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Although, to the casual observer, John looked very much just like a man carrying a backpack, Sam knew better. He could probably list every item that was both in said backpack, as well as what weapons his dad was actually carrying on his person, and where they were even located. For a split second, he wanted to sigh and ask the man what he thought he was doing. He'd asked him out to talk, not to go to war. Then Sam remembered who he was talking to and realized pretty quickly that he really should have expected this. He hadn't exactly been clear, over their text conversation. So John's showing up prepared for a battle with something was all on him. This time, at least.

Swallowing hard, Sam opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He tried again, only to stop again. Apparently, along with remembering what his dad was like, he also should have written himself a script to use. Because no possible way he could think to spit out what he wanted to say seemed quite right, somehow. But, he knew he had to try, so he gave it one more go and just forced the words out.

"It's not what you think," he began, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. Not that he expect it would work. This was his dad. They might not have been particularly close while he was growing up but the man did know when he was struggling with something. Still. There was no going back now, so he pushed on despite the slight waver of nervousness in his tone.

"I mean, it's nothing here. It's more..." Stopping, he scrubbed a hand down his face, took a deep breath, looked directly at his father, and said simply, "I woke up this morning with memories, from back home. Things that have happened, or will happen." Realizing how that sounded, he tacked on quickly, "Dean did say it happens to people, here, sometimes. It's happened to him before."

Stopping as a waitress approached, he ordered a glass of water, for the time being, and waited until John had ordered and she'd left before continuing. Once they were alone again, he just met his dad's gaze, sighed heavily, then grabbed a pen and drew out a symbol on a napkin. Sliding it across the table, he tipped his head toward it.

"Just... look at that and tell me if it means anything to you."

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Sam sighed softly and tipped his head, lowering his gaze for a second. It was too hard, too much, seeing the pain on his dad's face. "I thought so," he murmured, reaching for his water. Taking a drink, he placed the glass back on the table and began to explain as best he could.

"It's called the Aquarian Star. It's actually represents great magic, and power, and has links to Atlantis somehow." He shook his head. "That part is still a little fuzzy," he admitted before shifting a bit in his seat, clearing his throat, and getting back on track. "It's also the symbol of an ancient order of knowledge gatherers known as the Men of Letters."

And here came the moment, the thing Sam was dreading the most yet knew he had to say. Keeping his voice as even as possible, he added, "And the first time I saw it, the first time Dean and I both saw it, was when your dad showed it to us."

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This was not going the way Sam wanted it to go. In fact, this was going about the opposite way he wanted it to go. Of course, it was also going pretty much exactly the way he'd figured it would go, too, but he had really hoped that maybe, just maybe, his dad would surprise him. Apparently not.

Not even reacting to the napkin on fire, Sam instead motioned away the waitress as she began to rush over with a look that assured her he had it under control. "Dad," he said, in a quiet tone, only to stop speaking when John began to rant. Letting him continue, Sam quickly grabbed the edge of the napkin while he still could and dropped it into his glass of water. About the time the sizzling finally stopped, John had finally finished speaking and Sam...

Well, Sam had had enough.

"Dad," he said again, in a harder tone. "Just... stop, okay? Stop and listen to me. Just listen." Shifting a little, leaning forward ever so slightly, he continued. "He didn't walk out, okay? That's what I'm trying to tell you. He left, yes, but there's a good reason..." Okay. Apparently this wasn't going to be as easy as just saying it, either. Then again, when was it ever?

Swallowing, Sam began again. "The night he disappeared, he was supposed to be initiated in the Men of Letters. Just before that could happen, they were attacked by Abaddon, the last living Knight of Hell. Henry was given the key she was after and told to take it someplace safe. So, he did." Pausing, although only long enough to clear his throat lest John try to interrupt, Sam stated pointedly, "He brought it to the future. He showed up looking for you and found me and Dean instead."

