Harbingers

Part Three

AN: Okay, one, ta so much for all the wonderful comments and reviews, I admit I'm slacking on responding. I'm caught up in a need to be quiet but that doesn't mean I don't glory in the time you generously take to offer me your treasured words. I'm not sure what my problem is but I'll get over it eventually and bore you with idiot responses to your wonderful reviews. Please bear with me and ta for your patience. I just get like this sometimes.

Enough of that shit. This chapter is for all you hurt/torture/suffering Dean fanatics. I cannot be held responsible for sontaneous combustion as a result of reading this. I wrote it and I damned near blew up when I reread it, it had been that long since I'd looked at it. For you Sam girls, there's plenty here for you, just not so much of the pain.

You have been warned.

(My, I'm certainly full of myself today, aren't I?)

Honestly? I LOVE this story, I admit it shamelessly, I had forgotten just how muuch and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Sam stepped closer. He had never threatened an old man in a wheelchair before, but now looked like as good a time as any to start.

"Where's my brother?" He said in a low voice. "If anything happens to him…" Sam's face was dark with anger, his fists clenching.

William stared up at Sam without fear. What had he left to fear after all? What could be worse than this living nightmare?

"Threaten me, strike me, do what you will," William invited. "Nothing you may do to me, or to any of these people, will help your brother. You are a part of this now, as much as any of us. Our time is running out and this farce must be played out to the end if we have any hope of escaping its consequences."

"You're all talking in riddles! My part in what?" Sam snapped. "You're not making any sense! Some maniac has my brother, doing God knows what to him and all you can do is talk in circles! I don't understand!" Sam twisted away, a hand clawed in his hair.

Several of the watchers flinched back as Sam yelled.

"God does know what your brother may be enduring. With faith, we will hopefully gain the strength to end this before it is too late for him, and for you," William shook his head and covered his eyes with one shaking hand, "for all of us."

He leaned forward in his chair and held out a gnarled hand. "Hear out what I have to say, boy, and heed the words. Few travelers have found their way to us over these many years. In the effort to thwart our curse, my… son… has made sure those few who discovered us traveled no further lest they be the ones promised—"

"Who are these promised travelers?" Sam demanded. "What curse?" He leaned on the rough table, resting his weight on his hands, head down as it swirled with sudden dizziness.

William sighed. "Sit down and I will explain it all. The sordid betrayal of a weak man and a weaker son. A son who, in his lust for power, however trivial, struck a deal with Satan. Tomorrow, if you and your brother be not the promised gift of release, this bargain will be sealed and we will all be lost to hell.

"Please," William murmured, "If you wish to save your brother, you must listen. You cannot defeat what besieges him—and us—if you do not understand what it is you fight."

Amateur, Dean thought, grimacing nonetheless, as the wet willow whip slashed across his belly again. He'd had worse and by weapons wielded with more skill. It still hurt like hell, but the hard leather ball stuffed in his mouth and buckled in place, along with the tight cuffs that tethered him to the floor, kept him from being able to do more than jerk as each blow fell.

What Cross lacked in skill was made up for by a certain enthusiasm for his work though, Dean had to give him that. Every few blows Cross would stop and demand Dean confess his demonic wrongdoings and the whereabouts of his brother. The fact that he was not actually given the opportunity to speak told him a lot.

Dean definitely had some words for Cross, but had he been able to speak, he was fairly certain they wouldn't have furthered his cause. It seemed like the repeated demands for information and confession were more for the benefit of the two men lurking outside the door than in the hopes of gaining any insight into Dean's evil side.

It was fairly obvious Cross really didn't give a damn about anything Dean might have had to say.

Cross had removed his jacket and vest and stood in his black shirt, sleeves rolled up, the white square on the front of his collar a glaring beacon.

Or a target, as Dean had come to think of it.

Cross was drenched in sweat from his efforts, breath heaving. Despite the fact that the opening to the ceiling had been closed, blocking the sun, an act for which Dean was supremely grateful, the room was still an oven.

The thought of how many others had worn the gag in his mouth made Dean's stomach turn. How many had Cross interrogated here, beaten pointlessly? And to what end?

He hadn't realized his eyes had closed until the fire of the whip across his face made him buck upwards, choking again. The heated air seared his nostrils as he tried to breathe.

"Open your eyes!" Cross thundered. "Face your retribution!"

