Happy Sunday! Wow, I'm really flattered with the reception this story has received and it's only the first chapter. I can tell you I'm equally glad to play in this sandbox again. I'll have the plot start to thicken, because, well, you know me :P More notes at the end.

Chapter 2

Dean did not know what to say about having two extra people in the Bunker (Blair had not mentioned it, but it was an unspoken understanding that, if Blair was coming, Ellison was too, especially as he might think Blair needed moral support on this search for his roots or whatever the hell Sandburg was trying to do). Especially as one of those people was a cop, and Dean could never be comfortable with that. Still, he too wanted to find out more about his grandfather and whatever he was dealing with. Henry Winchester had left no key to that warehouse Sam and Dean apparently co-owned with Blair Sandburg. But Sandburg had one, so they could enter the place perfectly legally and above-board.

There was also the fact that Dean wanted to use Blair to get Sam to talk. Blair Sandburg had a knack of getting people to confide in him. Perhaps Dean could ask him to have a conversation with Sam about how he was really doing, since the only thing Sam was good at these days was avoiding Dean and lying to his face.

"So," he said. "Any idea how these two might have met? Henry and Sandburg's grandfather?"

The usual mountain of books and papers on the table looked intimidating to Dean, but Sam was acting as if he was very much in his element.

"I think I do. Remember the Thule society? And the golem?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, the…uhhh…initiative."

"The Judas Initiative," Sam agreed. "I have here a record of a sort of a team that was part of the initiative, some sort of magical artifact retrieval team that was meant to look into Nazi looted art and find certain objects that weren't supposed to be out in public. One of the members was Joseph Sandburg – I'm assuming Blair's great-grandfather – and his son Aaron."

"So, that's Blair's grandfather," Dean guessed. "What happened to them?"

Sam frowned in concentration.

"According to the notes, they were supposed to retrieve this box. The mission was initially a failure, but eventually the box did indeed get to the States, due to Aaron's influence. However, there's a not to be contacted under Aaron's name. I'd like to know what that's about."

Sam paused and drew a deep breath. Dean tensed, already knowing what was going to happen. He still wasn't emotionally prepared enough when Sam gave in to the coughing fit he was fighting.

It seemed to go on for ages, certainly longer than it did before. That was what was worrying Dean the most: that every coughing fit seemed longer and worse than the last one. Sam would have argued of course. Sam always said something absurd such as: it wasn't so bad or – Dean's least favorite – I've had worse. When? He had nearly asked once. When you were being tortured in Hell? He had stopped himself at the last moment – thankfully, because he was sure it would have been the wrong thing to say.

By the end of it, Sam was leaning over the table, gasping. Dean had half-risen from his chair, unable to completely fight of the instinct that screamed at him to go to Sam, even though he knew Sam wanted (and maybe even needed) to handle all the Trials related mess on his own.

Sam spat some blood in one of the tissues that he always carried with him now and waved Dean aside.

"Sit down," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine."

"Sam, you're so far from fine, you can't even see fine anymore," Dean could not help pointing out.

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, some of his usual confidence taking away the breathiness of his voice.

Dean let it go, but only because it exhausted Sam to keep arguing with him.

"So," he said clearing his throat. "Sandburg's grandfather? What happened to him?"

Sam turned to the laptop.

"He was born in Prague, he lost most of his family in the camps, but managed to escape himself and ended up in the US. There's nothing here that mentions any occult interests, though. He got married to another survivor, he was a pediatric neurosurgeon for most of his life – actually he founded an entire neurology wing in a hospital, it's even named after him. He seemed to have lived a fairly normal life."

Dean snorted.

"He knew our grandpa. I doubt he lived a normal life."

Sam shrugged.

"Well, if he didn't, it's not in any official sources I can find…"

"What was in that box anyway?" Dean wanted to know. "Do you think we have it?"

"Good question," Sam said. "These guys had a lot of stuff at the Bunker, but they were crap at inventorying it."

