Hello, faithful readers. Those who did not like Arthur Ellison before will find him even more despicable now. What can I say, I love myself a good villain. And then there's angst. And Sam setting Cas straight – or trying to. You're welcome :)

Chapter 9

"What's the use of you being there if you're not getting your hands on the box?"

Aaron chewed his lower lip. He wanted to slam the phone down and never call Arthur again. But Arthur had ways of finding him. He had people everywhere. After all, the phone call proved it.

Aaron was staying in a hotel in Lebanon while he was conducting his talks with Henry and the other Men of Letters. That evening, he was called to the reception to answer a phone call. His heart started to beat faster as he heard the dreaded voice. How Arthur had found him, he could not tell. He had made sure not to mention his visit. Even Aaron's wife thought he was at a medical conference in New York.

"Making any progress?" Arthur asked.

"I know a bit about the wolf and the panther," Aaron finally said. "Did you now they were supposed to be spirit animals?"

Arthur scoffed.

"I don't care what they are. I only care that their existence makes you depend on me. And vice versa, unfortunately. If you want to call them our spirit animals…"

"They're not," Aaron interrupted quickly. "They're not ours. We do not fit the description, they probably belong to future generations. One of your children will be a guardian. One of mine will be a guide."

And the guide was supposed to die. Aaron did not say that, of course. He did not want to give Arthur more ways of blackmailing him. He already had enough.

"Fine," Arthur said tersely. "I don't care, really. I care about the boxes."

"I can't get to that box," Aaron said. "It's impossible."

There, he had said it. This was supposed to release him from his bondage. Or, it would have been if things had been fair and simple in life.

"You know that's not what I want to hear," Arthur said smoothly.

"What can I do?" Aaron insisted. "They won't let me near it."

He stopped, realizing that he was nearly shouting and the people passing through reception were glancing at him nervously. Aaron ran a hand over his forehead, discovering it was sweating.

"They might," Arthur said. "I'll be traveling over. I think it will be good for the three of us to discuss things, don't you?"

What is there to discuss?Aaron thought. They won't deal. They want you to give them the key, that is all.

He did not say any of this aloud. He only drew a deep breath and declared:

"I do not want to work with you anymore."

Arthur's amused laughter froze his blood.

"Do you think I am going to let you go so easily, Aaron?"

Aaron knew he wasn't. But he still wanted to fight. He needed to fight.

"You seem to forget I've had my control taken from me when I was very young. You have no idea the kind of life I used to live, the kind of conditions. I swore never again…So, I'm saying no, Mr. Ellison."

Arthur Ellison laughed.

"Don't play that card with me, Sandburg. It won't work. You will do as I ask. You will help me get the box and then you will become my business partner and keep doing as I ask till the end of your days."

Aaron shuddered. When Arthur spoke like that, with that brazen certainty, it felt impossible not to believe him.

"Why are you so certain of my loyalty to you?" Aaron finally asked.

Arthur sounded smug.

"Because, as you've pointed out, our families will be bound together in the future as well. And because whatever it is that will bind them is in us as well. You belong to me, Aaron Sandburg. Don't you forget that."

The phone clicked shut. Aaron leaned heavily against the counter.

"Sir?" the receptionist asked. "Are you alright?"

Aaron felt her hand on his shoulder and forced himself to let go of the counter.

"Was it bad news from home?" the receptionist asked.

He wished he had her innocence right now.

"No," he said calmly. "No, it was…it was to be expected. Excuse me."

He left the entrance hallway, aware that people were looking at him. He was beginning to realize that he was more trapped in his deal with Arthur Ellison than he had first realized.

xxxxXXXXxxx

Biggerson's was packed that time of day. The smell of grease made Sam want to gag. He got less and less hungry as days passed, eating only when Dean practically forced food on him. Even then, he could only stomach light food and even then he did not have much guarantees that he would actually be able to keep everything down.

Castiel was sitting at a corner booth. He looked up and nodded gravely when Sam walked in. Sam headed to the booth and sat down.

"Strange choice of place," he commented. "For you, I mean. This is more Dean's style."

Castiel shrugged.

"It has its advantages."

