Please forgive the late post – I promised this yesterday but the RW has a way of invading sometimes – and it did, with abandon. So, I'm sorry to keep you waiting and hope it doesn't ruin the ending for you. XX Louy

The Rapture

Chapter 12 – Cut that kinda close, don't ya think?

The residence of Father Karl Gustav

The 'Bastion', Lancaster.

Wednesday April 9th 18:42

ooooooo

Sam hit the door shoulder first.

He heard the satisfying crunch of wood giving under his weight as it splintered open. The tidal wave of noise from inside hit him like a blast of frigid air almost knocking him clean off his feet. Keeping eyes half closed to protect against the glare, Sam went to ground, rolling to the side, keeping one hand braced against the wall to get his bearings. It took a few seconds to be able to make out more than just dark shapes, but once he could he saw the source of the problem straight away.

The tall priest stood almost casually, arms relaxed by his side, an amused smile playing across thin lips. He was surrounded by a halo of silver light that followed the contours of his outline like a glimmering aura.

"Dean? DEAN" Sam could barely hear his own voice let alone any reply as the noise in the room swelled and burst over him. With the noise drowning out all but his thoughts, he looked up at the priest again.

On anyone else the saintly halo of untainted light would have looked beautiful – but as dark hooded eyes looked up from a shadowy downcast face, a face creased with arrogance and pride; this cleric looked nothing less than a vision of true evil.

Books cascaded down from their shelves as loose papers flew in the whirlwind, the pictures knocked against the walls and even the floorboards rattled under the thick pile carpet. As the thunderous noise continued, the light bled away from Gustav's silhouette in tiny flares like miniature sunburst of glowing plasma. But there was no heat; it was stone cold as the grave and getting colder. Sam could see the breath cloud from his mouth in puffs of mist as he gasped for air. He twisted his head and scanned the room, searching for his brother and for the other voice that he was sure had been Mackenzie. When he saw them he froze.

Mac was slumped on the floor, but still tied to the chair by one wrist, and he struggled against that bond like a rabid animal. His fear filled eyes never left the priest or the undulating light gradually working its way across the floor towards him. Dean was crouching next to him; one arm thrown across Mackenzie's chest in an instinctive gesture of protection while the other lifted the crossbow and loosed a heavy bolt that hit its mark perfectly…hit Gustav full in the chest. An injury like that would have floored a normal man, but the priest merely stumbled back one step as the thick stunted arrow forced its way into his breastbone. Then he looked up and smiled and for the first time noticed Sam – and he recognized him.

This was the boy who'd been protected by the hunter, the boy who he'd been prevented from having access too. The one hidden and cosseted and who'd finally been shrouded by layers of dusty light. That game had amused him at first...the thought that Dean's broken mind still held enough strength to hide this young man from him…but later, with hindsight, he'd regretted not pursuing it, not taking the final step and demolishing that frail attempt to fight once and for all.

But no matter, because here he was – a brother – yes, that tasted right, a brother.So, maybe there would be two new additions to his army…not just one.

Gustav's smile was one of slow satisfaction. This had been only the first stage of the Rapture, the gentle part, just the cool caress against hot flesh – but now it was time to take it up a notch or two. As he started to mutter under his breath with ghostly pale wisps of condensation trickling through his lips, the light behind him intensified…molded to his shape, swathed him in its cold embrace. Then, with long sensorial tendrils, it expanded drinking in the room, feeling its way blindly, curiously touching every surface and leaving an icy film as evidence of where it had been.

Behind him, the light transmuted from silver to an explosion of colour that contained the entire spectrum. It stretched outwards through the wall at Gustav's back and into the far distance…a swirling vortex of colour, bright yellows and ambers twisting around and fading as they reached darkest velvet black. The Rapture was open.

It sensed the heat from the bodies on the ground and headed for them, exploring and tasting as it went and Mackenzie saw it coming. He scrambled around on the floor desperate to get clear of the tongues of light bleeding from the priest. But it sought him and found him, wrapping a soft caress round his ankle and instantly tightening to a deathly grip. It drew him back, pulling harder until the only thing halting his painful progress was the rope holding his wrist to the arm of the chair – and Dean – who was now laying belly down on the ground, both arms wrapped around Mac's neck and underarm, shouting something unintelligible and looking like he was trying to strangle him rather than save his life.

They were stuck in an endless tug of war with Mackenzie as the prize; the tentacles gaining more ground all the time as Dean gradually lost his strength. Sam watched him twist on the ground and look for purchase; he also saw the handgun tucked in the back of Dean's waistband. Without thinking he struck out grabbing the gun and in one swift move had disengaged the safety, rolled over onto his side and was aiming straight at the priest – and he felt no remorse when he pulled the trigger.

