Happy Sunday! I know, I know, it was unfair to end the last chapter like that. But do you remember the kind of cliffhangers SPN would leave us with regularly? And then we'd have to wait several months, not a week - beats waiting two years between seasons as it's been happening lately. Well, here's the next chapter. Enjoy! More notes at the end.

Chapter 7

Aaron was feeling nervous. Henry had agreed to meet him in Lebanon and maybe they would even be able to see the Bunker – but it was not a guarantee, as technically Aaron was not Men of Letters, or a Hunter, and he wasn't even in the Judas Initiative anymore. Which was all fair enough. As his own grandfather used to say: You can't tell someone you're walking away and then expect them to treat you as if you haven't. Still, even if he did not make it to the Bunker, Aaron had a plan. One that might help him make peace with what he was forced to do.

He had, of course, not told Henry about Arthur's blackmail – although Arthur had not really blackmailed him, he had used something worse against Aaron. Something that was part faith, part a force that was pulling Aaron towards Arthur, and Aaron had no idea why or how it was happening. Henry did know that Aaron was now being forced into the game by Arthur and that it had something to do with the things they were both dreaming about.

"How was your trip?" Henry asked.

Aaron shrugged. He had never been one for pleasantries and any attempt from Henry at being sociable got on his nerves.

"Long. Tiring. I miss my baby girl."

Henry's face softened.

"Yes, John gets upset when I leave. But needs must, right?"

Aaron shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't want to leave them. Whenever I do, I think something bad is going to happen to them."

With Arthur knowing where they lived, it was less paranoia and PTSD and more a genuine concern. One wrong move from Aaron in this arrangement, and Arthur would know exactly where to strike. That was why Aaron was trying to solve this in such a roundabout way.

"What did you find out?" he finally asked. "About that drawing?"

They were sitting in a small café, pretending to drink overpriced coffee. There was only one customer at the other end, and he did not seem to be paying much attention to anything outside his little corner of the world, but Aaron was sure he was a spy. Whether from the Men of Letters or from Arthur, it was hard to say.

Henry seemed completely at ease, so either he lacked Aaron's paranoia, or he knew the man.

"Have you heard of spirit animals?" Henry asked.

Aaron frowned.

"What? No."

Henry shrugged.

"Apparently, there are several Native American legends about spirit animals. They are supposed to represent part of your soul. Some say it is a part you can detach and send away from you, others than they are there to guide you and give you answers to tough questions. Shaman are said to use them to communicate with the spirit world."

This was not something that Aaron had been expecting.

"The wolf and the jaguar have a special place in the histories of a lot of tribes," Aaron went on. "Apparently they are supposed to stand against a terrible darkness." He paused for greater effect. "A darkness that has everything to do with what's in the box that you gave me."

Aaron felt his throat tighten.

"I…I don't understand."

This had to be a trap, he told himself. They knew he was working with Arthur. They knew what he was planning. Although, he tried to reason with himself, if they did, they would not have sent Henry. They would have sent Hunters.

Henry, meanwhile, was looking thoughtfully in his coffee mug, as if he was trying to read the future in the dregs.

"There is a legend about two people who have these animal spirits. The one with the panther is supposed to be a guardian. I don't know what he will be guarding. And the wolf will be his guide."

Arthur was anything but a guardian. As for Aaron himself – guide the guardian to what? To the box? Was that why Arthur had asked him to steal it? Did he know about the legend and was keeping Aaron in the dark?

He noticed Henry looking at him shrewdly.

"It's not about you and Arthur Ellison, if that is what you're worrying about."

Aaron straightened up.

"How the hell would you know that?" he asked.

His heart was beating wildly. If it really wasn't about him and Ellison, then maybe he could try and get out of his twisted contract with the man. Maybe he did not need to do his dirty work.

Henry seemed unfazed by Aaron's violent reaction.

"Because whoever has the panther is supposed to be a protector."

This seemed to confirm Aaron's dreams. Maybe this wasn't really about him and Arthur. Maybe it was about something else – someone else. Legacies. They all had children, didn't they? Even Henry did.

Henry meanwhile was fiddling with a small notepad.

"They call him the Watchman," he said. "I suppose this would be an accurate translation of the name. And his Guide. Who is also supposed to be a shaman." He paused and shook his head. "The guide is apparently supposed to die at some point."

