Happy Sunday everyone! Thanks to those who've read and reviewed, it's really fun to return to this crossover. Get ready for a wild ride. I hope you enjoy the second chapter. More notes at the end.

Chapter 2

It was late evening when Sam and Dean got to Cascade. They followed Blair's instructions and drove to Prospect Avenue, then took the elevator to the third floor. The door was opened by Detective James Ellison, looking slightly older but not really changed. He frowned in confusion when he saw the two, then there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes and, to their surprise, irritation. He shook his head in resignation and drew back for them to enter.

"Sure," he muttered, "Come right in." Then turned his attention to the living room. "Sandburg," he growled.

Blair looked up from where he had been sitting on the couch, nose buried in a book. He looked the same as ever, wild curls and all, although there was something in his manner that was a little more temperate than the exhausting enthusiasm he had displayed when the Winchesters had first met him.

"Oh, hey guys," he greeted. "Glad you could make it. I hope the drive wasn't too tiring."

Ellison rolled his eyes.

"I thought I told you not to call them, Sandburg," he said.

Blair shook his head, pushing his glasses on his face.

"No, you actually said you didn't think there was any reason I should. That was your opinion, I heard it, I analyzed it and…"

"And chose to ignore me," Ellison interrupted.

Blair frowned.

"Not ignore. As I said I did note your advice, but when we made this partnership official, we both agreed that we each had our areas of expertise and while we could definitely make suggestions, they were just that – suggestions and not orders. I bring the unique perspective, right? Well, my unique perspective told me I needed outside help. Also, that's a decision I made for your own good, since we started taking seriously this whole Shaman thing that got dropped in my lap. I remember you clearly saying all decisions in that area are strictly up to me, as a matter of fact, you said, and I quote "You deal with the mystic mumbo jumbo, Chief, I'm not sure I can handle it." Besides," he added smugly. "Since I co-own the Loft now, I can invite anyone I want. So there."

Dean glanced at Sam who looked slightly mortified at having walked into that kind of spat. Dean cleared his throat.

"Alright, we've obviously come at a bad time," he said. "Why don't we let you guys sort it out while we find ourselves a motel to settle in for the night?"

Ellison turned to glare at him.

"You're here, you might as well make yourselves useful. Here's how this is going to work. No visits to the station and you minimize your illegal activities as much as possible – that includes no impersonations of federal agents. If you want to visit a crime scene, or the apartment of one of the victims, one of us needs to accompany you."

Dean smirked.

"It's good to see you're just as easy to work with as ever, Detective," he quipped.

Ellison ignored him. He turned to Blair.

"I've got to check something out," he said. "I'll leave you three to catch up."

Sandburg frowned.

"Jim it's eight thirty."

"I'll be back before you know it," Ellison replied, putting on his coat. "Stay out of trouble." He paused looking at the Winchesters. "That goes for you too as well."

He left closing the door softly behind him, as if making a point about his temper. Dean scoffed.

"What does he mean stay out of trouble?" he scoffed. "He hasn't seen us in over six years. He doesn't even know what we've been doing all this time."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"I think if he did, it would only serve to make his case even more, Dean."

Dean scowled at him. He hated when Sam was trying to be reasonable.

xxxXXXxxx

Jim Ellison found himself walking down Cascade Pier, not really caring about where he was going. He had no errands to run, and he was sure Sandburg knew that too well. But he had needed to put some distance between himself and the situation Sandburg had sprung on him – it was either that or saying something he knew he would regret the instant it came out of his mouth.

It wasn't that he was mad at Blair – well, actually, he was a little, he had said something and Blair had apparently paid no mind to it. Jim knew Sandburg had a point. The last time the Winchesters had been there, the last time they had worked with Sam and Dean, the two brothers had helped put down a major threat. Even if there had been nothing supernatural about it – and Blair would insist that there had – the results had still been good and the Winchesters had saved their lives twice over, so why not use them now as well?

The truth was, Jim had no idea what had happened all those years ago. He knew what he had seen and what he had been through, knew he had been the target of something terrible, and it scared the hell out of him. It led to memories of complete loss of control, and for someone like him, the thought was too terrifying to bear. He preferred to erase the event from his mind than to have anything – or anyone – remind him of that time.

