Greetings! Thanks for last week's reviews. We've got a new chapter here, and things will be starting to unravel soon, slowly but surely. Enjoy!
Chapter 10
Jim could not remember when he had gone under. One moment he was in the Winchesters' Bunker, the next he was in some kind of weird forest. As far as he knew, he was alone.
"Winchester?" he asked cautiously.
There was no answer and, in truth, Jim had not really expected any. Dean was back in the real world. Jim had entered the spirit realm where, hopefully, he would find Blair.
He wondered if he should not try going back, just to see if he could. But he had already wasted too much time trying to get under in the first place. He needed to get Sandburg out of there, before it was too late. Besides, there was no guarantee that he could get here a second time. No, better find Sandburg first. They would leave this place together – or not at all.
The place was silent. There were no birds, the leaves weren't rustling in the wind, there weren't even insects buzzing. The complete silence unnerved Jim. As a Sentinel, he could hear better than most. And he should have heard something.
"Blair?" he asked. "Sandburg? Where are you? Chief, answer me."
He knew he would receive no answer, though. He had extended his hearing to the fullest and could not hear Sandburg's heartbeat close by. Of course, it could mean that you did not have a heartbeat wherever this place was – or that Blair was already dead. But the former solution was too far-fetched for Jim, and the latter was something he really did not want to contemplate.
"There has to be an easier way to find you, Blair, than just looking around aimlessly," he muttered. "Where would you have gone?"
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the connection he had with Blair. He opened them, suddenly terrified. He was convinced Blair was there – and that he was in danger.
Jim turned on the spot. Where to go? Any wrong turn he took wasted precious time. Meanwhile, Blair could be somewhere all alone, hurt or dying. This was something that called for reinforcements. He closed his eyes again, trying to empty his mind of everything.
"Alright," he muttered. "I know I said I don't like it when you're in my face, but I expect you to be here now."
He opened his eyes and met the greed gaze of the black panther. His spirit animal was staring pointedly at him, as if it found Jim lacking somehow. Jim had never told Blair this – he was sure Sandburg would have had a field day both from an anthropological perspective as well as seeing it as an opportunity to tease Jim – but he suspected that his spirit animal was way too full of sass.
"I need to find Blair," he said.
The panther blinked.
"Take me to him," Jim added. "We need to get him out of here."
The panther turned around and bounded into the forest. Jim ran after it. He sensed its urgency and his anxiety skyrocketed. He had been right. Sandburg was in danger.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Dean hated his job sometimes. He enjoyed the adrenaline aspect of it and the way he and Sam would bounce ideas off each other, and had loved being on the road, even if he was starting to think he might like this new idea of home even more. But what he did not like and never would were angels having hidden agendas – especially when said angel was also supposed to be a friend – and he particularly loathed babysitting duty. Because sitting idle while Jim tried to find nirvana – or at least the place Sandburg had gone to – was definitely not how he imagined spending the afternoon.
Dean glanced at his two charges. Nothing seemed to have changed. Jim was still deep in concentration, and Blair was still unconscious. If they were fighting the demon in the spirit realm, they were showing no outer sign of it.
The silence was unnerving. Dean rarely realized just how quiet the Bunker could get. The place was big and mostly empty, but when both him and Sam were there, Dean did not notice the silence of the empty rooms. It still overwhelmed him, having a stable base. True, there had been Bobby's, but that had been different. This was theirs. This could be home. He pictured him and Sam living there for years and years, growing old in their new home, then shook his head, dismissing the thought. It wasn't as if Hunters had that many chances of growing old. Maybe Sam had the right idea the year Dean was in Purgatory – quitting was the best thing he could do.
Dean glanced at his phone. Sam was late. True, he never said when he would get back, but he had hinted that Castiel was in a hurry. The conversation could not have taken that long. Sam should have been back by then. Dean hesitated, then called his brother. He did not care if he interrupted some important meeting with Cas. Sam would understand. Sam knew how Dean got when he did not hear from him.
The phone rang and rang and went to voicemail. Another bad sign. Sam always answered his phone when they were on a case.
