Creative Imperative

TITLE: Cry Wolf (Part Six)
SERIES: Cry Wolf can be considered a sequel to my SPN fic Family Values but it's not necessary to read that first.
RATING: Adults Only
FANDOM: The Sentinel/Supernatural Crossover
CATEGORY: Crossover, Horror...see story notes.
PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, Dean/Sam, Dean/OFC

Previous Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

---

Cry Wolf

Part Six

"Whoa!" Dean kicked at the snow on the track and stared at Sam. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam met his brother's angry eyes. "No, dude, I'm serious. I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"Well, excuse me, Obi-Wan, but I'm not bailing on a hunt. What the hell would Dad say?"

"Dad's not here, Dean," Sam pointed out impatiently. But he knew that Dean was right. They were in Panther Creek because people were dying. Sam didn't want to give up. He gazed up at the star-topped mountains, unable to explain his unease.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean's voice was softer suddenly. "Another premonition?"

"No, not a psychic thing." Sam was remembering the look on Jim's face when he hit Dean. "We know for sure that Jim is protecting this werewolf. Dean...is it possible he's right? That the werewolf is a person?"

"Maybe he believes it, but we know better." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "He knows who the werewolf is. That means Blair knows, too." He groaned. "God, my head hurts!"

"You could have a concussion..." Sam began worriedly, but was stopped by Dean's withering look. Okay: Dean wasn't going to seek help. "Fine, I'll find you some painkillers," Sam conceded. "Dude, I knew Blair was hiding something. When we talked he was..." Sam stopped as they reached the gate to Stonehaven Lodge. He stared at the wolf on the gate post. What had Erin said about the wolf? "It just seems like bad taste." Oh, my god... He looked at Dean.

Dean frowned at him. "He was what?"

With an effort, Sam found his place in the conversation. "I don’t know...uh...the way Blair talked it was..." He smiled suddenly, "It reminded me of Dad. His dumbass need-to-know thing. There was something Blair wasn't saying." And the suspicion slowly growing in Sam's mind made him stare, again, at the carved and painted wolf on the gate.

No. It was impossible. It was crazy. Werewolves were animals. They were killers. Blair was a person, warm and human.

But those novels that Sam so identified with...heroes with secrets...it fit too well. It couldn't be true. Damn it, Sam liked Blair! He wasn't about to put a silver bullet in his heart.

"They might not want us to stay, after tonight," Sam said.

"Oh, ya think?" Dean returned sarcastically.

Sam shrugged. "We'll be safe enough until morning, I think." He wasn't too comfortable with the idea of spending another night at Stonehaven Lodge, but he was worried about Dean's head injury. Dean needed to rest, even if only for a couple of hours. Sam was going to sleep with a gun, just in case, though, and he knew Dean would do the same.

*****

While Jim slept, Blair lay awake. He appreciated Jim's care but the bandage on his arm was making him crazy. It was an animal thing, he thought: this need to worry at a hurt. He slid quietly out of the bed and headed into their bathroom. He unwrapped the bandage Jim had tied so carefully and took a close look at the wound. It looked like a fresh wound, the arm laid open to the muscle. The skin wasn't swollen or red, the way a human's wound would be, but it wasn't healing yet, either. It was just an open gash.

One of the few advantages to being a werewolf was an immunity to most infection and disease, but Blair wasn't certain whether that would apply to a silver-wound. He'd been warned to treat silver as if he had a deadly allergy; now he understood why. Having that bullet inside him had been the worst pain Blair ever felt; like a red hot fire burning him from the inside. His new number-one goal in life was never to get hurt like that again.

Blair cut off a piece of the bandage and tied it around his arm to hold the skin together, ensuring that the muscle would heal correctly. He saw no need to use a hospital-style dressing.

Back in the bedroom, Blair selected a shirt to wear: long sleeves so no one would notice the wound and black just in case it started bleeding again. By then Jim was awake, sitting up in bed watching him.

"You are one stubborn wolf, you know that?"

Blair grinned at him, pulling on a pair of pants. Now the arm was silver-free it didn't hurt too badly. It did hurt to use it, but he could. He should be able to cover the injury.

"D'you want me to make breakfast?" Jim offered.

Blair sat beside him on the bed. "I'm good, man. Are they awake?"