Then there was the thing Sandburg had mentioned recently about Sam. The vision thing. The warning.

"He told me to stay away from the fountain."

Sandburg had mentioned that in an attempt to prove to him that Sam and Dean were the real thing and that the supernatural existed and was all around them. He probably had not realized the implications of that warning – not that Jim really wanted him to, he had enough self-awareness to understand the events at the fountain had affected Sandburg more than they would ever affect him. After all, Sandburg had been the victim. And that was the problem – he shouldn't have been. The whole fiasco could have been prevented. Jim was ready to take part of the blame but, apparently, he was not alone. Someone else had known. It made Jim feel the need to put some distance between him and Sam Winchester before he tried to strangle the guy.

"Right," Jim muttered. "He gave Sandburg a vague where. He left out the when and who and that would have been really helpful."

A small part was telling him that whatever had happened to Sam then, whatever vision he had experienced, it was probable that he hadn't seen everything and had given Sandburg only the little that he knew. But Jim was in no mood to be fair and reasonable. That was Sandburg's department.

He resumed walking. He intended to stay out for half an hour more then head back. Sam and Dean would probably be gone by then and he'd at least avoid one awkward conversation. He would have to answer to Blair, though, since he knew his friend. Sandburg would stay awake until Jim came back so they could "talk". Talking was in this new agreement they had, a condition for their partnership to work, or so Blair insisted. Ellison could mostly do without it. He could certainly do without it now.

As he turned a corner, he nearly slammed into a tall woman with red hair.

"Sorry," Jim muttered. "Didn't see you there."

He had not heard her coming, either, which worried him. Had he been so deep in thought that he had stopped paying attention to his senses? That was never good and hadn't happened to him in a long time.

The woman smiled, slightly nervous.

"It's ok," she said. "I should know better than to do this jogging thing at night. But you don't have time during the day with work and all, do you?"

Jim shrugged.

"I suppose not."

There was something familiar about her, something that made him uncomfortable and set him on edge, although at the same time there was also something which drew him to her. He strove to ignore both sensations.

"Well, I'm still sorry I nearly knocked you over," he finally said. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

She tilted her head.

"You too."

Then she was off. Jim watched her go, frowning. He could have sworn he had spotted her around one of the crime scenes. He did not remember which, though.

xxxXXXxxxx

After Jim left, Blair turned to his two guests.

"Sorry about that. He gets like that sometimes. He'll get over it by the time he's back. So…I'm guessing it was a long ride from Sioux Falls. We've got some leftover lasagna if you're interested."

"Hey, if you're feeding us, I ain't saying no," Dean said quickly.

Blair moved to the kitchen, with Sam and Dean following him.

"I don't know if you guys had time to go over my report," he said getting busy heating up the food.

"We did, actually," Sam said. "We think you're on to something."

"But you don't know what it could be, do you?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not yet. There's one possibility we'd like to eliminate first, though."

"Oh yeah?" Blair asked curiously. "Like what?"

"Hellhounds," Dean said bluntly.

Blair raised his eyebrows.

"You're kidding, right?"

His voice was trembling slightly. Dean shrugged.

"Wish I was. It would significantly cut back on the amount of bad dreams I have in one night."

He immediately regretted the quip when he felt Sam's concerned eyes fixed on him. He had forgotten about Sam's recently rediscovered ability of getting concerned. Dean kept his eyes firmly away from his brother. Sam would, of course, want to talk, but Dean was still hoping he could delay the inevitable at least until the case was over.

"Well, how can you tell if that's what they are?"

Blair's question brought things back to business.

"These things only come after one prey: folks who've made deals with demons," Sam said

Blair raised his eyebrows but seemed to decide not to comment on the existence of demons. He did not know the half of it, Dean mused. Lucky guy.

"That's not gonna be something we can find out too quickly, is it?" Blair asked. "I mean, it's not something you'd usually advertise."

"Well, no," Sam admitted. "But it's usually something that draws attention and it usually comes within a fixed window of time. Did any of the victims have an unusual run of good luck ten years ago?"

"It could be anything," Dean added. "Being suddenly healthy after an incurable disease. Becoming successful. Getting a boyfriend – you know, that type of thing."

