I nearly missed posting this due to faulty internet connection. New chapter is up! We're slowly getting somewhere. Enjoy!
Chapter 11
Dean frantically checked Sam's pulse. It was strong, but way too fast. Sam seemed to have trouble breathing, he realized, and he had been hurt. There was blood on his face, and Dean couldn't even tell what else was wrong.
"What the hell did you get into, Sammy?" Dean wondered.
If Castiel was in any way responsible, Dean was going to kick his ass from here to heaven and back several times.
He shook Sam, trying to get something out of him.
"Sammy, come on. Don't do this to me, man."
Sam stirred and groaned. Dean dropped his head in relief.
"Ok, that's good," he said. "Good, you're alive in there. How about you open those eyes so we can check if that geek brain is still in working order?"
Sam's face scrunched up. Dean grinned. So Sam could hear him and was responding to him. That had to be a good thing, right? It meant he couldn't have been too badly hurt.
"Sam, if you open those eyes, I promise I'll ask Blair for the recipe to one of his disgusting algae shakes."
"Huh?"
Sam sounded confused, but he was getting more and more responsive. Dean decided he could be patient.
"Take it slow," he said. "Just… open your eyes whenever you're ready, yeah?"
It took a while, and judging by Sam's frowns and winces the process was painful. Dean quelled his impatience and tried to offer encouragements, keeping a steady hold on Sam. Eventually, Sam managed to open clouded eyes. They immediately sought Dean. Sam seemed to settle when he finally realized he was not alone.
"I'm home," he muttered.
Dean tried not to think of what Sam giving in so quickly to the new concept of home now that he was vulnerable did to him.
"Yeah, I'd like to know more about that," he said. "What the hell happened, Sammy?"
Sam frowned. Dean wondered if his brother was all there. He did not like the confusion he could spot on his face.
"Who hit your head?" he asked.
Sam made to shake his head but thought better of it.
"No one. I did. Against the steering wheel, I think? Or it could have been the window."
Dean did not like what he was hearing one bit.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
Sam huffed.
"Oh, yeah, I…I drove your car into a ditch. Sorry."
Dean felt himself grow cold. It explained why Sam sounded so concussed – because, of course, he was.
"And why exactly would you do that, Sam?" he asked tightly.
If he was going to find out that Sam had a coughing fit at the wheel of the Impala and that it was so severe that it caused him to crash the car, then he was going to keep Sam locked in the Bunker until he got better. And he would pull the plug on the Trials, too, whether Sam liked it or not. No one had said that to shut down hell Dean would have to lose his brother. There were some trade-offs Dean Winchester never made. No matter what was offered to him.
The question seemed to have roused Sam out of his confusion. His eyes widened and he tried to sit up, even though he was obviously fighting a dizzy spell. Dean placed his hands on his shoulders trying to keep him down.
"Hey, easy. Take it slow, dude. You know better than to mess around like this when you have a concussion."
"No time," Sam gasped.
Dean sighed wearily.
"When is there ever time? Just…stay down a little more, alright? I'll let you up in a minute, I promise."
Sam finally relented, and Dean suspected it was more because he was feeling too rotten to keep trying to protest than because he actually wanted to agree with him.
"The demon," Sam said. "The fox. It appeared in the middle of the road."
Dean frowned.
"What, and it caused you to crash the car? I thought you were immune to the spells."
Sam nodded, then winced.
"Dude, speak with your mouth," Dean chided. "You know what moving your head now does to you. Stay still."
He knew he sounded like a mother hen, but did not care much. It wasn't as if Sam didn't know how things stood between the two of them.
"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly. "You're right, I am immune. The car isn't though. It caused the car to crash. I just…lost control."
Dean felt a cold stab of fury.
"When I get my hands on that thing I'm turning it into one of those lame hats chicks used to wear."
Sam snorted in amusement.
"I don't think it's a real fox, Dean."
"It won't be a real anything, once I'm done with it."
Sam sat up and took his head into his hands.