"Hey Sam," he began. "Call me back if you can. Nothing's happened here, everything seems to be going according to plan - but give me an update, why don't you?"
I'm worried. Dean knew he did not need to say it. Sam would guess it on his own and, hopefully, he'd realize Dean needed him to call back.
Dean went to the library and took some of Sam's notes and the journals he had been working with, then hurried back to Sandburg's room. Nothing seemed changed, but Dean needed to do something other than stare at Ellison and Sandburg. It was getting rather awkward, after all. Besides, maybe Sam's research would give them some answers.
He sifted through an old ledger. The last entries were dated a few weeks before Abbadon had attacked the Men of Letters. Next to them, there was a piece of paper - an official document, he realized. He read it and frowned.
"Well, that's not good," he muttered.
He glanced at his two charges and wondered how he was going to tell them when they woke up.
xxxXXXxxx
The only thing Sam was aware of at first was pain. It was sharp and unrelenting and it was everywhere, almost like something inside him was completely broken. Even before he opened his eyes, he started coughing, which almost doubled the agony. He thought he blacked out again for a while. When the fog cleared again, he could taste blood. He gagged, but tried to prevent himself from being sick. Instinct told him he risked suffocating himself that way.
He opened his eyes and peered around him in confusion. He was in the car but…it felt wrong. He wasn't usually in the driver's seat when he was in the Impala.
"Dean?" he gasped.
He was not too surprised when he received no answer. He had already known Dean wasn't there, otherwise he would have been the one driving. He was disappointed though. A part of him wanted his brother there. It was a part he would have never let Dean see, because he did not want to admit how much his brother fussing over him meant to him. How it always managed to make Sam feel safe and seen. Like a person. Not many people managed that. Amelia had tried, in the year when Dean had been lost to him. But Sam had long realized that Amelia had seen the trauma more than he had seen him. Dean was not like that. When Dean looked at him, Sam felt like he really existed.
"Get it together," he muttered. "You're turning into a sap."
He snorted tiredly. Even his pep talks sounded like Dean.
It took him a while to remember. Blair and Jim's visit. The boxes and the demons. Cas and his talk of Gwydion. The accident. He had driven the Impala into a ditch.
Sam tried to move. Every inch of his body hurt in some manner and he felt lightheaded. He placed his hand to his forehead and frowned when it came up red with blood.
"Not good," he muttered.
He reached for his phone, knowing this wasn't the time for pride. He needed to call Dean. The phone, however, would not switch on. It had either run out of battery in a spectacular lack of timing, or it had been damaged on impact. Sam groaned and dropped his head against the chair.
It felt quite tempting to close his eyes and give in to the unconsciousness hovering at the edges of his awareness. A couple of hours of oblivion would do wonders. At least they would spare him some of the pain he was feeling. But, of course, he could not do that. Besides, Sam told himself, he wasn't a quitter.
But what about the Trials? a voice said in his head. You know they're gonna kill you. Isn't that quitting?
Sam hated that voice. It was probably his instinct of self-preservation and it was trying to get him to believe that it was in his best interest to stop the Trial business before it was too late. Well, Sam had never played it safe, had he?
"It's not the same," he muttered. "That's for a cause."
Sam tried to sit up and started the engine. The car wouldn't budge. He would need help getting it out of there, and he could just imagine the things Dean would say to him because of that. Well, no. Sam was being unfair. Dean would be more concerned about him at first. But once he had ascertained that Sam was alright, he would most definitely grill him about the car. Perhaps he would be more lenient because of the Trials. But Sam did not want that. He did not like it when Dean treated him differently, as if there was something seriously wrong with him. As if he were dying…
"Get it together," he repeated. "Now's not the time for a pity party."
On reflection, it was just as well that the Impala wouldn't start. Sam was dizzy and disoriented, not a good combination for someone behind the wheel of a vehicle. Walking would work better. Of course, he would have to move for that, and there was no guarantee that he could stay upright long enough to reach the Bunker, but at least he would not be contributing to any more car crashes.