Blair seemed to think about that. He shook his head.

"I'm not really sure," he admitted. "I'll have to check. So – that's what you think it is? A…a hellhound?"

"Not really," Sam said. "But we should rule it out."

"Now, we think you guys should focus on that thing with the coins," Dean said. "Since both you and Sam think there's a human doing that. Now, who else might know about putting coins on the eyes of the dead? Besides you and Sammy who are consummate nerds, no offence."

"None taken," Blair replied easily, while Sam was glaring at Dean as if promising future revenge. "I suppose it could be someone studying anthropology or myths or something like that. It could also be someone of Greek background – that tradition is big there. Some other Balkanic countries do it, too, especially in villages. Cascade is a melting pot. We've got all sorts here."

He sat up abruptly and went to the window. He looked outside then shrugged, seeming to remember his guests.

"I think we should call it a night," he said. "Jim should be back soon."

Dean got up.

"Time we found ourselves a motel, then."

"Wait a minute," Blair said, handing Sam a flyer. "You don't have to stay at that rat-hole you were staying the last time. It was decommissioned, anyway. The owner was using it as a drug den. I've got an alternative."

Dean glanced at the flyer. He saw the picture of an elegant cottage. It looked cozy- but it also looked expensive.

"I mean, thanks for the tip, but that's a little above our price range – even that of our fake credit cards."

Blair put up a hand.

"Ok, fist off, cop's roommate here, remember? Don't tell me something I might have to hide from the police. Also – you just tell them Naomi Sandburg's son sent you."

"And that will get us – what?" Sam asked.

Blair's smile had something smug to it.

"A free stay. Well, they'll send Mum the tab to wherever she is."

Dean frowned.

"You making your mother pay for our hotel stay?"

Bair shrugged.

"She sees this as making it up to me. Long story. Perhaps I'll tell it to you someday."

Sam pocketed the flyer.

"Thanks," he said. "We'll regroup tomorrow."

Blair looked a little distracted, once again glancing at the window he nodded curtly.

"Sure. Tomorrow."

Dean led Sam out of the loft.

"You look tired," he observed. "You ok?"

Sam shrugged distractedly.

"Yeah. I just have this feeling."

Dean fought to keep the worry off his face.

"Really?"

Sam huffed.

"I'm not going psychic on you again and it's not the Wall either, so you can drop it."

"Well, what is it, though?"

Sam hesitated.

"Something…something I'm missing." Sam shrugged and waved it aside. "It'll come to me, no doubt."

Dean said nothing. He resolved to watch Sam more carefully in the next few days. He said it wasn't the Wall – but one never knew.

xxxXXXxxx

After the Winchester left, Blair camped out on the couch with a mug of tea and a documentary about the process of mummification, waiting for Jim. He hoped Jim would get his head on straight and come home soon. It wasn't that Blair really blamed him. Jim craved control like nobody's business, and Blair had gone over his head – even though, Blair told himself firmly, he had the authority to do so. Jim trusted Blair more than he trusted anyone else in his life and Blair knew that now. That did not stop him from acting defensive from time to time when he thought Blair was overruling him too much. He was getting better at it, Blair reminded himself. Jim had not had such a hissy fit in months.

They've reshaped their friendship more times than Blair would have thought was possible what with near-death (actual death? Blair still could not wrap his head around what had taken place at the fountain and, if he was honest with himself, he did not really want to), perceived betrayals and desperate sacrifices. They knew where they stood. Conflicts were just that – conflicts. They happened, then he and Jim moved on. It had taken a lot out of both of them to reach this point. More than Blair would have thought once he was capable of giving. Maybe more than he would give to anyone else – or that anyone else would give to him, and he included Naomi in that assessment.

The sound of a key in the door had Blair smiling slightly. As usual, Jim Ellison was a master of perfect timing. When Jim walked in, he looked thoughtful but a little embarrassed, too. He cleared his voice when he spotted Blair on the couch.

"I thought you'd have gone to sleep by now."

Blair snorted.

"You mean you wanted to avoid an awkward conversation."

Jim hung his coat.

"You know me," he said.