"You should go check up on the others. You shouldn't leave them alone like that for so long."
Dean had expected Sam to remember they had work to do sooner or later. He had just hoped it would be later. It was hard for him to move away from Sam, especially knowing how close he had come to losing him. The car accident could have easily been fatal.
"Sam…" he began, but Sam interrupted him with a wave of his hand.
"Go. I'll sit here for a while, then come join you."
Once he was able to get his legs under him. Dean eyed Sam critically.
"Are you sure you're not hurt worse than your noggin?"
Sam seemed to hesitate.
"I'm fine," he said.
Dean gave him a look. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Ribs are bruised to hell, I think," he finally admitted. "But I'm sure nothing's broken."
He was not sure, and Dean could tell that.
"I'll check on the hippies," he said. "Then I'll come back and check on you."
Sam was already starting to protest. Dean cut him off:
"I need to talk to you anyway. I might as well do it while I'm patching you up."
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Talk to me?" he repeated.
Dean hesitated.
"Let's just say there's been a development," he finally said. "One that I'm sure Ellison won't like. Sandburg either, probably."
With that, he walked back into the room where he'd left Ellison and Sandburg – and the journals, with some pretty damning evidence about the older generation – their own grandfather included.
xxxXXXxxx
Blair struggled to break free of the inhuman hold. Dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes, the fist effects caused by the lack of oxygen. He remembered the time Jim had been possessed by the wekufe. But that had been different. That had been Jim and he had been able to reach him. This was a facsimile who had Jim's face but none of his memories. None of his emotional ties to Blair, either.
The hold on his throat tightened. Blair could not breathe at all now. His usual brand of defiance reared its head then. He was not going to let it end like this. He was not going to allow himself to be killed by something wearing Jim's face. Not if he could help it.
He groped with his hand until he found a jagged rock. He picked it up and slammed it against Jim's head. The hold on him slackened and Blair hit again. The thing wearing Jim's face released him and staggered backwards. Blair turned on his side, coughing and trying to get his breath back. His head was pounding so hard, he did not think he could stay conscious much longer.
"I told you not to underestimate me," he gasped.
He knew that when he succumbed, the thing wearing Jim's face would be on him again. And then Blair would die, and he did not want to die in that place. Not without seeing Jim, the real Jim, one last time.
A dark flicker appeared in the corner of his eye. The wolf was back, looking just as haggard as Blair felt, staggering, its tongue lolling wildly. But it was not alone. The black panther was there, watching over him, holding him up. Blair looked into the green eyes and smiled. He knew what that meant.
The thing with Jim's face was back on his feet, heading towards Blair. But Blair did not fear him anymore.
"You lost," Blair whispered.
He allowed himself to give in, because he knew the real Jim was close by. And he knew that he was safe.
xxxXXXxxx
Jim had been following the panther for a while. His spirit animal seemed to know where it was going, so Jim was not going to start doubting it. But the place was convoluted and hard to pin down. He could not tell if he was somewhere in the mountains, or a jungle, or a park. The place seemed to be more than one thing, complex and confusing. Like Sandburg's own mind. Jim pushed that thought aside, because he was having enough weirdness as it was.
He spotted the fire-people at one point. At least, he thought that was what they were, recognizing them from Blair's convoluted descriptions during the time when he had been drugged. Jim's heart clenched. So the demon was messing with Blair's head, bringing about all the darkness he had experienced.
"We're running out of time," he muttered.
As if in answer, the panther quickened its pace. Jim ran after it.
He did not know how long he had been running. Suddenly, the howl of a wolf pierced the silence. Jim stopped in his tracks.
"Sandburg!" he called.
He briefly extended his hearing, but at first could not hear anything else. His heart clenched. There had been so much pain and fear in that howl. If Jim did not make it in time, if he was too late…
"No," he muttered. "No way in hell are you giving up on me like that, Chief."