Jim closed his eyes, listening for a moment. "Yeah, they are. We've got some time, though. The shower's running."

"I'm surprised they're still here."

"I locked the garage, but they haven't tried to leave."

Something in Jim's tone made Blair look at him worriedly. "Jim, what are you thinking?"

"Whatever their intentions, Chief, they nearly killed you last night. And they're implicated in a federal murder case."

Blair nodded. "But you're not a cop any more, Jim. Whatever you're thinking, you can't. You've already violated a few laws checking up on them."

Jim smiled, and the smile was cold. "I just want to have a conversation."

*****

Blair began to lay out the breakfast dishes, but as he did, pain shot through his wounded wrist. His hand spasmed and the last plate fell. It hit the edge of the table and continued falling to shatter on the tiled floor.

"Shit!" Blair muttered. He bent to pick up the pieces, but Jim got there ahead of him.

Jim knelt, but instead of reaching for the broken plate, he reached for Blair's hand. "How bad is it, Chief?" he asked gently.

Blair looked up at Jim. He was carrying his gun, concealed beneath the loose sweater. Blair chose not to comment on it, but he knew Jim was worried.

Blair let Jim draw him to his feet. "It's alright." He tried to pull his hand away.

"Let me see," Jim insisted. He held Blair's wrist firmly, unbuttoned the shirt cuff and pushed the sleeve up to Blair's elbow. It revealed the wound, a raw, open gash with the skin around it pink and raw. Jim's fingers hovered over the damaged flesh and Blair knew he was feeling the heat pouring off the wound. Heat meant it was healing.

"Jim, it's alright," he said again.

"You need stitches in that."

"No, I don't. The bleeding has stopped, finally. I just need to let it heal."

Jim was still holding his wrist. "Are you sure it will heal?"

Blair drew his hand out of Jim's grip. "I've never been shot with silver before, man. How can I be sure? But you got it all out. It should be fine." He rolled his shirt sleeve back down, turning away from Jim to avoid more questions he couldn't answer. He stopped.

Sam was standing in the kitchen doorway.

How much had he heard? Blair said quickly, "Hi, Sam. Did you want coffee?"

Sam came toward him and, just as Jim had done, he grabbed Blair's wrist and pushed back his sleeve. He stared down at the unnatural wound, then at Blair. "It was you. You're the werewolf."

Blair stared into Sam's face, and quickly dismissed any thought of trying to bluff it out. He was aware of Jim moving silently to flank Sam. Blair answered simply, "Yes."

Sam began to turn away. Jim moved into his path.

"Why are you protecting him?" Sam demanded. "He killed that girl..."

Jim said quietly, "No, he didn't."

Blair said, "I haven't killed anyone, Sam."

"Are you saying there's another werewolf out there?"

"No," Blair answered. "The only wolf is me."

Jim, still speaking very quietly, said, "Sam, this isn't something Blair chose. It's not a crime he's committed. This is something that was done to him. Three minutes ago you two were good friends. Don't you think you owe Blair a hearing?"

Sam turned to Jim, and his look was challenging. "I might, if you weren't holding me here against my will."

Jim smiled. "I'm not holding you, kid."

Sam started to step around Jim. "Don't call me 'kid'."

Sam was a reasonable man, and Jim was right: they were friends. Blair could salvage this situation. He had to. Blair said, "Jim, give him your gun."

Jim gave him wide eyes, but he drew the gun from his holster. He showed Sam that it was loaded, but the chamber was empty, then slid the clip back into place, checked that the safety was on and then handed it to Sam, butt first. Sam took the gun without speaking and rechecked both clip and safety. Very professional.

Sam pushed the gun through his belt. "Why?" he asked Blair.

"Because I trust you, even if you don't trust me."

"It's not loaded with silver."

Blair gave him an unhappy smile. "I don't trust you that much. Come and sit down, Sam. I think we've got a lot to talk about." He waited for Sam's nod, then looked at Jim. "D'you think you can distract Dean for a while, man?"

Jim nodded. "I'll try."

Blair smiled for Jim and then sat down at the table with Sam. "I know that you and Dean are hunters. I know you believe werewolves are monsters. All I can say, Sam, is you don't know everything. I am a wolf, but I didn't kill those people. I've spent the past six years trying to track the thing that did."