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And here came the part Sam definitely did not want to discuss. Not the fact that Henry had died. Yes, that was awful, but it would have been much worse if he hadn't. At least, this way, it explained why he'd "walked out" on his family. It even explained it in a way that not only made sense, or as much sense as time travel could make, but it showed him for the hero he'd been rather than painting him as a coward. No, Sam was fine with explaining all of that. He just wasn't looking forward to explaining that he was, ultimately, the reason it had happened. If he hadn't been nabbed by Abaddon, Henry wouldn't have had to get close enough to her that he'd been killed. To Sam, it was just that simple.

Still. His dad had a right to know all of it, for better or worse, and Sam was going to see this through. He owed him that much. So with a slight sigh, and a small smile at the waitress as she silently brought him another glass of water - while giving John an extremely wary look - he began to tell the tale he'd woken up remembering even though he'd yet to actually experience it.

"Abaddon followed him to our time," he began, his voice even but definitely containing a touch of reservation to it. He really did not want to have to do this. With a steadying breath, he continued. "Henry found out that you grew up thinking he'd walked out and decided he wasn't going to let that happen. So, he took off and tried to return back to his time. Dean went after him and I went to talk to the last remaining member of the Men of Letters. The, uh, only survivor of Abaddon's attack, except for Henry."

Reaching for his water, Sam took a sip and tried to force away the lump that had settled in his throat. Setting his glass back down, he sighed heavily and a look of guilt flashed across his face before his expression faded into one far more neutral. "Larry told me where it was that Abaddon was trying to find, and explained the box Henry had been given to protect contained a key to open it. He explained the key opened the door to a place that contained, uh, greatest knowledge of supernatural information ever gathered, is how he put it." Which was almost an understatement, really, but Sam would get to that in a minute. He had to see this through first. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to keep going.

"Unfortunately, Abaddon had already possessed Larry's wife. She killed him and grabbed me." He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And then she called Dean to make a trade. Henry and the key, for me. Dean showed up, with Henry and the key. Except, apparently Henry had carved a Devil's Trap on the head of a bullet. Abaddon was shot, which kept her trapped in place, but..." He frowned slightly, his forehead creasing at the memory. His voice caught a bit as he finished with, "She fatally wounded Henry, first. He died within minutes."

Shifting a little, Sam tacked on pointedly, "He was a good man, dad. He wanted to go back to you. It just... it didn't work out." In fact, it really couldn't, considering, but Sam was not about to discuss the semantics of time travel at the moment. Just... no.

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"You didn't know," Sam said simply, even though he knew it wasn't that simple. Not even close. "And you did the best you could, dad. Dean and I know that. Henry knew that too. He said he was proud of you, of the man you became. He just... he wished he could have seen it, for himself." Sighing softly, Sam took another drink of his water, frowning into the cup for a moment before looking back up at his dad.

"We buried him, with the other Men of Letters. It seemed right, somehow." Sam paused, clearing his throat and shifting a bit. A clear sign he was about to admit something else that might not have been the smartest thing he and Dean had ever done. He didn't regret it, not even a little, but that didn't mean it was a good idea either. Still. It was done, and he might as well finish his story.

"Then we, uh, went to the location Larry had given me, and used the key, and, well, from what Dean and I can tell, it's basically the headquarters for the Men of Letters." He shrugged a bit. "We've been staying there. It... it's protected, against everything, and has more information than we could ever hope to go through. And Henry said that, had he made it back home, eventually you would have become a Men of Letters, and we would have. It's this whole legacy... thing. So it seemed fitting, somehow." Reaching for his water again, he added quickly, "And it seems the safest place to hold up while we wait for Kevin to figure out how to seal up the gates of Hell. Permanently."

With that, he took another drink of his water and waited for John to process, and ultimately react, a part of him hoping against all hope that maybe, just maybe, he somehow hadn't picked up on most of the rest of that. He knew better but he could still hope.

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Sam wanted to object to the claims that Henry would change his mind if he could meet his grown son face-to-face. Sure, John hadn't always been the easiest individual to know, especially as his son, and they had definitely had their fair share of falling outs over the years. However, no matter what, Sam loved his dad and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was a good man. Not perfect sure, but, then again, no one was. Still, despite his objections to the statement, he stayed silent. It wasn't a point worth arguing. If Henry showed up in the city, John would see for himself that he was proud. Until then, he would just have to believe what he wanted. Sam couldn't change his mind. He wasn't even going to try.