He ran after the panther down a steep hill and towards a clearing. It was then that he heard it: Blair's heartbeat. It was reassuringly strong, but way too fast. He quickened his pace. What he saw in the clearing sent his min reeling.
Blair was on his knees, breathing heavily, still holing a rock in his hands. A few feet away there was someone wearing Jim's face. His stance was anything but friendly towards Sandburg. Jim knew instantly that whatever that thing was, it had hurt Blair, and was about to finish what he had started. Over his dead body, Jim thought.
"Hey!" he shouted.
The figure stopped and turned around, startled by the intrusion. His eyes widened when he saw Jim.
"How the hell did you get here?"
Jim did not answer.
"You know," he said instead, "I'm not fond of people using my face when they attack my partner."
Only, it wasn't really his face, Jim realized. The figure in front of him reminded him of the only picture his father had of Arthur Ellison.
"What the hell are you, anyway? An afterimage of my not-so-dearly departed grandfather?"
The figure smirked.
"I am you."
Jim snorted.
"Oh, no, I doubt you managed to convince even Sandburg of that."
The figure glanced at Blair who was now lying motionless on the ground. If Jim had not been able to hear his heartbeat, he would have been worried.
"You were supposed to use him. Not make friends with him."
Jim took several steps until he was next to Blair. He knelt down beside him.
"I wasn't supposed to do anything, pal. I don't care what you think this setup was in the first place…"
The figure – whether an image of himself or Arthur Ellison, Jim still had trouble determining – threw back his head and laughed. The ground shook. The panther roared.
"This set up – you two meeting – was all planned," he said. "By us, although Aaron Sandburg tried to weasel out of his deal. And it was done so you'd get the boxes and contain the demons. If you think you chose Sandburg because of him and him alone, you're wrong. You chose him because of us."
Jim stared at him in horror.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Henry Winchester looked from Arthur Ellison to Aaron Sandburg, wondering what he was getting into.
"Please explain this to me one more time, gentlemen," he began, "What exactly is it you want me to do?"
"Officially, buy a warehouse with us," Ellison said.
His voice was calm, but Henry could detect an uncharacteristic note of nervousness behind the words.
"Why?" he insisted.
Ellison shrugged. Henry turned to Sandburg, who was trying his best not to look at him.
"Is this about the wolf and the panther?" Henry finally asked.
Arthur flinched. He looked at Aaron disapprovingly.
"You told him?"
Aaron shrugged.
"He's a Man of Letters," he replied listlessly. "He has access to knowledge we don't."
Arthur scoffed.
"I thought we agreed it didn't matter. The spirit guides, our future heirs, all that mambo jumbo didn't matter."
Henry raised his eyebrows.
"Actually, it does matter. Not to you, but to future generations. To the guardian and his guide."
He noticed Aaron swallow harshly. Arthur, however, looked completely disinterested.
"I need this warehouse, Winchester," he said. "You and your Men of Letters can remain in charge of it. You can make sure no one uses what's inside for ill gain."
Henry scoffed.
"No one but you, of course," he commented smoothly.
Arthur took a step towards him, looking about to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Henry held his ground.
"Listen to me and listen carefully," Arthur said. "I have the key to the boxes. I will give it to you, eventually. But only if I'm making sure both key and boxes can still be considered mine."
Henry was starting to understand what Arthur wanted.
"If you do this, you remain the owner of the boxes," he discovered. "Even though you never use them."
He doubted Arthur would never be tempted to use them, though. Arthur Ellison was the kind of man who used anything that could give him an extra advantage.
Henry looked at Arthur and noticed that he had everything figured out. He had planned for every possible outcome, taking it all into consideration. Arthur noticed his gaze and smirked.
"It's more than this, Winchester. I'm making sure my family will always have access to the boxes. And your families will always be at my beck and call. Quite the legacy, don't you think?"
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Aaron waited until he and Henry were alone. Then, he quickly grabbed Henry's arm to get his attention.
"Listen to me," he urged, "You have got to do what he says."
Henry shrugged away from his hold.