Sam huffed. He had hoped him mentioning Dean would have been a good way of addressing the elephant that stood at the table with them. But Cas apparently did not want to play. Either that, or he could not understand Sam trying to be subtle.

"Look, Cas," he began, "Is there any reason you did not want Dean here? Because I have to tell you, I don't like the idea of someone having a problem with my brother."

Castiel's eyes widened, but Sam felt a jolt of satisfaction. He needed to show Castiel which side he was on. If they were picking sides, he would always pick Dean's.

"I don't have anything against Dean, Sam," Castiel finally admitted. "But things are complicated right now."

Sam snorted.

"When have things been simple anyway?"

Castiel shot him a look.

"Before I met you two," he said. "Back then everyone had a task and a purpose. Everyone fit in the grand plan."

Sam swallowed the bitter words that came to him. Everyone had a purpose then, it was true. And Sam's purpose had been to free the devil, fight his brother to the death, and end the world. He did not want that ordered state of things Castiel was suddenly longing for.

"Well, life is complicated," he said harshly. "And Dean stood by you through a lot of stuff. So the way you're treating him now, Cas? Not OK."

Especially not since Castiel had once claimed to have a "special bond" with Dean. Sam still remembered that. He had swallowed the involuntary jealousy at the time and told himself he should be glad Dean had someone other than Sam to lean on. Now, however, Sam was realizing that, as far as support systems went, Castiel was quite unreliable.

He shook his head, because he was not here to berate Castiel's choices, much as he wanted to. Castiel seemed to think the same.

"I don't have much time," Castiel said, then bit his lips. "In many ways, neither do you."

If this was about the Trials, Sam did not want to hear it.

"Let's just focus on what you came here for," he finally said. "The boxes."

Castiel nodded.

"There are supposed to be three."

"Right," Sam said. "We found one – we should have Sandburg's box too – what about the third?"

"The third is…complicated," Castiel said. "But since you told me life in general is complicated, that should not bother you, should it?"

Sam smiled tightly.

"Guess I deserved that," he finally said. "Define complicated."

"You need to summon a demon."

Sam sat up straighter.

"Excuse me?"

He looked around him surreptitiously, afraid someone might hear them talking about satanic acts in a fast food joint. Besides, what was Castiel on? Summoning a demon? Why would they ever do that?

"Cas, summoning a demon, especially now would be bad news," he hissed. "Why the hell would I want to do something that would have Crowley all over us?"

"Because the box is guarded by a demon," Castiel said. "A specific demon. His name is Gwydion."

Sam shrugged.

"Never heard of him. Not as a demon, anyway"

"No, he likes to keep a low profile and as far as demons go, he is not usually involved with Crowley and the rest."

Sam frowned, starting to feel intrigued.

"But Crowley is the King of Hell," he pointed out. 'So how can this Gwydion avoid him?"

"Leverage, mostly," Castiel told him. "He guards several powerful objects."

Sam did not like the idea of a power-charged demon that even Crowley could not contain.

"How come he's never crossed our path, anyway?" he wanted to know.

Castiel hesitated.

"Let us say he is slightly…eccentric."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"More than Crowley?"

"He does not like Crowley," Castiel said. "In fact, he does not like anyone, demon or angel. I do not know how he would feel about Hunters as I do not think he has encountered any. He does not draw attention to himself, therefore Hunters would not know about him."

Sam leaned back in his chair. Nothing Castiel was telling him brought him much hope.

"How are we supposed to take the box from him?"

But Castiel shook his head.

"No, Sam, you are not supposed to take the box from him. He is supposed to give it to you."

Sam laughed.

"Why the hell would he do that?"

Castiel's face remained grave.

"He will put you to a test," he said bluntly, and Sam's heart sank as he heard this. "He is contract-bound to do so. If you pass the test, the box is yours."

"And if I fail it?" Sam asked cautiously.

He could not handle it, he thought. Not with the Trials. He could not handle another obstacle course from some higher power. But he did not want it to put it on Dean's shoulders, either.

Castiel gave him back look for look.

"Those who fail the text do not care much about the box anymore. You cannot care about such things after you're dead."

Sam swallowed harshly. Of course failure would lead to death.

