NOTES: Hehehe I'm always stressed at this time of year (going back to uni, so much going on!) so it makes me feel great knowing that people are enjoying my fic and taking the time to leave comments. As a reward for being such nice peeps, here's another chapter. Oh, and get used to the evil endings - I'm afraid there's plenty more to come.

CHAPTER THREE
Harbinger
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"Watch your head Sam!" Dean yelled as a bucket of paint went hurtling towards his little brother.

Sam ducked the flying object and continued shouting the binding incantation. Their suspicions that the room was a trap had been accurate. The spirit wasn't exactly happy with the idea of moving out, and had proceeded to trap the pair in the room along with some heavy flying objects.

Although the case wasn't unlike their previous job, it was small-time spirit. It didn't take long for the incantations to start working. The spirit kicked up more of a fuss but its strength was dwindling.

Sam read from his notes quickly but clearly. He didn't intend to make any mistakes. He kept glancing at Dean, who was fighting off various possessed inanimate objects. He was doing okay, until a candlestick came at him from behind and clipped the side of his head. He yelled out, causing Sam to lose his place.

"Shit!" Sam cursed. "Dean, you alright?"

"Fine, just finish it!" Dean shouted back. The spirit had been screeching something chronic while Sam had been reading; it was difficult to hear.

It took a moment for Sam to find his place. He was right near the end. "Quod vos vadum nunquam reverto ut is rectus!"

Sam had to cover his ears as the spirit screeched even louder than before. A black void opened in the floor and shadows emerged from it, claiming the spirit and dragging it back into the abyss.

And then everything was quiet again. All the objects that had been animated crashed to the floor and Sam removed his hands from his ears. The spell had taken a lot out of him. Regaining his composure, he went over to see if Dean was alright.

"Godammit," the older brother muttered, his hand timidly poking at the new wound above his eyebrow.

"Let me see," Sam said, pulling Dean's hand away. Blood was pouring out of the gash at a steady rate, and it looked like Dean had picked up another fine bruise to add to his collection. It looked like he might need stitches, but it could wait. Then Sam remembered his vision. Dean had had blood on his face. But he still didn't look as beat up as he had been when Sam had seen him.

"Here, take this," Sam told him, handing over a rag to stop the bleeding with.

Dean pressed it against the cut and grimaced angrily. Like he needed a goddamn headache on top of everything else. "I don't know about you, but I'm up for getting the hell out of here." Shit, now there was blood in his eye.

"No argument there," Sam replied, uneasily. He kept his guard up, and his grip on the shotgun got tighter.

As they moved back through the house, towards the door, the silence was driving Sam crazy. Nothing was moving; they'd got rid of the threat, so why did it all still feel so wrong? The front door was in sight. Maybe the vision wasn't going to come to pass...

"You got everything? We don't need to go back in, do we?" Sam asked. They were by the door now, almost free. Maybe the vision wasn't for today. Maybe it was a different day, a different place. But deep down Sam knew it wasn't true.

And in three seconds, he would be proved right.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance. Suddenly, violently, he was wrenched from where he stood an invisible force. Sam started running even before he knew what was going on. Dean was being taken, fast, by something invisible, something strong. It was dragging him through the air, and along the ground intermittently, crashing by and through anything in his path.

Sam could barely keep up, but he would not stop.

Finally, mercifully, the end of the house came. Dean had been dragged the entire length, and Sam had followed. Dean was thrust against the wall and collapsed into a heap on the ground. Sam couldn't tell if he was conscious or not before the door between him and Dean slammed shut.

"NO!" he yelled, pounding against the door. "DEAN!"

Inside the room, Dean coughed. It was a strangled, agonised sound, and for a moment he did realise he had made it himself. His body was on fire with pain; it filled every inch of him. He was surrounded by dust and debris from the path along which he had been hauled.

Someone was calling his name, but Dean was barely holding onto his consciousness as it was. Actually trying to think of a response and then making his voice work didn't sound like an act within the realms of possibility.

"Finally. I thought he'd never leave."

Dean had heard those words clearly. He'd heard them clearly because they'd been inside his head. Snapping his eyes open, Dean understood why. Looming over him was a man. No, not a man, a thing, a demon, a disgusting, foul creature that only vaguely resembled a human being because it chose to. If you took away the pitch black eyes, the oil-like substance oozing from its every orifice, and the fact that the skin on his face appeared to be melting, then yes, it could be mistaken for a man.

Dean had never seen anything like it before in his life, a fact he was somewhat relieved about. From Sam's vision, he'd started to think he'd come face to face with him again.

He coughed again, trying to make his body obey his brain. He could taste blood in his mouth and his chest hurt like hell. Dean was surprised to find that there was nothing on top of it, because that was what it felt like. Somehow he managed to get to his feet. Sort of. The wall was helping.

"I've been looking for you for some time," the creature said, out loud this time. What could only be described as black gunk leaked from its mouth as it spoke. It didn't have any teeth to speak of, making its voice slurred.

"Yeah? I'm honoured. Who the hell are you?" Dean managed to say, albeit quietly. He cradled his chest in one hand and with the other, very slowly, went for his pocket. While Sam had slept he'd prepared an all-purpose 'go back to wherever the hell you came from' purging spell, just in case Sam's vision came true.

"I am a messenger."

"You know, I've got a phone. Coulda saved you the trip." Oh god, he hurt. He hurt everywhere.

"I am a messenger, for him."

