Thank you all for continuing to read this little story :) Time for another tense chapter. I must say I had a lot of fun with this one, even if it was going back and forth with the characters. Enjoy!
Chapter 15
For a long time, Dean and Gwydion stood staring at each other. The confrontation felt like a battle of wills, one that Dean intended to win no matter the outcome of Gwydion's tests.
"Wait a second," Blair interfered then, taking a step forward. "You can't just poison him."
Gwydion snorted.
"I'm not, though, am I? The choice will be Dean's and Dean's alone."
Blair pursed his lips.
"You know that's not a choice. That's barbaric."
Gwydion actually laughed at that.
"I think your friend is realizing just now I am a demon," Gwydion told Dean.
Dean grimaced.
"Except you're awfully squeamish about causing pain," he said. "You want me to do it myself."
Gwydion shrugged.
"I want you to make a choice."
He was looking pointedly at the glasses. Dean decided that he could play the game – for now.
"Fine," he said, reaching out for the drinks again.
Blair's hand fastened around his arm.
"Now wait just a minute," he hissed.
Dean turned to glare at him.
"What do you want, Sandburg? We need the box. I can get you the box, but only like this."
"He's right, you know," Gwydion said, no longer looking at them. "We can be here forever, of course, but I don't see why you'd want this. The décor is fine, I suppose, but it's gonna be a bit lonely and annoying with just the three of us here. No new faces, no ladies…"
"And if he drinks the poison?" Blair challenged. "What then?"
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Have a little faith, Sandburg," he muttered.
"My life is at stake as well," Blair pointed out. "Having faith is fine, but what happens to me if you drink the poison?"
Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had seen enough of Blair to know self-interest was not really part of his genetic makeup. Nor was self-preservation, and he vividly recalled Blair locking himself in a crypt to face Cerberus together with Sam. Sandburg was up to something, and Dean was not going to like it.
Unfortunately, Gwydion was not that well-versed in all things Sandburg. He saw no reason to hide his plans from Blair.
"Nothing will happen to you. You're the companion to the quest. If Dean dies, you're free to go."
Blair eyed him with skepticism.
"Just like that?"
Gwydion nodded firmly.
"Just like that."
Blair tilted his head.
"Do I have your word?" he insisted.
Dean noticed Gwydion was beginning to get annoyed. He himself had no idea where this was going.
"It's not just me, Sandburg," he stated. "It's the rules. I can't disobey them. If Dean dies, you are free to go. You have my word."
Sandburg tilted his head.
"What if I want to take on his quest?"
"Sandburg," Dean growled warningly.
Blair rounded on him immediately.
"What?" he demanded. "We need the box. You know that. If you choose wrongly, who's gonna get it? Or would you rather I go back and get Sam?"
Dean had to admit Blair knew how to play dirty.
"It's not up to me anyway," he finally said pointing to Gwydion. "It's up to him."
Gwydion did not look pleased.
"There are situations when the companion can take on the place of the player," he admitted. "If Dean chooses wrongly, you can step in, Blair. If you want to."
Blair nodded firmly.
"I want to."
Gwydion did not show himself impressed by his determination.
"It's your funeral," was all he said.
Dean turned back to the drinks. Now that he knew what was at stake, the choice no longer affected him and him alone. Blair seemed to guess his thoughts, as he gave Dean a smirk.
"No pressure," he said cheekily.
Dean ignored him. He picked up on drink then the next. He inspected the amber liquid thoughtfully. They both looked the same. They were both the same quantity and in glasses that were similar to each other. He smelled the drinks and they both smelled the same.
"I don't suppose I can do an eenie-meenie-miny-mo type of selection," he quipped.
Gwydion rolled his eyes.
"The process of selection is yours to choose. You don't have to explain it to me."
Dean frowned. He was certain he detected a note of nervousness in Gwydion's voice. Why though? If he was right, and the outcome did not affect Gwydion, why was he so annoyed with Dean's hesitation?
