Happy Sunday, all! I've been promising you this fic for a long long time, and I'm finally delivering it. This will probably be the last in the Supernatural/Sentinel crossover series(to any newcomers, the first two stories in the series are "Bringer of terror" and "You can't run from the past" which would be helpful to read before starting this story, as they explain the premise and character dynamics).

This fic takes place in season 8, sometime after "Goodbye Stranger" and before the second trial (for Supernatural), and some years post-series for The Sentinel. Just a reminder that in this universe, Blair isn't a cop, but a consultant with the PD. He still lives at the Loft, though.

Chapter 1

Then

Henry Winchester walked through the park, whistling softly. He could not contain his enthusiasm. His initiation was in a few days and he could hardly focus on anything else. There was also this meeting, and Henry had a lot of hope for it. After all, he was the one who had been entrusted to make contact and retrieve the package. Usually this kind of stuff was done by their contracted Hunters, but this time, Henry had been chosen. Apparently, whatever was in that package could not be trusted with just anyone. And the fact that Henry was no longer considered "just anyone" was enough to make him feel a little giddy.

He passed two kids chasing each other in the park and shook his head. They were probably John's age. He could not wait to share what he knew with John. Of course, the secrets of the Men of Letters could never be entrusted to one so young, but John would grow up and one day he'd be where Henry was. Yes, Henry had big plans for his son.

Henry spotted the lonely man sitting on a bench beneath a tall maple tree. Their meeting place, Henry thought and he headed towards the man. He must have been his own age, but his hair was already graying, a sign that he was aging prematurely.

"Mr. Aaron Sandburg?" he asked as he approached the bench.

The man looked up, warily.

"Mr. Henry Winchester, I presume?"

Henry nodded brightly.

"Thank you for meeting me."

Aaron did not return his smile.

"Yes, well, you did not give me much choice, did you?"

Henry spluttered. Lack of enthusiasm from his contact had never been part of the plan.

"I assume you have it," he said.

Aaron handed him a wooden box. Henry took it carefully. Further examination showed that it was locked.

"Careful not to open it," Aaron advised. "I won't be responsible for what comes out."

Henry's fingers were caressing the box.

"So it's true," he said.

Aaron shrugged.

"You tell me. I'm just a messenger at this point." He got up. "Actually, don't tell me anything. I left all that behind when I left Europe."

Henry looked up in surprise.

"Are you sure? The Men of Letters would be glad to have you."

Aaron smiled tightly.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm not one of the Judas Initiative here. I'm not Men of Letters. I'm a pediatrician and well respected in my community. I'm married – we just had a daughter…"

"Well, I have a son, too," Henry said quickly. "John will be joining the family business as soon as he's of age."

Joseph huffed.

"Well, Naomi won't get anywhere near it. She'll grow up into a stable, well-respected person and she'll have peace. There will be no cursed boxes or artifacts or anything of the kind. I'm done, Mr. Winchester. I left all that behind in Europe. All the murder, all the mayhem – I promised myself it would be over when I came to the States."

Henry was panicking. His superiors would not be pleased. True, he had the package, but they had made it clear they wanted both the package and Aaron.

"Look," he began, "I know you lived through the war and it was hard…"

Aaron raised his eyebrows.

"Hard," he repeated flatly.

Henry nodded.

"Sacrifices – well, we've all had to make them, didn't we? I know what you must be feeling."

He knew by the look on Aaron face that he had said the wrong thing.

"You know what I must be feeling. Tell me, Mr. Winchester, were you woken up in the middle of the night by soldiers and lined up with your family in the street where neighbors who once greeted you with smiles now hurled insults at you? Did you see your books burn, your possessions stolen? Were you separated from your family, lost them probably for good?"

Henry looked away.

"No," he said. "No, of course not."

Aaron smiled tightly.

"Well, when that happens, you come to me and tell me when I should have had enough or not. Any debt between our families has been paid, Mr. Winchester. There is no need for further interactions."

Henry was less sure of that.

"This kind of matters are not always up to us to decide. Our families were linked once. They may be so again."

Aaron shook his head.

"I really hope not. You tell your other contact that too. I really hope our families have nothing to do with each other again."

Henry shook his head. His other contract. The collector with knowledge of the supernatural. The one who had insisted strongly on a meeting with both him and Sandburg. Well, now it appeared it would only be just him.

That night, he dialed the number he had already memorized.

"Mr. Arthur Ellison?" he asked. "It's done. My superiors are ready to meet you. There's been a slight snag, though. Mr. Aaron Sandburg might not want to be involved anymore…"

xxxXXXxxx

Present time

Jim pulled into the parking lot, slightly surprised to find his partner's car already there. He had left work early for once, and he had been sure Sandburg would be hung up with the lawyers for at least several more hours. Shaking his head, he entered the building and took the elevator. Whatever came next, Jim would have to assess the situation first before he made any move. Blair had been in a weird mood for the past three days, not really receptive to Jim's attempts at conversation or at cheering up. Jim could not blame him. He did not know what he would have done, had he been in Blair's place. The old him of a few years back would have probably shut Sandburg out without a second thought.