Dean responded with a wordless noise of anger.

Cross turned, moving out of Dean's limited line of vision. When he came back he was sipping water out of a dipper, allowing it to run down his chin and trickle down his shirt front.

Dean tried not to look, but he couldn't help himself. His body was so parched already, the sight of the wasted water running off Cross's face and chest was too much for him. His throat tightened as the drying tissues clung together and he was literally unable to breathe let alone swallow.

His body bucked as he tried to draw in air, his eyes growing wilder with each passing second of denial.

Cross finally seemed to take notice of his distress and watched curiously for a few more seconds before he suddenly reached out and released the catches that held the gag to Dean's face allowing it to fall to the floor. He did the same with the collar, not ready for this to end.

Still Dean could not inhale and his struggles were slowing, his eyes rolling back.

Slowly Cross reached out and allowed some of the water to trickle into Dean's mouth.

There was a small geyser of water as Dean abruptly coughed, choking. The water soaked into his deprived tissues, as he swallowed convulsively. It seemed barely enough to wet his tongue but he could suddenly breathe again, a hoarse, raw sound in the tomb-like silence of the room.

"You...son of a bitch…" Dean croaked, his head falling back. "Why're you...doing this?"

Cross smiled. "Tell me where this brother of yours is. Loose ends are untidy and at this juncture I cannot afford to be less than fastidious." He drained the rest of the water from the dipper, shaking the last few drops onto Dean's face where they melted into the sweat and rolled away with it.

"Even if I knew where he...was," Dean hacked, forcing the words out, "I sure as hell ...wouldn't tell you! Do whatever the hell you want to me...to get your jollies off-"

Cross's hand closed over Dean's throat and he leaned close. "Do you think I do this for pleasure? Some twisted desire? There is so much more at stake here than you can imagine."

"I don't know," Dean gasped. "You'd be surprised...what I can imagine."

Cross's smile faded. "I have waited for this time. Prayed for it, bartered everything for it. I will not let your presence or the presence of your brother interfere. I know you are the promised ones, the keys to keep from me what is mine. I know what must happen to insure this is completed as was agreed. I will not be denied this time!"

Dean's eyes widened. "You think...me and my brother are part of some crazy-ass...deal you made? Jesus Christ, you are insane!" His voice was fading into a harsh whisper as the little moisture he'd been granted was dried up by the effort of speech.

Cross slapped Dean roughly across the mouth, splitting his lip. Blood drifted sluggishly from the cut.

"Do not take the name of the Lord in vain!" Cross snarled, "I did what I must to save this church. Your destruction will prove my faith and devotion to God and I will be granted my rightful place as head of this church!"

Dean coughed again, his mind beginning to lose its focus. "You prove your faith to God...by making a bargain with the devil?"

Dean couldn't help it.

He laughed.

Cross drew back, his face flushing deep red in fury. He threw back his head and bellowed into the air.

"Open the ceiling!"

As the panel blocking the sun creaked out of the way and white heat and light poured over him, Dean hadn't thought he could be more miserable.

He had been wrong.

It was all Sam could do to sit still and listen to what William had to say. The fact that Dean was somewhere in this place, being "purified" at the whims of a mad man, did not make it easy to be patient.

"Leviticus was a child who enjoyed having others under his control, be it a creature of some sort or another child. I saw this as a trait that I thought could be used to mold the boy into the type of leader Rapture's Climb would need to see it move closer to the path of righteousness we all seek."

Sam's eyes dropped to the floor at that statement, unable to stop his thoughts. Was he seeking the right path? Was Dean? Was right merely a point of view?

"The path that would move us that much closer to God." William continued. "We are a small community that moved to this place to seek God's salvation in our own way, and we moved along without bother to any or from any-"

"But what does that have to do-" Sam interrupted but was cut off by William lifting his hand.

"You must hear it all to understand," William insisted, his anxiety as evident as Sam's. "We did not come to this place in our lives by blind chance. Indulge me, if for no other reason than I need to unburden myself for the wrongs I have committed in my own misguided need for control. To help me understand the motivation that drove my son to betray us for his need to control. You will not find your brother in time without our help and we will not escape without yours."

"You keep talking like this was supposed to happen, like us being here wasn't an accident… I don't believe that, I can't believe that." Sam insisted. "You're wrong about us."