"Oh, that I do, my friend," Blair said, amused, then grew serious. "Listen, Jim, I'm sorry. I should have actually communicated with you before going over your head like that."

Jim grimaced.

"Yeah about that – I'm the one who's sorry, Chief. You did try to communicate, I just didn't listen. I didn't want to listen, because what you were proposing was so massively out there, I wasn't comfortable with it. But your strong suit is coming up with out of the box ideas and I should have realized the wackiest ones are the ones that give the best results."

The corners of Blair's mouth curled upwards.

"I think there's a compliment in there somewhere, man."

Jim shook his head.

"Look, you're good at your job. And me overruling you and ignoring you like that might have given the impression that I think the opposite. So I'm sorry. You think the Winchesters can help, they're welcome to try."

Well, well, Blair thought. Jim was getting mellow in his old age.

Jim moved further into the room heading for the stairs.

"It's late," he told Blair. "You should get some sleep."

"In a while," Blair muttered.

He glanced to the window. He should have enough courage to just ask.

"Hey, Jim…" he began, stopping Jim in his tracks.

"Yeah?" Jim asked cautiously. "What is it, Sandburg?"

But Blair shook his head.

"Oh…never mind. Good night, man. I'll see you in the morning."

Jim shrugged, but he was so used to Blair's idiosyncrasies, an interrupted conversation didn't really rate too high for him.

Blair listened to Jim climb the steps to his bedroom and shook his head, angry at himself. He should have just done it. He should have asked Jim about the dog. Maybe Jim would say: Of course I can hear the dog, Chief. It's that stray mutt from down the street, you know, the one you keep feeding? What else did you think it was?

But Blair was afraid that Jim would look at him blankly and ask: What dog, Chief? And that could mean only one thing. If the guy with the heightened senses could not hear the dog while Blair could – then it was no ordinary dog. It was the same thing the victims had heard. It meant Blair was next.

xxXXXxxxx

The hotel Sandburg had sent them to was on the edge of the city, across from a dog park. The receptionist's eyes had brightened when they had mentioned Naomi Sandburg and had assured them that "any friend of Naomi's is a friend of mine". He'd said this with a dreamy expression that the brothers had tacitly agreed never to mention to Blair. Whatever had been between that guy and their friend's mother, though, it did ensure that they got the best room. It even had a hot tub and Sam had promptly disappeared into the bathroom and came out only about half an hour later. Dean was on the phone.

"Right Bobby," he was saying, eyeing Sam with raised eyebrows and the beginning of an amused smirk on his face. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking…well, I know how it sounds, Bobby," he said with an annoyed tone. "But think about it. Who's most likely to know most about supernatural creatures and how to bind them to your will if not hunters?...Yes, I know it's not only them…Oh, I do know how they think, that's why I'm asking you to check it out." Dean paused and took a deep breath. "Look, just do me a favor and look into it, all right? If it turns out I'm wrong, I'll personally apologize to her."

Dean switched off the phone shaking his head.

"Good bath, princess?" he asked lightly.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Bite me, Dean. Was that Bobby?"

Dean nodded, his face hard.

"Now what did he do to piss you off?"

Dean waved that aside.

"He didn't piss me off. I just asked him to look into something."

Sam finished getting dressed and sat down on his bed, eyeing Dean knowingly.

"You think it could be a hunter, right? The one who's controlling the monster and placing the coins on the victims. Is that what you asked Bobby to look into?"

Dean hesitated, then shrugged.

"Agatha Dimitrios," he said. "She's Greek. Well, half-Greek. She used to live here. Lost her entire family a couple of years back."

Sam did not like where this was going.

"Killed by monsters?" he asked.

But Dean shook his head.

"Nah, it was a bombing or something. Totally human."

Sam was confused.

"So…why would you think it's her? You can't tell me the victims were involved in the bombing. Or that they were there…I mean, Sandburg would have mentioned something that big in his notes."

"There were no survivors from what I understood," Dean said. "But she's all alone, Sam. And grieving."

Sam scratched the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable.

"That's a big leap from grieving to wanting to kill random people using a supernatural dog."

Dean would not look at him.

"We both know what grief does, Sam. It eats at you, makes you want to tear the entire world, crumble it into little pieces."