Aaron shivered. He thought back at his earlier ideas. If this had to do with Naomi – or with Naomi's future children, did that mean that one of them would have to die? Because he could not have that. No matter what happened, he could not have that.

xxxxXXXXxxx

The desperate banging on the Bunker door set Dean's nerves on edge. Sam would not let him go see who it was, firmly telling him that one near hit and run per day was enough. Dean still followed close behind him as Sam opened the Bunker door, gun in hand. They both gasped when they saw Ellison carrying an unconscious Sandburg.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked.

"You tell me," Ellison ground out. "Any place I can put him so he's comfortable?"

Sam led the way to one of the rooms. Dean was vibrating with curiosity, wanting to know what exactly had taken place. Ellison had sounded fine when they had touched base – better than Dean and Sam were after the incident with the demonic fox. So what exactly had happened on the road to the Bunker that resulted in Sandburg down for the count?

Jim ignored the questions directed at him, focusing only on Blair. He laid Blair down on the bed and took his pulse, even though Dean was pretty sure Ellison could monitor Sandburg's heartbeat and breathing just by listening to it.

"So – what the hell did this to him?" Dean repeated.

Ellison turned to Sam and Dean, although he did not move away from the bed. His fists were clenching and unclenching, not that Dean could blame him. If it had been Sam down for the count like that…Dean shook his head, because he really did not want to think about it. Many times, it had been Sam.

"He started complaining of a headache. Then he just got unresponsive. Nothing I did would wake him."

"Is this usual for him?" Sam asked doubtfully.

Jim shook his head.

"No! He's healthy. Well, you know he drowned a couple of years ago and he's been prone to chest infections ever since, but those don't make him pass out."

Dean looked at Sam.

"You thinking it's the same thing that nearly got to us?" he asked.

Jim frowned.

"What? What nearly got to you?"

Sam informed him about the fox and his attack on Dean. He made no mention of his theory on why he himself had been immune, and Ellison was too worried about Blair to ask any questions.

"So how do I wake him?" Jim asked.

Sam bit his lips.

"I need to check on something, but I have my suspicions. Blair said several times he was a shaman and it seems as if he's been taking his role more and more seriously of late."

Jim nodded curtly.

"Yeah, he thought it was a good idea. I thought it was unnecessary, but it was his choice. What about it?"

"It could very well be that the demon challenged him on the spirit plane. It sensed a threat and tried to diffuse it."

Jim rubbed his forehead, looking incredibly tired.

"I knew the whole shaman thing was a bad idea," he muttered. "Hell, I knew coming here would be an even worse idea. Whenever I run into you two, something upends my life."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Let me refresh your memory, but the last times we met, you had stuff that was after you way before we rolled into town."

Jim ignored him. He was frowning at Sam.

"So, can you fix this?"

Sam grimaced.

"He'd have to fix himself," he finally said. "If Blair is having a confrontation with the demons, he would have to get himself out of it."

Jim's stance became threatening.

"I don't like what I'm hearing," he warned.

"Yeah well, that's all he's got," Dean said, placing himself between Jim and Sam.

Ellison would have to see that Dean could be just as protective of Sam. Especially now. Sam, however, did not seem to appreciate Dean's offer to help – like he did not appreciate any of Dean's attempts at support lately, seeing in them proof that Dean believed he was weak and couldn't handle himself, which, as far as Dean was concerned, was the dumbest thing Sam could come up with. He took a step forward until he was standing level with Dean again.

"There might be a way to get at him quicker," he admitted. "But we might find it difficult to make it work."

Jim folded his arms in an expectant stance.

"I'm listening."

Sam bit his lips and glanced sideways at Dean, who was beginning to think he was definitely not going to like what Sam had to say. And true enough…

"Castiel," Sam said. "We could get Cas to help."

Dean felt a stab of betrayal only hearing the name.

xxxXXXXxxxx

Blair opened his eyes groaning at the pain digging into his skull. He felt weak and nauseous, like that time when he had come down with measles when he was about eleven. Naomi had never been a big believer in immunizations, at least not until Blair had nearly died. He could not remember much of those three weeks, only that his head always throbbed and the world around him was muffled and blurred. Just like now.

Still, he knew this wasn't the measles. He could put together some of what happened to him. His grandfather's death. Their trip to Lebanon. The Winchesters' Bunker. The warehouse. His apparent connection to Jim that he had not even been aware of until then.

The last thing Blair remembered with any clarity was getting into the car. Then something happened. It had felt as if he had been pulled out of his body.

"Am I dead?" Blair wondered.

He could not recognize anything around him. He was in a forest, but everything was dark. It did not have the blue tint of the spirit world, not as Jim had described it and not as Blair vaguely remembered it from his near-death experiences. He had tried to reach it several times before throughout the years, through meditation, but he had never succeeded.

