Post by epitaphtwo on Aug 11, 2009 23:42:54 GMT -5
Hey, I'm new here. Not really, I've stalked, but just recently decided to start posting. And my friend who's also on this board is pestering me to try my hand at this fan-fiction thing. So, here's a little something I may or may not continue. Feedback is always welcome!
I stood facing the ocean. My bare feet were awash in the seawater, buried slightly beneath the sand. The ocean advanced and retreated from me, and the waves glistened in the moonlight like shattered glass blowing in the wind. The chill of the breeze from the ocean gently caressed my skin, calming me. I did not want to think about what had happened. I just wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. The moon seemed somehow larger that night; I could plainly make out every nook and cranny of its ancient surface. I closed my eyes and tilted my head up toward it. I fancied it to be the sun, just for a moment, warming my soul in its eternal glow. I hadn’t seen sunlight in almost three months, and in that instance, it felt as if everything that had happened since then just melted away into nothing. There was absolutely nothing in the world other than me, the stars, the moon, and the beach on which I stood.
Of course, pretending can only get one so far.
“I know you’re there,” I said aloud. “You’re not exactly covert ops-guy.”
I turned toward the bushes behind me that lined the boardwalk. From behind them and through the shadows Samuel Winchester stepped out. He was a tall young man in his mid-twenties. He had long brown that fell over his almost Neanderthal-like brow. His dark, blue-green eyes suggested someone who’d gone through a lot in his life, most of which probably didn’t involve puppies and candy. His lips were pursed in his signature pout, and the sense of tension I garnered from his arched shoulders told me this wasn’t going to be any more fun than our last encounter.
“World’s going to Hell out there, and here you are wading in the ocean,” he said sternly, although I could sense a hint of envy in it, as well.
I turned back to the moon. “World’s always goin’ to Hell, Sammy. You of all people know this.”
“Yeah,” he said, stopping at my side just out of reach of the water. “Except I’m out there actually trying to do something about it.”
“Always looking out for others, you are. You’re a regular St. Stephen.“
“And you’re a dick.”
My head snapped back to him. “You got a lot of balls to talk to me like that, Sammy,” I said, making my voice as baritone as possible in order to sound more intimidating. It’s something I’ve still got to work on. “Maybe the next time somebody shoots at you my divine hand might just not be there.” In the next instant I was gone, vanished from Sam’s sight in the blink of an eye. I watched him look around for a moment, and then I decided to stop messing with him: I reappeared a few feet away from Sam, my shoes placed back on my feet, my leather jacket covering me. “Now if you’d stop being all high and mighty, because— let’s face it—that Guy’s gone, we can get on with having a rather pleasant conversation. Remember: just because we’re in Hell, that doesn’t mean we have to be rude.”
“We think we’ve found another one of you people,” he said, clearly annoyed by attempt at wit. Nobody ever got my sense of humor in those days.
“What do you mean ‘you people’?”
He sighed heavily with aggravation. “You. Your kind. Your people. The Nephilim.”
“Oh yeah! Those people.” I looked passed him at the moon again. Man, how I wished I could turn it into the Sun. “Where?”
**
The black 1967 Chevy Impala shone in the dead of the night as we sped through the back roads of the south-east. I almost laughed to myself at how awkward Sam would feel down in a land of near-constant sunshine. He and his brother Dean were used to places with names that saw more precipitation than sunlight than cities with names such as Orlando or Tampa. I, however, always felt more at home in places of greater warmth and light. Maybe it was the angel in me, I don’t know. However, since the last seal was broken, the world had become immersed in darkness. The sun shone no more. The world became less saturated with the bright beautiful colors becoming all muted and gray. There was a constant cloud cover, although no nourishment ever fell from them to the land below. Once-moist green lands were becoming barren wastelands without it. In a way, the clouds seemed like the cruelest of jokers, taunting the world but never delivering. In the past few months, things just seemed murky. I was all I could do to keep a smile plastered across my face. Someone needed to.
“Dammit!” Sam shouted as she angrily hung up his cell phone. I don’t know how one can manage to do such a thing with a phone that didn’t flip, but he managed all right.