Sam shook his head. "The sheriff said there were wolf tracks around the latest body."

"Yeah, because I was in wolf form when found her. But Jean was already dead."

"How can I trust that? You lied to us."

"You showed up here with silver bullets, man! Why do you think I lied? I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you what I know without coming out to you."

"You should have tried the truth. I've been doing this my whole life, dude. You cover very well, but I'm not stupid."

Blair stared at him, genuinely surprised. "Man...where did I slip up?"

"The wall chart in your study shows Jim is never away at the time of the full moon. At first I thought it was him. But you eat meat at every meal, even snacks. Your fear of horses: I'm betting it's the other way around - they freak when you go in there, right? And the way you were conveniently absent last night confirmed it." Sam looked down at Blair's hands. "The silver ring is a nice touch. Doesn't that hurt?"

Blair twisted the ring on his finger. It was the wedding ring Jim had given him: a plain band of silver metal. Jim's was identical. "It's platinum," he said quietly.

"Is your arm okay?" Sam asked, more gently.

Blair nodded. "I think it will heal. Hurt like hell, though." He rubbed at the wound unconsciously, noticed he was doing it and jerked his hand away. "I suppose you want to know everything?"

"Yeah."

"I've been a werewolf for over six years, Sam. Since just before Jim and I moved here. It's why we moved here."

"Hunting ground," Sam guessed.

Blair smiled. "More for privacy, really, but you're not wrong. Sam, when this happened to me, my whole life had just fallen apart. I was a doctoral candidate at Rainier University in Cascade. I was crazy in love with Jim. I had friends, a future...and I lost all of it over an incredibly stupid mistake. I was miserable as hell, pretending things would get better when I knew it wasn't fixable. So I said goodbye to everyone and took a road trip. I let Jim and my friends think I'd be back when I'd got my head together, but I never had any such intention. Until I nearly died."

Blair ran a hand through his curly hair. "I was driving through Montana, sleeping in a pup tent on the side of the roads because I couldn't afford a motel. One night I was attacked by a wolf. A werewolf, but I didn't know it then. It left me for dead, but someone came along and found me. Called 911. Jim's name was still in my wallet as 'in case of emergency', so the hospital called him."

*****

Helena, MT, June 1999

Blair lay in the hospital bed, unable to move because it hurt too damn much. Morphine kept the pain at bay, but in a way that was worse and he'd asked the doctors to cut back on it. Now he was just bored.

He was getting tired of dying. One near-death experience should be enough for any man. The first one – drowning in the fountain outside Rainier – still haunted Blair. Too much was unexplained. Too much even Jim would never discuss. Blair was alive because Jim, somehow, brought him back. Jim made him live again with only the touch of his hands.

Blair didn't need to go through all that again.

Even so, when Jim knocked on his door a few minutes later, Blair was really glad to see him. Especially when he saw what Jim had with him: Jim brought him books! The hospital allowed Blair visitors for only two hours each day: he was still considered "critical". Maybe he was, but Blair was feeling better.

He watched Jim take a seat and drag it over to his side. "Hi, Chief. How are you doing today?"

"Better. Maybe I'm too tough to kill after all. What d'you think?"

"I think you're gonna be home in no time."

"You'll be home sooner. When do you have to go back?"

Jim smiled. "I don't."

"You don't have that much vacation time saved up, man."

"I told Simon what happened to you and said he could either give me a month's unpaid leave or he could have my resignation. He told me not to tempt him and gave me the month."

"But..." Blair began, thinking it wasn't going to take him a whole month to recover. He winced, because he'd started to shake his head and that hurt like fuck. "Never mind," he finished.

"Simon's your friend, too," Jim said.

Blair managed a smile. "Yeah, I know."

Jim didn't return the smile. In fact, he looked very serious suddenly, and Blair realised how worried Jim had been. Maybe he still was. Did Jim know something Blair hadn't been told?

"Jim, is everything okay?" Blair asked worriedly.

Jim shook his head. "The doc says you're healing faster then they expected. At this rate you'll be ready to leave the hospital soon. A few days."

"Is that bad news?"

"I honestly don't know, Chief. I need to know what you remember about what happened out there. Everything you remember."

Blair frowned, gazing up at the white ceiling. "I don't know, man. I've been over it so many times and I haven't a clue what happened."

