This is part 2 of the Henry verse series, so if you haven't read part 1, you're going to be mighty confused! Part 1 is called An Actual Stroke of Winchester Luck and I encourage you to start with that one, pretty please. Oh, and just so you know, this part is going to be much longer than part 1, and will feature more Destiel.

Yet again, Henry was awoken by the sounds of alarms blaring from what Dean had dubbed "The War Room". Henry groaned and put a pillow over his head, willing Kevin to get in there and turn the damn things off already. After another loud 30 seconds, they did stop and Henry tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

He had woken up like this every day for the past two weeks and, to be honest, while it was never really a charming way to wake up, it was getting worse by the day. As hard as Kevin was working, and even after help from Charlie, they couldn't get the alarms to stop going off or even to be slightly less loud.

The best they could figure, currently, was that they went off whenever one of the fallen angels used their powers in any way, and also every day at 8:27 am. They couldn't figure that one out. Henry had been searching the Men of Letter's records every day for any sort of explanation but nothing yet. Just those god-awful alarms every single morning that took about a minute and a half to turn off. Henry heard the door to the room across from his – Dean's – creak followed by a voice grumbling. No one was happy in the morning here in The Batcave.

Henry sighed and rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the cold floor with a sharp slap. He grabbed a pair of jeans off a chair and slid them on over his boxers, stretching his worn muscles as he went. He cracked the bones in his neck and rolled his shoulders again before finally walking out of his room and down to the kitchen.

Dean was already there, making a large pot of coffee. He was wearing his favorite robe and a pair of boxers, along with a loose, gray T-shirt. He had only just rolled out of bed and had probably sleepwalked most of his way into the kitchen. Kevin stumbled in next, still in the clothes he had been wearing the day before. Dean walked over to the table and handed each of them a mug without saying anything.

"Thanks," Henry said. Dean grunted and took a sip. They all sat in silence for a few more minutes, only sipping at their mugs. Dean finished first and filled up another mugful but apparently decided that he was now awake enough to make breakfast. He walked to the fridge and found a box of eggs which he sat on the counter. Next came the package of bacon. He closed the fridge and snatched a bag of bread from its place on the counter. Henry always liked watching Dean's sense of belonging when he cooked. He just looked so… right putting meals together.

And, what's more, he didn't make it look in any way housewife-y. He looked so Dean, still strong and powerful and sure of himself, just using his arms to beat eggs instead of the creatures of hell. He could cook five things all at once and Henry had never seen anything burn. He took his skill for strategic planning and applied it to working with different cooking times. Before Henry knew it, Dean was sliding eggs onto plates, forking bacon on next to them, and pulling out browned slices of bread easily from the toaster. At the same time, frozen strawberries and slices of banana were thrown into a blender, along with some orange juice. They were puréed in seconds and poured into a cup, a straw thrown in to finish. The plates of food were slid across the island to Henry and Kevin, but the cup stayed with Dean when he left the kitchen and headed down the hall.

"Do you know how he's doing?" Kevin asked, breaking the relative silence of the morning. Henry shook his head.

"About the same," he said. Dean returned to the kitchen about ten minutes later and made his own plate of breakfast. No one spoke. This was the morning routine. Same thing every day for almost the entire past two weeks. Henry would usually look in on Sam once in the afternoon and once before he went to bed, but nothing every changed. Sam was almost always sleeping and the only one who ever saw him awake was Dean.

First it had been a nightmare. It was two days after the angels fell, at four in the morning. Henry was trying to sleep off that day's constant annoying alarm blares when a scream ripped through the hallway. Henry sat straight up and looked out his door. They always kept their doors open now. He saw Dean shoot past the doorway and heard a quiet, "I'll take care of it," and then Dean, Henry assumed, went into Sam's room.

Henry still made himself get up, despite Dean's words, but in the two minutes it took him to roll out of his bed and stumble down to Sam's room, the boy's eyes were already closed. Dean was rubbing his hands up and down Sam's arms and whispering to him softly.

"You're ok, Sammy. I got you. Please wake up." He sounded broken and Henry, for some reason unknown to him, decided to come forward and put his own hands firmly on both of Dean's shoulders. Dean first stiffened against the contact and Henry worried that he would try to get away or, worse, that he would yell at Henry to make himself feel better, but he didn't do either. He just slowly went from stiff to falling apart until Henry felt him starting to shake beneath his hands.

"He'll wake up," Henry said, rubbing his hands over Dean's shoulders, "And Cas will come back. He always does." They had both sat there for a while longer until Dean stood up, sniffed, put a hand on Henry's shoulder for a second, and then walked out.

Since that night, Henry had heard Sam wake from nightmares two other times but in both instances, by the time he got there, Sam was asleep again with Dean watching over him.