Four evenings ago, Blair had received an unexpected phone call saying that his grandfather had passed away. That would have been upsetting for anyone. It was doubly for Blair, since he had never met his grandfather before.

Jim unlocked the door and was greeted with the sight of Blair on the sofa, surrounded by piles of papers that stretched beyond the coffee table and spilled unto the floor. The sight was not entirely unfamiliar, but Jim knew Blair was not researching a case this time, nor was he preparing a paper for some of the Anthropology magazines he still wrote for at times.

"What's all this?" he asked cautiously.

Blair looked up, slightly startled, as if he had not expected Jim to be there so early.

"Oh, hi Jim," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. I'll have this cleared out and put in my room, I swear."

"Don't worry about it," Jim said quickly, thinking it was fair to cut the guy who'd just been to see his recently dead grandfather's lawyer some slack. "What is all this, though?"

Blair smiled bitterly.

"My inheritance. Apparently."

Jim looked at the papers uncertainly.

"For you?"

He regretted the question as soon as he asked it, but Blair did not seem too affected.

"I understand your surprise. Seeing as he cut off my mother before I was born and, as far as I knew, had no idea I existed. Well, no, that's wrong. He did have an idea I existed. I was the reason he cut Naomi off. Threw her out of the house, actually. See, when you're a big-shot pediatric neurosurgeon, you don't want to be involved in the scandal of your barely eighteen-year-old daughter getting pregnant with hell knows who."

Jim said nothing. Blair had not told him before the reason why Grandpa Aaron had so decisively severed ties with Naomi, but Jim had suspected it was something of the kind.

"Different times, Chief," he said philosophically. "And you know family is sometimes complicated. Look at me and my dad."

Blair grimaced.

"Bet half my consultant salary that if you'd gotten a random girl pregnant your dad wouldn't have kicked you out of the house and told everyone that you're dead to them. Because that's what he did to Naomi. And when I go to his house today, guess what I find?"

Jim moved aside some of the papers on the couch and sat down. Dinner would have to wait.

"What did you find?" he asked.

He watched Blair's face carefully, noticing how his partner kept worrying at his lower lip, a sure sign that he was undergoing some mental turmoil.

"He had this entire scrapbook about me," Blair said.

Jim frowned.

"What do you mean? I thought he and Naomi were not in contact with each other."

Blair smiled wryly.

"That's right, they weren't. But, like I said, he was a bigshot. He had connections. There were graduation photos, articles I wrote, hell, articles I had forgotten I'd written, my Masters' thesis on Sentinels, way before I met you…"

Jim stiffened at that. The few people who had come across that Masters' Thesis tended to put two and two together very quickly. But really, the possibility of Jim being a Sentinel was old news in Cascade. Besides, the old man was dead. What harm could he do?

"What else did you find?" he wanted to know.

Blair shrugged.

"An article about…well, the drowning and resurrection as the press liked to call it. It looked well read. Crumpled, you know."

Jim could not imagine wanting to keep something like that. Even more, he could not imagine Aaron Sandburg not deciding to make contact with his grandson after that. Jim himself had taken that moment as the second chance he knew he didn't deserve and vowed never to let Sandburg go ever again.

"I think I can guess what else you found," he said when Blair remained silent. "The news about the fraudulent dissertation, our attempts to redress that, maybe other articles you've published over the years?"

Sandburg nodded curtly.

"That and a few pictures of us from that high profile case with the cult a few years back. And other pictures, personal photos. I don't know how he got those. It was surreal man. Like I was seeing my life through his eyes. Discovering who I was through him."

"It's not who you are, though," Jim pointed out. "He didn't know you, Sandburg. And that's on him."

Bair didn't answer. He was playing with a piece of paper, idly moving it from one hand to another without reading it.

"You know, he came to the States during the war. He used to live somewhere in what's now the Czech Republic. His family died in the camps – he barely managed to escape himself. I know he led a complicated life and was a complicated man. I know he loved my mother – he must have, at one point, right? I know the life my mother chose was definitely not the one he would have chosen for her and maybe to someone who's strong willed and stubborn that's not something they can easily get over. I know all that, Jim."

Jim nodded slowly.

"That's good," he commented.

Blair grimaced.

"But I can't forgive him. Not for cutting out my mother when she was vulnerable and needed help and not for watching me from the shadows my whole life without once bothering to acknowledge that he knew I existed."

