Can you believe we're already at chapter 6? Thank you for your feedback last week. I'm really glad to see you're having as much fun as I am. We'll definitely find out who is visiting Sam and Dean – and more besides! Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Letitia glared at Jim and Blair. She had at first refused to see the two, and only agreed when her girlfriend told her it was in her best interest to cooperate with the police. Letitia allowed them in her room, but she was no less uncooperative.

"What's the point?" she asked. "It's not as if they're going to catch him."

"Catch who?" Jim said, although he already suspected what the answer was going to be.

"As if you didn't know. You guys are government. You know all the shady stuff that the public is unaware of."

Jim's eyes roamed over the decorations in Letitia 's bedroom: UFO posters, a map of Big Foot sightings, newspaper clippings of this and that cryptid. They contrasted with the picture the sheriff had given them of the young woman: archaeology postgrad, top of her class, part time history teacher, skilled at painting and handmade jewelry. Then again, Jim thought slightly amused, if one looked at Sandburg's credentials without seeing the man, they might mistake him as normal, too.

He glanced at Blair and nodded. Blair suppressed his smirk, not at all surprised that it was up to him to deal with someone like Letitia. He always dealt with the weird ones.

"Jim is government," Blair said with his disarming smile. "But, let me tell you a secret. I'm not."

Letitia's eyes moved to him. She was hesitating, looking him up and down, and Jim knew exactly what she was thinking. Sandburg might not have been aware of it – or maybe he was, as he never hesitated to make use of it – but women melted like putty when he gave him the eyes and the disarming smile. Ellison could try glaring people into submission but, as Blair often kept reminding him, one caught more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"He sent me home, you know," Letitia said. "Carl. He arrived with this box, wouldn't tell me what was in it, then sent me home, with the day fully paid. I had the feeling he did not want me to see what was in the box."

Blair raised his eyebrows.

"Sounds unusual," he commented neutrally.

Letitia bit her lip. Blair leaned forward to have a better look at her.

"It was not unusual to you though, was it?" he discovered. "He did this before."

Letitia shrugged.

"Look, I never knew anything for certain," she said. "He made sure I never knew anything for certain, get it? Either to protect me, or because he was afraid I would rat him out, I don't know."

"Rat him out about what?" Jim asked sharply. "Was he involved in anything that wasn't above board?"

Letitia eyed him nervously.

"I can't get into trouble, can I?' she asked. "I mean, I suspected, but I never knew for sure. I can't get into trouble if I don't know for sure, can I?"

Blair gave her a reassuring smile.

"No one is getting into trouble."

Jim shrugged, because it really depended on what she had to say, and it really wasn't his decision to make. Letitia, however, seemed to take Blair's words as assurance enough.

"Sometimes, Carl had stuff that wasn't above board. Stolen goods, looted art, you get what I mean. The stuff I dealt with always had provenance papers all in order. Now, I wonder though if these too weren't forged."

"So what happened today?" Blair asked. "He told you to leave and you didn't?"

Letitia shook her head, breathing shakily.

"I did. But I'd forgotten my purse. I had to go back for it. When I did, he was already lying there…"

She paused and covered her mouth with her hand. Blair patted her shoulder.

"How long were you gone?" he asked gently.

Letitia straightened her shoulders.

"I swear I wasn't gone more than five minutes. What the hell could have happened in five minutes?"

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you got back?" Jim wanted to know.

Letitia spared him a glare.

"You mean besides my dead boss' brain all over the place?" she snapped.

Right, Jim thought. He supposed he actually deserved that.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I mean besides that, anything that might have given you a hint as to what might have happened. Even something before the incident…"

Letitia looked away.

"The sheriff had my place searched for drugs after I told her," she said.

"Well, we won't do that," Blair assured her.

Letitia smirked.

"Since the sheriff took all the magic mushrooms, you'd be wasting your time anyway, sweetheart."

Blair spluttered, but Jim felt slightly amused. At least she was honest.

"Look," Letitia said, "I have no idea if this is connected, but there was this fox."

Blair and Jim exchanged confused looks.

"What do you mean, a fox?" Blair asked.

Letitia rolled her eyes.

"Look, I had this discussion with my boss already. You guys do know what a fox is, right?"

Jim took a deep breath, trying to contain his impatience.

"We just don't know why the presence of a fox would be relevant."

Letitia hesitated.

"No one else saw it," she admitted. "Not even Carl, though he drove straight past her when he arrived. Just me."

Jim was already forming his own opinions about Letitia and was sure the sheriff must have missed some mushrooms in her search. Blair, however, was nodding to everything Letitia said. Well, Blair accepted everything weird at face value. That was not surprising.

