Singer Salvage, South Dakota -- 1998
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through Bobby's living room. Dean was cleaning his sword by the window - sometimes I really think he might like that sword as much as the Impala. Dad and Bobby sat at the desk, reviewing old scrap files about the Men of Letters.
"Dad? Dean? Bobby?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I need to tell you something."
They looked up, something in my tone making them pay attention. My darkness curled anxiously inside me, but I forced it still. This had to be done carefully.
"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean set his sword aside, its hum quieting as if sensing the tension.
"I've been..." I swallowed hard, playing up the nervous teenager act while mixing in genuine anxiety. "I've been having visions."
The room went silent. Dad's pen stopped moving mid-word.
"Visions?" His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes.
"Yeah." I looked down at my hands, letting them tremble slightly. "For a while now. I see things... things I shouldn't know about."
Dean moved closer, protective instinct kicking in. "What kind of things?"
"Information mostly. About cases, about..." I gestured to the Men of Letters files. "About our family history."
Dad's chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Sam, if this is about-"
"I know where their base is," I interrupted, forcing my voice to crack slightly. "I've seen it. And I... I found out about a key. Their key."
"Their key?" Dean's hand drifted toward his sword, as if supernatural threats might leap from the shadows.
"A special key that opens their headquarters." I reached into my pocket, withdrawing the replica I'd crafted under Gabriel's guidance. "I was able to... to make a copy."
Dad stood abruptly. "You did what?"
"So that's what all that mess was about," Bobby interjected, understanding dawning on his face. "The spells you've been trying in the basement. Damn near burned my house down three times this week."
I ducked my head, feigning embarrassment. "Sorry about that. I just... I knew I had to get it right."
"That last explosion nearly took out my favorite chair," Bobby grumbled, but there was more concern than anger in his voice. "Could've told me what you were working on, boy."
"I was scared," I admitted, letting real emotion color my words. "The visions... they started small, but lately..." I shook my head. "They're getting stronger."
Dean's hand found my shoulder, grounding me. "We'll figure this out, Sammy."
Dad picked up the key, examining it with hunter's suspicion. "And you're sure about this? About where their base is?"
"Yes." I met his gaze steadily. "I can take us there."
The room fell silent again, broken only by the distant sound of cars in the salvage yard. Dad and Bobby exchanged looks - concern, uncertainty, but also curiosity about what we might find.
"John," Bobby spoke carefully, "those spell attempts weren't amateur work. Kid knew what he was doing, even if it took him a few tries. Nearly got it right on the third explosion."
"Sam," Dad's voice held warning. "Why didn't you tell us about these visions sooner?"
"I was scared," I repeated, looking between them. "And I wanted to be sure. About the key, about the location..."
"And are you? Sure?" Bobby asked, studying me with eyes that had seen too much to dismiss anything supernatural lightly.
"Yes." I gestured to the key. "It'll work. I know it will."
Dad and Bobby shared another look - decades of hunting partnership conveying volumes in a glance.
"We should check it out," Dean said, already reaching for his sword again.
"First thing tomorrow," Dad decided, though his eyes never left me. "But Sam - these visions... we're going to have a long talk about them."
"I know." I looked away, playing up the troubled teen act. "I just... can we focus on the Men of Letters first? Please?"
Bobby sighed, picking up the key to examine it closer. "Well, after watching you nearly demolish my basement all week trying to make this thing, we might as well see if it works."
I nodded, relief not entirely feigned. Phase one complete - establish the cover story for how we'd find the bunker.
Now came the easier part - actually taking them there.
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The drive to Lebanon started before dawn, Bobby following in his truck while we took the Impala. Dean's sword hummed softly from the trunk, its sacred energy seeming eager for what lay ahead.
"Run me through these visions again," Dad said as we crossed into Kansas. "What exactly did you see?"
I stared out the window, carefully choosing my words. "It's not always clear. Sometimes just feelings, impressions. But with the bunker... I can see the whole layout.
The entrance, the halls, the library." Each word carefully measured, revealing just enough. "It's massive. And protected - wards I've never seen before."
Dad's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "And you're sure it's safe?"
"Yes." I didn't have to fake my certainty. "The Men of Letters built it to last. To protect knowledge."
The Kansas landscape rolled by, endless fields under a gray morning sky. My darkness stirred contentedly, knowing what waited ahead.
"Bobby's still shaken about those spell attempts," Dean mentioned, trying to sound casual. "Said he's never seen magic quite like that."
"The visions were specific," I explained, maintaining my cover story. "I saw exactly what needed to be done. Just took some practice to get the execution right." Which is true - expect for the key spell.
The more I wanted to see something, it seems the more I saw about it.
Dad's jaw tightened slightly - he still wasn't comfortable with the idea of his son doing magic, even with a psychic explanation.