William shook his head. "What you believe doesn't matter. If you possess the means to end this, if you are the ones who can free us, belief is irrelevant."

He resettled himself in his chair, working the fingers of one hand with the other.

"Leviticus was much like his mother, a stubborn, willful boy, but lacking the strength to demand, preferring to play the sycophant to win others to him. Even I fell victim to his fawning, thinking he did these things in an effort to please me. As time passed, I came to realize he sought control of the congregation of this church for the sake of the power over their lives it would give him."

William made a face. "There were whispered comments about him that I did my best to ignore, revelations about his nature I refused to acknowledge. I kept myself blind to the actions of my own son, the very man I hoped to pass the guidance of this church on to." He removed his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes.

"Again and again he entreated me to give him the leadership of the church and again and again I managed to put him off, but at some point he decided to make… other… arrangements."

The old man seemed momentarily overcome as he covered his face. Behind him Sam heard the soft crying begin again.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"He struck a bargain with the evil one," William replied in contempt and disgust. He looked up at Sam, anger blazing in his eyes. "Under my roof, under my eyes, in exchange for position, he offered Rapture's Climb unto the pit. And his offer was accepted."

Thomas rested a hand on William's shoulder. "You had no way of knowing. It wasn't your fault-"

"It is my fault!" William shouted, slamming his fist onto the arm of his chair. "Because I was too full of my own self-righteousness I wouldn't let myself see what my son had become, that he had willingly given his soul to hell! And by doing so doomed us all to hell!"

Sam looked around at the faces gathered in the small room. "What exactly was this bargain?"

William sighed again. "At some point, I have no idea how long before, Leviticus was contacted by a... representative… of the dark side, for lack of a better term. The foundation for this deal was apparently created at the time. Leviticus was given a… talisman… of some kind by this being, to be used at the time that Leviticus desired to cement the deal."

Sam looked puzzled. "Why would he do that? Why not just make the deal?"

"I can only think that perhaps Leviticus believed I would yet relinquish the church to him and needed to justify to himself that he was doing the right thing to accomplish his desires." William shook his head sadly. "Had I but realized…"

"What did the talisman do? Call the demon?" Sam cocked his head, finally moving into familiar territory.

Nodding, William began to roll the chair back and forth in a restless pattern. "We had an argument. I denied William yet again, told him he wasn't ready to lead our flock. He brought the talisman out of his pocket and began to summon the demon, and I learned the true depths to which my son had lowered himself."

He closed his eyes in memory of that night…

Rapture's Climb, 1907

"Leviticus!" William shouted. "I beg you! You cannot consort with this evil being! He serves only the interests of his master, no matter what tale of fancy he spins you!"

"You used the talisman," the young man pointed out addressing Leviticus. "I assume you wanted to complete our deal, otherwise I got places to go and other deals to make." He held out his hand for the silver talisman Leviticus clutched, one eyebrow cocked and a "sorry we couldn't do business" smile on his face.

"No!" Leviticus said instantly. "His opinion no longer matters."

"Fine then! Let's make sure we understand the details of our little bargain." The finely-dressed young man said, rubbing his hands together. "Always read the fine print as the lawyers say, and trust me I've met a lot of them."

The dapper demon produced a piece of parchment from inside his jacket with a flourish.

"The ladies like to seal the deal with a kiss but I like things a little more formal, I'm sure you understand." His face suddenly lost its jovial aspect and became very serious.

"You want control of this hamlet, the people, the church, the whole nine yards. That was what you said in our original conversation?"

Leviticus glanced at his father, who still lay on the ground, his head buried in his arms. Turning back to the demon, he nodded. "Yes."

"Fine, terms are mine as was agreed. And frankly I'm a little bored, thought it might be fun to inject a little challenge into this." The demon's teeth glittered in a brilliant smile. "A little sport if you will."

A look of uncertainty crossed Leviticus face. "I don't understand, you said-"

"I said I'd give you what you asked for. Sure, I can just remove the old man from the equation-" he raised a hand and clenched it suddenly.

William cried out and clutched at his chest. "Leviticus!" he gasped.

The demon relaxed his hand and William slumped to the floor, wheezing. "But where would the fun be in that?" He looked up at Leviticus, his eyes black as coal.

"I'm giving you one century, one hundred years—"

Leviticus' eyes lit up and his face began to glow. This was more than he could have hoped for, leadership of the church AND another century for him to enjoy it!