So instead he waited until John had stopped coughing before trying to explain the bombshell he'd dropped. The hope John hadn't picked up on it had been a short-lived, and extremely naive, one, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest. Very few people pulled a fast one on John Winchester and his sons were no where near the list of the few who could.

"It's possible when you have a table containing the word of God on how to do it, and a prophet who can translate it." He paused. "Well, we only have half of the tablet, right now, but it's been enough for Kevin to get started." He sighed, knowing that he had to tread very carefully. The last memory he'd been given, before waking up, hadn't been a good one. In fact, it had left him with a sinking sensation that he probably wasn't going to get out of these trials in one piece. Or even at all. And that wasn't something he needed to dump on his dad's lap.

"There are three trials," he explained. "Tests, from God, basically. Kevin has only translated the first one, from what I was... shown, I guess," it really was difficult, figuring out how to word 'forcible memories implanted in my head' into a coherent statement, "and it involved killing a hellhound and, uh, bathing in its blood." He reached for his water, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"So that's what I did," he admitted, a clear sign of something bothering him in his tone, despite his desperate attempt to hide it. Clearing his throat, he tacked on, "We're waiting on Kevin to get back to us on what the next trial is going to be. But, from what he can tell? Once these trials are done, the gates to Hell will be closed. Forever."

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"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed all too readily. It was a difficult concept to wrap his head around. No more demons. No more crossroads deals. No more hellhounds. No more Crowley. That, alone, was more than worth it, in Sam's book.

Of course, the short-lived agreement he felt was extinguished the second John picked up on the one thing he'd hoped to avoid talking about. Fidgeting a bit more, Sam considered insisting it was nothing. He was a grown man. He didn't have to answer every question his dad asked him. He just had to open his mouth, and say "nothing". That was all. It was one word. Just one single word.

And yet he couldn't do it. He'd cut his dad out of his life, once. He wasn't going to make that mistake a second time. And if that meant being honest with him, even about this, then so be it. So, with a sigh, he just fessed up and got it over with.

"I, um, kind of think I'm internally bleeding," he admitted, a touch sheepishly. Quickly, he added, "Not here. Back home. It's, well, one of the last things I remember happening, actually. Dean and I were heading back, after finishing up a job, and he finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to be the one to do the trials, that it was going to be me. Then, I started coughing and... yeah." He didn't really need to spell out the rest. It wasn't like his dad didn't know the first telltale sign of internal injuries. They all had more than enough experience in that particular department.

Pausing for a moment, Sam continued. "I didn't tell Dean. Not there, and not here. I just..." He sighed. "Dad, I need you to not tell him too. He doesn't need that. Not here. Not when he can't even do anything about it."

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"No," Sam was quick to reply. Realizing it might have come a little too quickly, he took a moment, shook his head, and repeated in a slightly calmer tone, "No. It didn't transfer. I guess it's just memories that showed up. Which is probably good, considering I'm pretty sure it's one of the side effects of completing the trials that Kevin warned about. And I can't exactly continue them here, to see if maybe that will stop it." Or possibly make it even worse. Really, it was anyone's guess and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to speculate on it too much.

Taking another sip of his water, he paused for a second to try and figure out how best to explain what little good memories he'd been given. "Uh..." he began, then finally sighed and nodded, a slight smile gracing his features. "Yes, actually. I, um, met someone. Her name is Amelia. We were both kind of a mess, but it still worked, you know?" He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping a bit. "It... didn't exactly work out, but it was nice, while it lasted."

There was so much more to that story, so many feelings he couldn't even begin to express mostly because he wasn't even sure what to make of them, yet. Not to mention the fact that he knew he should feel some sort of guilt, having not looked for Dean and simply settled into a life that didn't involve hunting, but he didn't. He really, really didn't. And he wasn't sure he could say that, to his dad, and make him ever understand.

Clearing his throat, hoping to change the subject, he said, "It isn't all bad, either. I mean, yeah, it's still the life. But we've saved more than we've lost, for the most part. That part is new."