"Well," he said pushing his chair aside and preparing to get up. "That's that, then."

Castiel suddenly reached out and grabbed Sam's arm.

"Sam, you cannot think of taking on this test."

Sam wrenched his hand free.

"Why not, Cas?"

The angel looked pointedly at him.

"You know why. If you want to recover from the Trials…"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"Cas, I already know I won't recover. If I finish the Trials, I'm going to die, right? Maybe I will even if I don't finish."

Castiel hesitated.

"The probability is high, yes," he finally admitted.

Sam nodded grimly.

"See, that's why I keep telling you to reach out to Dean."

He noticed Castiel stiffen, maybe getting ready for his usual justifications. He no longer had the patience to be tolerant with him.

"He'll need you," he said bluntly. "If I…when I die, he's gonna need someone, Cas. And Bobby's gone. A lot of the others…they're gone too. By some twist of fate you're all we've got. Just think about that while you're playing tag with your precious Angel Tablet."

Sam nodded curtly, then walked out of the restaurant leaving a stunned Castiel behind.

xxxXXXXxxxx

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was hyper-aware of everything around him. The hardness of the floor on which he was sitting crossed-legged, mirroring Sandburg's usual meditation pose. The thrum of the ventilation nearby. Blair's breathing. Dean's breathing. He opened his eyes, irritated.

"This isn't working," he growled.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"And you tried it for what: three seconds? Concentrate, man."

Jim grimaced. He felt ridiculous and that feeling was not conductive to meditation.

"Look, I promise not to draw obscene signs on your face when you go under," Dean said.

"Oh, I'm so glad to know you've passed the kindergarten level, Winchester," Jim snapped.

It was not as if he thought Dean would do something to him. But the one person in front of whom Jim allowed any sort of vulnerability was currently comatose. As far as the rest of the world was concerned – it had burned Jim enough for him not to want to let his guard down around them.

He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. How did Sandburg do this? He thought of Blair meditating in their living room, his features calm and relaxed, one of the few times Sandburg was at rest. He tried to recall the regular sound of his breathing, the steady heartbeat Jim listened to almost without realizing – his own way of relaxing.

What would Blair say? Relax. Breathe. Imagine there is nothing but you and the point you are trying to get to. Jim could almost hear Blair's voice, that steady tone that he used only with him and no one else. The Guide tone. The one that could pull Jim out of the strange state he still fell into sometimes when he was focusing one of his senses too much, back to reality. Back to Blair. Well, now Jim had to move away from reality to something completely different. But he was moving towards Blair, so maybe it was the same thing. Blair had always pulled him away from the edge whenever Jim was in danger of falling. Now it was time for Jim to finally return the favor.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Blair ran until he suddenly found himself at the edge of a cliff. He could not see the bottom of the precipice, and the tree tops he could glimpse peering down were enough to make him sick. He swallowed against the dizziness. A stab of annoyance made him shake his head.

"Oh, come on!" he shouted to no one in particular. "Now you're gonna play with my fear of heights? That's a low blow, man. Why not add my abandonment issues while you're at it, then you can say you've really messed with my mind."

He only heard a crackling sound from behind. Against his better judgment, he turned around. His eyes widened as he saw three tall slender figures made of flames. He stood there rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes on them.

"No," he gasped in a small voice. "No, you…you're not real, either. You were never real."

Years ago someone had sent Pizza laced with a new and powerful designer drug to the Cascade PD as a warning. Blair had been the only one to ingest it, the result being a whole set of disturbing hallucinations involving strange flaming figures coming for him to burn him and everyone he knew. In truth, the visions had not disturbed Blair as much as his reaction to them, as he had stolen Jim's back-up gun and basically tried to shoot up the police garage – and had nearly killed Jim in the process, although Jim insisted that he was never in any danger and Blair had responded to him from the start, even in his drug-induced haze. There had been plenty of nightmares after the fact, but never about the fire people. The nightmares had always been about him not responding to Jim and shooting his best friend in the process.

"You don't even scare me, you know?" he said. "You'll have to do better than that."

He stood his ground as the figures approached. He was not afraid of fire, he reminded himself, the incident had not left him with those kinds of scars. Then the figures merged and became one and the fire glowed brightly, nearly blinding Blair. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes the fire people were gone. And Alex Barnes stood in their place.

