Chapter 10 Further into the Dark

Greetings, Readers. I'm glad to see you're still enjoying the story. Thanks for your interest, so far. I seem to have set up a few mysteries, and I promise they will be answered...eventually ;) Although I'm afraid not in this chapter. Well, enjoy, and have a great weekend (what's left of it)!

Nothing that you recognise from other sources belongs to me.

Purgatory

The three made camp again for the night. It was freezing, so Dean went in search of firewood. It probably was not wise for him to go out alone. But there was only as much time one could spend constantly with two other people without wanting to gauge their eyes out. He needed the space.

He also needed to clear his head. Ever since he had discovered Sam might have to change places with him, Dean was suddenly less enthusiastic to get out. He had meant it when he told Delenn he did not want to escape Purgatory if the price was Sam's life. Well, apparently the price really was Sam's life. And Dean had no idea if he could get to Sam again and warn him – or if warning him was even worth it, as Sam was sure not to care about anything than getting Dean back.

But hadn't it always been that way? He and Sam trying to rescue each other and more often than not breaking themselves and the world in the process. Dean wondered sometimes if the cycle would ever end. He shook himself, banishing the thought. If Sam got himself into Purgatory, Dean sure as hell was not going to leave him there. So they might break the world again, soon enough.

Dean had enough firewood now to last them the night – if they could get the fire started, that is. They did not always manage. He did not feel like going back to the camp just yet, though. Now that there was little to do beyond surviving and hoping Sam got to them soon, Dean felt more and more the need to be alone. He could feel that the other two were wondering what Sam was doing at the moment and if he had found out how to get them out yet.

Benny perhaps even doubted that Sam would manage to get them out at all. He did not know Sam, after all. Cas did not doubt or, at least, Dean hoped he did not. After all the things they had gone through – and after all the things Cas had done to Sam – Dean hoped that Cas was now done with the whole "mistrust Sam implicitly, because he's the demons' chosen one and not ours".

Dean was just heading back when he heard a branch crack somewhere ahead of him. Dean tensed. He carefully put the firewood down, so that he might be free to fight, if it came to that. perhaps whatever it was would leave him alone. Right, and perhaps I can wish myself back topside and have no need for Sam to come here and save my ass.

A figure appeared from the grey undergrowth. Dean frowned. He could recognise it clearly, even in the dim light. It was clear the figure could recognise him too.

"Hello, Dean," it greeted.

"I'd like to say it's good to see you, Gordon," Dean retorted. "Truth is, I was actually hoping I saw the back of you long ago."

Gordon Walker was a sore subject for Dean. He used to be a Hunter, before he had gotten turned into a vampire. But what Dean hated most about him was that he had tried his damnest to kill Sam, thinking he was going to turn evil. And Dean was not the forgiving sort when it came to people wanting to hunt down his brother – for whatever reason.

Gordon laughed at Dean's greeting.

"It's funny, really," he remarked. "The way we too meet here, in Purgatory."

"Oh, yeah, hilarious," Dean said. "What the hell do you want, Gordon?"

Gordon's smile faded and he grew grave.

"You hear all sorts of rumours about this place," he said. "And one of them is that you and your new monster friends are using that freak brother of yours to open a door to Purgatory and get you out."

"So what if we are?" Dean asked, uncompromisingly.

Gordon gave a disbelieving laugh.

"You're kidding, right?" he demanded. "You two haven't done enough damage topside? You have to start all over again?"

Dean felt slightly uncomfortable. Gordon's words were too close to his own previous line of thinking. But he'd be damned if he gave the likes of Gordon the satisfaction of knowing they might have a point.

"You've given up the right to even think about my brother a long time ago," he warned Gordon. "And trust me when I say you don't want to provoke me right now."

Gordon acted as if he had not heard Dean's warning.

"Of course," he mused, "A lot of folk here say Sam might get himself stuck here if he wants to get you out. Fitting, wouldn't you think so, Dean? Your brother being stuck in the place monsters go when they die? I'd say he'd be finally home."

Dean's expression turned steely. He made a move towards Gordon. The other laughed.

"You can't really kill me here, Dean," he reminded him. "This is my Afterlife, remember? Not what I'd pictured for myself, though."

"To be honest, I pictured you a little lower, too," Dean quipped.

Gordon did not rise to the bait. Dean thought that was a bit different from the Gordon Walker he remembered. He would have had Dean's had once, if he was told the things he had done earned him a place in Hell. Purgatory must have softened him up, Dean thought wryly. Either that, or it had taught him his place.

Gordon took a step back.

"It was nice seeing you, Dean," he said cheerfully. "Can't wait to renew my acquaintance with your brother, too. I look forward to having him here."

Gordon flashed a sadistic grin as he said that. Dean was about to pounce on him, when Gordon vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Dean bent to pick up the firewood, shaking his head.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed.