Sam pushed the door opened and struggled to get out. He fell to his knees as soon as he was outside the car. The pounding in his head skyrocketed and he was sick to his stomach. He grimaced when he noticed that he threw up mostly blood. He had no idea what to think of that. It could have been from the Trials. Or he could have been hurt so bad that he was now bleeding internally.
He only had to get home. He only had to get to Dean, and Dean would know what to do.
"I can make it," Sam told himself, gritting his teeth.
After all, he had been through much worse. He started staggering in the direction of the Bunker.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Blair's eyes snapped open when he realized he could not breathe. He gasped, gulping in cold air, but he still could not get enough. He was lying on his back on the hard ground. He could see the canopy of trees above him and the black sky. The lack of oxygen had his view fading in and out.
"I'm having a panic attack," he told himself.
He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. But all he could think of was that he was lost in his own head, chased by every horror he had ever encountered. He had lost his spirit animal and had no idea how to return home to Jim. The chaotic thoughts turned his breathing even more irregular. The fog soon swallowed his entire world yet again.
When Blair regained consciousness once more, Jim was kneeling in front of him.
"Jim!" he exclaimed. "You found me!"
Jim tilted his head.
"You know it should be the other way round, don't you?" Jim drawled. "That's why I took you in, Chief. For you to find me."
Blair frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
Jim shrugged.
"I don't know, Sandburg – remember our initial agreement?"
Something was wrong, Blair thought. Either that, or he was still too dazed from the fall to make sense of Jim's words. Come to think of it, shouldn't that fall have killed him?
"Our initial agreement happened before we even knew what we were," Blair protested. "Things were bound to change since then."
"Well yes," Jim accepted. "For one your ambitions to get a PhD, those were always bound to fail. And I knew that. Of course I did."
Blair shivered. It was cold all of a sudden, but he did not know if the cold came from the outside or from Jim's words.
"What are you trying to say, Jim?" he whispered.
Jim smiled. It was not one of his usual warm smiles that he reserved for Blair and Blair alone. It was a cold smirk, one Blair had never seen on his face before.
"I roped you in, Sandburg," he said. "Decided to use you…made sure you'd never be able to get away from me again. The Sentinel claiming the Guide. How's that for a thesis? Bet you're sorry you don't write about Sentinels anymore."
Blair tried to get up, because he did not want to have this conversation while Jim had an advantage, he needed some control over himself. But his legs wouldn't listen to him.
"Look, Jim, I don't know what's got into you," he tried. "But we need to get out of this place. The demon…"
Jim nodded quickly.
"Of course. Yet another of your screw-ups, Sandburg. I have to say, if I knew at the start you'd be more trouble than you're worth, I would have found myself another guide."
Blair flinched. The words felt like a blow to him.
Jim seemed not to notice. He went on as if he had not just shattered his guide's world into pieces.
"There are a lot of things I didn't sign up on when I took you in, Sandburg. Holding your hand through your family issues was just one of them. Getting involved in said issues – that's also a big problem."
"You were already involved," Blair pointed out. "Your grandfather…"
"My grandfather was probably using Aaron Sandburg in the same way I'm using you. It would make sense. That's our legacy, after all, isn't it? I give orders and you follow them."
It dawned on Blair then, the thing that he should have realized from the start.
"You're not Jim," he discovered.
Jim – or the thing that look like Jim – raised an eyebrow.
"Hit your head harder than I thought, did you, Chief?" he taunted. "Of course I'm Jim. Who else would I be?"
"A creation of the demon's. And the demon knew only Arthur Ellison, so he thinks you…he thinks Jim is the same. But he's not."
The figure in front of him gave him a pointed look.
"How sure are you of that, Chief?"
Blair raised his chin.
"Pretty damn sure," he said confidently.
Jim snorted.
"Really? Because if I'm in your head, Sandburg – then you can't lie to me, can you?"
Blair gulped. He was sure, though, wasn't he? Jim cared for him. Jim would have gone to the ends of the world for him – he wouldn't have simply been using Blair. He wouldn't – would he?