"You in control from the moment our hands clasp. But—" The demon walked over to Leviticus, a finger in the air and began to move around the older man in a slow circle. "To make this interesting, there will be a way for this deal to be broken."

The demon stopped, pausing to draw aside the curtain and peer at the people outside who moved about on their own daily business.

"As the century passes," he intoned carefully, "there will be ten opportunities to end this." He continued, oblivious to the sudden clouding of Leviticus features. "There will be a traveler, a lost wayfarer seeking help. This chosen traveler alone will possess the means to stop the deal. If the traveler succeeds, you and the town and all its inhabitants are forfeit to me. If the century ends and you have managed to keep the traveler from living out their destiny, this town, its people and your leadership will continue unchanged."

"But how am I to know this traveler? To know when the appointed ten times are upon me?" Leviticus argued.

The demon smiled. "Trust me you'll know when it's time. As to how you'll know the traveler, again, if I make it too easy, where's the fun? They won't even know, so you'll just have to figure it out. How or what you choose to do with them is your business. It could happen during any of the ten times so you don't want to take any chances."

"And if I am successful in destroying these travelers before the ten chances are used?"

Another sunny smile from the young demon. "Initiative always deserves a reward."

"My leadership will continue unchanged?" Leviticus questioned.

The demon leaned close and whispered softly. "Eternity, my friend, eternity."

Sam sat silently as William and the others watched him. "I'm sorry," he began, spreading his hands slightly. "I feel like I'm missing something…" He suddenly felt it even more strongly as looks were exchanged over his head. "This has been going on for a century?" He glanced at the people gathered around him and the wheelchair-bound old man. Some of them were barely more than his age.

"The demon told Leviticus he would know the ten chances without a problem," William replied. "That was in the year of our Lord, 1907. Once every ten years Rapture's Climb, for seven days, exists in this world. At the end of that time it ceases to be until the cycle repeats itself nine years and 358 days later. Nine times this has happened over the course of the past one hundred years. This is the last window of opportunity, the last day before all is lost and we are condemned forever."

Sam's brain finally started shuffling the pieces of the puzzle into place. "So in between these times…" he started.

"Rapture's Climb vanishes from the earth. Time for us ceases, nothing changes, nothing is gained, lost, no progress, there is no memory but of the week we had ten years before. It is though we never existed. The world for us does not exist. If my son manages to carry out his ill-conceived deeds, we will go on like this for eternity. We cannot die."

William leaned forward, "But neither can we live, we are in hell already."

Sam felt his breath leave in a rush. "My God…" he looked up. "But, Dean and I can't be the only people who've ever found this town?"

Sam would have had to be blind to not see the sudden pain, the guilt, these words caused. Thomas and several others looked away or at the floor.

William shook his head. "No, there…have been other… unfortunates… whose paths have crossed ours. In his zeal to make sure the promised travelers did not escape him…" William lifted his hands slightly, leaving the rest unsaid.

"My God," Sam murmured again. He had to find Dean!

"During the brief periods of our existence, sides were chosen: those who follow my son and those who, like me, wish this nightmare existence to end."

Tears spilled from William's eyes then, anguish adding the full weight of the past century to his years. "I beg you, you must find a way; there will be no more travelers, no more chances…"

Sam scrubbed his face and raked back the hair out of his eyes. "I don't know how to end this, what needs to be done…I have to get to my brother!"

"You don't understand," William exclaimed, "there is no escape for you, the moment you set foot in this place you became a part of it… if we perish in this hellish bargain you perish with us now! You MUST find the way!"

Sam gaped at him, all thoughts of grabbing Dean and leaving the whole awful mess to shift for itself flying out the window. He rose and paced across the room, the others making way for him. He stared at the stone walls and let his mind race through half a dozen scenarios in the space of a heartbeat. His mind reeled at the implications of what he had just heard.

Could it be true? Could he and Dean be the answer the people of this town had been waiting a century for?

Seeing a possible loophole, Sam said, "If the curse says the traveler must be destroyed, Dean and I travel together, how can we be the traveler you're talking about if there are two of us?"

William shook his head, "It was never said that the traveler would come alone. Only that he would come. I don't know."

"What has to happen for your son to meet his end of the bargain?" Sam snapped, trying to think.

"The traveler must be offered as a gift to seal the bargain. Before the sun sets tomorrow."