Bar on Colony 10

Sam walked inside the crowded bar and blinked in the dim light. The place was teeming with people of all races. Most of them were quite rowdy. Music was blaring.

Sam made his way to one of the farthest corners and ordered a drink. He sat down to wait for Jacob Harper. He had managed to find out with a few well-placed questions that Harper came there every evening around that time to do business. Well, Sam thought grimly, tonight he would be doing business with him.

As he was waiting for his target to arrive, Sam had plenty of time to take in the scene around him. He noticed a couple of Brakiri drinking in a corner, a few Drazi playing cards at another table, several Pak'ma'ra moving about unnoticed. At another table, two humans were conducting some kind of negotiation. They had a telepath with them. Sam's eyes lingered slightly longer over her. He could not see her face clearly. Yet there was something in her posture that was familiar to him. He could not place her anywhere, though. He did not know any telepaths. He and Dean usually avoided them.

The door opened and Sam's attention was drawn swiftly there. A couple of Centauri guards walked in. The door closed behind them.

Sam leaned back in his chair. Harper should be arriving any time now. And Sam had to be alert. He had to get to Harper before anyone else approached him. He did not want to waste more time with him than he had to. He had to complete the mission Delenn gave him that very night. Tomorrow he was going to open the doors to Purgatory, after all. And he did not know if there was anything for him afterwards.

To distract himself from that thought, Sam started paying attention to the music. It was a strange piece. Early 21st century Earth, probably, and quite whimsical. He took in the words, almost against his will:

"We are one, we are a universe,

Forbearers of what will be, scions of the Devonian Sea

Eons pass, writing the tale of us all

A day-to-day new opening for the Greatest Show on Earth."

Sam had to wonder how a song like that came to be played in a seedy little bar on a Centauri colony. By the reaction of some of the obviously regular clients, it had to be a personal favourite.

The door opened again. A man walked in. Sam grew alert. The man was middle-aged and looked rather nondescript. He was dressed in a wrinkled suit and had an expensive gold watch on his wrist. Still, Sam could recognise the former Hunter in him. It was in the way he took in the room, as if searching for the closest exit, or in the way he looked at everybody who was close by, as if to assess whether they were friend or foe. Even without the description Sam had already been given, he would have had no trouble recognising Jacob Harper.

Sam got up and asked for another drink. He made his way towards the table Harper had claimed and deposited his drink in front of him. Harper looked up. His initial interest faded when he saw Sam.

"Sorry," he said dismissively. "I don't do business with you Rangers."

Sam ignored Harper's scathing comment and sat down at the same table.

"I'm not exactly a Ranger," he admitted. "I'm a Hunter – just like you were once."

Harper looked Sam up and down as if trying to determine if his claim was true. He snorted.

"A Hunter, you say," he declared. "Is there a reason why you're moonlighting for the Interstellar Alliance? Is the pay that good?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"I was offered exactly what I asked for," he answered truthfully enough.

Harper was still looking at Sam thoughtfully. No doubt he was trying to guess if he knew Sam from anywhere. Sam decided to spare him the hard work.

"I'm Sam Winchester," he announced bluntly. "I'm sure you've heard of me before."

Sam did not know what had prompted him to disclose his identity in that way. It was a risky thing to do when it came to hunters. True, after Hell, most Hunters had begun to tolerate Sam, if not completely accept him. But there were still some who considered Lucifer's former vessel a good enough trophy to add to their list of victories.

Harper's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he tensed and Sam was sure that if he had been armed, he would have made a move to attack. But he was not and anyway he knew better than to murder a man in the place he usually conducted his business. It was not profitable.

"Whatever the hell you're after, I want no part of it," Harper hissed.

"Relax," Sam said, trying to calm him. "I'm not here to ask for your help in a hunt. I'm not here for a hunt at all."

"No, you're here to break open Purgatory," Harper commented.

Sam stiffened. He tried not to let anything show on his face. He had no idea how Harper knew that. The few people who knew could not have told him.

"I don't know who feeds you this kind of information," he said calmly. "But I think you should fire him. You're way off the mark."

Harper frowned.

"I've heard it from another Hunter," he said. "Someone who visited Aiden the Strange on Proxima before they had him spaced for war crimes. Aiden said you came knocking on his door asking for information about Purgatory. And here you are on a planet where there's a Drazi cult that supposedly knows the way to the land of the monsters, as they call it. I don't believe in coincidences, Sammy. Do you?"

Sam leaned closer to Harper.

"Here's the deal," he whispered, his voice still calm, but with a hint of steel in it. "Call me Sammy one more time and I'll cut out your tongue in front of everybody. Then I'll find every single person you've been doing business with and tell them you're swindling them and they should have you for breakfast. There's only one person who gets to call me that and it ain't you. Got it?"

Harper looked rather worried briefly. Sam saw him swallowing harshly even though he was trying to pretend such threats did not bother him.

"My, my," he commented, "You're in serious need of some anger management, kid."

Sam ignored Harper's comment. He waved the bartender and asked for another drink.