In fact, no matter how hard he tried, Blair had never been able to truly make contact with his animal spirit. Jim had seen the panther more times than he could count, and had spotted Blair's wolf, too. But Bair had never really seen either.

"Maybe this shaman deal is a lost cause," Blair muttered. "Who am I kidding, anyway?"

Still, he acknowledged to himself it was rather ironic for him to speak like this when he had been transported somewhere that was probably not the earthly plain of existence.

"No, Dorothy, Toto's definitely not in Kansas anymore."

He giggled at that, because he actually had been in Kansas when all this had happened. The thought of what Jim would say if he heard Blair comparing himself to a dog made him laugh even harder. Perhaps this was hysteria, Blair thought. Or brain damage of some kind.

He got up leaning heavily against a tree trunk. His head was pounding. If he was in the spirit world, how could his head be pounding?

"At least I know I'm not dead," he muttered, then shook his head. "Oh, that's good, Blair, real good. Keep up the positive thinking."

He tended to babble when he was nervous and the fact that there was no one there to answer him made him even more anxious. He had once told Jim he had suffered from panic attacks from early childhood way into his late teens. Jim had looked skeptical at first, saying that Sandburg was one of the few people he had seen who could keep a clear head even in the direst of situations. It was only years later when Blair had admitted that he was just good at pretending. He had discovered ways to deflect from his anxiety to the point that even he forgot about it. Still, it was harder when he was alone.

"Hello?" he asked. "Jim?"

His voice echoed strangely in the dark forest. There was no answer.

"Jim!" he shouted again.

He did not know why he was bothering to yell at the top of his lungs. If Jim had been there, he would have heard Blair already. It seemed that he was all alone. Blair told himself that he shouldn't be bothered by this. He had been alone before, he had spent his entire childhood honing his self-sufficiency skills. His years of living with Jim had probably made him soft.

There was nothing for him to do but to start walking. He picked a direction at random, but he tried to tell himself it was his shamanic inspiration at work and he was traveling towards a way out. Or towards whatever was supposed to happen in that place. Either would have been good, if it meant Blair had a chance to get the hell out of there.

He walked for a while until he saw the wolf. It was looking straight at him. Blair grinned.

"Well, hello. It took you a long time to get to me, didn't it?"

The wolf made a low noise in his throat, and Blair froze. He raised his hands to show that he was not a threat.

"OK, now, you don't want to bite me or anything, do you?"

The wolf did not move and Blair sighed. He knew what he had to do. He had to be the one to approach his spirit animal, even if every instinct was telling him not to do it. You did not approach any animal when it was feeling threatened. But, then again, this was not a regular animal, was it?

"That would be embarrassing," Blair muttered. "Attacked by my own spirit guide."

The wolf's hackles were rising and it was growling now. Blair took another step…and ducked just as the wolf pounced.

It didn't pounce on him, though. It had never meant to threaten him. Instead, the wolf was now deep in combat with a black fox. The fox bit at the wolf, teeth snapping and Blair cried out clutching his shoulder. He could feel warm blood seeping through his clothes – almost as if he had been the one bitten instead.

Blair staggered back up. He shook his head to dispel the dizziness. If he could feel when the wolf was hurt, then the wolf could feel Blair's pain in turn. And that did not bode well for the fight.

Blair took a deep breath. I don't feel any pain, he told himself. There is no pain, there is nothing here that can hurt me. If this was the spirit world, then the spirit had to be more powerful than the flesh. He could do it. He and the wolf could defeat the fox.

He concentrated on the lack of pain. It was harder than he had expected, harder than it should have been for someone like Blair, whose mother had taught him meditation techniques almost as soon as he learned how to walk and talk. Usually such things were instinctual for him.

The struggle exhausted him, but at the end it was worth it. The fox let go of the wolf and sped into the bushes. The wolf made ready to give chase but Blair reigned him in. He wasn't ready yet for a bigger confrontation.

He leaned against the tree, panting.

"Let's just…let's just hold our horses for a bit," he gasped.

The wolf looked around, whining softly. It seemed as if it was searching for something. And suddenly, Blair knew what – or rather, who – it wanted. He smiled ruefully.

"Yeah, I wish Jim was here, too. I bet he'd have gotten us out of this mess in no time. But you know what this means, don't you?"

The wolf tilted its head and Blair grinned.

"We're gonna have to rescue ourselves this time. Now, show me the way out, Lassie."

The wolf bounded into the forest. Blair hesitated, but then decided to follow. He hoped spirit animals did not take up all the traits of the person that belonged to them. Otherwise the wolf might have ended up being as geographically challenged as Blair.

xxxXXXxxxx

"Absolutely not!"