"I know you've had to tell it for the local cops, and the doctors. Just one more time, Chief. It's important."

Jim was almost begging and that wasn't necessary. Blair would tell him anything he needed to know. "Best I can figure it was some kind of feral dog. Maybe a wolf, but this isn't exactly wolf territory."

"No, it's not." Jim leaned forward, reaching out to pat Blair's shoulder. "Blair, I know you don't remember much, but I really need you to tell me everything. Even if it seems weird."

Blair nodded, and the movement hurt...but less than before. "I was asleep. The tent was open at the feet end. I woke up and saw this...this shape at the opening. It was definitely an animal. I could hear it...I could fucking smell it." Blair broke off, directing a sudden smile to Jim. "I guess living with you has taught me to pay more attention to my senses."

Jim smiled back. "This shape..." he prompted.

"Yeah. I'm not sure, man, I don't remember too clearly. At the time, I thought wolf but it was big, bigger than any wolf I've ever seen. Could have been...I dunno, man. I guess I was so scared it seemed bigger than it really was."

Jim nodded. "That's possible."

"I sat up, yelled, and it came at me. I remember it was growling – definitely canine – and then...well, that's about all I remember. I woke up in an ambulance." Blair sighed. "Jim, clue me in, man. What's going on?"

Jim was silent for a long time, long enough that Blair raised his head to look at him again. "Jim?"

Jim met Blair's eyes and it was a look that scared the shit out of Blair because Jim actually looked frightened. "Chief, this is gonna sound like I've lost the last of my marbles, but I'm asking you to trust me. Okay?"

"I trust you, Jim," Blair answered instantly. "You shouldn't even have to ask."

Jim took a deep breath. "I think what attacked you might have been...Chief, I think it was a werewolf."

Despite promising Jim his trust, Blair shook his head. "No fucking way, man. That's crazy. There's no such thing."

"A few years ago, I wouldn't have believed it, either. But I've seen visions, ghosts and spirit animals. I've raised the dead, for god's sake! I'm a little more open to the paranormal than I used to be."

"Well, yeah, we've both seen some weird stuff, but..."

Chief, it was a full moon night when you were attacked. And..." he fell silent again, looking very uncomfortable. Finally, he said, "It's you, Blair. When I first came in here, yesterday, there was something wrong. I...I didn't think it was you. I even thought, maybe you had an identical twin Naomi never mentioned, or something like that. But you are you, and it took me a while to figure out why I thought otherwise."

Blair waited, truly scared now.

Jim said, "You smell different, Blair. You don't smell human."

Blair felt the blood drain from his face. The idea was insane. It simply couldn't be true. But Jim had invoked his sentinel ability and that left Blair with no choice. He had to believe Jim's senses.

*****

Jim didn't like Dean Winchester much. The kid was a streetwise punk playing with guns and fake IDs. And, of course, he shot Blair. He shot Blair with a silver bullet. No, Jim didn't like him at all.

When he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Blair and Sam to talk, Jim started toward the guest wing. Then he stopped, listening. He concentrated briefly, excluding the kitchen from the field of his hearing. He nodded to himself. Dean was in the garage. Jim walked that way, hearing the keys clink in his pocket as he moved. He opened the door to the garage quietly. The Impala's trunk was open, the black-painted metal hiding Dean from Jim's sight. The scents of gasoline and gunpowder were strong. Jim closed the garage door behind him, leaning back against the doorframe.

"Illegal guns, identity theft, fake federal IDs... Do you have any idea how fast I could have your ass in jail?"

Dean slammed the trunk shut. He stared at Jim, his look angry, not scared. "How about sheltering a killer? How many people have died around here while you protect that werewolf? I could have ended this last night."

Jim kept himself between Dean and the door. "It's not what you think, Van Helsing."

The green eyes narrowed. "Just how dumb do you think I am?"

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Nothing here is what it seems to be, is it? For instance..." Dean looked back over his shoulder to Jim's Hummer, parked on the far side of the garage. "How does an ex-cop afford a truck like that? Not by being honest, dude: I know what those things cost."

Jim had to smile, because Dean was right, and it told Jim he'd taken a close look at the truck. Jim's Hummer was a custom job and cost more than he'd paid for Stonehaven Lodge. It was logical for Dean to assume he'd come by it dishonestly. But he was wrong about that.