"Get out of here," he said sharply. "You can't play this game with me."
Jim shook his head.
"It's your game, Chief. Your problems. Your doubts."
Blair staggered up and backed away from the fake Jim. He should have known from the start this expressionless creature was not his friend.
"You're just trying to mess with my head," he accused.
Fake Jim nodded.
"Well yeah," he conceded. "But I can't pull this stuff out of nothingness. It still comes from your head. And I'm telling you, you've got a messed up head, Chief. There's enough self-doubt there to keep an entire union of therapists happy."
As he spoke, he advanced towards Blair. With every step Blair took backwards, fake Jim was one step closer to him.
"Aaron was like this, too, you know," fake Jim told him. "He always doubted himself and second guessed his actions. Of course, unlike you, he knew where he stood with his partner. Grandpa Ellison was nothing if not clear on that."
Despite himself, Blair felt intrigued.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that Arthur Ellison used your grandfather," Fake Jim said, then paused for effect. "Then, after his death, Aaron Sandburg swore to do everything in his power to make sure his children and their children in turn would have nothing to do with the Ellison family. And I have to say, the solutions he came up with were quite…creative."
Blair stared at the figure in horror. How much of what Aaron Sandburg had done to his daughter and grandson had been for the reasons everyone attributed to his behavior? Was he about to learn just now that his grandfather had disinherited Naomi and denied himself any contact with Blair to protect him?
xxxxXXXxxx
Dean slammed his phone in frustration, then winced at the noise it made. He glanced at Ellison, but he did not react in any way to the sound. Wherever he was, he had gone in deep. Dean wondered if he would even be able to wake him up now if something went wrong. As for Sandburg, the only good thing that could be said about him was that he was still breathing. So, at least he was still alive. There was no knowing when they might wake up, though. Dean was wondering when he should start breaking out the IVs. After all, he was sure what one drank in the spirit world did not count to prevent dehydration in this world.
And Dean was all alone. He had tried calling Sam again, but, yet again, it had not gone through. He had then tried the GPS but could not find anything. Either Sam had switched off his tracker – although there was no reason for him to do so, when they weren't fighting, they both agreed the trackers were there for their protection, considering their jobs – or something had gone terribly wrong.
"Damn it, Sam," Dean muttered. "You just went out to a burger joint."
To meet Castiel. Who had once been an ally, and whose status was now uncertain. Who had recently tried to smash Dean's face in. Granted, he had been under some other angel's control, and he had claimed to have broken that control, but what if it had started again? What if that was the reason why Castiel had wanted Sam out there alone? Dean was sure the angels must know Sam was doing the Hell Trials. And maybe they did not want the Gates of Hell shut. After all, they had not wanted the Apocalypse averted and Lucifer back in the box, either.
Dean fought with the urge to just rush out and look for Sam. He had promised Sam he would take care of Ellison and Sandburg and supervise. But his instinct of protecting others was battling with an older, much more powerful force inside him. He had been honed since he was four to watch out for Sam. He wanted to drop everything and do just that. Because, however much Sam might object to that and call him selfish, Sam would always be Dean's first priority. Always. No matter what.
He took a few steps in the hallway, glancing at Ellison. Maybe there was nothing he could do there, anyway. Maybe Ellison had to find Sandburg on his own. But no. He couldn't leave. He knew that.
"Damn it!" he swore again.
He'd give Sam half an hour more. Then he'd leave. He'd try to wake Ellison up first and tell him they should postpone this. Sandburg was not getting any more lost in the spirit world after all. And Sam might need help. Ellison was not going to appreciate it, of course, but that wasn't really something Dean cared too much about anyway.
Slowly, he moved to the library. His discovery had left him somewhat puzzled, but he could not focus on what he had read. He would have to discuss it with Sam before he showed it to Ellison and Sandburg. If Sam came back, that was.
What if something had happened? It did not even have to be something supernatural. Sam was sick. He could have started one of his coughing fits and collapsed. But no, Dean thought. His number was listed as Sam's emergency contact and next of kin. If Sam was ever taken to the hospital, Dean would get called immediately. So, that ruled out some kind of accident.