It was not Barnes as Blair had seen her the last time, unresponsive, with her senses fried. This was Alex Barnes as he had met her the first time, a Sentinel in every way, just like Jim. She smiled sweetly.

"What about me, Blair?" she asked. "Do I scare you?"

Blair took a step back, then stopped. Any further and he would go off the edge.

"I'm over you," Bair said curtly.

It was the biggest lie he could ever say. Alex Barnes had literally killed him – however short his death might have been, it had been death nonetheless. He still remembered her hands on him as she was holding his head under the water. And more than that – she had driven a wedge between him and Jim, had divided them, had made Blair believe the one good thing he could count on in his life was completely ruined.

"Jim and I have talked about you," he said.

Which was true. After the case with Cerberus and Alex Barnes' deranged guide, Blair and Jim had come to an understanding of sorts about Alex.

"Besides," Blair added. "I forgave you."

It was hard to be mad at a coma patient. And Blair still thought that much of Alex's dark side came from her inability to control her senses.

She approached him until she was standing right beside him. Blair was rooted to the spot. He had to let her get close, it was either that or jump into the abyss behind him, and he doubted that he was going to survive that. Alex reached out and stroked his cheek. The gesture would have been tender, if it had not been her doing it.

"It's strange that you forgive me," she said, her fingers cold against his skin, "When you're unable to forgive yourself."

Blair snorted, even though his heart was pounding.

"What the hell are you on about? Forgive myself for what?"

Alex shrugged.

"Me. Lash getting you. The incident with the drugs. All those times you disappointed Jim. Maybe now too. Surely you blame yourself for this situation as well. You brought Jim into this, haven't you? You insisted on coming here. You needed to have your answers so badly, you did not think about the potential consequences. And now you're wallowing in guilt. Like you usually do."

Blair clenched his fists. He wished he could slap his hands over his ears and block out her voice. But the voice was in his mind. Nothing could stop it. Besides, she was telling the truth.

"Get the hell out of my head," he snarled.

He took a step back and suddenly his foot encountered nothing but air. He tried to regain his equilibrium, but he saw Alex reach out her hand and give him a light push. And then he was falling. Falling into darkness, falling forever and ever, and he was sure he lost all sense of himself even before he hit bottom.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam was driving back to Lebanon. He had a name, he had a means to procure the box, now all he needed was to convince Dean that he should be the one to summon Gwydion and take his tests. It was probably going to be difficult, considering he was already doing the Trials, and if he got killed by Gwydion it only meant someone would have to start the Trials all over again. But he could not risk Dean to this, and he could not ask Jim or Blair to get to the collector demon either – assuming Blair could even be pulled out of the spirit world. This was Hunter business.

A fox suddenly appeared in front of his car. It was larger than any fox Sam had seen, though, the fur darkish instead of red. Sam swerved and the only thing he could hear was the squeal of tires as the Impala was driven off the road. The last thing he thought before he slammed his head against the window was that Dean had just washed the car a few mornings before. And now Sam had damaged it.

Dean's gonna kill me, he thought.

xxxXXXXxxx

There were more ways of trapping mortals and tormenting them than one realized. It could taste the younger Man of Letters' pain as it watched the car slid off the road – with a little help from its powers, they might be limited without its two counterparts, but one was on the way and the other was still imprisoned, but they still worked enough to cause minor damage.

If it had been able to take on a human face, it would have been smirking now. The young man of letters was out of commission. The guide was wandering through his nightmares, completely trapped and the guardian was distracted, looking for him. All it needed now was to get to the hunter, and it would eliminate all its threats.

Gwydion is the name of a hero in Welsh mythology who is well known for being somewhat of a trickster. It's a name that's going to suit the character that I have in mind.

I think one of the reasons Sam was trying to keep the peace with Cas in the final episodes of season 8 despite how Cas had treated Dean was because he sensed he might not survive the Trials and knew that Dean would need a friend with him. I actually enjoyed Sam calling Cas out here.

Tune in next week where I'll try to fix at least one of the many cliffhangers from this chapters.