"It was a bonus payment for a job," Jim said. Truth, as far as it went.

"Some bonus."

"I was working security for...someone very rich and famous, when a relative of my client was kidnapped. I got the victim back alive and unhurt, and I kept the incident out of the media. My client offered me the Hummer because my old truck got trashed during the job." He looked past Dean to the Hummer. She was a monster and a fuel hog, but she could get through any terrain even in the worst conditions and she'd never let him down. His gaze moved to the Impala. "Blair likes old cars like yours," he said casually. "She's a beauty."

Jim had said the right thing: Dean looked down at the car automatically and his eyes softened as he ran a hand over the smooth black paint. "She was my Dad's," he said. Then his expression hardened again. "You didn't come looking for me to talk cars."

"No, I didn't," Jim agreed. He studied Dean for a moment, noting the body language, the careful way he held himself. Jim couldn't see a gun, but he was certain Dean was armed. Jim didn't want this to turn nasty.

"You're right about one thing, Dean," Jim conceded. "I am protecting the wolf. Hear me out," he added quickly, raising a hand to forestall whatever Dean was about to say. "He's not a killer. Think about it. You found him last night with a deer, didn't you? If he wanted to hunt people you and your brother made really good prey out there. He knew you were out there."

Dean's eyes widened, just a little. "It's Blair?"

Everything in Jim wanted to lie, but Dean was going to find out soon enough anyway. Jim nodded.

"You son of a bitch! Sam's alone with him!" Dean went for his gun, moving toward Jim.

Jim put himself between Dean and the door, keeping his eyes on the gun. "Sam's been alone with him before. They're just talking, Dean, and Sam is armed. He's perfectly safe." Sam had Jim's gun, but he'd been armed when he walked into the kitchen: Jim had smelled the gun oil. Which meant Sam had two guns, and one was likely loaded with silver. But he was certain Dean knew that, so he said nothing.

Dean's hands were very steady on the gun. "He's your lover. You'd do anything to protect him. Say anything." The words were quietly spoken and Jim knew he was willing to shoot.

"You're wrong about that." Jim looked past Dean to the Hummer. "I want to show you something. In the truck. Just listen to what I have to say. I give you my word, Sam is in no danger."

Dean nodded warily, as if he expected some trick. He lowered the gun, but kept it in his hand, his finger tense on the trigger.

It was good enough. Jim walked past him to the Hummer and unlocked the passenger door. He kept a stainless steel case under the seat. The key to the case Jim kept on him at all times. Why keep it in the truck? Mostly because the Hummer was his territory: Blair had his own truck. Jim unlocked the case and held it out for Dean to examine the contents.

Puzzlement showed on the younger man's face, but Dean lifted the lid. "Nice gun," he commented.

"Not the gun. Look at the bullets." The gun was a standard .38 but the bullets were custom made. Jim didn't keep the gun loaded.

Dean's frown deepened, but he prised one of the bullets out of the foam case. "It's glass?" he questioned.

"The casing is," Jim explained. "They're filled with silver nitrate."

Dean got the point. But more than that. Jim could see it in his shocked eyes: understanding. Full, deep understanding of what Jim was saying, and what that meant.

And that Jim had not expected. He looked into Dean's eyes and saw a man far older than his twenty six years. In that moment, a genuine respect was born. Jim offered him the truth. The whole truth.

"You see, Dean, when this happened to Blair, he was scared out of his mind that he'd hurt someone, the way he had been hurt. Even when he learned to manage his Changes, he was afraid that a day would come when he couldn't control the wolf inside him. He made me promise that if that day ever comes, I will end it."

"Will you?" Dean asked. "Can you?"

"I will," Jim answered, and though it killed him to say it, it was the truth. "I will, because I promised him and because I won't risk what's happened to Blair happening to anyone else." Jim closed the gun case, locked it and replaced it under the Hummer's seat. "I think," he added, "that promise is Blair's insurance policy."

Dean looked sceptical. "You mean knowing you'll kill him is enough to keep him under control? Dude, you're kidding yourself."

Jim shook his head. "No. Blair knows what being forced to kill him will do to me. That's why he'll never cross that line, as a wolf or as a man." Finally, he had to ask, "Do you believe me now?"

Dean thought about that for a moment, then he nodded. "I believe you. But..."