"What do you think, Sandburg?" he asked.
Gwydion cleared his throat.
"Mr. Sandburg can advise," he said. "But the choice must be yours and yours alone."
Again, that tremble in Gwydion's voice had Dean's instincts on alert.
"Well, Sandburg?" he prompted. "Advise."
Blair hesitated.
"Uhh, there doesn't seem to me anything that would obviously point to which drink is poisoned and which is safe."
"You think they're both the same?" Dean asked sharply.
Blair shrugged.
"I see no difference between them. Nothing that can help you choose. Sorry, man. I'm not being a very good guide here."
In Dean's opinion, Blair was being an excellent guide. He nodded, satisfied.
"You know, you're actually thinking like me," he said. "They're both the same."
With a swift movement, he knocked both glasses off the table. The liquid from the two glasses mingled in the floor and started to sizzle.
Gwydion looked horrified. Dean grinned.
"You didn't specify how many choices I had," he said. "I could choose either drink – or both, or neither. Am I right?"
Gwydion mumbled something incoherent.
"Both drinks were poisoned?" Blair asked in disbelief.
Dean shrugged.
"It was the same drink, really."
"Most people would assume not," Blair said. "Most people would assume one drink was safe."
Dean had spent enough time with Sam learning how supernatural creatures found loopholes out of deals. He had immediately looked for a loophole when he spotted the drinks and found one that was quite obvious.
"Well, I'm not most people," Dean said. "There were never two drinks. Only one."
Gwydion bowed his head.
"Do you have any idea just how few people have gotten this right?" he said through clenched teeth.
"Well, what can I say? I was never one to follow the crowd. Next question?"
Gwydion hesitated. For the first time, Dean saw doubt in his eyes.
"Next test," he finally said. "Come with me."
He sounded resigned, which had Dean's hackles rising. Someone like Gwydion was not going to give up sp easily. He had to be up to something.
xxxXXXxxx
Jim and Sam had taken several items off the shelves. This was mostly done with Sam's supervision. The place was warded, it was true, but he had no idea what was with those items. Many of them could be cursed.
"If some of these belonged to my grandfather, I suppose they really were," Jim commented.
Sam was frowning at a photo album. He could see a lot of people he did not recognize. He wondered if any of them had known Henry Winchester's family. He wondered if they had cared that Henry had a son – beyond the idea that he was supposed to join the family business.
He found himself scowling. There was not much difference between what John became when he had reached adulthood and what his own father had been. Placing expectations on their future offspring, planning their own lives for them, not pausing to wonder whether those plans would really be welcomed.
"What did you say?" he asked, trying to focus on the present.
Jim was watching him through narrowed eyes.
"I was thinking that, if my grandfather was involved with this warehouse, then I bet there's a lot of wrong stuff here."
Sam set aside the photo album. No use dwelling on the past. The box wasn't there anyway.
"You've only been giving vague answers about him," he remarked carefully. "I get why Sandburg's pissed at his, him cutting contact with his own daughter like that. But what about you? I sense some animosity whenever you mention him."
Jim scowled.
"It's probably inherited. My dad hates him."
"And your dad is…?"
Jim grimaced. Sam was ready to drop the question. It was not as if he had any experience when it came to quality parenting. Well, John had tried his best, Sam got that now. It was only that John's best would have been questioned by a lot of people – and had been questioned, even by those who knew the kind of life they had led. Bobby, for example, had never stopped questioning it.
"None of my business, really."
Jim shrugged.
"I kind of more or less made it up with my family over the years," he finally admitted. "But my dad was a piece of work – I think now he would even admit it himself. Not to me or to my brother, because he hasn't really reached that level of self-awareness yet. And maybe he was the way he was because of grandpa. I wouldn't know."
"Well, what did he say about your grandfather?"
Jim huffed, shaking his head.
"Dad said grandpa ruined his life. His mom's life as well. Said he put all of them in danger. He wouldn't give me more details, but if there really been something supernatural involved, he would never have told me. Hell, he wouldn't have acknowledged it to himself."