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Sam sighed softly and gave a slight nod. "Yeah." He paused. "Well, yes and no. It's..." He trailed off and sighed again. "Dean and Cas were in Purgatory, with no way to get them out. Crowley had nabbed Kevin and Meg, with no way to get to them, either. Bobby was dead. It was just me. So... I just started driving. I didn't really have anywhere in mind, I just had to go." He snorted softly at the memory. "And then I hit a dog. So I took it to the vet, who happened to be Amelia. We hit it off, eventually, and finally moved in together." He sighed once more, his shoulders slumping yet again. "And then her husband, who she thought had been killed in Afghanistan, turned out not to be dead. So..." He shrugged. "I did the only thing I could do, and left. It was around that time that Dean managed to get out of Purgatory and we went looking for Kevin."

Finishing his glass of water, Sam scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a clearly weary sigh. "And then," he added, not really wanting to tack on the rest but knowing he should, "Dean needed me out of the picture so he faked a text from Amelia, asking for help. She and I spoke, when I showed up. We agreed to meet up the next night, if we were going to try and make it work. She said she'd choose me, over Don, if I was all in too."

He gave his dad a small, humorless smile. "I never did find out if she turned up that next night. I was already back on the job with Dean, trying to figure out how to close the gates of Hell."

Sam fell silent for a moment after that, then cleared his throat and tried his best to shove the heartache away. He wasn't sure he'd ever really get over it, but he did know, no matter what, he'd made the right decision. It just sucked a whole hell of a lot. "So... that was that," he finally finished.

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Sam smiled, lightly, at his dad's words of support. He knew John meant well and he appreciated it. He did. He just didn't have quite the optimistic outlook that his dad seemed to possess. He had, for a while, but the second he'd seen that blood after he'd coughed, he'd just known. When he closed the gates of Hell, he wasn't going to be coming back from it.

He didn't say any of that, though. Instead he chuckled a bit. "Yeah. I'm still trying to wrap my head around Dean being married with kids. That's just... wow." At the question about grabbing a beer, he laughed a little more. "And yes. Definitely. A drink sounds awesome, actually." Water was great, definitely better than soda, but sometimes you really just needed some alcohol. And this was definitely one of those times.

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Sam laughed as well as he also stood. "True," he agreed easily enough, "but you have to admit, if nothing else, his kids are definitely about as Winchester as you can get." Which was... a bit of an understatement, really. From what he could tell, those kids could probably run circles around him, Dean, and John in the hunting department. And they weren't even close to fully grown, yet. It was almost a frightening thought, really, but the one saving grace (in Sam's opinion, at least) was that, here, hunting really wasn't a viable occupation. So while the kids might be damn good at it, they'd never have to actually do it. It really was the best combination he could think of and a small part of him was very impressed Dean had managed to find such a balance. Mostly because it was Dean.

Giving the waitress a smile as he and his dad headed out of the diner, Sam turned up the collar of his jacket against the chill of the wind in the air. "Somewhere else," he finally decided. "I'm not sure I'm really up to seeing Ellen and Jo, right now." He still had to sort through his memories, had to make sense of some things that just weren't adding up. Having them around, especially with how damn intuitive they could both be, would likely only make that a public affair and Sam really didn't want that to happen.

"So," he spoke up again, after a moment or two, casting a sideways glance at John, "I... guess I should mention that Lucifer stopped by my place a while back." There was a clear sound of annoyance in his tone at the admission, although he grudgingly added, "Apparently, he just wanted to chat. I'm... still not really sure what to make of that."

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Sam sighed and shrugged his shoulders a bit. He knew how bizarre what he was about to say would probably sound. But he also knew that he needed to be very clear that Lucifer really had just been there to talk, because otherwise his dad was likely going to try to go after the Archangel once again. Considering how that had blown up rather spectacularly in his face the last time he'd even mentioned it, Sam really wanted to avoid that outcome if at all possible.

"That's just it," he finally admitted. "He didn't really say all that much, really. It was almost like he was trying to, I don't know, prove that he really is trying to change like he claims. Like, uh, he wanted my approval or something." Glancing left then right before crossing the street, Sam continued to explain.