Now, Henry just wanted his grandson to get better already. He knew that was where all of Dean's focus was. Henry could tell he was terrified about the angels falling and what it meant for Cas but he was so far gone in the world of fixing Sam that it was tearing him apart. They researched constantly to find any sort of method for making him even the tiniest bit better, but nothing. Not to mention trying to deal with the piece of hell-spawn in the dungeon. In two weeks, they still hadn't really figured that one out. All Henry knew was that it was his turn to go down and deal with him.

Henry scraped the last egg out of the pan and grabbed the last two slices of toast, putting both on a paper plate, before heading down the long hallway. Room 7B lay before him and he steeled his shoulders before unlocking the huge door and shoving it open. Crowley was in the exact same suit as he had been the entire time Henry had known him. He was slightly cleaned up from the events of the church, not quite so covered in blood and dirt, but he wasn't in pristine condition by any definition.

"Henry," Crowley greeted. He hadn't once taken on that harsh tone Henry had heard on the phone two weeks ago. He was always calm and polite, even though Dean said he hadn't really changed that much. The demon even claimed he was on good standings with "Moose" but with the younger Winchester still asleep, the bunker inhabitants weren't inclined to believe him.

"Breakfast," Henry said, holding up the plate. He went to the center of the room and stopped in front of Crowley's chair, stiff and uncomfortable, though the demon never complained. Henry used his free hand to reach over to the left and grab the side table they had placed in the dungeon just for meals. He put it down in front of Crowley and placed the plate on top of it before moving back a couple of feet and crossing his arms. "Eat up," he said. Crowley readily did so.

"How is our Moose?" he asked when he had finished off the plate. He almost inhaled the breakfast food. If there was anyone who was a fan of Dean's cooking, it was definitely Crowley.

"The same," Henry said. He didn't trust the King of Hell, not by a long shot, but his attitudes over the past days had given Henry enough reason to believe he deserved the truth, at least about Sam. And, though Henry wouldn't admit it, there was the smallest part of him that hoped that if Crowley knew everything there was to know about Sam's condition, he might be able to help. It was a foolish hope, but he stuck to it. He went over to Crowley and grabbed the empty plate, moving the side table over to the right again.

"Lunch, same place?" Crowley asked, though the joking tone on his voice didn't reach his eyes. Henry just walked out of the room and closed the heavy door behind him. He was the nicest to Crowley of everyone in the bunker, but he wasn't going to be friends with the demon. The demon that had put his grandsons through hell. Well, not hell, he supposed, as his grandsons had both already been. He had finished reading the final Supernatural book, Swan Song, about a week ago. He had even gotten up the nerve to ask Dean what happened afterwards. He received quick, economical answers, no feelings on the matter. It had been like Dean was telling a story about someone else's life, but it had filled in Henry enough.

He still had no idea what happened with Castiel after the final book, though, because Dean outright refused to talk about him. Ever. The barest mention of the angel would earn you a death glare to end all death glares from Dean so everyone just refrained from mentioning him. The fact that they hadn't heard from him was obviously weighing on Dean's mind, but Henry tried to focus on Sam's words, that Cas always came back. He always did.

Henry wandered back into the kitchen and dumped Crowley's paper plate into the garbage can. The room was empty again when he walked in but Dean came in after a couple of minutes.

"Let's train you up for an hour," the eldest Winchester said. He was wearing his day clothes now, some roughed up jeans and a grey Henley pushed up to his elbows.

"Alright," Henry said, following Dean out of the kitchen and down to the sparing room they had found. It was a fairly wide open space, plenty of ground to work with for hand-to-hand combat, but the walls were lined with all sorts of weapons that could also be trained with. Swords, knives, guns, boxing gloves, and even a few less useful items. It had become Dean's favorite room in the bunker, a way to release his tensions by pounding everything in the room to a pulp. He and Henry had been training together since the third day after the angels fell. Dean figured it was time Henry "learned to be a hunter too," and made it his goal in life to get Henry ready. He even claimed he was about ready to let Henry come out on a hunt with him.

Henry knew that Dean was going crazy stuck inside the bunker. He had no backup, which meant that, as much as he wanted to, he shouldn't be hunting. The argument that had followed Dean trying to hunt on his own had been impressively loud, but Henry got his way. No solo hunts. Actually, if he thought about it, the only reason Dean was probably training him was so that he could go out on hunts again. But Henry was willing to take it. Training was training, no matter the reasons behind it.