Jim paused, looking suddenly as if he had been smacked by some kind of revelation.
"Oh my God," he muttered. "That's why he was like that."
Sam frowned.
"Like what?"
"I was born with the heightened senses, you know," Jim said. "I had them when I was a kid, and of course I couldn't control what I was seeing or hearing. Whenever I mentioned coming across something I shouldn't have known, my father would be furious. Hell, he called me a freak more than once."
Charming individual, Sam thought. At least John had not said it to Sam's face. No, Sam corrected himself, he had just told Dean that he might have to kill Sam if he went dark side. Apparently, none of them had normal experiences when it came to the parenting department. Or the grandparenting one.
"So, what happened?' he wanted to know.
Jim shrugged.
"I guess I suppressed my abilities for a while. Self-defense, you know? I was a kid. Kids want to be accepted by their parents at all costs."
Sam hummed. When he was a kid, he had wanted to be accepted by Dean, not by John. And what did that say about him?
"All this time I thought he was being his usual snobbish self," Jim went on. "You know, obsessed about appearances. He wanted his children to be little carbon-copies of himself. All business-minded and respectful."
"But now you think differently?"
Jim made a non-committal movement with his head that could have meant either yes or no.
"I don't know what to think. I mean, he was obsessed about appearances, but maybe there was more to it."
"And that more had to do with your grandfather?" Sam prompted.
"Yeah. If dad had come into contact with the unusual, and if it had affected his family when he was a kid, maybe seeing it in me really bothered him."
Sam looked around the warehouse.
"Maybe this is what he was trying to avoid," he said. "You're not the only one who thought of fighting fate."
Jim said nothing. He took a step forward and brushed away the dust from one of the shelves. The particles entered his nostrils and he sneezed.
"You ok?" Sam asked.
He glanced at Jim and saw him nodding.
"Yeah," Jim muttered. "Just the dust."
"Well, be careful," Sam warned. "Better not touch anything before telling me about it."
He didn't have to look at Jim to know he was rolling his eyes.
"Of course, mom," Jim muttered. "I'll try to be good."
Sam huffed.
"Hey, if this was a crime scene, you'd tell me the same thing."
"And you'd probably ignore me," Jim quipped.
Which was not so far from the truth, Sam supposed.
They searched for a while and found several boxes, but none of them fit the description. Sam used his EMS to scan them. The beeping was not a good sign.
"Cursed most likely," he told Jim, who made a face when he heard that. "Some could contain something inside them."
"Like a demon?" Jim asked pointedly.
Sam shook his head.
"I don't think any of these have that box inside them."
The box was supposed to be located more or less easily. By the right person, of course.
"Was Sandburg always fascinated by Sentinels?" Sam wondered. "Was it a trait someone would have instantly known about him – before he met you, I mean?"
Jim looked surprised by the question.
"I mean, you've seen Blair. If something gets him excited, he can't stop himself from talking about it. And before he met me pretty much everyone knew he wanted to find a Sentinel. That's something he advertised ever since he was a kid – since he came across that Burton book."
Sam nodded thoughtfully.
"How did he come across it, anyway?"
Jim shrugged.
"You know, he never told me. Why? Is it important?"
"Could be," Sam said. "I talked to the guy in charge of watching the warehouses yesterday. Apparently, someone visited it about twelve years ago. Now, it can't have been your grandfather, he was dead, and it can't have been mine either."
"Then it was Aaron Sandburg," Jim said. "And we already know he was keeping tabs on Blair."
Sam nodded. Jim, however, looked confused.
"The information we've got says Aaron no longer wanted to be involved in all this. What made him change his mind?"
Sam shrugged.
"I guess we'll never know. But if he found out about the ritual performed by your grandfather and mine…"
Jim's face scrunched up in distaste.
"Mixing up their blood," he said. "And without Sandburg's consent."