"Why?" he demanded. "Aaron, he might have gotten to you for some reason, but he isn't going to get to me or the rest of the Men of Letters. You heard him. He's planning on enslaving us and future generations to his will. How can you accept this?"
Aaron took a deep breath. He checked behind him to see there was no one around. He did not put it past Arthur to have spies. Arthur trusted them just as little as they trusted him.
"I'm not accepting this. I promise."
Henry tilted his head.
"Then what are you doing?"
Aaron bit his lips. He could not tell Henry everything. He was not going to agree with some parts of his plan, for one.
"Just trust me, Henry. Please."
Henry held his ground.
"You're making it really hard right now, Aaron. You should know that. Associating with the likes of Arthur Ellison."
Aaron took a deep breath.
"It's not what you think."
Henry scoffed.
"It's exactly what I think, Mr. Sandburg. He's blackmailing you, isn't he? Either that, or he's using whatever connection you two seem to have."
"That connection is there for a reason," Aaron pointed out. "You know these things better than I."
Henry turned away.
"I know Arthur Ellison is a good for nothing scoundrel."
Aaron nodded.
"Of course he is! And he needs to be dealt with. And I am in the proper position to do so."
Henry turned slowly to face him. He still looked suspicious.
"How? How do you intend to do that?"
Aaron sighed wearily.
"By playing along. For now."
He did not like deceiving people, even someone as unscrupulous as Arthur Ellison. But sometimes one had to do unpleasant things for the good of many.
"Trust me Henry, I will make sure Arthur Ellison will not get anywhere near those boxes- and that he will not bother anyone ever again."
Henry watched him shrewdly.
"Maybe you can stop Arthur Ellison," he conceded. "But what about the rest?"
Aaron frowned in confusion.
"The rest?" he repeated blankly.
Henry nodded looking pointedly at him. Aaron did not like the expression in his eyes. As if he was about to ask for more than he had a right to demand of him.
"What about your descendant who is supposed to guide Ellison's descendant? That won't be something you might be able to stop. And maybe you will need to let it happen for the good of all of us."
Aaron did not even blink.
"Leave that to me as well."
He was not about to tell Henry that he would try to find a way to keep his daughter and whatever other future children he might have as far away from Ellison's clan as possible – and as far away from Winchester, too.
xxxxXXXXxxx
After checking on Ellison and Sandburg and discovering the situation mostly unchanged – although Blair seemed to be breathing rapidly, but not alarmingly so – Dean returned to Sam, who had managed to get himself up and move stiffly down the stairs and into the library. Dean arrived just in time to help lower Sam into his chair.
"Man, you should really have me check you over," Dean said. "What if you need a doctor?"
Sam shook his head tiredly.
"I don't. I'm just banged up, I promise."
Dean did not look too convinced.
"Sam, the last time you told me you were OK, I found bloody tissues in your wastepaper basket."
Sam was obviously getting irritated.
"Well, if you hadn't felt the need to go through the trash like some creep, you wouldn't have found them, would you?" he snapped.
Dean sat down next to him.
"Look, Sam…"
Sam interrupted him, grabbing his arm.
"Not now," he said. "Let's just focus on this thing with the boxes for now."
Dean snorted.
"Oh, are you actually telling me we're gonna talk after?"
Sam shrugged.
"You never wanted to talk before. Why change the pattern now?"
Dean had no idea how to say it. He could not tell Sam that he was haunted every day by feelings of foreboding, of losing Sam, and he already knew what losing Sam felt like. He did not want to go through it again. He would have done anything not to have to go through it again. But how could he ever voice that to Sam?
"Whatever," Dean finally said. "But if you die at this table, I'm not carrying your corpse out."
The corners of Sam's mouth tilted upwards.
"Dude, you're the one who's gonna have to put up with the smell. I'm not going to care anymore by that point." He paused and tilted his head. "You said you discovered something."
Dean nodded grimly. If Sam wanted a change of subject, he would get it. For now.