Dean scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I know a lot of 'hims'," he retorted. "Care to be a little more specific?" He pushed off from the wall and took an unsteady step forward. He wanted to stand on his own two feet to waste this son of a bitch. It was a shame he had dropped his shotgun, but being torn from your feet at what felt like eighty miles per hour would do that to a guy.

The demon chuckled, more black slime dribbling out of his mouth. "Your memory has failed you? Or is it your time-keeping?" The creature advanced on him, a wide, toothless grin spreading across his face. "You've been free for the agreed amount of time. Time's up."

With chilling realisation, Dean understood. "Eight-hundred days."

Then, before Dean could react, the demon lunged at him at frightening speed. Dean crashed to the floor once again, the disgusting creature landing on top of him.

Dean used one arm to keep the demon away from him, and with the other he brought the paper from his pocket and started to read. He tried to force himself into a roll to gain the upper hand but the demon was too strong, and Dean was barely keeping it together.

He managed to spit out a few lines of the spell, none of which appeared to have any effect on the still grinning demon. With one hand it grabbed Dean by the neck, and with the other, seized his wrist. Dean screamed in pain as his arm started to burn, but the demon wouldn't let go.

Then something weird happened. Of course, context is relative, and usually, battling a demon in an abandoned house would seem weird to the average Joe, but this was Winchester weird.

The demon let go of Dean's arm, rolled off and stood up in one fluid movement. Then it finished the incantation and sent itself back to Hell.

Dean lay in shock for a while. All he wanted to do was give in to the overwhelming urge to just close his eyes and let unconsciousness take him. But Dean had slowly tuned back into the background noise of Sam pounding against the door and shouting his name over and over.

"I'm okay, Sam," Dean croaked, but it was barely audible so he tried repeating himself. This attempt resulted in a coughing fit. Third time's the charm, he thought to himself, choking back every breath. "I'm okay, Sam."

Sam had heard that one, because he stopped hammering on the door. "Let me in!"

"Sure," Dean muttered to himself. "I'll be right there." No problem. I'll just get up, walk to the door and open it. Get up...off the floor...

Dean waited for his body to listen to him, but so far it was pretending it couldn't hear. Oh god, was he actually shaking? Sam wasn't going to like this. He was already intolerable, fussing over the apparent mental anguish he was so convinced Dean was in. What was he going to be like after he found out his brother couldn't even get to his feet?

No, Dean wasn't about to let that happen. Finding some buried strength, he sat up. Okay, that hurt. A lot, he decided, coughing again. A small amount of blood came up with each wheeze, but he simply wiped it away. Moving each leg slowly and individually, he manoeuvred into position, preparing for the final stage of the endeavour.

"Dean?" Sam called, his voice heavy with concern. "Are you alright?"

Dear god, he was already sick of that question, and Dean had a feeling he was going to be hearing it a whole lot more. Taking a few breaths and focusing, he pushed his weight onto his hands and arms, then his feet. Finally, he was standing.

With one last glance to the spot where the demon had stood, he staggered over to the door. Sam burst in, gun aimed and ready. He relaxed finally when he saw there was no-one in the room but Dean. Then he went pale.

"Oh my God," he uttered when he saw what state Dean was in. The vision had come true, and he had failed to stop it. "We have to get you to a hospital."

"Nah, looks worse than it is," Dean said, waving a hand in dismissal of the idea. Unfortunately it caused him to lose his balance and he toppled over. Sam grabbed him just in time. Dean slid down the wall by the door, with Sam guiding him down so he didn't hit the floor with too much force.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Sam said decidedly.

Dean shook his head, paint chippings and dust clouding off his hair as he did so. "They'll ask too many questions, Sammy, you know that. Just help me to the car."

Sam wasn't happy, but he did as Dean asked. If he was even asking for that much help, it must have been bad. Sam aided Dean to his feet and manoeuvred into a stance where Dean could put his weight on him. "What the hell happened?"

"Demon," Dean said quietly. "Fugly thing, too. Didn't like me much."

"You killed it?" Sam inquired, wondering exactly how Dean would do such a thing without a weapon, or seemingly, the ability to stand.

"It kinda did the job for me," Dean replied, concentrating harder than he ever had on not passing out as they made their way out of the house.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"Killed itself," Dean said succinctly. "Weird."

"Are you sure it wasn't a trick?"

"It's gone, Sam."

They finally made it outside and staggered awkwardly down the steps to the car. Sam helped Dean carefully into the passenger seat and closed the door. Dean rested his head back and resisted the urge to close his eyes. Sam would want to take him to a hospital and it was a whole lot harder to argue when you were unconscious.

Sam climbed into the driver's seat and stared silently. "You don't look good. I think we should go to the hospital. We can use one of the credit cards, make something up and leave before anyone gets to suspicious."

"Not happening, Sammy. Really, I'm okay. Nothing some aspirin and a long sleep won't cure."

Sam knew that was Deanspeak for 'I could be dying, but it doesn't really matter, because I'm Dean Winchester and 'pain' isn't in my vocabulary. Neither is 'hospital.'

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was apparently still not convinced. "Take us back to the motel. I'm serious, Sam. If I wake up in a hospital, I will not be happy."

"Fine, but if you're still bad in the morning, we're going."

Dean was annoyed at Sam's defiance but at the same time impressed. There had been no leeway in his voice and Dean could tell he meant what he said. It looked like his baby brother was coming into his own. When he was sure they were on the way to the motel, Dean allowed himself to slip into the unconscious void. It had never felt so sweet.

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End of Chapter Three
Next Chapter: Demons