"How about we skip the pleasantries," he told Harper. "I'm only here to ask you a question."

"About Purgatory?" Harper wanted to know. "Cause, even if I knew anything about it, I wouldn't go around telling the likes of you."

Sam shook his head.

"Don't worry," he said, "It's got nothing to do with Purgatory, so whatever conscience you're pretending to have is clear. I want something else from you. A few days ago, you were contacted by a smuggler operating in Drazi space. He shared some interesting information with you. How am I going so far?"

Harper did not look interested.

"I'm contacted by a lot of smugglers operating all over the Galaxy," he replied, sounding bored.

"Maybe," Sam conceded. "But this one had something big to spill to you. Something that a lot of people want answered. Something to do with unknown attacks on trading ships."

Harper did not react to that. His eyes were scanning the room, as if suddenly interested in the crowd around them. Sam knew a stall tactic when he saw one.

"He's dead," Sam announced bluntly. "The smuggler was killed for what he knew. He can't share his information with anyone else. But he did share it with you. So why not be a good fella and pass it along?"

Harper scoffed.

"What's it to you, anyway?" he demanded. "It's not like the ships are being attacked by ghosts or demons. This isn't Hunter business."

"Maybe not," Sam conceded. "I still want to know."

"But why?" insisted. "How could it possibly help you?"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh.

"I promised a friend, ok?" he admitted at length. "Someone helped me with something and I offered to help out in return."

Harper inspected Sam carefully.

"You made a deal," he concluded. "With someone from the Interstellar Alliance, I'm guessing. Well, I shouldn't be surprised, should I? From what I've heard, you Winchesters are big on deals."

Sam told himself not to rise to the obvious bait, even though he was itching to take a swing at the former Hunter. Harper, meanwhile, was staring thoughtfully into his drink.

"You know," he began, talking almost to himself, "Normally, I would tell you to go to hell and take whoever sent you to ask those questions with you."

" I've already been there," Sam reminded Harper. "And leave my employer out of this. Now, you said normally. So…these are special circumstances, right? And you're gonna help me?"

Harper looked amused.

"Not out of the goodness of my heart," he warned Sam. "See, this is some pretty heavy information and it should have a price to it. So…what do you say to another deal?"

"What deal?" Sam asked cautiously.

He did not have time for this. He had to get his answers soon. The following night he wanted to focus only on getting Dean out. He did not want to delay that much longer. It had already been too long.

"I have a job for you," Harper announced. "Don't worry, it's a Hunter's job. Nothing you can't handle."

"How long's it gonna take?" Sam asked uncompromisingly.

"Shouldn't take too long," Harper replied carelessly. "It's pretty straightforward actually. I'd do it myself but, honestly, I'm a little rusty."

Not to mention that whatever the job was, it came with risks. Harper did not look the type to want to take risks without personal gains. Sam said nothing of these thoughts, though, and merely indicated to Harper that he was listening.

"An associate of mine built this little warehouse for housing certain goods that might not be approved by the Alliance," Harper began, "You know, things we are no longer allowed to trade…"

"Weapons," Sam declared bluntly. "Or Dust. Or both. What's this got to do with me?"

"Apparently, the guards there have been reporting strange occurrences," Harper went on. "You know, loud noises, unexplainable damage, one guard swears he was pushed up some stairs. Banged his leg pretty bad. I'm thinking vengeful spirit."

Sam suddenly appeared interested.

"Let me guess," he said. "This warehouse was built on the west side of this town, right?" At Harper's nod, Sam rolled his eyes. "Typical," he said. "I researched this place before coming here. During one of the Centauri-Drazi disputes over who owns this colony, there was an incident. A group of Drazi burned half the town. Half the west side of the town. At night, catching everyone by surprised. It must have killed quite a lot of people. That area's a breeding ground for vengeful spirits. And you build a weapons warehouse right on top of it. Smooth."

Harper scowled.

"I don't need you of all people lecturing me on morality, Winchester," he spat. "I want you to get rid of the damn spirit. I don't care what you have to do. You get rid of it and I'll tell you what you want to know. Otherwise you can go find your information somewhere else."

But there was no somewhere else. Harper was the only one the smuggler had talked to. Of course, Sam could simply refuse the job and sent a message to Delenn that Harper did not want to cooperate. It did not feel right, though. And the vengeful spirit could easily start attacking innocent people. Dean would not have liked Sam walking away from a hunt and refusing to save lives.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, wearily. All he wanted was to get his brother out of Purgatory. Why couldn't he be allowed to do that?

"All right," he told Harper resignedly. "If it's as straightforward as you say, it shouldn't take long. Be here tomorrow afternoon. I might have it all solved by then."

AN: The song Sam hears in the bar is part of The Greatest Show on Earth by Finnish band Nightwish. Needless to say, I'm in no way associated with them. I just thought it would be fitting to have this played two hundred years into the future on another planet :)