"But...?"

"If the werewolf didn't do it...dude, what did kill all those people?"

It was a fair question and Jim had no good answers. "That," he said, "is a good question. I've been trying to figure that out for a long time."

*****

"I don't understand," Sam admitted. "What does that mean? Sentinel."

Blair explained about Jim's heightened senses, as succinctly as he could.

"So, Jim knew you were infected."

"Yeah. He had the hospital run tests but they didn't find anything. No surprise there. I don't think either of us really believed it at first," Blair said, pouring a second coffee for both himself and Sam. "But once it was said, it would have been crazy not to take some sort of precaution. Man, we didn't even know if all the creature feature stuff was true, but it was all we had. Jim took us to his father's house: it was a big place with a secure cellar. I don't know what he told his dad, but he convinced him to get out for a few days and leave us there. And when the full moon rose..."

"You changed," Sam said.

Blair nodded. "Even knowing it might happen, man, I can't tell you what it was like. God, I thought I was dying. Then I wished I was. When it was over, I thought about that happening every month and I..." He hesitated, then gave Sam the truth. "I think if it weren't for Jim, I would have committed suicide. I was in shock, I guess. I couldn't see the future at all. Then, two days after we got back to Cascade, Jim told me he'd quit his job. No discussion: he'd already done it. Then he asked me to marry him."

Sam smiled. "You said yes."

Blair laughed. "No, I told him he was out of his tree! I thought it was, you know, a pity thing, or meant to shake me out of the depression. But he convinced me he meant it. I couldn't see the future; but it was all Jim was thinking about. He'd figured out what to do. He sold his apartment and I had some money from a law suit against this publisher that we settled out of court. We had to find a place really fast because the next full moon was our deadline. This farm had been on the market for years and the house was derelict, but they agreed to let us live here while the sale was going through. We rebuilt it ourselves, with me chained up in the stable every full moon."

"Sounds horrible."

"It wasn't fun. We believed the stories about werewolves because we didn't know any better. We both thought that if I was allowed out when I Changed, I'd hurt someone, like I'd been hurt. And then...I guess you could say fate took a hand."

*****

Stonehaven Lodge, July 1999

The piercing tone of Jim's cellphone rang across the yard. Jim put down the bricks he was carrying and pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Ellison."

Blair looked up from his work: he was mixing cement with a shovel. Jim was stripped to his waist, his bronze skin covered by a sheen of sweat. Gorgeous, Blair thought.

Jim caught Blair watching him and mouthed "It's Simon," before he turned away, walking off with the phone.

Blair went back to work on the cement. When Jim came back, he was looking thoughtful.

"Chief, I've just been offered a job."

Blair grinned. "Just two months and Simon can't cope without you?"

"Close. Another PD called him to ask for me. Simon told them I'd resigned so they've offered to hire me as a consultant. Short term job. One case."

"Why you?" Blair asked. Not that Jim wasn't a good cop, but there were plenty of good cops.

Jim gave him a wry look. "Why do you think, genius?"

"My dissertation? Shit, man, I thought we'd cleared that up!"

"Well, there are a few people out there who knew you were lying in that press conference. Relax, Chief, this is a good thing. The job is on a Native American reservation. They want me because they believed what you wrote. The money they're offering is good and...you know, this could be a good career move. If I can build a rep as a consultant I can work when it suits me. Or us."

Blair saw the point at once. "You mean you could work three weeks out of the month and be here for the fourth."

"Exactly. What do you think, love?"

Blair didn't need to think about it. "It sounds perfect. I never wanted you to give up police work, Jim. It's who you are."

Jim snorted. "You let me decide who I am." He kissed Blair. "I'll call Simon back and take the job."

*****

Blair smiled to himself, remembering. "It wasn't just a new career for Jim. That job saved me, too. The reservation was home to a couple of wolves."

"You mean werewolves? A couple as in married couple?"

"That's right. Wolves mate for life, Sam. Jim, he knew what they were. He knew the scent, because of me. He talked to them, and they introduced him to an older wolf. When he heard what happened to me he agreed to come back to Panther Creek with Jim, and he became my mentor."

"Mentor?"