Dean walked to the middle of the room and took his position. He turned to Henry and indicated for him to come forward. Henry knew the routine now. He was actually pretty good. He walked forward carefully, never dropping his eyes from Dean's. They were within feet of each other when Dean struck out. His right arm shot forward to catch Henry's shoulder and Henry blocked it easily with a jab to Dean's wrist and a swift punch aimed at his side. Dean avoided the side swipe, jumping quickly, and his hands were back up.

The fists went more quickly after that. He swiped at either side of Henry, trying to force his way in. Punch, block, punch, block, over and over. Finally Henry got around the back and used his foot to hook Dean's leg, kicking him to the ground. Before Dean could regain his footing, Henry grabbed his right arm and pulled it up tight behind his back, forcing his own body weight down on Dean, who grunted in pain. Dean shifted around trying to get up but nothing he did could move Henry. Finally he let out a breath and released his muscles.

"Alright, fine, I'm down," Dean grunted. Henry released his arm and quickly stood up, dusting off his pants a bit. He tried not to grin. This was the first time he had beaten Dean. The older Winchester stood up, rolling his right shoulder. "Not bad, Henry," he said. Henry smiled proudly.

"Thank you." Dean rolled his shoulder again and then looked at Henry like he was contemplating something.

"Henry," he started, looked like he was about to reconsider, and then shook his head, "Henry, I want you to come out on a hunt I found." He said quickly, like he wouldn't get it out otherwise. Henry's proud smile faltered.

"Really? You want me to come?"

"Look, you've been training for a while, you're good, and I need to get out of this fucking bunker, like, a week ago. I say you should come," Dean said. Henry mulled it over for a second.

"What is the hunt?"

Henry held the gun up in front of him as he moved from one room to the next. The house was dark as pitch but Henry knew he couldn't turn on any lights. He was more than annoyed that Dean had taken their only flashlight with them when he demanded they split up to search. It was supposed to have been a fairly simple salt and burn, just something to get Henry started, but apparently the damn ghost had left some DNA behind in the house before she died.

So now Henry was searching a black house for a locket that supposedly contained a lock of the dead woman's hair and he was alone. He checked around one doorframe before stepping into the empty bedroom. He walked over to the dresser first, tucking his gun into the back of his pants before opening the first drawer. He moved clothing aside quickly and felt along the bottom for the tell-tale metallic chill of a locket chain. Nothing. He closed the top drawer and moved onto the next.

After deciding the dresser was a bust he moved around the room to the side tables. He pulled open the drawers to find nothing but books and pens in both. The tops had nothing but lamps and one glass about half full of water. Henry made an annoyed noise deep in his throat and grabbed his gun, putting it up in front of him again. Bedroom: nothing. He tried to think about where else to look. He didn't want to call Dean, who was busy trying to protect the person the ghost was after. They had found out who the ghost was trying to kill fairly quickly, after talking to the husband, Mr. Waverton. He had been cheating on his wife when she died. By now, Mr. Waverton was dead (Henry wasn't sure he felt totally horrible about that one) but the mistress, Alexis, was the next target.

So now Dean was putting her in a salt circle and trying not to kill her for the incessant crying she was doing. But Henry wouldn't call him. He needed to do this one on his own. This was his first time out and he wasn't going to be a baby about it. He decided to go check back in the living room for the locket. Women sometimes took off their jewelry while they sat in front of the TV, right? Henry sighed and started making his way down the stairs.

The living room was slightly more lit up, with the yellow glimmer of the street light showing through the windows. Henry crept along, gun up, looking for any obvious places Mrs. Waverton might have put her locket. He checked the tables around the living room, he checked along the bookcases, and even opened a few of the decorative boxes that were mixed in between the books, but he found nothing.

"Dammit," Henry ground out. He wasn't going to fuck this up; he was not going to let himself fuck this up. Where else was there even to look? He'd gone over the entire house twice by now. He was just waiting for Dean to call him now, complaining that he was still trying to keep the crazy ghost lady off of Alexis. He decided to go into the kitchen again just to feel like he was doing something. He walked past the plush living room couches and walked through the open doorway that led to the kitchen, forgetting to clear the door as he did.

Suddenly, Henry was whipped down onto his back, his gun flying out of his hands. A flash of blond hair slid across his vision as he tried to get his breath back. He groaned loudly as he tried to get up and a foot knocked him down again. The foot was actually a heavy boot, situated firmly in the middle of his chest. The weight hurt quite a bit, when Henry thought about it, especially considering he was still having a hard time breathing right. He finally did look up to see who was on top of him.

The woman had long blond hair, slightly curled, and was pointing a gun at Henry's face. Not even Henry's gun, she had her own. What kind of woman was this, able to knock Henry over like that so quickly and she carried around her own (really big) gun?

"Who?" Henry got out. He started coughing.