Sam had expected Dean's explosion as soon as he mentioned Castiel. Trying to be more discreet, he ushered Dean out of Sandburg's room. Jim, however, was on their heels.

"What's all this about?" Jim shot. "If you know someone who can help, why not get him to help?"

Dean scowled at him.

"Because he's of no help whatsoever and I'm not sure you can trust him."

Sam shook his head.

"Dean, he began, Cas had his reasons…"

"To what, Sam?" Dean cut him off. "To pound my face into a pulp?"

Well, Sam thought ruefully, when Dean put it that way…

"You said he wasn't himself," he tried to point out.

Dean scoffed.

"He was pretty himself when he left. With the tablet. And when he said he didn't trust me."

Sam shook his head.

"You didn't tell me he said he didn't trust you."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"He implied it. Why else would he disappear on us like that?"

Sam wondered if it was Cas's attack that Dean could not forgive or the fact that Cas had run off. After all, Dean had never been able to get over his abandonment issues, and Sam did not think he could blame him. He had contributed to some of them himself.

He was about to continue arguing in favor of Cas being there, when Jim intervened.

"Ok, hold on a second. I think I should have a say in this, given it's Sandburg's life you're discussing. Now Castiel that's your…uhh…friend?...The one who told Sandburg he was an angel?"

Sam tried to hide his amusement at Jim's obvious discomfort. A man like Jim had a hard time accepting even the smallest intrusion of the supernatural in his well-controlled world. Having to talk about something as out there as an angel was bound to leave him a little put off.

"He is an Angel," Dean said. "And a completely unreliable one."

Sam sighed, closing his eyes. Dean could hold grudges like nobody's business.

"Look, Dean, I don't agree with what he did anymore than you do…"

"What did he do?" Jim intervened. "I swear, you two, if you don't start explaining…"

Dean took a deep breath.

"He left," he said curtly. "He's got something and he left with it because he wants to protect it - from us too, by the way. But he's crap at protecting himself, so now he's out there, putting everyone in danger, because he's too damn stubborn to do it our way for a change."

Jim was rubbing his forehead, clearly regretting he had asked.

"Is he safe, though?" he wanted to know. "If you ask him to help get Sandburg out – will that actually help Blair, or will it hurt him?"

Dean shrugged.

"Well, Sandburg's problem has nothing to do with Cas's other matter. But it doesn't matter, he's not returning calls."

Sam cleared his throat.

"He did return one of mine," he muttered.

Dean's glare was now directed at him.

"You called him?"

Sam frowned, rather irritated by Dean's betrayed tone. It was not as though Sam had invited Crowley and Lucifer to have tea in the Bunker.

"I sent him a message," he said, telling himself not to allow himself to be intimidated by Dean's anger. "When I found out there were three boxes. I thought he could help."

Dean turned away. His posture was tight.

"And you said he answered?"

"He sent a message back," Sam confirmed. "Saying he wishes us luck, but he has a system of keeping hidden and does not want to risk breaking it. But this is life and death, Dean, I'm sure he'd at least try to help."

"Call him," Jim said.

Dean turned to him, probably ready to object. Sam watched as the two looked at each other, then Dean must have seen something in Ellison's eyes – concern about Sandburg, a wish to do anything possible to save him, something that Dean understood all too well. He shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "Call him."

He did not wait to see if Sam managed to reach Cas, though, but headed down the corridor to his room, firmly locking the door behind him.

xxxXXXxxxx

It had misjudged the situation greatly. The guide had seemed the logical choice for its next attack. He had seemed more vulnerable than the others, less hardened, not a warrior, like his Watcher, or like the heirs of the Men of Letters. Yet the attack had failed. The guide and the wolf had defeated it, even if only temporarily.

It did not like retreating to lick its wounds. It had to find its two counterparts. Like that, not many people would be able to stand in their way. Whatever strength the guide had, it would be useless then.

The guide was still wandering through the spirit world. Let him wander. He was not going to be able to find his way home. Not without outside help. And it had left some of its powers behind with him. Dark powers, ones that damaged minds. Soon enough, the Guide would be surrounded by his greatest nightmares – and he would be all alone.

This will veer slightly into AU territory. Since a lot of you wanted Castiel, you'll be getting a bit of Castiel, even though in the show Castiel did not see the Winchesters between Goodbye Stranger and The Great Escapist, and this fic takes place a little after Goodbye Stranger. But not matter, we're still getting Castiel in some form or another in the next chapters.