He could see the crossbow bolt sticking out of Gustav's chest and that's where he aimed, firing eight times in quick succession. Eight times the priest stumbled, each hit sending him faltering backwards arms flailing wildly with every impact, and with every jolt the light withdrew a little more, weaving around its host in a protective cocoon.

Sam could see behind the priest and inside the Rapture now, a shimmering silver edged tunnel, dancing with flecks of pulsating color, throbbing too and fro as powers and energies collided and were exchanged – and it was searching – reaching out for warm bodies and icy souls, penetrating its surroundings hunting the food it craved, the negative feelings and dark emotions that would sustain it.

As the priest faltered, Sam saw his chance. He slit the last remaining restraint with his hunting knife and caught Mac as his wrist was released and he tumbled the short distance to the ground.

"Move…MOVE" The growled order that emanated from deep in Sam's throat was worthy of John Winchester himself, and he propelled Mackenzie out of the door and along the corridor with no quarter for argument, just as the tentacles of light resumed their search for flesh.

Dean's energy was failing fast and he didn't complain as his brother wrapped supportive fingers around his arm and held on. "Nice timing, bro…" Sam pulled him to his feet, one arm looped under his shoulder, the other at the side of his belt. Then they were running fast, and heading for the main door just one short stride behind the professor, Sam dragging his stumbling older brother through the corridor.

Gustav saw them move, he saw his prizes evade and escape him and his brow furrowed.

This would not do, it would not do at all. With all his strength and willpower he sent the Rapture after them, pressing his joined essence out into the corridor, the tentacles of light sweeping the floor like a pack of blood hounds scenting their quarry – and then they paused.

Gustav tried again, willing them to chase their prey, to do his bidding…but instead of following the three escaping prisoners, the glowing feelers retraced their tracks, returning to the place they'd been born and for a moment Gustav felt nothing but anger, a huge and all encompassing burning rage. He was losing control; it wasn't listening to him anymore.

The thought suddenly screamed in his mind…there's nothing for it to take? What happens if there's nothing for it to take…? It has a gift to give, and no-one to give it to.

The glow from behind him that up till now had followed him around the room like a shadow made of white light, shrank away like an ebbing tide before the tsunami, and for a moment there was blessed silence.

Then, Father Karl Gustav knew fear. And that's when the Rapture took him.

Burrowing into his flesh, feeding like a huge maggot on a fetid carcass, it devoured what it touched and it wanted so much more. Forcing in through the holes left by the bullets, it sought the warmth and pain from inside this conduit, tasted it and consumed it. There was no exchange, this time the Rapture had been spurned. It tasted anger, and that rage merged with its own, darkening its true essence even further.

With a gasp of shocked outrage, Gustavlooked to his left shoulder, the source of the worst of his pain, and saw the flesh tear as the ball was forced from its socket…and all he could think of was his favorite wall hanging in the library summoning room…the one that depicted a man hung, drawn and quartered…and the look on his face at the moment of death, captured for posterity in those fine threads.

And that was Gustav's last thought as he started to come undone, fodder for the Rapture as it quenched its hunger in a feeding frenzy of blood and meat.

oooooo

Sam couldn't hear anything above the high pitched whine in his ears, the experience of the maelstrom had blasted his senses beyond their threshold. He could taste the bitter tang of swollen flesh in his mouth; he must have taken a hit at some point. His body was starting to complain, his muscles aching under Dean's extra weight but he didn't pause till they were outside the main door and breathing fresh air.

Mackenzie was shouting and gesturing wildly but the best Sam could do was lip read. "I'm not leaving without Nancy; I won't leave her here again."

"She's already in the car." He nodded towards the garage and set off at a jog, still half carrying his brother as his feet skimmed along the ground.

Dean was becoming a dead weight; every reserve of his earlier energy was used up and not replaced. With the fingers of one hand clenched tight in Sam's jacket, he did his best to keep up with his brother's long stride but he felt like he was wading through deep snow, each step becoming harder and he grimaced as his muscles trembled in protest.

All around them the ground was tearing itself to pieces, the house buckled and shook as roofing tiles crashed to the ground barely missing them. Whole walls were folding in on themselves as deep rifts opened up in the concrete and lawn, swallowing the trees and carefully landscaped shrubbery as though morsels to be eaten. The perimeter wall was next, crumbling under the onslaught as though made from parched sand.

Sam could hear very little but he could see enough. People were running in every direction and paying them no heed, some making for vehicles, others running up the drive on foot all eager to escape the building slowly committing suicide behind them. They had to get to the garage... fast.