Blair sighed. "There's so much you don't know, Sam. Most werewolves are turned consensually, and they have an experienced wolf to mentor them through the first Changes, to teach them how to deal with the transformation, and the rules of this life. Most of us live by those rules, which means not killing people, staying under the radar and so on. A wolf that breaks the rules is called a rogue. Like the one that attacked me. I'm a lone wolf, which means I'm not a member of a pack, but I'm not a rogue."

Sam's eyes had gone wide. "There are werewolf packs?"

"You didn't know that? There are four packs I know of in North America, and that's all I'm gonna tell you, man. You're a hunter. I can't tell you things that will endanger other wolves."

Sam nodded. "That's fair."

"Do you want to hear more of my story?"

"Dude, I wanna hear everything! But maybe it should wait. Blair, if you didn't kill those people...what did?"

"You've got to be the only person who'd ask what not who. Sam, before we get to that, there are two questions I need to ask you. I've been honest with you, man. Can you do the same for me?"

Sam thought about that one for a long time. Blair waited, giving him the time. Finally, Sam rubbed both hands over his face and nodded. "I won't lie to you."

"I've met a werewolf hunter or two since this happened to me. You don't seem the type, man. How did you get into this life?"

Sam shook his head and for a moment Blair thought he'd refuse to answer. Then he looked up, meeting Blair's eyes and Blair knew he'd touched a raw nerve.

"Dean calls it the family business," Sam answered. I guess you could say I was born into it...though that's not exactly true."

"What's the truth?"

Sam hesitated. "When I was a baby, something killed my mother. My dad heard her scream and found her in my nursery, on the ceiling of the room, bleeding. Then there was some kind of a fireball. Dad got Dean and me out of the house, but when he went back for Mom it was too late. The fire was too intense for him to reach her."

"Sam, I'm sorry," Blair said, and he meant it, but excitement was building inside. Jim needed to hear this.

Sam lifted the coffee mug to his lips, but it didn't look like he drank any of it. "I think," he said, "most men would have convinced themselves they'd hallucinated. You know? Go to a shrink, spend a few years drowning in prozac and then pretend it never happened. But not my dad. He believed his eyes. He's spent his whole life searching for the thing that killed her, and he raised Dean and me for the same fight."

"Sounds like a hell of a childhood."

"What childhood? Childhood is playing softball and going on camping trips with your dad. I learned how to melt silver into bullets and the weekend trips were spent digging up corpses to burn the bones. Fuck childhood. I would have been happy if he'd come to just one football game."

"Shit, Sam."

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong; I know Dad had good intentions and I know things could have been a lot worse. I got an object lesson in just how bad it might have been a couple of weeks back. But I hated it. Going to college was an escape, a chance for a normal life. Until..." Sam broke off and stayed quiet for a long moment. "Last November two things happened. Dean showed up – I hadn't seen him for two years and hadn't seen Dad for four. He told me Dad was missing. Wanted my help to find him. And a couple of days later...my girlfriend died. Exactly the same way as my mom. On the ceiling, in fire. So Dean and I are looking for Dad, because we know he's still searching for this thing. And we're gonna stop it." Sam stood abruptly and walked away from the kitchen table. "You said you had two questions."

"I did, but I think you just answered the second. Sam...I'm very sorry. I knew I'd be opening a can of worms but I didn't realise it would be so painful."

Sam turned back to him. "What was your second question, dude?"

"Jessica Moore."

"I didn't tell you her name."

"No, you didn't. Sam, her name – and yours – came up in connection with the case Jim's been working on. A serial murder case."

"Me?"

"You. Because you vanished so soon after the fire the cops considered you a suspect. And your...activities since aren't helping that impression."

For the first time, Sam looked scared. "Are you saying the cops think I killed Jess? How do you know?"

"You need to talk to Jim. He's the one with all the details. The case he was working in Ohio was a similar fire. And there are others. It's an FBI investigation now."

"Others?" Sam just stared at Blair for a moment and Blair realised, too late, that he'd just dropped an emotional bomb on the other man. He'd spoken so matter-of-factly about the fires that Blair hadn't seen the grief he was hiding. Now he did. Now he saw a young man who had lost someone he truly loved. And here was Blair re-opening that wound, and others. Shit. But it was too late to take the words back.

The blood drained from Sam's face as he looked at Blair. "That's the trail Dad's following. It must be. Holy crap."

Part Seven