Sam tried to catch the look on Dean's face, but Dean had his head bent.

"Is that what you felt?" he asked softly. "Last year, was this how it was for you?"

Dean got up abruptly and Sam was afraid he would leave to spend the night away from his brother in typical Dean fashion whenever they got too close to an emotional minefield. Instead, Dean strode to the window and remained there, his back to Sam. He shook his head, his fists clenched.

"Lisa and Ben helped," he said at length. "I won't deny that. They did. But…their help was more of a band aid, really."

He shuddered, as if caught in the memory of the previous year.

"There were times when I was passing through a park or entering a grocery store or going to a restaurant with Lisa…and I'd see all these people happy and together and not a care in the world for any of them. And I hated them…my God, Sammy, I hated them."

Dean's voice broke and Sam suddenly wished he had kept his questions to himself.

"I mean there they were – all safe and alive while you…you weren't even dead and at peace, I could not even comfort myself with that. You were…and none of them even knew…"

Sam made to get up.

"Dean…" he began.

He had no idea what to say. Hell, he barely had any idea what to feel, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions: sympathy for his brother, sadness that Dean had felt all that, and the sensation that was both elating and terrifying, brought by the knowledge that Dean still cared that much about him, that, after all those years and all that had happened, Dean had grieved that much for him. Sam had no idea what to do with that. How did you comfort someone who was grieving your own death?

Dean made a swift movement with his hand, interrupting whatever Sam had to say. He turned from the window and Sam was surprised to notice his eyes were dry. His brother was all business now.

"Forget it. We're not here for that. All I'm saying is, we should consider Agatha a suspect. I had Bobby looking into her movements. If it's not her, it's not her and that's that."

Sam wondered if he should not keep pressing. After all, Dean had no business dropping such a revelation in Sam's lap and then acting as if it did not mean anything. But the look on Dean's face told him clearly his brother would not be interested.

"Right," Sam said clearing his throat. "Well, hopefully it isn't her. I've got a feeling Bobby's pissed enough at us as it is."

Dean snorted.

"He's getting over it. He asked me how you were doing."

Sam hoped he was not blushing or grinning like a sap.

"Really?"

"He just needs time to get his head on straight," Dean assured him. "Which is why we took the case."

Sam smirked.

"Here I was thinking you just missed your bromance with Ellison."

Dean looked disgusted.

"OK, I don't even know what you said but whatever it is, Ellison and I don't share it. And anyway, you're one to talk. You kept in touch with Sandburg, didn't you? How else would he have our numbers? We changed them about ten times since we met him."

Sam shrugged.

"Well, actually, he's one of the people I send our new contact details whenever we change them. It's good to keep an anthropologist and expert in tribal culture in your back pocket when you're doing what you're doing. I mean – Sandburg knows stuff and I don't have to lie to him about why I need his information."

He noticed that Dean had a proud look, as if extremely pleased by Sam's foresight. He knew if he commented on it, Dean would become closed off.

"Anyway, I'll see if Sandburg can get me into Rainier library tomorrow. They've got quite a few texts on various folklores."

Dean nodded.

"I guess I'll check on the victims then."

Sam went to the window. There was a dog outside, barking insistently. He turned to Dean.

"Hey, you're getting that, too?"

Dean did not look worried.

"You mean the dog? Yeah, Sam, we're close to a dog park. Nothing demonic about it, this time, though I'm tempted to throw my shoe at Fido to get him to shut up."

Sam huffed, trying to hide how relieved he was. He had been afraid he was the only one to hear the dog. But if Dean could hear it too – then it had to be just an ordinary dog.

So, which one of them is hearing an ordinary dog and which of them isn't?

The thing about Blair's mother paying for that hotel room as penance is a reference to the final episode of the Sentinel, when Naomi Sandburg ends up sending her son's (not yet proofread and corrected) dissertation to a publisher without his permission, effectively putting his relationship with Jim in jeopardy and ending his career as an anthropologist (which, yeah, not a nice thing to do…)

Not a lot of action in this chapter, but I wanted a bit to show where our characters are emotionally and I really wanted to hint at Dean's turmoil was Sam was in Hell.