Hope you're keeping yourselves cool and keeping out of the sun. All I can say is, the plot thickens. Some references to Sentinel episodes – more notes about that at the end. And a few conflicts and interactions. You'll like this :)
Thanks for all your lovely feedback!
Chapter 8
Blair was walking aimlessly through the forest. Or so it seemed to him. He was following the wolf, who was still moving with a clear purpose, head held high, as if he was sniffing the air. But Blair was beginning to have doubts.
Blair Sandburg knew he got into a lot of trouble. His mother had once very unhelpfully hinted that maybe he was trying to make up for something he had done in a past life. Blair had no idea if that was so, or if someone had cursed his entire family line, or if he just had rotten instincts of self-preservation. Jim believed the latter, he was sure. Still, the point was, that whenever Blair got into trouble, he did his best to walk out on his own. It did not always work, but he kept trying.
He did not know if he could get out this time, wolf or no wolf. Maybe the problem was that he was alone. It was supposed to be him and Jim, together, wasn't it? The wolf and the panther. Just like that engraving in the warehouse had suggested.
"Maybe I could reach Jim if I try hard enough," Blair said. "What do you think?"
The wolf turned its head briefly, but did not stop. Blair scoffed.
"Right. I'm talking to myself here."
Suddenly, he heard a crack from behind. He swung round, expecting the fox. But it wasn't the fox. It was something much much worse. He gasped and took several steps back. He could hear the wolf growling in the background, but he did not pay it any attention. He could not tear his eyes away from the figure that was approaching him.
He did not look too frightening at first. He was of average height and average build, with a washed out face – the kind of face you could easily forget. The kind of face who could easily take on the identity of others. Because that is what the man had tried to do – he had tried to become Blair.
"Lash," he gasped. "But…no…no! You're dead! I know you're dead, you've been dead for years."
The man laughed, spreading his arms wide.
"None of us is really alive in this place, man," he said. "You know?"
Blair winced at Lash's attempts to sound like him. Just like the last time, he remembered. David Lash had been Blair's own boogeyman for a long time. Cascade's identity-stealing serial killer had honed in on Blair like a moth drawn to a lightbulb. Blair still remembered the moment he had been kidnapped and taken to that warehouse where he had been sure Lash was going to drown him like the rest of his victims.
Jim had rescued him – or course. Blair had sort of expected that, trusting Jim even though they had known each other only for a few months. What he had not expected was Jim steadfastly being there in the aftermath. Every nightmare, every flashback, every proof of trauma was tackled with the utmost care and kindness, Jim being there for Blair in ways no one – not even his mother – had ever been. Maybe that was when he had realized what he had been missing throughout his childhood, without having someone stable to rely on.
David Lash was dead. Blair knew this. Jim had emptied his clip into him, and while Simon Banks had asked him at the time if he did not think he had gone a little too far, Jim had glared at him, saying that he had stopped simply because he had run out of bullets, but if Simon wanted to lend him his own gun, he would gladly start all over again. Blair had never been one for violence, but Jim's honest declaration had warmed him instead of making him run for the hills. It spoke of just how far Jim was willing to go for him, and even though it frightened Blair at times, it also made him feel incredibly safe.
But Jim was not here this time. And Lash was. Even if he had died years ago, he was there.
"You're not real," Blair repeated confidently.
Lash chuckled.
"Blair boy, none of this is real. And all of it is. That's the fun of it."
Blair took a step back. Lash advanced towards him.
"Are you the demon?" Blair asked.
Hadn't Sam said they could not take human form? Or did the rules change in the spirit world?
Lash laughed heartily at Blair's questions.
"Oh, you know, maybe that's what I really am, Blair. The monster under your bed. One of them at least."
Blair froze.
"One of them."
The wolf was gone. Blair had no idea where it went. Maybe he had no control of it any longer now that he was distracted by Lash.
"I was the one who started it all," Lash said. "Your nightmares. Your fear when you're sometimes at home alone and the memories of me tease the edges of your awareness. You try to forget me. But I'm always there, Blair. Always at the back of your mind."