"We're about an hour out," I said, changing the subject. "The entrance is hidden, but I can lead us straight to it."
The sun climbed higher as we drove, burning away the morning mist.
Soon, we'd reach the bunker. And everything would change.
The power plant loomed ahead, its industrial facade concealing secrets few could imagine. I directed Dad to park near the entrance, Bobby pulling up beside us moments later.
"This is it?" Dean asked, retrieving his sword from the trunk. "Doesn't look like much."
"That's the point," I explained, leading them toward the hidden door. "The Men of Letters were masters of concealment."
The key felt warm in my hand - not from any magical energy, but from being clutched so tightly. This moment had to be perfect, had to seem like destiny rather than careful planning.
"Hold up," Bobby called, checking the surroundings with experienced eyes. "Any wards we should know about?"
"Nothing that'll hurt us," I assured him. "The bunker recognizes legacy blood."
Dad's expression sharpened at that. "Legacy?"
"That's what they called themselves - legacies. The Men of Letters passed down their knowledge through bloodlines." I approached the door, key raised. "Through families."
The lock clicked open with satisfying precision.
"After you," I gestured, playing my role perfectly. "Welcome to our inheritance."
The lights flickered on automatically as we descended the iron staircase, revealing the bunker in all its glory.
I watched their faces carefully - the awe, the recognition, the sense of coming home they - dad and Dean couldn't quite understand.
My darkness curled contentedly at the sight of the place I longed to go for a while now.
"This is..." Dean trailed off, staring at the war room's massive table with its glowing map.
"Incredible," Bobby finished, running his hand over carved symbols in the walls. "I've never seen wards like these."
Dad moved slowly through the space, hunter's instincts warring with something deeper - a sense of belonging he couldn't quite explain. "How long have you known about this, Sam?"
"The visions started showing me pieces months ago," I answered truthfully, though not for the reasons they assumed. "But it wasn't clear until recently. Until I saw how to make the key."
"And all this really belongs to us?" Dean asked, still taking in the vast room. "To our family?"
"The Men of Letters were scholars," I explained, leading them toward the library. "They collected knowledge about everything supernatural. Spells, artifacts, lore - it's all here."
The library's shelves stretched upward, filled with centuries of accumulated wisdom. Bobby made a sound that might have been reverence or envy.
"This changes everything," he muttered, already examining book spines.
"These books..." Bobby pulled another volume from the shelves, his eyes wide. "Some of these are supposed to be lost. Destroyed centuries ago."
"The Men of Letters as I said preserved literally everything they could get their hands on," I explained, watching Dad examine a case of ancient weapons.
"They believed knowledge was power - even dangerous knowledge had to be protected.
That humanity had a kind of right to understand everything and protect themselves with it - atleast that's what I understand from the limited amount of things I've seen."
Dean's sword hummed louder as we explored deeper into the bunker - its voice only truly heard by my enhanced senses.
"Shooting range," I pointed down one corridor. "Dungeon through there. Living quarters that way. They built this place to be self-sufficient."
"A dungeon?" Dad's hunter instincts sharpened. "What exactly were they keeping here?"
"Research subjects, mostly. Things they needed to study." I answered my tone casual.
"And you saw all this?" Bobby asked, finally looking up from his books. "In your visions?"
"Pieces of it," I nodded. "Like a puzzle coming together. The layout, the purpose, the history..."
"Speaking of history," Dean called from across the room, holding up an old photograph. "Think I found something."
The image showed men in suits, standing proudly before the bunker's entrance. Dad took it, his expression unreadable as he studied the faces.
"That's..." he started.
"Henry Winchester," I finished quietly. "Our grandfather."
Dad stared at Henry's image, his fingers tracing the edges of the photograph. "He disappeared when I was a kid. Just... vanished one night. Never came back."
"He was initiated that night," I said softly, letting my 'visions' explain what I couldn't. "Something went wrong. The ceremony was interrupted by..." I hesitated, as if struggling with unclear images.
"By what, Sam?" Dean asked, his sword's hum growing more intense.
"A demon. But not a regular one. Something powerful." I kept my voice uncertain, playing the role of a psychic getting fragments of truth. "I can't see exactly what happened."
Dad's jaw tightened. "And Henry chose this over his family?"
"No," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "He didn't abandon you, Dad. He was trying to protect something. Something important. But..." I let my voice trail off.
Dad remained silent for a moment, until he tucked the photo in a pocket of his, "We'll talk about this later. What's important now is that we understand more what we have here. Sam, continue walking us through, show us anything you remember from what you saw."
"Yes sir," And that's how it went. I walked them through everything - well almost everything. Some things needed to still remain secret.
But I was content. Another piece has fallen into place.
All according to plan.