"One more thing," Jim said. "The contents of Edwards' shop. Most of it apparently came from the same person."

Letitia nodded quickly, as if pleased that this was a question she was able to answer without appearing stoned out of her mind.

"Yeah, this rich guy from somewhere in Washington. He owned several antique stores apparently. The business was sold to Edwards' family and Carl started the shop. I know this because he showed me the deeds."

"Well, whose name was on the deeds?" Jim prompted. "Do you remember? Was it that of his wife?"

Letitia shook her head, chewing her lip.

"No, I'm pretty sure it belonged to a business partner or something. German sounding name." She paused and her eyes fell on Blair. "Oh my God! It was Sandburg! Like yours! Are you related?"

Sandburg cleared his throat.

"Never met the man," he said convincingly.

Which, of course, wasn't even a lie. Sandburg's obfuscation skills improved with age.

They knew they wouldn't be able to get more out of Letitia, and anyway, they had just received information that needed to be discussed in private first.

"So," Blair said. "Our grandfathers were also partners. Of a sort."

Jim grunted. That of a sort was what worried him. What kind of twisted legacy had he and Blair been left?

xxxxXXXXXxxxx

When Dean swung the door to the Bunker open, at first he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The road was empty, no cars speeding by, and the silence of it unnerved him. Like there was a blow being prepared. He almost did not want to leave the safety of the Bunker. Nothing supernatural could get in without the Winchesters' permission. What if whatever it was knew this and was trying to draw them away from their base?

Dean could feel Sam behind him, tense and at the ready. Still, he remembered the confrontation with the demons before meeting Castiel. He could deny it – hell, he could listen to Sam denying it – but Sam was not in top form. Whatever the Trials were doing to him, it was weakening him.

Dean shook himself out of his negative mindframe. Sam might have been less in the game than before, but Dean would still rather have no one else as back-up. There wasn't anyone he trusted more than Sam – if only he knew how to let Sam know, perhaps things would have been easier for the both of them.

A sound from outside distracted him. He froze. Sam's hand clutched his shoulder.

"What is it?" Sam asked, his voice low.

Dean finally identified the source of the noise. Across from the Bunker, there was a fox. It was larger than any fox Dean had seen, and its coat had a blackish hue to it. It was staring straight at Dean.

Something strange seemed to happen to him then. He forgot everything: Sam, the box, the warehouse. He could only see the fox and it was calling to him. There was something in the green, impassive eyes that seemed to seep inside Dean's brain. He lowered his gun and took a step forward.

Sam's hand tightened around his shoulder to the point of pain. He tried to wrench himself free, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of the obstacle that was keeping him from reaching his goal. He had to get to the fox.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Sam hissed through clenched teeth.

He tried to get a hold of Dean again, but Dean only elbowed him in the stomach. He heard Sam's surprised grunt of pain from far away, as if he was underwater. A part of his mind revolted at that, because he could not hurt Sam, especially not now, and what was he doing anyway? But the fox still kept staring at him and any rational thoughts that Dean might have had were overridden by the compelling need to cross the street and answer the call.

He took two more steps and stopped in the middle of the road. There was a sort of peaceful silence in his mind as he kept staring at the fox. It was as if all the clamor that had been beating against his brain since Purgatory – since before, really – had evaporated without a trace. Dean liked this new state of mind. A part of him knew he should back away, that such peacefulness could only come with strings attached, but at that moment, he did not care. It felt nice for a change, to not have any worries: not about the Trials, or his survival, or Cas's transformation, or even Sam's well-being. They were all out of his head and all Dean had was himself and an all-consuming sense of peace, perhaps for the first time in his life.

Something wrenched him to the side, hard. Dean lost his balance and found himself on the ground, his palms and knees stinging. A truck roared past him, inches away from touching him. Dimly Dean realized that, if he had still been standing on the road, it would have barreled into him before the driver could even realize he was there.

Dean lay panting, his heart pounding so hard it made him dizzy. He fought with the nausea left behind by the realization that he had been so close to dying, and such a ridiculous death at that.

Slowly, he was becoming aware of Sam leaning over him, holding on to him tightly, as if afraid to let go – afraid that Dean might barrel into the highway again if he was left unsupervised.

"I think it's safe for you to get off me now, Sammy," Dean said, trying – and failing, he was sure – to sound casual and not as freaked out as he really was.

Sam did not move, his hands tightening on Dean's shoulders.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Dean?"

Dean raised his head trying to shake the fog from his mind. He glanced across the street. The fox was nowhere to be seen.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Sam's hands were shaking. He stuffed them in his pockets, trying to hide them from Dean. He did not want to have to face his brother's scrutiny and he most certainly did not want to admit how worried he had been when Dean had fallen under whatever influence had held him in sway.