Blair snorted in contempt.
"Don't flatter yourself," he snapped. "I've forgotten you years ago. You're nothing but a bad memory."
Was he, though? Blair did not want to admit it to himself, but Lash was partly right. There were moments when Blair remembered that time in Lash's warehouse with vivid clarity. The helplessness. The knowledge that he would die and there was nothing he could do about it. The anger at the bastard's presumptuousness that he could just take Blair's life as if Blair did not matter at all.
Without thinking, Blair turned around and bolted. He ran as fast as he could, with Lash's mocking laughter in his ears. As he ran, he could hear whispers all around him, the voices he had not heard since childhood: the judgmental social worker explaining to him why Naomi Sandburg was not a fit parent and he needed to live somewhere "proper", one of Naomi's boyfriends telling him in a calm and cool voice that his mother would have been so much better off if Blair did not exist, the children at the school in some dead-end town taking one look at his long hair and second-hand clothes and cornering him one afternoon with baseball bats in their hands to "teach the weirdo a lesson."
Blair knew they weren't real, or, at least that they shouldn't have been. They shouldn't have had any power over him anymore. Yet somehow they did. Every nightmare, every insecurity was now literally attacking him. And the only thing left for him to do was to keep running.
xxxXXXxxx
Sam had called Castiel twice and left him voice messages explaining the situation. There was no sign of him, yet, so he decided to search for alternate means. He was in the greatest supernatural library there ever was. Surely he could find some way of helping Blair.
He took his head in his hands, suddenly too exhausted to start looking. His chest was burning, which was not really a surprise. After the First Trial, he had realized he could be fine for a while, almost at full strength, but there were times when whatever was happening to him would flare up, and then he would usually hide in his room until the weakness passed. Of course, he did not have this option now.
His phone rang, startling him. He answered without thinking.
"Yeah?"
"Sam?"
Sam sat up straighter at the sound of Castiel's voice.
"Cas," he said. "Good to hear your voice."
He was still miffed at him for what he had done to Dean, but Sam supposed he could understand what being controlled by an outside force meant.
"Sam," Castiel said in the same flat tone. "I received your message."
Sam sighed. Right. Castiel had never been one for pleasantries and small talk. Especially not with him.
"Look, Cas," he began, clearing his throat. "I'm usually one to respect your boundaries, you know that. But this is serious. Someone's life depends on this, and I don't even know where to begin to fix it."
"Why do you think it is your responsibility to fix it?"
Sam shrugged. Wasn't everything? After all, maybe he still had some penance to do for past mistakes. Maybe this was one of the reasons why he was so eager to do the Trials. What better way to atone than to die while shutting down Hell?
"My grandfather was involved," he said instead. "Isn't this enough?"
There was a silence on the other end.
"Cas?" he asked worriedly. "You still there?"
He heard Castiel sigh.
"In a manner of speaking," Castiel replied. "I am still on the phone, but I had to change locations."
Sam did not ask why. If Castiel was afraid Sam was trying to trick him by keeping him talking and tracking his phone, he would have rather not know just how little he was trusted.
"You said this Blair Sandburg, he is guide to a Sentinel, right?"
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Uhh…yeah. I didn't even know you had any idea what a Sentinel was."
Castiel huffed.
"Sam, I'm an Angel," he reminded. "There is not much about humanity that we do not know."
Except the latest movies and how to send text messages, Sam thought inanely.
"If he is a guide, why doesn't the Sentinel try to bring him back?"
Sam froze. This he had not expected.
"What do you mean bring him back? How? Does he just slap Sandburg back to consciousness?"
"Of course not," Castiel replied promptly. "That is a very crude way of waking someone up."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Well, I'm sure he won't appreciate having to kiss Sandburg like Sleeping Beauty," he quipped.
The pointed silence on the other end told Sam exactly what Castiel was thinking. Right. Sam was probably channeling Dean too much anyway.
"So, how does he wake him, Cas?"
"I would have thought this was obvious," Castiel replies. "He must retrieve Blair from the spirit world."
