing pressure around their throats disappeared instantly. Both brothers bent forward, coughing violently as they dragged air back into their lungs.
Henry rested the iron rod on his shoulder and looked at them. "Next time, don't let a ghost hitch a ride."
"No way my baby's haunted," Dean said, climbing out of the car. "And how the hell did a ghost even get in here?"
Dean was still rubbing his throat when Sam looked toward him.
"Dean... didn't that ghost look familiar? I swear we've seen her somewhere before."
Dean frowned as he tried to remember.
A woman's voice suddenly came from right beside him.
"You have."
Dean's eyes snapped to his left.
Standing only a few feet away was the ghost of a young woman, staring at the brothers with pure hatred.
"I see you finally remembered me."
Sam's face stiffened.
"Meg..."
The ghost smiled bitterly.
"That's right. I'm Meg. The poor girl who got possessed by the demon you two killed without caring what happened to me."
Dean's expression hardened.
"We didn't kill you. The demon did."
Meg laughed coldly.
"Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night."
Before Dean or Sam could say another word, Henry stepped forward without any hesitation and swung the iron rod straight through her.
The rod struck her ghostly body with a sharp burst of white smoke.
Meg screamed as the iron burned her spirit, her form flickering violently before she was thrown backward several yards across the salvage yard.
Henry lowered the iron rod and looked at her calmly.
"If you're here for revenge, you're talking to the wrong people."
*****
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