After the initial shock, Sam had helped Dean up, once again demanding to know what the hell was going on through Dean's head and why he had become suicidal all of a sudden. Dean had looked at him slightly dazed.

"You mean you didn't see the fox?" Dean had asked.

Sam had seen nothing, except Dean suddenly keen on being flattened by any oncoming truck speeding down the highway.

They were now back in the Bunker where Sam performed all the standard tests on Dean – at Dean's insistence. But Dean was not possessed in any way, at least, he passed all the possession tests, and if his mind was being controlled through other means, Sam could not tell.

"There was something outside, Sam," Dean insisted. "You heard it, too."

Sam nodded, reluctantly.

"It could have been anything."

Dean glared at him.

"It was a fox, Sam. I saw it."

"Well, I didn't," Sam felt the need to point how. "So, how come you could see it when I couldn't?"

Dean shrugged.

"I know you're usually the one with the connection to all manner of things freaky, but maybe this time it picked me."

As Dean was speaking he was rubbing at his shoulder. Sam winced in sympathy. He had used all his strength to pull Dean away from the truck.

He got up and walked to the fridge, where they held an endless supply of ice. Being Hunters, they needed something quick and relatively effective whenever they were bruised and sore, otherwise they would stiffen up even further and risk being out of commission due to relatively minor injuries. He walked back to Dean and handed him the ice.

"Here," he said matter-of-factly. "Put this on your shoulder."

Dean frowned.

"Who died and made you my nursemaid, Sam?" he snapped, but still took the ice.

Sam noticed that beyond Dean's ridiculous pride, he was actually grateful. He hid his smirk. He always knew how to handle Dean when he was injured and grumpy – and the best part was, Dean did not even know he was being handled.

"I'm thinking it has to do with the box," Sam said. "You handled it, and I didn't."

Dean frowned.

"Yeah, but that chick who was working at the antique shop also saw a fox."

Sam nodded. Dean had a point. It did not explain why the demon had latched onto Dean and not him. Usually, Sam was a magnet for this kind of forces. Unless…unless he wasn't anymore.

"The Trials," he said.

Dean glanced up sharply.

"What?"

"It's the Trials," Sam repeated. "The Hell Trials, Dean."

"What about them?"

The harshness in his tone did not surprise Sam. Dean had been less than enthusiastic about the Trials ever since Sam had been the one to take them on instead of him.

"They're doing something to me," Sam said.

Dean's face grew cold.

"Yeah, I think we've already established that, Sam."

Sam shook his head, frustrated that Dean did not seem to get the point.

"Dean, you know I've been Hell's favorite since before I was born," he began, then added hurriedly when Dean looked about to explode: "No, just listen to me. I was fed demon blood when I was six months old and that stayed with me. Then I had to go and take some more myself and that probably added to what was already there."

"Is there a point to this walk down memory lane, Sam?" Dean asked, his tone showing clearly that his patience was waning. "Or did you wake up this morning feeling nostalgic?"

Sam leaned his elbows against the table to have a better look at Dean.

"I've been a magnet for every supernatural creature imaginable for a long time," he said soberly. "By all accounts, that fox should have sunk its claws into me not you."

Dean was watching him suspiciously. He finally seemed to understand what Sam was trying to tell him.

"And you're saying it didn't because of the Trials?"

Sam nodded fervently.

"I think physical damage is not all they're doing. Or maybe the physical damage is a by-product. I'm being…made pure, if that makes sense."

Dean scoffed.

"It doesn't really. And I'd take your weird darkness-radar if that means you also get to keep your lungs."

Sam cleared his throat. He was oddly touched by that.

"Thanks," he said before he could stop himself.

Dean looked at him – really looked at him, the way he did when his entire focus was on Sam, and Sam felt like he was the only person in Dean's world that mattered. The thought gave him a twinge of sadness. If he was right, if the Trials would indeed kill him, what would his death do to Dean?

"So, you're saying that because of the Trials, you're immune to supernatural trickeries?" Dean finally asked. "That they act like…what? A demon vaccine?"

Sam shrugged.

"That's as good a comparison as any, I suppose."

Dean looked slightly impressed.

"Huh. Kinda awesome. And useful."

Sam huffed.

"Yeah, I don't want to imagine what would have happened if both of us would have stepped onto the road. We'll have to strengthen the wards. Add a few more protection spells to keep that thing away from you."

Dean hummed distractedly. His eyes were on the box. Sam very much hoped Dean had not forged some connection with it by touching it.