Just like that. Castiel apparently did not seem to realize that humans could not just pop in and out of the spirit world.
"How is he supposed to do that?"
"Meditation is usually a reliable way to enter the spirit world," Castiel said. "There are a few other methods as well, but they involve psychotropics and…"
"Yeah, not gonna happen," Sam said.
Ellison was the very definition of a straight-laced cop. Sam did not want to imagine what he would say if anyone went to him and suggested he take drugs. Although, since Sandburg's life was at stake, maybe he would be willing to go even there."
"So, you're not coming here to help?" Sam asked. "Dean would like to hear from you."
Dean would have probably torn Sam limb from limb if he heard that, but Sam was sure they could get past this if only Castiel decided to show that he trusted them.
"I think we both know it is not exactly true," Castiel said. "However, I do have news about the boxes. Why not meet me at Biggerson's in Lebanon?"
Sam straightened up.
"We'll be right there," he said.
There was a tense silence on the other end.
"Actually…just you, Sam. I would very much appreciate that. Come alone, or you won't find me there."
He ended the conversation before Sam had time to protest. Sam shook his head. Dean was going to love this.
xxxXXXxxx
"Meditation? That's what he said?"
Jim's reaction was just about the one Sam had anticipated. He did not appreciate Cas's advice and was not shy to let Sam know.
"So, you have an angel up your sleeve, and the only advice he can give me is to try some mumbo-jumbo hippie technique?"
Sam rolled his eyes. How Blair could give someone like Ellison the time of day was sometimes a surprise to him. Then again, Dean was not that good at being open-minded either.
"Meditation is far older than the hippies. Besides, Blair does it, doesn't he? I've been to your apartment. I saw the candles."
"Yeah, well, Sandburg also drinks algae shakes for breakfast, so I was never too eager to follow his examples. I'll try, if that is the only thing you have to give me."
Sam nodded.
"For now. But don't try yet. Let me get Dean here first."
Jim stiffened.
"Why? Do you think I want an audience?"
Sam took a deep breath.
"I think you shouldn't be alone. If you do make contact with the spirit world, there's no knowing what you might find there."
Jim stiffened.
"The idea is to find Sandburg. Isn't it?"
Sam had no idea how to tell Jim that it all depended on how he found Sandburg. The spirit world was a complicated place. If Sandburg had been sent there under the control of a demon, there was no knowing what was happening to him. The demon could have tried to take control of him – or break him.
"It's safer if there's someone supervising you," he said. "Trust me."
He moved to leave, but stopped, suddenly taken by a fit of coughing. He bent double, holding himself against the door. When it was over, Jim was beside him, holding his shoulder.
"Sam, what the hell?" he asked, and he sounded out of his depth. "Is this the demon? Is it after you now?"
Sam shook his head frantically. He swallowed and nearly gagged at the strong taste of blood. But he did not want Ellison to see that. Blair had panicked enough when he realized Sam was coughing blood and they did not have time to worry about him right now.
"No…it's….it's not the demon. I'm fine. Really. I'm fine."
Jim scoffed.
"Winchester, I don't need heightened hearing to know you're lying through your teeth."
Sam straightened up.
"I'm telling the truth when I say it's not the demon," he said calmly. "Shouldn't you be worrying about Sandburg anyway?"
Jim moved away from him.
"Fine. I'm letting it slide for now. Just get your brother here so I can actually do something useful for a change."
Sam nodded curtly.
"I'll be right back," he said.
Now came the hard part. He would have to convince Dean not only that he had to watch over Ellison while he was trying to get to Sandburg in the spirit world, but also inform him that Sam was going to meet Cas – and Dean had pointedly not been invited.
xxxXXXxxx
Dean was sitting up in bed thinking about nothing in particular. Sam would have accused him of skulking, but he was way past that. He was simply tired, and this went beyond Castiel and their little problem with Sandburg. He had never felt this tired since he got out of Purgatory, which was rather ironic. In Purgatory he could barely sleep. He was always on the alert and always ready to kill. One did not let their guard down there. And yet – that place had been simple. Without the worries and conventions and responsibilities foisted on Dean on the surface. He had been allowed to live up to his true nature there: just kill and vent his frustration and do as much damage as he could. That was what he was best at. Not putting up with Castiel's tantrums. Not taking care of Sam – and Sam did not even want to be taken care of anymore.