Pushing onwards on shaking legs, Sam hoisted his brother through the small door and lent him up against the trunk of the Impala. Then he raced to the side wall, hitting the button that raised the electric door and tore back to Dean's side, catching him just before he slid to the ground.

"M'okay Smmy, quit worrying bout me." His feeble attempts to bat Sam's hand away looked comical, but his eyes were glazing over as he spoke and Sam had to keep a hand on his head as he pushed him into the passenger seat. The fact that he wasn't complaining said more about his state of mind than his exhausted tone ever could, but the youngest Winchester had escape on his mind and couldn't afford to be sidetracked.

The garage door rose painfully slow but with Mackenzie in the back holding Nancy, and Dean propped in the passenger seat, Sam eased the big black car out as soon as it could squeeze through the tight space and pressed down hard on the accelerator making their way up the drive in a hail of loose gravel and debris. The gate was still locked but hanging away from the wall, canted at a sickening angle, and it was clear someone had already driven through the rubble that used to be the wall beside it. Slowing to a crawl and ignoring the cacophony of noise behind them, Sam maneuvered the Impala through the rubble and out onto the main road before he slowed to a stop and chanced a look back.

When they did, they saw the effects of the Rapture. The whole structure of the house was folding in on itself, the walls turning to rubble before their eyes as it shuddered and gave its final death rattle. More tiles were flying from the roof and crashing to the ground as the chimneys and parapets collapsed, allowing a huge column to blaze upwards towards the sky in a towering plume of color and light. And at the top, a dark velvety storm cloud was forming like a mushroom over the grounds, turning the sky the color of a purple bruise.

"Damn, Sammy…cut that kinda close don't ya think?"

The ringing in Sam's ears was not fading fast, but he still made out his brother's tired words, when he looked at him, he saw Dean staring at the incredible sight behind them with a half moon grin and cosseted eyes. He looked like the kid who'd just hit the home run. As Sam's thundering heartbeat started to slow, he peeled the car away from the disaster still unfolding, gunned the engine and left the 'Bastion' and it's residents far behind.

oOo

The Early Riser Motel and Steak Emporium

79 East Way, Lancaster.

Friday April 11th 10:45

ooooooo

It took less than a day for the local papers to jump to their own conclusions and print a whole pack of bizarre explanations for the incidents that took place on Wednesday night, and by Friday, the traumatized little town was grasping at straws.

A few were saying a bomb had gone off in the 'Bastion' destroying the house and killing the occupants. Some believed a terrorist siege had taken place and had been covered up by government officials – and others suggested that the number of strange men dressed in black suits suddenly fleeing the area was a clear indication that the whole thing had been a conspiracy – probably to do with UFO's.

But by far the most common theory was that the 'Bastion' had been a cover for a 'Wako' style cult, and what had happened was some kind of suicide pact… 'after all it'd happened in Texas, no reason why it couldn't happen here'...and it may just do wonders for the dwindling tourist trade in their sleepy little town.

The official line however was that a freak earthquake had hit the region, decimating a select area in the outskirts, and that seemed as good a story as any.

The motel Mackenzie booked them into was nicer than their usual haunt and it was a good thing too, none of them were keen to desert the town until they knew it was over, and they were also less than keen to return to Mackenzie's house. But then, he'd no intention of ever going back there.

And this morning things were looking up, Nancy was finally awake. She'd slept for the best part of a day, but now she was alert and looking at the faces around her with a mixture of interest and confusion. In her mind, she couldn't quite put her finger on who they were or what they wanted, but they were kind enough. And every now and again she'd catch a glimpse of something. A gesture or a word that would bring to life a fleeting memory of a time that felt like long ago. She hadn't spoken yet, just nodded once when her uncle had asked if she was thirsty…again when he asked if she needed the bathroom. But at least she seemed content in a fashion.

Dean had also slept but unlike Nancy, once he woke there was no stopping him. He was a man on a mission, heading out to his baby and dragging soft cloths and wax from the trunk, then getting to work, and the more he polished, the better he felt.

Leaving Nancy to rest in their motel room, Mackenzie walked out to the carport where Dean was slowly circling the warm metal.

He heard the professor's footfalls and looked up, briefly catching his eye. "How's she doing?"

"More awake but still just looks confused…" Mackenzie pushed his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the younger man work.

"Give her time…" Dean straightened and looked at the cloth in his hands thoughtfully. "…it's like all the pieces are there but there just not in the right order, y'know?" He winced a little at the remembrance of his own muddled mind.

"How are you? Still feeling weak?"