Sam nodded sympathetically.
"Yeah," he said. "It wasn't right."
He had seen Henry willing to cross a lot of lines in the brief time he had known him. yet at the same time, he had realized Henry had the same fierce loyalty to family that was the Winchesters' most significant trait. So why mess with someone else's in such a manner? Had it been his idea? Had it been under the orders of the rest of the Men of Letters?
Jim's voice interrupted him from his musings.
"So," Jim was saying. "You're thinking there's a hint here that Sandburg would recognize and that would point us to the box? Too bad Sandburg's not here."
Sam detected the note of accusation in Jim's voice, but chose to ignore it. he was on edge enough with Dean being gone and undergoing Gwydion's twisted tests. He did not need Jim's mother henning concern as well.
"Well, you know Blair better than anyone, right?" Sam asked pointedly. "What do you think would draw his attention here?"
Jim snorted.
"You're talking about Sandburg, right? Just about everything that's here. He'd be bouncing from one thing to another."
He approached a corner where some old spears were tucked away. His hand hovered over them, and Sam was ready to warn him not to touch.
"He specializes in tribal culture, though," Jim said thoughtfully. "South American tribes, those are his main area of expertise, and some Native American branches as well. That's where the myth of the Sentinels was the most prominent, so he told me."
Sam nodded encouragingly.
"So anything from those cultures would draw his attention first and foremost, right?"
Jim did not look too encouraged by the thought.
"Yes, the only problem is, you've got me and not Sandburg. And yeah, I lived with the Chopec tribe for over a year and might be able to recognize an object of theirs, but I wouldn't be 100% sure."
Sam was now standing behind him, EMF at the ready.
"Those spears drew your attention, though."
Jim nodded slowly.
"Yeah, they look familiar. I can't be sure, though."
It would have to do, Sam thought. The EMF revealed nothing untoward about them.
"We know they're not cursed," he said.
Jim reached for them.
"There's something beyond them," he said. "It could be the box."
He grabbed several of the spears to move them when he suddenly cried out and dropped what he was holding.
"What is it?" Sam asked alarmed.
Jim was holding his hand, which was now bleeding profusely.
"Something stung me," he said. "Some splinter or something."
Sam grabbed his hand. The wound looked strange, with something black forming around the edges.
"That's not good," he muttered.
Jim shook his head and swayed. Sam caught him and pushed him in a chair.
"Alright, stay with me now," he ordered.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Jim asked through clenched teeth.
"There must have been something in that splinter," Sam said, trying to keep his voice self-assured. "Don't worry, we'll deal with it."
Jim grimaced.
"How? And didn't you check that thing for curses?"
Sam bit his lips.
"Sometimes, they don't show on an EMF."
Jim was watching him warily.
"So, what are you going to do?"
Sam had taken his usual things with him, his Hunter's kit, as he called it. and one of the things a Hunter always kept on him was his trusty flask of Holy Water. It was a good thing he had not used it in a while. He uncapped it and turned to Jim.
"This is going to feel…not pleasant."
Jim rolled his eyes.
"It's already as far from pleasant as a night of passion with a rattle snake," he snapped. "And what the hell is that, anyway?"
"Holy Water," Sam answered. "You ready?"
Jim eyed the flask with distrust.
"You gave some of that to Sandburg," he remembered. "When the wekufe was trying to kill him, you poured some of this down his throat."
"That's right," Sam said tersely. "And it helped."
Jim moved his hand out of reach.
"It looked like you were killing him," he accused.
Sam took a deep breath and told himself not to take this personally. He did not have time for this.
"I'm sure it looked that way, but I actually saved his life. And I'll save yours. That thing could kill you if not treated properly."
He grabbed Jim's arm but suddenly realized the biggest problem. The pain Holy Water could induce in a cursed wound was excruciating. Sam knew that first-hand. It was like being tortured – and Sam knew how that felt first-hand as well. For someone like Jim, with heightened senses, it would be doubly worse.