"He tried talking about Adam, but dropped that subject when I told him to back off. Same thing with you and mom. He pointed out how much he thought we had in common. He talked about Dean, and pointed out that Dean had gotten over him being, you know, him, and said he was sure I would too." Sam snorted a bit at that particular concept. Even if he had to admit - although pretty much only to himself - that Lucifer definitely was acting different than he had in their own reality, that didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. Lucifer was a master manipulator. The master of manipulation, in fact.

But still.

"The thing is," he finally admitted with another soft sigh, "I know Lucifer. Between being his vessel, then being in the cage with him, my BS meter for him is pretty spot-on. And... I didn't get that vibe from him, this time. He wasn't trying to convince me to say yes. He wasn't trying to glean any information from me. Best I can tell, he just... wanted to talk and seemed almost, I don't know, hurt, when I didn't immediately return the sentiment. Weird, right?"

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"Yeah, no," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "Lucifer definitely doesn't think that way. To him, if Dean's okay with him being around? I should, logically, follow suit. Especially since he's convinced we have so much in common." Which bothered Sam, a great deal more than he was willing to admit. Mostly because he couldn't say with absolute certainty that it wasn't true, at least to some extent.

Not about to let his thoughts travel down that very dangerous path, at least not at the moment, he continued speaking. "And yeah. I think that's exactly what he wanted. Approval. I don't know why, I don't want to know why, but he was acting like he almost, I don't know, needed me to be okay with him, now." Pausing for a moment, Sam finally said the one thing that had been bothering him for some time now.

"The thing is... I think there might actually be a chance he's telling the truth about trying to do differently, here. He isn't a liar, not directly, at least, and, well, I mean... Dean is giving him a chance. It's not really like him to make that big of an oversight, you know?"

Nodding his head toward a bar just up the block, he added almost absently, "Think that'll do the trick?" he questioned. If nothing else, he definitely needed a beer before delving anymore into Lucifer's psyche and why he did the things he did. It wasn't exactly one of Sam's favorite places to be, and for damn good reason.

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Sam didn't want to answer his dad's question as to why Lucifer cared what he thought. He really, really didn't. Because if he explained, if he made it all make sense to John, of all people, that would be also admitting that he did understand the Archangel. That they had all the things in common that Lucifer claimed.

However, he also knew that he really should explain if only because John Winchester was definitely not the type of man who was content not understanding something that mattered to him. Which meant there was every chance, if he couldn't lay it out in a way that John would understand, there was every chance the man would seek out Lucifer himself to try and demand the answer directly from the source. Sam wasn't about to let that happen, if he could help it.

Stepping into the bar, Sam waited until they were seated at a table before answering. Both because he wasn't about to discuss something like this within earshot of the few patrons they passed and also because he needed those few moments to gather his thoughts into some semblance of order. Once they were both sitting down, though, he faced his dad and did his best to try and make him understand the Prince of Darkness in the way Sam had to grudgingly admit he did.

Because that, apparently, was his life now.

"Okay," he said with a heaviness in his voice, "here's the thing you need to really get about Lucifer, the thing most people don't. He pretty much thrives on both attention and acceptance. It was one of the main reasons for his Fall from Grace, actually." Not that Sam really wanted to start discussing actual theology, but aside from bringing up how Lucifer had acted as a hallucination inside his mind, this was the best example he could think of on the spot. So, with a slight pause, he continued.

"God created humans and Lucifer hated us, right? Now, the Bible talks about how his hatred for us stemmed from his refusal to bow down before us. In fact, if you asked him, he, uh, would probably say he was kicked out for loving God so much that he refused to put anyone - even humans - before him." Sam snorted softly, part of him unable to believe he was even thinking all of this, much less saying it. Yet, he kept going. He'd already started. Might as well finish.

"But, well, the thing is, it really had a lot more to do with not wanting to share God's attention with us," he stated. "He had been God's favorite then, all of a sudden, he wasn't. And nothing he did, including taking a human and turning it into something... else, worked." Sam swallowed, hard, then added with a shrug, "So, he basically threw a giant temper tantrum and wound up in the cage because of it."