"It seems our grandfather was quite busy in the weeks prior to the Men of Letters' defeat. And not only him. Grandpa Ellison and Grandpa Sandburg were also cooking something up. The three were working together – more or less."
Sam raised his eyebrows.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Dean rubbed a hand over his face.
"From what I could gather, Ellison and Sandburg shared some kind of connection."
Sam sat up straighter. He winced at the movement, and Dean nearly commented on it, but stopped himself, knowing his hovering right now would not lead to anything.
"You're not saying they were also Sentinel and Guide, are you?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged.
"I don't think so. But I think they knew someone in their families would be, down the line. And apparently, there is this thing with the demons in the boxes. Only a Guardian can make sure they are no longer a threat. That's what the notes say."
"A Guardian," Sam repeated. "A Sentinel, you mean?"
"I guess," Dean said. "I don't know who the main plotter of this was – quite probably Henry, maybe Arthur Ellison, too, although I got the feeling that for different reasons. But Jim and Blair were somehow meant to find the warehouse and the boxes, because they were meant to be the ones to deal with the demons."
Sam shook his head.
"That's…not good."
Dean knew. He had never enjoyed it whenever forces outside himself made plans for him and Sam and concocted a destiny for them, without allowing them to have a say in it. He assumed Jim and Blair would dislike this just as much.
xxxXXXxxx
Jim watched as the thing wearing his face – or Arthur Ellison's face, it was hard to tell – dissolved in a white mist. He dashed towards Blair. Now was not the time to think about what the figure had hinted – that people had arranged for him and Blair to meet, that there was a reason for the two of them finding each other and developing such a deep and unshakable friendship. But no, Jim told himself. Their meeting might have been planned, but not their friendship. That was all them. Their choice. And Jim needed to hold on to this now.
He bent over Blair, taking in the lax features. Blair was breathing, which was a good thing, but Jim did not like how unresponsive he was. He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and shook slightly.
"Time to wake up, Chief," he said.
Blair's head moved slightly towards the sound of his voice, but otherwise made no reply. Jim placed a hand on the side of his face, frowning at the cold clamminess. He did not know if one could be in shock in the spirit world, but it seemed Sandburg had definitely managed it.
"Blair," he said. "You're not going to leave me out here all alone, are you? After all, I came all this way."
He saw the frown on Blair's face, even though the younger man had yet to open his eyes. It dawned on him, then. Blair had just been attacked by something wearing Jim's face. He might have known it wasn't Jim, but maybe he found it hard to determine now that he was finally with his friend and not some imitation meant to torment him.
"Hey, Chief," he said clearing his throat. "It's me this time. I promise. And I promise whatever he said wasn't true. You trust me, right?"
He wondered if he really wanted to know the answer to that question. If, after all those years together, Sandburg would say no, what did that say about them? And how come Jim had missed the signs? But maybe the problem was less about Blair trusting Jim, then about Blair trusting himself.
Jim clutched Blair's shoulder. Blair could bring him back from the darkness just by making his presence known to Jim. It should have worked backwards as well.
"So, what do you say, Sandburg?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "Do you want to join me over here?"
He glanced up and noticed the panther was still there, standing protectively over the wolf. He shook his head.
"Hell, even the cat's better at this than me."
A frown appeared on Blair's face at this admission.
"Cat?" he repeated confused.
Jim snorted.
"Oh, now you're talking to me."
Blair's frown deepened.
"Sorry."
Jim felt slightly contrite by the apology. His hand tightened on Blair's shoulder.
"Forget about it. You can make it up to me by opening your eyes."
Blair finally obeyed. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to open his eyes at half-mast. His cloudy gaze settled on Jim's face.
"Oh," he said. "It's really you."
Jim felt unexpectedly warmed by the admission. If Blair could tell just by looking at him that Jim was himself and not some figment sent to torment Blair, then maybe things were not really that bad between the two of them.
"The one and only, Chief. None of that cheap knockout crap."