"Hey, doesn't Sandburg do something when you get like this?" he asked. "Doesn't he tell you to…uhhh…imagine you're controlling your senses and bring them to a normal level?"
Jim bit his lips.
"He tells me to imagine a dial and turn it down," he said. "Sometimes it works better than others."
"Well turn it as down as you can," Sam said. "Because, either way, this is going to hurt like all hell."
Jim huffed.
"Just get on with it, Winchester."
Sam held Jim's arm tight and poured holy water over the wound. The cut sizzled and smoked. Jim gritted his teeth, but then seemed to give up the fight with his self-control. He threw back his head and howled in pain. Sam tried to ignore the sound. It reminded him too much of the noises he could hear beyond the Cage: the screams of those being tortured in Hell (something he was sure Lucifer wanted him to hear, otherwise the Cage would have blocked out the sounds), his own cries of pain that he could barely recognize as belonging to him, his throat so torn from the screaming making even the smallest sound caused a different pain all on its own.
"Alright," Sam said breathlessly in an attempt to distract both Elisson and himself. "Alright, I'm nearly done. Just a little bit more."
His hands were close to shaking as he watched the water seep into the cut. He thought of all the times he had been possessed, all the times his hands had been used to hurt others, and he couldn't bear the idea he was doing it again, even if it was for someone's own good.
It was over. Jim was leaning his head on his arm, breathing heavily. Sam drew back, feeling like he was going to be sick.
"I'm done," he promised. "All done."
His eyes roamed to the place where the spears had been set. Jim had been right. They had been blocking the way to the box. Sam scowled at it. He very much hoped the damn thing was worth it.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Gwydion looked upset. He was trying not to let it show, but Dean could see the clenched jaw and the narrowed eyes. Gwydion was upset and it was because Dean had passed the first test. The notion gave Dean a twinge of satisfaction.
"I take it this doesn't happen too often?" he commented.
Gwydion glared at him.
"You were not supposed to get it so quickly."
Dean smirked.
"I know they say Sammy is the smart one, but I have my moments."
Gwydion shrugged.
"We'll talk about your moments after you finish the second test."
He motioned to Dean and Blair to follow him down another flight of steps. This time, they reached a room that was more in line with Dean's idea of demons. It was a dark, damp cellar with several items stacked against a wall.
"You'll have to find your way out of here," he said. "And just to give you more of an incentive to come out, I think I should take something from you."
Dean turned sharply to him.
"What…?" he began.
He could not finish his thought when Gwydion suddenly pulled Sandburg towards him. Dean hastened to come to his aid, but a door slammed shut between then. The last thing Dean saw was Blair's confused face.
xxxXXXxxx
Blair gasped as he felt Gwydion reaching out for him and pulling him away from the room. He was finally starting to comprehend that Gwydion was a demon and that he had his hands on him, and the thought momentarily paralyzed Blair. However, when the door closed between him and Dean, all Blair could feel was anger. He wrenched himself free from Gwydion's hold.
"What the hell was that? I thought I was supposed to be with him. The companion, remember? The guide. How can I guide him if he's in there and I'm out here?"
Gwydion was watching him with raised eyebrows. He looked like a patient adult trying to indulge a child throwing a temper tantrum. This infuriated Blair even more, but he forced himself to remain calm.
"What the hell are you playing at?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"The game, Mr. Sandburg," Gwydion said calmly. "I'm playing the game. Now, do you still want to take his place if he fails?"
Blair hesitated.
"I want to help him not fail."
Gwydion nodded quickly, the pretense at understanding getting on Blair's nerves.
"Well, this is how you help him during the second task. Someone like Dean must get desperate when there are lives at stake, especially lives he feels responsible for."
Blair shook his head.
"You're unhinged, man, you know that, right?"
Gwydion smirked.
"I'm a demon, Mr. Sandburg. I've lived for millennia and have seen the world change in ways you would not be able to understand. Such things unhinge you, yes. But you know what? I have found there is a pleasure to be found in discovering you can have playthings."