Dean smirked.

"Well, isn't that why I keep you around?"

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"I knew there had to be a reason," he quipped. "I'll look into this some more. But if I don't find anything, I'll just ask Sandburg. I mean, it's his grandfather. Surely he knows more about him than the Men of Letters do."

"Not if he's anything like ours," Dean said darkly.

Secrets upon secrets was, after all, the motto of the Winchester family. And maybe others got inspired to do the same. Dean watched Sam carefully and wondered what he was hiding. Castiel had been pretty blunt in revealing the extent of the damage the Trials were doing to Sam. But now he wondered if he had told Dean everything – and if Sam, for all his assurances that he would be honest with Dean from then on – wasn't aware of something that he was determined to keep from Dean at all costs.

XxXXXxxx

"You don't have to come all the way, you know," Blair was saying.

Jim frowned as he concentrated on driving.

"Do you want me to leave you somewhere on the side of the road, then?" he asked mildly.

Blair huffed.

"No. Of course not. And I really appreciate you driving me all the way to Kansas…"

"There was no way I was letting you cross state lines in that junk heap of yours, Chief. This is safer."

Blair thought of pointing out that a drive with Jim behind the wheel was rarely "safe", but decided it might sound ungrateful. Jim had got him all the way to Lebanon, after all.

"I meant all the way to wherever the Winchesters live. You can stop in town. Get a motel room, then pick me up when I'm done."

Jim rolled his eyes.

"Right. Because I'm going to leave you alone with them. Face it Sandburg, you're a walking, talking trouble magnet on your own. You're twice as bad when the Winchesters are also involved. Someone needs to keep an eye on you."

Blair snorted.

"Has anyone ever told you that you had this insulting way of showing you care?"

"If that is how you choose to interpret it, Chief…"

Blair watched the scenery pass by the window.

"I was thinking, since you and the Winchesters don't really get along, you might not want to be exposed to them again."

Jim gave a brief smile.

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Sandburg, but if there is any excitement, I'd rather be there to get you out of it. Or at least whack you over the head for getting into it in the first place."

Blair was sniggering. Jim cast him a surprised glance.

"Care to share in the joy, Chief?" he asked mildly.

Blair shook his head.

"It's just, you're trying to act all tough, you know, but I've got your number. You actually enjoy spending time with the Winchesters."

Jim looked positively insulted, which made Blair snigger even more.

"I beg your pardon?"

Blair nodded.

"You do. They keep you on your toes and you enjoy that."

"Sandburg, if I wanted to give myself a heart attack all I'd need is to get myself an extra donut. Which you no longer allow me to do, need I remind you that?"

"Serves you right for not sharing your medical history with me from the start, man," Sandburg retorted. "I had to find out from your doctor after you nearly die of poisoning. You're lucky I didn't cut down your intake of donuts completely."

Jim ignored the dig, probably afraid Blair might actually follow through.

"So," he said, clearing his throat, hoping that would signal a change of subject. "Have they offered any insight into how their grandfather knew yours?"

Blair shook his head.

"No, the last time I spoke with Sam he said he'd explain everything when we got there."

"There being somewhere outside Lebanon. Are they squatting in some abandoned building?"

Blair shrugged.

"Sam was pretty vague about where they live. I got the feeling they were waiting to surprise me."

Jim huffed.

"Never a good sign," he declared.

Blair snickered amused. He had to admit to himself that he was curious. Just where exactly did Sam and Dean live, anyway?

"I'm sure we'll find out. If it turns out they are squatting, you promise not to turn on your cop persona, Big Guy?"

Jim's jaw tightened.

"If it turns out they're squatting, I'm turning the car around and dragging you home with me. They can mail you the contents of your grandfather's stuff."