At first he thought of ignoring the knock on the door. Sam could wait – just a little longer. Dean wanted a few moments to just be himself, not someone on whom others depended so strongly. He just wanted some time for him and him alone. But this was not possible at the moment and, anyway, Sam's needs always came before his. That was just the way it was.
"It's open," he said gruffly. "Stop shuffling at the door like some nervous prom date."
Sam opened the door looking contrite.
"Nervous prom date?" he repeated.
Dean shrugged, smirking.
"You know how proms usually end. With hotel rooms and your date nervous about what's going to happen next."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Let me guess, that's what happened at your prom."
Dean smirked, however the look in Sam's eyes told him Sam was getting ready to have the last word. And sure enough…
"You were the nervous date, am I right?"
Dean's face fell.
"I could hurt you, you know. I've got all those knives and guns here."
Sam leaned against the wall, folding his arms.
"You say that, but you never do," he quipped.
Dean rolled his eyes. For a moment he allowed the banter, because he missed him and Sam like this, just the two of them, no Cas, no Sentinels, no Gates of Hell and Demon Tablets. Just him and Sam speaking a language only they could understand. But that was something that belonged to the past, before Purgatory, before Hell came for both of them, before Lucifer and Ruby and so many other betrayals. The good mood quickly faded.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
Sam shrugged.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Dean frowned.
"Because you've got blood on your lips."
Sam flinched, then wiped the blood with the back of his hand.
"I've been coughing," he said. "Sorry."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"I don't remember asking you for an apology, Sammy," he pointed out calmly. "Just to tell me if you're good."
Sam waved the question aside.
"As good as I'll ever be," he said.
Which was not too comforting, but at least he was not stubbornly insisting he was fine anymore.
"So," Dean said, his tone shifting. "You heard from Cas or is he still ignoring us?"
Sam took a deep breath.
"I've heard from him," he said. "He seems to think Ellison might be able to pull Blair out of the spirit world if he goes there himself. With the help of meditation."
Dean could not help sniggering.
"Bet that went over well with Ellison."
Sam chuckled.
"Just about as well as you expect. You'll have to supervise, of course, there's no knowing what might happen while they're both under."
He fell silent. Dean could see him chewing his lower lip and knew there was more.
"So, Cas isn't coming then?" he finally asked.
It was not as if he wanted to know – but he did. He wanted to know for sure that Castiel had written them off for some reason – maybe for good this time.
Sam ran a hand over his face.
"He thinks Ellison can deal with this better given the whole Sentinel-Guide relationship. But he does have some info on the boxes and would like to meet – at Bigerson's in town."
Biggerson's, Dean thought. Apparently he had managed to influence Cas in some manner.
"OK," he shrugged. "I wanted a burger anyway. Are we going now?"
Sam cleared his throat looking suddenly awkward.
"He…uhhh…the thing is, Dean, he asked for only me."
Dean froze.
"And of course you said we come as a package deal, right?"
Sam shuffled his feet.
"I said I'd meet him on his terms."
Dean glared at him. He could not do anything, though. Sam had agreed and Cas had information, so who was he to object to the terms?
"Right," he said coolly. "So, what are you waiting for?"
Sam looked downright miserable, and Dean was beginning to regret his attitude. Not enough to take it back completely, though.
"Really, Sam. Go talk to him. There's no knowing when he'll fly off again."
Sam nodded curtly. The spark in his eyes that had been there while he and Dean were teasing each other was gone. Dean found that he missed it.
"Hey, Sammy," he called back.
Sam had been ready to leave. He turned around, looking surprised that Dean had decided to speak to him again, much less call him Sammy. Dean looked him up and down.
"You stay sharp, Sam, you hear me? Cas is unpredictable these days."