Blair took a step back, eying Gwydion in disgust.
"I'm not your toy, man. None of us are."
Gwydion looked at him pointedly.
"And yet, here you are."
Blair squared his shoulders. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he was not going to allow Gwydion to see his fear.
"So what do you intend to do to me?" he asked. "You promised you wouldn't harm me."
He knew from Gwydion's smirk that it wasn't exactly so.
"No, Blair. I promised I wouldn't kill you. Plenty of other things I can do to you while Dean's locked up in there."
Blair still held his ground. He had learned this in childhood. The less you allowed yourself to be intimidated, the more they left you alone – or, at least, they were done with you quicker.
"You're not like the other demons, though," he pointed out. "You don't like getting your hands dirty."
Gwydion inclined his head.
"True. But I can still cause pain. And discomfort. I can cause a lot of discomfort."
Spiders sprang from the floor and from cracks in the wall. Blair tried to back up, to move away from them, but they were everywhere. Gwydion watched him in amusement.
"I can cause a lot of discomfort," he repeated.
Blair stumbled and fell to his knees. He felt the spiders crawling all over him, he was sure they were even getting under his skin. He did his best to cover his face, closing his eyes, but they were everywhere and he had nowhere to go. He had nowhere to run.
"So much discomfort," he heard Gwydion's voice above him. "And we're just getting started."
xxxXXXXxxxx
Dean ran to the door and slammed himself against it in frustration. The door wouldn't give, of course. Gwydion must have made sure getting out would not be easy.
"Gwydion!" Dean shouted. "Come on, you can't do this. We had an understanding!"
That wasn't exactly the truth. Gwydion had inferred he would leave Sandburg alive. But Dean should have known better than to trust a demon to keep his word.
Yet again, he banged against the door.
"C'mon, Gwydion!" he insisted. "Your beef is with me. Keep Sandburg out of this."
But Sandburg had gotten himself involved in this, first by volunteering to be Dean's companion, then by saying he would take on Dean's quest for the box if Dean failed. He had presented himself as a potential target and Gwydion had probably been unable to resist. Dean shook his head in frustration.
"Man, Ellison's gonna kill me."
From outside, he heard Blair's panicked shouts. Dean tensed. He knew enough about Blair now to realize that people might underestimate him, but he was not weak. If he was shouting like that, then there was a good reason. Dean slammed himself against the door. There had to be a way to break the thing. There had to be a way for him to get out. It wasn't just about the box. If something happened to Sandburg…
Dean had led a lot of people to their deaths, and had failed so many others, he could not begin to count all of them. He already felt as if he was failing Sammy with the Trails, and it was breaking him more than he had thought something could break him. He had no intention of adding Blair Sandburg to his list of failures as well. Not if he could help it.
xxXXXxxxx
Jim was sure his hand had caught fire. At least, that was what he remembered. Everything was muffled now, and he preferred it that way. If only he was allowed to stay disconnected for a while longer…
He could not, though. As the pain faded, he remembered what had happened: the spears, the box, the holy water. He did not move but extended his hearing and could hear Sam's rather erratic heartbeat. He groaned and raised his head.
Sam was on his knees, reaching out for the box. Jim did not think he had been out for that long, which was a good thing.
"Are you sure that's a smart thing?" he asked. "Touching it without precautions?"
Sam straightened up and turned to face him.
"You're awake. How are you feeling?"
Jim inspected his palm. Only a faint scab could be seen there. He tried to move it and encountered a hint of something uncomfortable, but that was all.
"Much better than before, thanks," he admitted. "What the hell did you do to me?"
Sam grimaced.
"Holy water purifies cursed wounds – or other supernatural injuries, but it's always uncomfortable and always hurts. It must have affected you more because of your enhanced senses."
Jim shrugged.
"Yeah, Sandburg's usually paranoid when I come into contact with new stuff. He says that because we never know how I'll react, it's important that we test things in a controlled environment first."