"Let's just be careful with that thing, ok?" he finally said. "I don't want to have to peel you off the sidewalk again."

Dean said nothing, and his lack of smart ass protests made Sam even more worried.

xxxxXXXXxxx

So close…It had been so close. It had not been anticipating failure, not from the heirs of the Men of Letters. Before they had fallen, they had become complacent. Too reliant on their books of lore, too certain they had known everything. No wonder they had been exterminated.

But these two, they were different. And now it realized it had more than the Guardian to worry about. It sensed the presence of someone who was marked. Someone who could change the world. Someone who was going to die doing it.

It felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of impending death. It could not influence him, but it could still cause him a world of pain. In fact, it could cause all four of them a world of pain. And it knew just where to start.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Jim tried to call Sam several times on their way back. When Sam finally answered, he sounded annoyed and distracted. The news about the fox did not seem surprising to him.

"Do you get the feeling they know more than they're telling us?" Jim asked.

Blair shrugged.

"I told you they were acting odd."

As he spoke, he rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache building. He sensed Jim glance at him worriedly.

"Are you alright, Blair?"

Blair immediately straightened up, plastering a reassuring smile on his face.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Jim huffed.

"Sandburg, you forget you called me the human lie detector once. Besides, I don't even have to try very hard with you."

Blair squinted at him.

"What do you mean you don't have to try hard with me? Are you saying I'm not good at lying?"

Jim snorted.

"I don't know what an outsider would say about the way you were lying, Blair," he finally said. "But they can't hear your heartbeat, can they? I know when something is wrong with you."

Blair felt a mixture of impressed and horrified, just as he always did whenever Jim reminded him of how attuned he was to Blair. It was funny. He knew he could wax poetic about the Sentinel gifts, but got all awkward and flustered whenever Jim hinted those gifts worked almost instinctively when it came to Blair. It was logical. If the Guide took care of the Sentinel, then the Sentinel needed a heads up when the Guide was not safe. And since Blair was Jim's Guide and had a penchant for getting into trouble every six seconds or so…

"So, what is it?" Jim asked. "Your heart's doing summersaults here, Chief."

Blair shrugged, trying to downplay what he was feeling.

"Nothing, Jim. Just a headache."

Blair regretted that he couldn't monitor Jim's heartbeat that way. Although he did not need to. He could tell Jim's concern had skyrocketed.

"You don't often get headaches, Sandburg," Jim said sharply.

Blair waved that aside. He was starting to feel nauseous, but he hoped he could weather it until they got to the Bunker.

"Maybe it's just stress."

Jim snorted.

"Ok, now I am worried. You can't even lie convincingly. Sandburg, you don't get headaches from stress, you thrive on stress."

Was he really that bad? he thought distractedly. He shrugged again and rubbed more vigorously at his forehead. His ears were ringing.

He couldn't take it any longer. Something was wrong and he knew it. He felt as if something from outside was testing him.

"Jim," he gasped, "Stop the car."

If Jim was in any way surprised by his sudden capitulation, he said nothing. Blair barely registered that they were no longer in motion, until he felt Jim's steady hands on his shoulders.

"Chief?"

It was surprising how much warmth could seep into Jim's voice at times – surprising because 99% of the population thought Jim was made of ice. But Blair knew better, he saw the hidden dedication, the concern, the affection that Jim was capable of, and the fact that he had chosen to share it with Blair had always humbled him.

"Blair what's wrong?"

Blair felt himself shaken slightly and he hissed.

"Don't do that," he muttered weakly.

The pain in his head was so great, he had his eyes screwed shut. He could not see Jim's reaction, but he felt the hands tightening around his shoulders briefly.

"Sandburg? What's happening?"

Blair shook his head. He did not know. He did not know what was going on with him, only that this was definitely not normal and he was sure it had to do with the three demons. He moved his hands away from his head and opened his eyes enough to look at Jim.

He could not speak, he could barely think with the pain. He met Jim's wide, concerned eyes and tried to let him know what was happening. He did not know if he succeeded. The last thing he heard was Jim's panicked voice. Then the pain spiked, and it was a relief to sink into darkness after that.

Thanks for reading! The Sentinel unfortunately left quite a lot of potential avenues unexplored. It mentioned Blair being inducted as Jim's shaman more or less by Jim's former spirit guide before he died, but then never went into details about what Blair did with this new responsibility. We had a mention of Blair's animal spirit at the end of season 3/beginning of season 4, and that was not explored, either. So here I am tying up the loose ends.

As for Supernatural, if Sam was being purified by the Trials, that meant all the nasty stuff that happened to him since he was six months old was being sort of erased, too, right?