Suddenly, he heard someone at the Bunker door. He went up, gun in hand and pried the door open. He put the gun away and barely had enough time to catch Sam in his arms as his brother collapsed.
"Sam!" he cried, shaking him.
Sam looked at him through dazed eyes.
"Dean," he muttered. "I'm home."
Then his eyes rolled back.
xxxXXXxxx
Blair had managed to pull himself together after the shocking revelation. So his grandfather had been trying to protect him and Naomi. It still did not excuse what he had done. Blair was still not going to forgive him for it. Besides, it had been all for nothing. Blair had still met Jim. Blair had always been meant to meet Jim.
"I've got to get out of here," he said.
Fake Jim was now leaning against a tree, following his movements with a bored expression. Like a cat tracking its prey, Blair could not help thinking. He had often joked that Jim could have feline tendencies, but this Jim reminded him more of the spotted jaguar that was Alex's spirit guide.
"So, how do you intend to get out of this mess, Chief?" Jim asked casually. "Or do you expect me to come riding to your rescue on a white horse? I know that is what you usually do…"
Blair felt a surge of fury.
"That's not what I usually do. If I don't get out on my own, then at least I always increase my chances of getting out alive. You always tell me that."
It was only after his outburst that he remembered this was not actually Jim. It was too late, though. He could see the amusement on the man's face.
"Do I?" he drawled. "Well, I must not be very convincing then. Otherwise, you would not be angsting here about it."
Blair shook his head and turned aside. He barely managed a few steps when fake Jim was in front of him once more.
"And just where do you think you're going?" he asked, looming over Blair.
Blair stood his ground. He was used to having guys bigger than him looming over him at all times. Jim had done the same when they had first met. Only, he had been careful not to do it after that. Jim had not used intimidation tactics in years. Seeing someone with his face do that now was more than unnerving. It tilted Blair's world off its axis.
"Away from you," Blair said, looking the figure straight in the eye. "I've had enough of you, if you don't mind."
Jim snorted.
"I do mind, though," he said. "You can't leave me, Sandburg. You made that silly vow in your mind after the dissertation fiasco. That no matter what you'd never leave me. Remember?"
Blair froze. He had not even told Jim about that vow. Jim would have taken it the wrong way. He would have said that he did not want Sandburg to forcibly tie himself to Jim, that Blair was free to come and go as he wished. But what Jim wouldn't have understood was that the vow had not been made as a way to force Blair to remain by his side. Only to confirm something that Blair already knew.
"That wasn't to you," he said. "It was to Jim."
Fake Jim smirked.
"And do you think Jim would have made the same vow to you? Do you think he doesn't plan on discarding you the moment you're no longer useful?"
No! Blair was ready to say it. He knew it could not be like this, knew the two of them were blood brothers and shared a bond that not many could or wanted to understand. He knew that whatever happened, they would always be in each other's orbit. They had been through so much together, had looked death in the face so many times, had seen each other at their most vulnerable. They had celebrated each other's triumphs and mourned each other's defeats. And neither of them would even dream of abandoning the other.
Blair knew this. Intellectually. On some level. Yet there was a place in his mind where all his doubts and fears slept and from time to time, they would wake to torment him. They would remind him that he was not really a part of Jim's world, that he would never be, and that he was living on borrowed time. One of these days, Jim would send him packing.
Fake Jim must have noticed his doubts. He nodded, as if encouraging Blair to keep those thoughts with him.
"No," Blair insisted. "No, you're wrong."
He tried to move away, but suddenly he was trapped in place. Then the thing wearing Jim's face was on him, his hands around Blair's throat. They both crashed to the ground, and Blair wondered if that was how he was going to die, looking in Jim's eyes and seeing so much hatred in them.
I say a bit of angst and whump is always good, and this chapter had plenty of it. And at least Sam's home, so there's that. And I love exploring my characters' doubts. Prepare for more next week :)