"You first," the woman said. She cocked the gun to make her point. Henry sucked in a breath.

"I'm Henry," he said. She pushed down on his chest more.

"And what are you doing here?" She asked.

"Looking for a locket," Henry admitted. He accepted the fact that telling the scary woman with the gun the truth was probably the best plan, whether she believed him or not. Apparently he was right, though, because her look of shock and momentary release of pressure on his chest was enough for Henry to shove her weight off and roll over to grab his gun. He turned back around to have the woman's gun in his face again.

"Not fast enough," she said, smiling. "Are you a hunter?" Henry looked up at her in surprise.

"How did you know?" He asked. She chuckled and put her gun down, offering Henry a hand. He took it reluctantly and stood up, rubbing a hand over his sure to be bruised chest. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver locket.

"I think we're here for the same ghost," she said. Henry looked at the locket and then back at the woman. He took a moment to get appropriately upset.

"Why haven't you burned the hair yet?" he demanded. She faltered.

"I was about to when I heard you down here fumbling around and I got distracted," she said.

"Well, my partner is going to be so glad you decided to drag your feet," Henry said, grabbing for the locket. "He's holed up with the mistress the ghost is after in a salt circle." He rolled his eyes, clicking open the locket. He went to grab for his lighter and found the woman already handing him one. He grabbed it with an annoyed glance and lit the hair without another word. It went up fast and Henry quickly dropped the locket into the nearest garbage can. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, answering.

"Nice job," Dean's voice said from the other end before Henry could say anything.

"She's gone?" he asked. The woman was looking at him firmly for confirmation.

"Yup, she went up like a fucking roman candle," Dean said, "and Lexi here is safe as safe can be." Henry thought he heard a woman's voice sob out a soft 'fuck you' at the other end but he couldn't be sure. "Meet at the car?"

"Absolutely," Henry said. "Oh, and I'm bringing someone with me. I ran into another hunter while I was here." He gave a hard look to the woman. She gave him an annoyed glance and nodded.

"Another hunter?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we'll both be there in a bit." He hung up the phone without waiting for an answer.

"Sorry for stalling on the hair," the woman said, "I didn't know about the mistress."

"Then how in the hell did you know about the locket?" Henry asked. He tucked his gun in the back of his pants and started moving towards the front door, the woman not far behind him.

"I talked to the husband a couple days ago," she said. "I was just waiting for him to get out of the house. I didn't think he was in danger, and then when he died… I figured the ghost would just be wandering around without any sort of purpose so I didn't see that much of a rush."

"There's always a rush," Henry grumbled.

"I know," the woman said, "I'm just out of practice. It has been a long time since I've hunted." Henry looked back at her, trying to gauge her age. She didn't look old at all, but the way she said 'a long time' made it sound like decades had passed. They walked out of the house together, closing the door behind them. The street was only lit up by two streetlights, both glowing yellow. They walked quietly down the road, neither one talking as they went. Then they both seemed to feel awkward about the silence at the same time.

"So," Henry said.

"Hey," the woman started at the same time. They both laughed nervously and Henry gestured to the woman to continue. "Can I ask about your partner?" She said. Henry faced forward for a moment, thinking.

"We're family," he said. "He's an amazing hunter, best I know. Why the interest?" The woman shrugged.

"I've just been looking for a pair of hunters," she said. "But there is a lot of space to cover. And hunters aren't really easy to track." Henry grunted to agree.

"I wish you luck," he said. He looked up to see the Impala, with the trunk open. "Oh, here we are." He jogged forward a bit and looked back at the woman. She was stopped dead in her tracks, looking at the Impala with wonder. Her eyes were wet. "Hey, are you ok?" He asked, taking a step towards her.

"Henry, that you?" Dean called from the trunk. "What took you so damn long with that locket? I was starting to think you were dead and how was I going to explain that to Kevin when you mean so much to him?" Dean chuckled at himself and Henry heard the loud sound of what he thought was probably Dean's duffle hitting the bottom of the trunk.

"There was a mix up about whose hunt this was, apparently," Henry answered. The woman's head had snapped to stare at the trunk as soon as Dean had started talking and she still hadn't moved. "Are you alright?" He asked, reaching out a hand to her. She didn't look at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, no thanks to you dragging your feet," Dean said, and slammed the trunk. He turned to look at Henry and his good-natured smile fell from his face like someone had thrown a bucket on him.

"Dean," the woman got out. She sounded like she was choking. She took a step forward. Henry turned to her.

"You know him?" he looked back at Dean, who still looked like he was going to fall apart right then. He swallowed.

"Mom?"

Hope you enjoyed chapter 1, please comment and favorite at will :) Updating through ch. 5 today so get ready for lots to read.