Sam nodded quickly.
"I promise I'll come back in one piece."
Dean huffed.
"You'd better, bitch, you're taking the car."
Sam looked slightly surprised, but if Dean was about to send Sam into battle he wanted him to have adequate backup. And since Dean could not go himself, this was the next best thing.
Sam gave him one of his goofy grins, the one that always warmed Dean, no matter how much he might try to deny it. The one that Sam reserved only for him.
"I'll see you soon, Dean," he said.
As Sam closed the door, Dean's face darkened again. He had no idea what Castiel was playing at, and he did not like it one bit. He only hoped whatever he had on the boxes was worth it. Although, he thought, nothing was important enough to be worth risking Sammy.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Jim felt ridiculous. He side-eyed the candles gathered in the middle of the room. He had seen Sandburg do this a thousand times and after the initial period of awkwardness, Jim had even gotten used to it. Blair meditating seemed something natural and even comforting. It certainly helped to calm Blair down – and Jim was aware this was how Blair chose to deal with a lot of the traumas he got during his days working with the police. Still, Blair could make even the weirdest things seem natural and acceptable. It did not make Jim any less uncomfortable when he had to do it himself.
"Ready?" Dean asked.
Jim frowned. If he was to have an audience, he would have preferred the younger Winchester. Dean had something about him that rubbed Jim the wrong way even when he wasn't saying anything. Blair had once said he and Dean were just too much alike. Jim had vehemently protested that assessment and had told Blair his algae shakes were impairing his judgment.
"So, why is it that you are the one who has to babysit me?" Jim couldn't help asking. "I thought you'd be chomping at the bit to go out."
Dean's face clouded over.
"I wasn't invited," he said tersely.
Jim snorted.
"Trouble in paradise, then?"
He knew he was pushing Dean too far, but he could not help it.
"How about you concentrate on getting Sandburg out of this mess?" Dean suggested. "Then we can have that therapy session."
Jim shrugged.
"So, remind me again what your role is in this business?"
Dean dragged a chair and sat down by the door.
"I'm just here to watch. See if either of you are showing any signs of something going wrong."
Jim eyed him carefully. Dean annoyed him to no end, but at the same time he was sure he spoke Jim's language in certain matters.
"If something does go wrong, try to pull Sandburg out first. Get him out of here or something. Whatever happens to me, Sandburg should be your first priority. Got it?"
Dean looked him straight in the eye.
"What would Sandburg have to say about that?" he wanted to know.
Jim gave him back look for look.
"If it were Sam, wouldn't you care more about keeping him alive at all costs? Even at the cost of him having to say something about that?"
He saw it in Dean's eyes that he understood – and maybe they were both abusing the trust that was freely given to them by people who did not even trust easily. But as far as Jim was concerned, he was not going to regret this. Sandburg might not have always been aware that he deserved to live ten times more than Jim did – but Jim was. And he would have done everything to ensure that Sandburg came out of something alive. Even if that everything meant choosing to save Sandburg instead of himself.
Dean's face was grave, devoid of the usual mocking glint. He lowered his eyes, swallowed, then nodded.
"I understand," he said curtly.
It was probably the first time that Jim and the elder Winchester managed to completely see eye to eye with each other and not deny it. And Jim knew he was telling the truth. He knew he could trust Dean to look out for Sandburg first, if something went wrong. If that really happened, well, Sandburg would not be happy, but at least he would be alive. And Jim could handle anything as long as that happened.
What a tangled mess, right?
-I made some references to episode 1x06 from Sentinel. David Lash was a character from that episode, a serial killer who drugged and drowned his victims and then took on their identity. It was actually a good story. I figured if Blair was to face the demons of his past, Lash would be playing an important role. There will be others, too, next chapter.
-I also foreshadowed the mess in Supernatural's season nine in the conversation between Jim and Dean. I think they would both have this twisted need to protect that sometimes might be taken too far. In many ways, I suspect Jim and Dean would speak the same language.
-I'm looking forward to writing the meeting with Cas the next chapter. That will be awkward, heh.