"How?" Sam asked, heart in his mouth.

William wouldn't meet Sam's gaze. "He'll be burned," he said quietly.

Sam swallowed, closing his eyes. Of course, he would be burned…

"This talisman, can you describe it to me?"

An electric thrill shot through the room as he spoke, a spate of soft comments was murmured from one person to another.

William lifted his head and for the first time in forever, hope kindled in his eyes.

Dean thanked God, the Devil and everyone else he could call to mind when the sun finally crept out of view of the opening in the roof. He was half-blind and half-unconscious, desperate to fall the rest of the way and put an end to this madness. The heat was so thick around him he had begun to imagine he was wearing it as a garment he couldn't remove.

Cross had left him alone after the initial encounter which was almost worse than the beating and the incessant questions and demands. Left alone, insane with thirst, body rebelling against the unnatural position he was left in, thoughts began chasing back and forth along his fear for Sam like a dog running a fence.

He tried to let his mind drift, seeking escape, anything to get away from his personal piece of hell, but the release didn't come.

The door he couldn't see banged open and Cross's two associates came into the room, followed leisurely by Cross. He was attired in fresh clothing and had added a large silvery pendant to his outfit. The three men were shimmery blurs, but the pendant stood out to Dean's burned vision like a beacon. He squinted and blinked, feeling an unpleasant drag from his eyelids. Can your eyes literally shrivel up in your head?

As Cross came closer glaring down at him, Dean watched the pendant, following it with his eyes as it swung on a chain.

"N..nice…neck…lace," Dean croaked through cracked lips, "Boy…friend…give it?"

Cross narrowed his eyes and grasped the pendant leaning down, holding it so close to Dean's face it made Dean flinch back.

"This is the key to salvation," Cross spit through is teeth. "With this I will summon he who will receive my gift and grant me that which was promised so long ago."

Dean struggled to focus on the strangely-shaped object, his befuddled sense trying to convince him there was something familiar about it.

It was dark silver, irregularly shaped, slightly cupped with an intricate design etched on to the surface. The chain was run through a narrow slot in the center of the piece. It had obviously not been designed to be worn as an adornment.

Before Dean could get a better look it was snatched away as Cross straightened abruptly.

"Release him!" He barked, stepping back.

The two men moved over and quickly loosened the shackles that held Dean's arms and legs in place, leaving the throat until last.

Dean sagged downward, his muscles too weak to hold him as the tension was released, gagging as his weight tightened the collar, his arms flopping ineffectually in an effort to get it off.

Waiting a few seconds longer than was really necessary, the collar tie was finally released and Dean rolled limply to the floor, coughing, unable to even push himself to his hands and knees. His jeans were sopping wet with sweat, rivulets running from his skin to drip onto the dirt floor.

"What…what are you…doing?" Dean rasped, his lips pressed into the ground, inhaling dust. His fingers curling through the mud his sweat was creating.

"I brought you something to drink," Cross replied. "You have an important role to play tomorrow; you're no good to me dead. Get him up!" Cross ordered harshly.

Dean was hauled roughly to his knees, dragged over to the "shade" of the corner and dropped there. He collapsed bonelessly, dizzy and shaking, his shoulders screaming from the strain of being pulled back so tightly for so long, his hands were almost numb.

He could hear the slow thud of Cross's boots as he moved to the other side of the chamber. The sound of liquid being poured pulled Dean's head up without his consent, his eyes trying to locate the source of the sound.

Cursing himself for being weak, he couldn't stop his body's reaction to the dipper of water held just out of his reach. Every instinct and muscle he possessed pulled him toward the container, his eyes locked on the quiver of the surface as it trembled slightly with the beat of Cross's heart as he held it.

Cross watched Dean with a sad smile on his face. It would be glorious to finally achieve his goal, but he had to admit, there were a few things about the happenings of the past century he had come to enjoy. A startling personality revelation, yes, and he was going to miss it.

Cross moved the dipper enough to slosh some water over the side, splashing into the ground below, a few drops trickling down the side to dangle before dropping with a silent plop.

Dean's agonized gaze, his desperate need so strong a blind man could have seen it, followed each drop to the earth.

"You desire this?" Cross asked softly, moving the dipper closer.

He smiled.

"Beg for it."

End Notes: I hope I didn't disappoint. Sits under desk and hums quietly to self.