And just how would you have reacted if he had contacted you out of the blue? Jim wondered. It wasn't a fair question, though. Sandburg forgave a lot and usually was ready to give people second and third and even fourth chances when they came to him. Jim knew that better than anyone. If Blair's grandfather had bothered to contact him, he would have found out just the kind of man his grandson was – the kind of man he had become almost on his own, despite the hand life had thrown at him.

"I don't think anyone'd ask you to forgive, Blair. Despite what everyone says, we don't owe anything to the dead. If they wronged us in life, they wronged us. We can't just roll over and accept what they did to us. Your grandfather hurt your mother – and indirectly hurt you. I don't think I would have liked the guy too much, either."

Blair snorted.

"You don't like easily in the first place."

Jim had to accept that. He did not have a great track record when it came to relationships of any kind. It took a lot for him to accept someone – present company excluded.

"So, the papers?" he asked, thinking a change of subject might benefit Blair.

"Oh, those. Correspondence between my grandfather and some guy. Apparently they owned this warehouse in Lebanon. It's mine now – and whatever surviving relatives the other guy has, I guess."

"Lebanon?" Jim repeated.

Blair's attention was back on the letters.

"Huh? Oh, Lebanon, Kansas. Not the country."

Jim nodded, satisfied Sandburg did not plan to go traipsing halfway across the globe.

"And this other guy?"

Sandburg shrugged.

"From what I could read there was no love lost between the two of them. More like a tentative business relationship. His name was Henry…hang on…"

Blair sat up, peering at the envelope of the last letter.

"This guy's name was Henry Winchester. You don't think there's any connection between him and our Winchesters, do you?"

Jim bit back the habitual "I hope not" that came into his mind, particularly since, for some reason, Blair was actually fond of the Winchester brothers. Of course, the stranger the person, the more Sandburg was bound to be drawn to them, so that didn't say much.

"I don't know," he said neutrally. "It could just be a coincidence. These exist, you know."

Blair shook his head.

"Not when it comes to us, they don't. I can feel this, man."

Jim toyed with the idea of ignoring Blair's enthusiasm. Maybe it would go away on its own.

"How long has it been since you've talked to them anyway?"

Blair shrugged. He was already reaching for his phone.

"Year, year and a half. Come on, Jim, aren't you the least bit curious? I know I am."

Jim did not answer. He suspected this did not have to do with the Winchester brothers as much as it did with Sandburg's own need for closure. A stranger had left him a legacy, and Sandburg being who he was could not simply let that go without examining it from all angles first.

He watched idly as Blair dialed a number and inwardly braced himself for chaos. Meetings with the Winchesters always turned out interesting – and dangerous.

xxxXXxxx

Sam leaned wearily against the back of the chair. He hated how he was feeling lately, hated the weakness coursing through his veins and at the same time the irritated restlessness that had him snapping at Dean every five minutes, even though he knew very well Dean was only trying to help. Sam knew he was being hypocritical whenever he accused Dean of worrying too much. If the roles had been reversed and Dean had been the one impersonating a TB patient, Sam would have hovered over him worse than a hawk.

But it wasn't Dean going through the trials, it was Sam, and Sam for once in his life needed to stop leaning on his brother. Dean would never understand what was going on anyway. Sam had no idea how to explain to his over-protective brother that he was meant to suffer. The pain and the illness were part of the Trials just as much as the tests themselves.

A cough tickled his throat and Sam forced himself to swallow it. Dean was in his room, probably moping about Castiel's latest stunt or about Sam's refusal to be mothered. Still, Sam knew any suspicious noise from him would have brought Dean there. And Sam wanted some time to himself. He wanted to reflect on what was happening to him – and on an ending he was starting to fear was inevitable.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his thoughts. Sam groaned. He wanted nothing more than to ignore it. He did not think he could handle a case right now, or Garth's cheerful and erratic attitude. Still, he thought, it could be Kevin with the next trial. He picked up the phone.

"Hey, Sam, uhh…long time."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Sandburg," he greeted. "This is unexpected."

After the hunt for Cerberus, he and Blair had kept more or less in touch for a while when a Hunt had needed a particular brand of research. Still, Sam had not talked to him in a long time, not since Dean disappeared in Purgatory.

He did not know why. Blair had known Dean and had been on friendly terms with him. Sam could have called and let him know Dean was probably dead. At the very least, Blair would have been one of the few people who would have understood the extent of his grief. Still, Sam had not wanted to talk to him, for the rather petty reason that Blair hadn't suffered a loss like his. Blair Sandburg still had James Ellison, and Sam had been ashamed to find himself jealous of those who had what he had just lost for good.

"Look, this is gonna sound weird…" Blair began.

Sam rolled his eyes. The first time he and Dean had encountered Blair, he and the police detective he was studying were being targeted by a drug runner with evil wizard aspirations who had set a demon from Chilean legends on them. The second time, they all had a face off with Cerberus himself.