Well, Blair thought, it was not like he had not asked for this. He had known from the start what bringing Jim for "moral support" to a meeting with the Winchesters would actually entail.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam and Dean met Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg outside Lebanon on what looked like an abandoned highway. Jim thought they looked the same as ever, with "trouble" written clearly on their foreheads. Something was different, though. Something in the way Dean held himself, tenser than usual, colder, more deadly. And something in Sam, too, although Jim could not put his finger on what yet. Anyway, the two seemed happy to see them – well, to see Sandburg, actually – although Sam did greet him quite civilly too, but his brother's cold "Ellison" told Jim there was still no love lost between the two of them – not that Jim cared or wanted it to be.

"So," Blair said lightly. "You mentioned a place?"

Sam pointed to the opening of what looked like some attempt at a bunker.

"Don't tell me you're squatting in a bomb shelter," Jim said.

Dean smirked.

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it, Ellison. Seriously, though. Come inside and then you can judge."

Jim should have known from Dean's smug look that the Winchesters had something up their sleeve. They climbed down several stairs into what looked like one of the most professional command centers Jim had seen, with a table and maps and old communication and tracking equipment.

"What the hell is this place?" he asked, unable to hide how impressed he was.

"Come further inside," Sam suggested.

The war room led to a larger room with old fashioned furniture and one of the hugest libraries Jim had ever seen.

"Oh man! Oh, this is beautiful!"

Jim did not have to look at Blair to know the expression that was now dominating his friend's face; the wide eyes and bright grin and sparkle of enthusiasm that Blair got whenever he was in the presence of something that fascinated him. Jim used to joke once that Blair got fascinated easily, but the truth was the genuine exuberance was something he hoped Sandburg would never lose. In truth, it had become tempered by time and troubles and near-death experiences (actual death experiences, Jim forced to correct himself). But the spark was still there and Jim enjoyed the times when it could still come out. Maybe, he thought, maybe agreeing to this visit with the Winchesters wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Guys, what is this?" Blair asked.

Sam smiled.

"Welcome to the Men of Letters Bunker."

"The what now?" Jim inquired bemused.

"Turns out it was an organization dedicated to gathering as much knowledge on the supernatural as possible," Sam explained. "And that's only scratching the surface. Our grandfather was a member."

Blair tensed as soon as Sam mentioned his grandfather.

"And mine?" he asked. "Was he also a member of this Men of Letters club?"

Sam shook his head.

'No, he was part of something different back in Europe. The Judas Initiative. Didn't he ever tell you that?"

Blair's face grew dark.

"Telling me would have involved talking. We never talked, in fact, I never saw him once while he was alive although he saw plenty of me apparently."

Jim reached out and put a restraining hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Take it easy, Chief. We talked about this."

Blair snorted.

"Right. Water under the bridge, man." He looked at the confused Winchesters and shrugged. "Grandpa didn't like that his only daughter, the light of his life, got pregnant by random hippie at random civil rights protest. If that's what happened. I don't know. Naomi never told me and I suspect she never told him, either. Anyway, grandpa said either fix the problem, or leave my house. She left his house."

Sam and Dean exchanged brief looks, and Jim could not blame them, the situation was a little awkward. Then Sam cleared his throat.

"Right, well, apparently your great-grandfather was part of something called the Judas Initiative before the war. That was a group of…uhhh…rabbi saboteurs."

Blair raised his eyebrows.

"Really? That sounds awesome."

"I have a file on them, you can read all about them," Sam assured him. "But first, your grandfather: he came to America with a box that our grandfather wanted. Apparently, your grandfather handed in the box, but did not want anything to do with the Men of Letters. However, something must have happened, since your grandfather ended up co-owning a warehouse with our grandfather, and I think he is also in a photograph with a few other of the Men of Letters. It's one of the last photographs taken of them before the group was destroyed."

Blair took the photograph Sam handed to him frowning slightly.

"Yes, that could be him. I haven't seen pictures of him so young, but he does look a bit like my mum, so…"

Jim glanced at the picture and did a double take. He took it from Sandburg almost brusquely.

