Chapter 110: Chapter 110 : Los Angeles
Two days later, a taxi rolled to a stop near the police barricades surrounding what had once been Henry’s mansion.
The property no longer resembled a home. A massive crater occupied the entire area, stretching hundreds of feet across.
Yellow warning tape lined the perimeter, news vans cycled through periodically, and local authorities had spent forty-eight hours trying and failing to explain what had happened.
The driver glanced through the windshield before looking back.
"You guys came to see this too? Whole mansion just vanished overnight. People are saying Devil’s work. Some are saying government experiment." He shrugged.
"Personally I think everybody’s gone crazy."
Neither Dean nor Sam responded. The driver took the hint and pulled away.
They stood alone at the edge of the restricted zone. Neither moved for a long moment.
Photographs hadn’t prepared them for this.
Dean stepped over the yellow tape and walked down into the crater. Sam followed. Neither spoke.
The last thing either of them remembered was Henry’s barrier launching them skyward, then white light swallowing everything, then a shockwave that rattled the construct from miles away.
Dean turned slowly, taking in the full scope of it. His jaw tightened. His hands closed into fists at his sides.
"Fuck."
He kicked a chunk of broken concrete. It skidded across the dirt and disappeared into one of the countless trenches carved through the ground.
"Stupid son of a bitch," he muttered.
"He was trying to save us," Sam said quietly.
"I know what he was trying to do." The words came out sharper than intended. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it."
The frustration wasn’t directed at Sam. It wasn’t even really directed at Henry. It was directed at being helpless. At watching someone make a choice for them and being unable to stop it.
Dean stared across the crater. "When I find Lilith, I’m putting a Colt bullet through her skull."
Henry had given them the formula, Sam had practically memorized it, and next time they’d be ready.
Sam looked at the shattered landscape. "We should make arrangements. A grave for Henry."
The suggestion hung in the air.
Dean shook his head. "No."
"Dean—"
"No." Harder this time.
"You know as well as I do that even Henry couldn’t have survived that," Sam said.
"If he had, he would’ve contacted us by now."
The words hurt to say. Sam didn’t want them to be true. He wanted Henry to show up with some ridiculous story about getting launched across three states. But the crater made hope difficult.
Dean looked at him. Not angry. Just exhausted.
"What exactly are we burying, Sam?" He gestured at the destruction around them. "What goes in the coffin? There’s no body. There isn’t even a piece of him."
Sam went quiet.
Dean looked away. When he spoke again something older sat beneath his voice. Something worn down.
"You know what I’m sick of?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Graves." His eyes moved across the crater. "Mom. Dad. And now Henry."
He shook his head. "No."
Sam recognized the tone immediately. The same one Dean used when the world told him something was impossible. The same one he used right before doing it anyway.
"I’m not building a grave." Dean met his eyes. "Not until I know he’s dead."
Wind moved through the crater. Neither brother spoke.
Eventually Sam exhaled. The logical part of him knew what the evidence suggested. But Dean had never relied on logic when family was involved. And the truth was Sam wasn’t ready to bury Henry either.
So they stood in silence at the center of the ruins, staring at the end of a fight they never got to see, both refusing to say the words that would make the loss real.
***
A week later, Dean was behind the wheel of the Impala.
It had taken time to get her back. The blast from Henry’s battle had caught the car and the repairs hadn’t been quick, but she was running again and that was what mattered.
They were currently somewhere in Nevada working a haunted house case when Dean’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately.
"What is it, Bobby?"
Sam looked over from the passenger seat.
"I found something related to Henry," Bobby said.
Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel. "What kind of something?"
"I don’t want to get your hopes up." A pause. "But a blade showed up in Los Angeles. Silver. The kind Henry carried around. It’s currently on display at a city museum."
"You sure it’s his?"
"Same make, same design. But here’s the thing." Bobby’s voice shifted slightly. "About ten days ago, a meteorite came down near the Los Angeles beach area. You following me?"
"Keep talking."
"The blade was recovered at the same impact site. And the meteorite—according to the records—was shaped like a human."
Sam leaned in, listening now.
"Say that again," Dean said.
"On the same day Henry disappeared, something hit the beach in Los Angeles and left behind nothing but his blade." Bobby let that sit for a moment. "What I’m saying, Dean, is that the idiot might still be alive."
The Impala was quiet for a moment.
Dean stared at the road ahead, jaw working.
"Los Angeles," he said finally.
"Los Angeles," Bobby confirmed.
Dean glanced at Sam. Sam was already looking at him with the same expression.
Dean turned the wheel.
*****
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