Sam grimaced, looking guilty.
"Sorry about that. We needed to act quickly. I had no idea what that wound was going to do to you. And given your senses, it could have been worse."
Jim waved that aside.
"I'm sure you did what you had to do," he said stiffly.
He remembered the pain and he remembered losing control and screaming his head off. The idea that he had shown so much weakness unnerved him. Even with Sandburg, he did not feel comfortable giving away too much. And Sam Winchester was practically a stranger.
"How long was I out?" he asked, more to keep his mind away from his memories.
"Not long," Sam assured him. "About fifteen minutes tops. I got rid of the spears."
Jim frowned in confusion.
"Got rid of them? What do you mean?"
He only realized then he could smell burning.
"Did you set them on fire?" he asked.
Sam shrugged.
"Salted and burned them. That's the usual way to deal with such things."
Holy Water on wounds. Salting and burning cursed objects. And Sam talked about it as if it was just another Tuesday at the office.
"And the box?" he asked.
Sam glanced back towards the corner where the box had been hidden.
"I was just about to see about that," he said.
"Maybe you should salt and burn that too. Wouldn't it kill the demon?"
Sam shrugged.
"Sometimes it might not work."
He noticed Sam had trouble looking him in the eye.
"I know when people are lying to me, you know," he stated wryly. "Or keeping something from me. Which is it?"
Sam took a deep breath.
"Salting and burning the box isn't going to do anything because the demon isn't there. I don't think it ever was."
Jim sprang up.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He strode towards the corner and picked up the box. It was empty, he could feel it. there was nothing of the residual strangeness that had been on the other box – the one Dean had handled, attracting the influence of the freed demon.
"When the antique shop owner opened the first box, he freed a demon," Jim said. "And it killed him. But that was not the demon that had been set loose."
Sam nodded.
"That was a theory Dean and I were considering," he said. "There was an attack similar to the one at the antique store a few days before you got here. Not in town, though."
Jim digested the information. Something wasn't right.
"If it was one of the demons from the boxes, why be active now? When another box was to be received and opened? When Sandburg would come check out the warehouse. Bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"
Sam glanced at the box, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah…unless…it wasn't."
Jim raised his eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
"Sandburg's grandfather died recently, right? When exactly?"
Jim shrugged.
"About a day or two before Blair called you. Why?"
Sam looked as if he had been expecting the answer.
"Aaron Sandburg was the last original owner of the warehouse. When he died, some protective spell must have been broken. The demon from the warehouse box knew and did everything possible to get here."
"But the box was transferred to Sandburg," Jim argued.
"Yes," Sam agreed. "And to me and Dean – to you too, maybe. But the original owners were all dead, and that gave the demon time enough to act."
Jim grimaced. None of this sounded good.
"We need that third box. Hopefully the demon inside hasn't gone walkabout as well."
"Yeah, no, I think we'd know if all three were loose," Sam said grimly.
A bang against the door distracted them. Something was trying very hard to get in.
"The demon," Sam said.
Jim had his gun out, although he doubted it would do much good. But instincts were hard to stop.
"Can it come here?"
Sam jerked his head.
"It can't enter. The place is warded. Just like the Bunker."
But it could keep the two of them locked in there, something Jim did not find too appealing.
Another bang sounded, this time from the opposite side of the warehouse.
"How did it get there so fast?" Jim asked.
Sam was looking worried.
"I don't think it did."
Jim felt his blood go cold.
"You mean…?"
"It's the second demon," Sam confirmed. "The one released by the antique store owner."
They had encountered each other, and now they were outside waiting for Jim and Sam to leave. That could not be good.
"We really need that third box," Sam said.
Whew, that was some ride, it actually took me a while to plan it all. And as I was planning I realized Jim was having it way too easy in this fic and decided it would not do. Besides, why not reverse the expectations and have Sam save Jim? I hope you enjoyed and I hope to see you next week with the continuation!