Dean barked a laugh at that. "Winchesters don't do weak; Mac…thought you would have figured that one out by now." He went back to the job of polishing the dirty fingerprints off his girl.

"Yeah, I think maybe I have." Mackenzie paused for a moment, almost like he was unsure of how to proceed. "I'm going to help her. I'd decided not to use it ever again, but I think…just this once, for Nancy."

Dean paused. "Is that right?" He sniffed loudly; he knew what it meant to let someone invade his mind regardless of the reason. But he had to wonder if he'd even be standing if Mackenzie hadn't 'repaired' him. "Just once, huh…Think your gonna be able to stop yourself?"

Mackenzie stared into the distance wistfully. "I'd rather not indulge even this once if truth be told…but at the moment I don't see any alternative…and as for never using it again? I don't think that will be a problem."

"Glad to hear that Mac…" Dean bent lower over the gleaming metal and started to work the polish in earnest. "…cos if you did, well, we'd be forced to pay you a little visit sooner than you might like, if you get my drift." Dean glanced up, locking eyes with the older man, making sure there wasn't a hint of a smile on his face.

For a moment an icy finger traced a lazy trail down Mac's spine and he returned the young hunters stare but only for the fleetest moment. A change of subject was clearly in order and he breathed a sigh of relief when Sam turned the corner with a cardboard tray full of cups of coffee, a paper bag from the bakers in his hands and a copy of the local paper under his arm. As he got closer he frowned and tossed the paper in Dean's direction.

"Says here that so far they've dragged four bodies from the remains of the house but none of the descriptions match Gustav whose whereabouts are still unknown….also say's the fissure stretches down four hundred feet at its deepest…oh, and there's a new theory, someone thinks the house was hit by a meteor."

Dean pushed the paper aside and snorted in disgust. "Idiots…they'd never sleep again if they knew the truth."

"Hmmm, probably best that they don't then, huh". He looked Dean over. "Y'okay dude? Head still bad?"

"Be a whole lot better if you'd get off my case and pass that java, we haven't got all day here."

Again Mackenzie almost smirked at the interaction, these two were so unlike the cool calm professional hunters he'd come to know and respect. "So, do you and your brother think this has happened before?"

Sam shrugged. "It's possible…This could have been the catalyst for every crazy dictators on the planet for all we know. They were all just humans driven mad with power and control…History is littered with them…Hitler, Mussolini, and Rasputin…" Sam paused as he heard his brother whistle through his teeth.

"Are you shitting me? You don't really think that Rasputin and Gustav…" He paused, suddenly thinking that maybe it wasn't such a strange idea after all. Kinda freaky, yeah, but certainly believable. Not any more. "You trying to tell me we may have just halted some 'Ming the Merciless' without even knowing it?"

"Just saying it's possible."

Dean seemed to evaluate this in his mind for a moment and then nodded solemnly. "Cool, gonna go get cleaned up. We need to be thinking about hitting the road, Sammy".

Knocking back a glug of scalding black tar, Dean ambled back towards the motel, stuffing the waxy cloth into the back pocket of his Jeans. It wasn't till he was well out of earshot that Sam spoke to Mackenzie again.

"So, how many others are out there? Others with powers like yours from the Rapture? How many are we talking about?"

The professor looked at the floor. "Half a dozen at least, and those are only the ones I know about."

Sam ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "We should do something about them…"

"They're just people, Sam…People who've made mistakes…A whole load of us have." He stared at the gleaming skin of the black car; waiting for the younger man to answer…knowing deep down that the greatest mistakes in this whole sorry situation had been made by him.

Sam eyed him cautiously, almost as though he'd read his mind. "Yeah I know."

"You don't want to talk about this in front of your brother, do you?"

Sam pursed his lips, looking back to the motel door. "Probably best not to…"

Then it was the professors turn to smile. "So, does schizophrenia run in your family?"

"You don't want to know what runs in our family, trust me."

"So where will you two head?"

"There's a few new hunts were looking into, some may come to nothing but there's always something new."

"And are they all…like this?"

"You mean are they all going head to head with some freaky-assed cleric who climbs around inside people's heads sucking out all the best bits…? Nah…not so much."

"But I'm assuming that your brother…he still manages to piss off the bad guys just as much every time."

Sam smile was wide and full of genuine emotion. "You got that right; no one can piss off the bad guy like Dean…" He shook his head slowly at the thought of his brother's innate talent for speaking his mind and slowly turned, making his way past Mackenzie and heading to the motel. He had bags to pack…it was time to hit the road.

The End

To everyone who read, reviewed, left a comment, e-mailed me, and helped me improve this story - thank you very much! XX Louy