Pausing, Sam snorted suddenly. "So having me, his one true vessel, not willing to pay him the time of day? Pretty much drives him nuts."

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"Yeah," Sam agreed with a soft snort. "That's... pretty much it, exactly. And yeah, it's pretty sad." Which wasn't something Sam wanted to admit, because that meant feeling some inkling of sympathy for Lucifer. However, try as he might, part of him did get it. He had spent pretty much his entire life convinced his dad had loved Dean more. The two had always been so close, with Dean always doing what was expected of him, and it had always felt that nothing Sam had done had ever really measured up. He knew, now, that his feelings hadn't been right. Not even in the slightest. However, Lucifer's fears had... been pretty well-founded. God did prefer humanity over the angels. It was not only a fact, but pretty much the reason most of the higher ranking angels weren't really their biggest fans. They just did what was expected of them. Like Dean. While Lucifer had rebelled. Like Sam.

And that was when it really and truly hit him just how much he and Lucifer had in common. That what Lucifer had been trying to explain when he'd stopped by for his visit was about as accurate as anyone could be. Quickly he turned, flagging down a waitress and ordering a couple of beers. He was pretty sure he had never needed one more badly in his life than he did right now.

Once the beers were ordered, Sam cleared his throat and looked back to John. "I still don't really get what made him try to change, here," he admitted, deciding that a slight change in topic might help calm his racing thoughts a bit. "With Lucifer, the way he is, the way he works, there had to be a catalyst. He wouldn't just wake up one day and decide to give humanity a chance. That's just... not going to happen."

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Sam didn't want to think logically about this. He really, really didn't. Sure, normally he was the first to turn to logic to work through something he didn't understand, no matter how baffling it might be. However, in this instance, when it came to Lucifer, he wanted nothing more than to just shut the conversation down and not consider anything else about it.

Except, he couldn't really do that. He'd already brought up the topic and, besides that, he knew what the answer was without even having to really think it through. Might as well just say it, and be done with it. It wasn't like it wasn't already bouncing around inside of his head, itching to get out.

"Finding humans, or at least a human, that is tolerable," he answered with a soft sigh. His brow furrowed as he took the idea a step further, as he was wont to do in most situations. "And, in Lucifer's case, he, uh, would have had to have found at least someone willing to accept him, no matter what."

He fell silent as the waitress finally arrived. Taking one of the beers, he stared at the bottle for a moment. Between the furrowing of his brow and the tightening of his jaw, it was obvious he was sorting through things in his head and had reached a conclusion he was not happy with. Gripping the bottle harder, he raised his gaze back to his dad.

"Dean, or his wife. Or one of their kids," he said flatly. "That's... the only thing that fits."

The betrayal he felt in that moment left a bitter taste in his mouth and tugged at his heart in a way that nothing else ever really had. Stiffly, he raised his beer to his lips and took a drink.

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It was clear in everything from the way Sam set his beer down, to the look on his face, and especially in his tone when he spoke, that he was not pleased with the idea of just going along with everything. And, really, who could blame him? He was the one who had been worn like a cheap suit. He was the one who'd had to fight with everything he'd had to regain control, not just to save his brother but to save the whole damn world. He'd been tortured in just about every way imaginable by Lucifer and now he was expected to just forget all of that because... why? Lucifer said he was trying to change?

"Yeah," he finally bit out in a clipped tone, "I... don't know if I can do that." Drawing in a breath to calm himself, the hand not wrapped around his beer flexing reflexively, he admitted, "I'm trying. I am. I mean, I didn't even banish him when he showed up in my apartment like he had every right to be there. But I don't know if I can keep it up. I just..."

He sighed and took another drink of his beer. Setting it back down, he sighed again. "It's more than just having been his vessel, dad," he tried his best to explain. "It's more than even being stuck in the cage with him. He was here," he tapped at his temple, "all the time, for a long time. He almost tricked me into killing Dean, all through the power of suggestion. He pretty much literally drove me insane. And if it weren't for Cas... if Cas hadn't done whatever it was that he did to transfer all of that to him..." Sam sighed again. "I'd probably still be in that hospital, stuck inside my own head. I can't just forget that. I can't just get over it. I just... can't."

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