The corners of Blair's mouth curled upwards.
"I knew he wasn't you."
Did you? From the very start? The question was knocking itself against Jim's mind, but Jim could not bring himself to ask. Nor did he think it was the right time for a heart to heart. Blair's voice sounded hoarse and breathless. Jim wondered what happened to him.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Blair's face darkened.
"I faced some of my demons here."
Jim nodded solemnly.
"I think I saw one of your…uhh…fire people on the way. I'm sorry you had to see it again."
Blair shrugged.
"I'm sorry you had to see it. There are worse things than fire people about, though. I saw Alex. I saw Lash." He paused and swallowed. "He was the first to approach me."
There was something in Blair's face Jim did not like. A look he had not seen in years.
"I'm not over him, you know," Blair confessed quietly. "He's always there in my mind. I try to pretend I'm over him."
Jim's hand moved to his arm.
"Sandburg, you once told me no one expects you to be over trauma. You just learn to live with it."
Blair shook his head.
"Sometimes, I have nightmares about him," he confessed.
Jim knew. Of course he did. But since Blair did not share all his bad dreams with him, he had decided to respect Blair's privacy. He wondered now if that was a good thing.
"You and I will have to have a long serious talk later on, Chief. About more than one thing."
He remembered his revelation about what their grandfathers had planned for them, but he did not want to think about that now. Not in that place. He inspected Blair thoroughly, assessing his mental and physical state. Blair looked lost and scared, but he was regaining control of himself with every second.
"So, think you can take us back to Kansas, Dorothy?" he asked.
Blair dissolved into a fit of giggles. Jim raised his eyebrows.
"Come on, Sandburg, it wasn't even that funny. Unless you're getting hysterical on me, in which case, I might just have to slap you."
Blair shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. Jim hoped it was from the laughter and not from some kind of distress.
"Oh no," Blair said, still giggling. "No, I had the same thought. About Kansas and Dorothy when I got here."
"Alright. Good."
Jim was now humoring Blair more than anything. He wondered if staying too long in the spirit world had negative effects on one's sanity.
"Only I was seeing myself as Toto," Blair added.
…Or maybe this was just Sandburg's weirdness running rampant and nothing to worry about.
"Well then," Jim drawled. "I'd try clicking my heels and thinking of home, only I think this is your party, Sandburg, and you're in charge of getting us out of here."
He helped Blair get up, not liking how he was wavering on his feet.
"Why me?' Blair asked.
Jim looked pointedly at him.
"You're the shaman, aren't you? And the guide. So, guide."
Blair's face took on a stony look.
"Right," he said tightly. "Make myself useful. Of course."
Jim eyed him in concern. Blair would probably never tell him what happened with Jim's alter ego. Not of his own free will. But Jim was starting to realize that there had been some damage done that might need time to be fixed.
He took Blair's arm, making the young man look him in the eye.
"Sandburg," he said seriously. "No matter what he said to you – it wasn't true. You're more to me than someone who needs to be useful. Understand?"
Sandburg looked hesitant, allowing a brief hint of vulnerability on his face.
"What if I disappoint you?" he asked. "What if I fail? This time – or any other time in the future."
Jim strove to keep his face emotionless. Failure? Disappointment? He thought Blair had left his insecurities behind long ago.
"There's no disappointment, Chief, nor will there ever be," he said firmly. "And if you're unable to find a way out of this place – well, we'll just have to do it together, won't we?"
Blair searched Jim's face for any hint of deception. Finally, he gave him a small smile.
"Right. Of course. Together. As usual, right?"
Jim nodded quickly. He hoped the uncertainty and desperate need for validation was only an aftereffect of whatever confrontations Blair had experienced in the spirit world. He would hate to think that Sandburg spent his days doubting his place by Jim's side and Jim had not even noticed.
Apparently, I can't help being mushy. Ah well, some mush is good from time to time. Next week I promise to get the boys all reunited on a single plane of existence – but, of course, facing more troubles.