A reunion that had been joyful now became little awkward. Dean couldn't take his eyes off of his grandfather. He still had some qualms about how young Henry was. It was difficult to believe that a man his age was the father of his father. And he had been angry with Henry for abandoning John. But now that he had seen his grandfather die, how exactly he died and why—he couldn't exactly continue to hold that against him. Could he? Because it was technically his fault that Abaddon Quantum-Leaped to 2013. But if Abaddon hadn't fast-forwarded through the Apocalypse—

Thinking about it created a lot of knots in Dean's mind. He racked his scalp. Better to just leave the past in the past.

"So, you took the Stairway to Heaven, huh?" The hunter forgot that Henry wouldn't understand that he was referencing Zeppelin. Stairway To Heaven was released in 1971. He missed the years of good music ramped up in its prime. But nevertheless, his grandfather did understand that it was an expression.

"Yes," the groomed man replied, "Heaven—isn't quite what I imagined it would be."

"What were you imagining?"

"What the Bible said. Pearly Gates. Streets made of pure gold. A River and Tree of Life— I wasn't expecting... war." Dean hopped his brows and cocked his head to one side.

"Yeah, well, there's trouble in paradise, Pops," he said, "and the cavalry's calling."

"It's always one battle after another," Henry shook his head with lips pressed thinly together.

"That's the life of a hunter."

"I'm not a hunter," Henry said, looking squarely at his grandson now, "I never was."

He was still pretty touchy about that, huh?

"...Right," Dean assented. Privately, he still considered Men of Letters hunters. Just... more educated, elite ones. Not to mention self-dignified.

Dean sat back in his roller chair. He, Henry and Bobby had retired from the stadium and were now sitting in what Dean guessed was a conference room of whatever complex they were in. It was a very nice, elegant setup. The large table they were sitting around was sheeted in glass. The walls were sided in wood paneling, trimmed with metal. He rubbed his forehead, pinching his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

"So what's the game plan?" he asked, looking now at both Henry and Bobby. "I mean, how exactly do you plan to take on legions of angels without weapons?"

"First of all," began Henry, with a firmness that Dean hadn't ever seen before, "we pick our battles. We don't run in with guns blazing. Second of all, who says we don't have weapons?"

Dean stared at Henry for a long moment. Henry's eyes were locked on him, and the expression he wore was one of uncharacteristic anger. He wondered what exactly Henry had seen up here that got his panties bunched. Or maybe he was angry about his grandsons getting him killed. About Dean refusing to let him return to his family, his boy. It was a rare occasion to see Dean Winchester speechless in the face of verbal opposition. Hell, even Lucifer had never managed to stop him from running his mouth, not even when he was wearing Sam in that 2014 spin-off that Zachariah drafted up for him. Having nothing to say, the hunter closed his cavity. Bobby looked between his surrogate son and his grandfather. They watched as something leached away the man's aggression. He relaxed again, closing his eyes, and sighed quietly.

"...Soul power," he continued at last. Dean didn't have any trouble holding back a smart remark about how groovy that sounded. When Henry didn't receive a response, he leaned forward. "You. The weapon is you."

Dean blinked in disbelief.

"What? You mean the whole "Michael Sword" deal?"

The look Henry wore now spelled that he had no idea what he was talking about. Dean clarified.

"I'm... Michael's vessel. The archangel Michael. Or was," the hunter gave an acknowledging nod to the fact that Michael was still cage-fighting Lucifer in Hell at this very moment. Wearing Adam-

Henry looked awestruck.

"That– That's amazing," he said, "That is excellent-"

"What? How-"

"This is very good news," his grandfather's gaze dropped to the tabletop. He seemed to be talking more to himself now that anyone else.

"How?" Dean asked. He noticed that Bobby was being unusually quiet through this whole exchange. It was beginning to look like Henry was the real head honcho commandeering the war effort.

"If you're Michael's vessel– you have an incredibly powerful soul. ...We could use it to turn the tide in this fight."

"Hold on, hold on-" Dean stopped him, "Soul power. You said you're using soul power to fight. How?"

Henry spared a brief glance to Bobby. It almost seemed permissive of him to speak. Dean didn't like it.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair.

"Your grandfather here let me in on a little secret of his."

Dean looked between the two older men as suspense clipped the atmosphere in the room. He gestured for Bobby to continue.

"—And?"

"The secret," Bobby emphasized, "is-"

"Remembering that all of this-" Henry interjected, standing up and motioning around the room. He gently cupped the air with his hand, twisting his wrist and curling his fingers into a loose fist. He watched his hand with an almost loving fascination. "-is an illusion."

For a moment, Dean watched Henry as he seemed to lose himself in thought, still looking at his hand, as if he was holding a priceless gem.

"...An illusion?" he said, daring to break the silence. Henry's focus was diverted.

"Yes," he answered, flexing his fingers as if letting go of the gem, "You are aware that you're dead in Heaven, right Dean?"

"Yeah, well obviously-"

"So then what else does that make you?"

"I dunno, Neo?" Dean tossed out satirically. Henry looked like he was inches from done with his grandson's wit.

"A soul," he corrected, "You're a soul."

Well that much was obvious. Dean saw Bobby roll his eyes.

"You have power in your hands, Dean, we all do. We literally have power in our hands. It's just a matter of tapping into it."

The hunter recalled Henry mentioning tapping his soul for energy in passing, while they were still alive on Earth.

"Yeah? How's that going?" he asked.

"So far-"

"So far, it's been tougher than rawhide. We got bupkes," Bobby spoke up. Henry shot Bobby a look. "What? I can't even do it."

"It takes a lot of practice and skill-"

"And time that we don't have." Dean found it reassuring that Bobby was finally challenging Henry's authority. This was the Bobby he knew. Better late than never-

"Robert, it's the only way-"

"We've been at this for how long?" Bobby pressed, "We ain't seein' any results. There's gotta be something else-"

"There isn't anything else!"

"How can you be so sure?!" Bobby leaped up from his chair.

"BECAUSE I AM!"

"Alright, fellas!" Dean hopped up from his chair. The two men stopped arguing and looked at him. "...Let's cool our jets a minute, huh? Step outside and breathe."

"...I'm fine," Henry muttered.

"Ditto," added Bobby resentfully. Dean gave him a long look.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked the aged hunter, before glancing at Henry, "Alone?"

Henry moved to speak, offended by these words, but he had to practice what he preached: Pick your battles. Instead, he closed his mouth, took a breath and nodded. He strode around the table, hefted open the wood door and exited. The door slammed shut behind him. Dean watched him leave, and kept his eyes on the door even after he was gone. Then he turned his attention to Bobby.

"...You alright?"

"Peachy."

Good ol' Bobby.

A moment later, the surrogate father continued with a scoff and a shake of the his head.

"Your grandfather can be a hardass, you know that?"

Dean didn't know that. Going by first impressions, he hadn't pegged Henry as a man with an iron fist for the Iron Throne.

"...Guess it runs in the family on both sides," said Dean, remembering Samuel, but even then he wasn't so sure.

"Yeah, well he's certainly got a real love for hunters on the straight and narrow," said Bobby. Dean stared at him, then looked back at the door. He inhaled, then let the air out through his nose. But in spite of Bobby's words, he felt something here. Something felt nearly... akin to him. He looked around. It was in the air. He couldn't see it but it was there. Dean returned to Bobby.

"Hey, you feel that?" he asked, to which he received a surprising look of indignance.

"Yeah. Your grandad's listening in."