"Jim?" Blair asked uncertainly. "Have you seen him before?"

Jim shook his head almost irritated by the discovery.

"Not him, one of the guys standing next to him. The one in the posh suit. Arthur Ellison. My grandfather."

The one his father did not want to talk about. The one who, it was said, had died under mysterious circumstances long before Jim Ellison was born.

xxxXXXxxx

Arthur Ellison had managed to keep his involvement with the Men of Letters from his wife and son. Of course, it was not that difficult. He did not communicate with them much anyway except for the essentials. They were not that type of family. Anyway, the time would come when William would inherit the family business – not just the company, but the side-business, the antique dealing and occult objects – and he would know everything there would be to know then. It would be too late to back out then, of course. But then again, Arthur thought sourly, he had been given little choice in the matter, too.

It took quite a while for him to meet both Henry Winchester and Aaron Sandburg. At first, Sandburg had wanted nothing to do with them. He had simply handed over the box to Henry and said his farewells, going home to his cookie-cutter neighborhood and his job and his daughter. He did not want this life for her, he had insisted.

Predictably, Henry Winchester had been rather soft on the matter. When Arthur had insisted he should try again to persuade Sandburg to join them, Henry had refused.

"I think he is right. He wants to live his own life and we have absolutely no right to barge in on him like this."

Arthur scoffed.

"This is bigger than him. It's bigger than us. You know that."

Henry frowned.

"I thought you were in this only for the payoff?"

"Of course I am. All this saving the world, bettering mankind crap works better on you lot. I'm purely here out of self-interest and I'm not afraid to say it."

Henry's look of disgust had been worth it.

In the end, Arthur managed to get Aaron Sandburg's address and paid him a surprise visit in the evening, while he was having dinner with his wife and daughter. It turned out Arthur did not even need to introduce himself. Aaron knew exactly who he was.

"Rebecca, take Naomi upstairs," Aaron told his wife firmly. "Mister Ellison and I have business to discuss."

Ellison did not mind the arrangement. It was not as if he was going to schedule a playdate between his son and Naomi Sandburg. She was too young anyway.

"If it's about the box, I don't have it anymore," Aaron said. "I gave it away. To that Man of Letters."

"Yes, Winchester told me about that. It isn't only about the box, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered you."

Aaron frowned.

"Well, what else do you want?"

Arthur leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He stood across from Aaron, but he knew how to appear intimidating.

"You have the box and I have the key," he said.

"I don't have the box anymore," Aaron pointed out.

Arthur leaned back.

"Of course. You gave it to Henry. But Henry – or anyone else in the Men of Letters, really – can't use it to its full extent, can they?"

Aaron looked away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled.

Arthur snorted. He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

"You do. I think you've seen this too, haven't you?"

He handed the paper to Aaron. He could see the man was trembling as he looked at it.

"How did you…how can you…?"

Arthur nodded quickly.

"You saw them too, didn't you?"

Aaron hesitated.

"I saw them in a dream."

"So did I," Arthur said. "After taking something a shaman assured me would give me important visions."

Aaron looked at him suspiciously.

"Shamans do not usually share their secrets with suburban businessmen."

Arthur smirked.

"Former shaman. And anyone can be bought, Mr. Sandburg."

Aaron shook his head, tracing the figures on the paper.

"Not everyone. I don't believe it. They won't."

Arthur's smile was cold.

"That remains to be seen. So, will you join us?"

Aaron looked at the piece of paper again.

"I seem to have little choice."

Down there on black and white was the image that had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember: a wolf and a panther running side by side.

For those who haven't seen the Sentinel, the panther is Jim's spirit animal, and the wolf is Blair's. In a few reviews for the previous parts (I think some were on Archive of Our Own), it was mentioned that I should tackle spirit animals, since a lot of Sentinel fics did. I promised I would in this instalment, so here we are.