"We specialize in weird," Sam pointed out. "What is it?"

"Do you by any chance have relatives in Lebanon?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. This was unexpected.

"Lebanon?" he repeated.

"In Kansas, I mean," Blair specified.

"Yeah, I was sure you meant that," Sam said cautiously. 'Why do you ask?"

He very much hoped he and Dean had not fallen on the radar of the local police, although that did not explain how Blair could have gotten wind of that.

"As I said, it's a bit weird. Look, my grandfather just died and apparently I inherited some stuff from him, and one is this warehouse in Lebanon that he apparently owned with this guy whose name happened to be Winchester. Uh…Henry Winchester."

Sam shook his head. For all his grandfather had vanished off the face of the earth after his time-travelling stunt, now he was cropping up all over the place.

"Yeah, uhh…that's our grandpa. He…well, you could say he passed recently, but we knew nothing about a warehouse here."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"This guy was full of surprises," Blair commented eventually. "Look, I'm heading that way tomorrow and, since you and Dean technically co-own whatever's in there, I was wondering if you'd be interested? How far are you from Lebanon, anyway?"

Sam hesitated. The last thing he wanted now was someone with Blair's level of energy, not to mention that they should have been focusing on the trials. Still, they could do nothing in that department until Kevin came up with trial number two, and Sam was thinking that having Sandburg and Ellison around might get Dean off his back.

"Hey, let me know when you get here, you can stay at our place."

"You've got a place?"

Sam snorted at the surprised disbelief in Blair's voice. He supposed he could not blame Blair, considering the Winchesters have lived out of their car for the majority of their lives.

"Long story. You'll love it, though."

Sandburg in the bunker would probably offer a perfect distraction from the Trials. That was, unless Blair didn't give himself a coronary when he caught sight of all the books and grimoires.

xxxXXXXxxx

Dean decided that sitting around and moping in his room about Castiel's betrayal was not going to make the betrayal any less real. Besides, he needed to check on Sam. He had not heard anything from him for a while – not even the coughing – and he wanted to see what his brother was up to. Hopefully, he was not going to find him passed out in the library.

Surprisingly enough, Sam seemed well. He actually looked excited, feverishly going through ledgers at top speed.

"I hope this isn't your delirium deciding we need to reorganize the library," Dean commented. "Because, I gotta tell you, man, I ain't doing it."

Sam smirked.

"The day I ask you to reorganize the library is the day we decide to have a tea party with Crowley."

Dean snorted.

"I'll try not to feel insulted."

"I was meaning to come get you," Sam went on, pulling more ledgers from the shelves.

That was news to Dean, since Sam had been doing his best to avoid Dean after Castiel had informed Dean that Sam was seriously ill. Unless, of course, he wanted Dean to talk about Castiel's betrayal. In which case it was Dean trying to avoid Sam.

"So…any reason in particular?" Dean asked warily. "This isn't a set up for a heart to heart, is it?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not this time. I promise. Unless…you want to?"

Dean had no problem showing just how offended he was.

"Hell no! Not unless you want to talk about how you feel."

Sam backed off immediately.

"I feel fine."

Right, Dean thought. Tell me another one. Still, Sam was talking to him, and Dean did not want him to shut down. So he kept his thoughts to himself – for now.

"So – why did you want me here?"

"Did you know our grandfather knew Sandburg's grandfather?"

Dean was not expecting that and needed some time to process it.

"You mean our Sandburg? Blair Sandburg?"

Sam huffed, amused at Dean's description.

"Yeah, him. He said something about us co-owning a warehouse here. He has a key and he'll come look at what's what."

Dean did not know what to feel about that.

"You want him to come now?"

Sam cleared his throat.

"It might keep you off my back."

He sat down in the closest chairs. He made the movement look quite naturally, but he still did not manage to fool Dean. Sam's energy levels had been unnaturally low of late.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Sam asked.

Dean was actually tired of all the family secrets. Still, looking into this was better than moping over someone who obviously did not want anything to do with him.

"Sure," he said. "We should check it out. After all, what's the worse we could find in there?"

Sam's pointed look had Dean regretting his words. Nothing could had ever come out of taking such things lightly. Dean should have known by now that whenever a relative of them left them an inheritance, it usually came with tons of strings attached.

xxxXXXxxx

Somewhere on the outskirts of Lebanon something was moving. It had been asleep for decades, safely locked up by powerful spells. But those spells usually held only as long as the guardians that had cast them were still alive. And the last one had died. Now it was time for it to wake up. And the world was not ready for it.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It's strange capturing the mood of the Winchesters in season 8 after I wrote two stories set in the early seasons.

There are several hints in The Sentinel that Blair is Jewish, although it was never officially confirmed, as far as I remembered. But I chose to follow the hints, which was why I made his grandfather a former member of the Judas Initiative (but those aren't his only secrets).