“It’s also okay to express those feelings in other words,” I said.
“Dean’s not answering.”
“What’s the big? You guys are used to that, aren’t you?”
“Before things went all Apocalypse Right Now on us, it wouldn’t mean too much, yeah. But ever since my dumb ass broke the last seal I don’t feel like taking the chance.”
“He’s with Cass. I’m sure they’re dealing just fine,” I responded, adopting my best condoling voice. “All we have to do is find this latest Child of the Atom and whip his ass in to shape. Or send him into hiding like the rest of them. Note the disdain in my voice in that last sentence,” I added pointedly.
“What would you have us do? Send you guys up against him without any warning or training? So far, you’re the only one who actually knew about this stuff before we found you. Not everyone can be so lucky,” he snapped back at me as he turned a corner, drifting on the street.
“Yeah, Dale Earnhardt, I get that, really, I do. But it’s been months. There’s a difference between preparation and cowardice.”
Sam didn’t say another at that last jab at his manhood. Instead, his face became constricted as he concentrated on the road in front of him. The antique car continued on its way.
**
It was hours later when I awoke as the Impala rattled down a road with a sign reading WELCOME TO BETHLEHEM beside it. I smiled at the irony. I turned to Sam. He hadn’t said a word in a long time, and he was at that moment calling Dean on his cell-phone yet again. I wondered if he’d ever stopped. Knowing Sam, the answer was probably no.
“Bethlehem?” I asked “Honestly?”
Sam continued to drive. Worry and terror were plastered all over his face. He clicked redial on his phone and put it up to his ear with one hand.
“Still no dice, huh?”
“He’s alive,” he stated simply.
“Whoa, defensive much? I didn’t say—“
“So don’t.”
I turned to face the road, as well, defeated. The clock on the dashboard read nine o’ clock in the morning. Actually, it just said nine-hundred, but I knew the Winchester brothers kept it on military time. As it was, however, the distinction wasn’t really necessary: the Sun hadn’t been out in three months, and I doubted that would change any time soon. Still, it felt almost comforting to think that mornings still existed. It made things feel somehow less daunting.
I looked out of my side window at the flora rushing passed. “So, where exactly are we headed in this hick-town anyway?” Almost as soon as I said it, I got my answer: Sam turned into the parking lot of a small fifties-esque diner complete with impossibly shiny exterior and a jukebox visible from my seat. “So, what, we’re going to get our snack on before we go find the others?”
He parked the car. “This is where Cass found her. Said she was a waitress here.”
“Right, because the customers just flock to this joint,” I pointed out sarcastically as I surveyed the area: In fact, it looked as though no one had been here in months. In the parking lot cars were abandoned. Some had even been flipped over, and now various vermin and strays made these their homes. Looking harder at the diner itself, I saw that many of the windows were smashed, leaving the interior to the whim of the elements. I walked over to the entrance and opened the door. I figured that the list I could was show this place a little respect, even if the world hadn’t.
Inside the diner may as well have been the setting of a war movie. Only one or two chairs and booths remained intact; I use that phrase loosely, as they were the only piles of faux-leather and cushioning that still looked booth- and chair-shaped. Everything else was a mess. The stench of rotten food filled the air in conjunction with:
“Sulfur,” said Sam as he followed me into the small building.
“Sounds about right,” I replied while I bent down to examine a scorch mark on the floor. “Must’ve been a heated battle.”
“They’re not here.”
“Captain obvious strikes again.”
“I’m going to call him again.” Sam dug into his pocket fiercely and pulled out his cell phone. He placed another while I continued to examine the restaurant for any clues. Without much effort I spotted a small droplet of blood. It lead to a drop. This was followed by a larger drop. And then a smear. And then a small puddle. And then a girl was peering at me from beneath the counter. She was a small girl; she was at most 17 years old. Dark, tangled black hair stood in a mess all around her face, slightly covering some of the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. In the light provided only by the moon, she was terrifyingly beautiful. I lifted my hands in what I had hoped appeared as a motion of peace.
Apparently I was wrong.
She whipped out a large steak knife. It gleamed for only a moment in the moonlight before she pounced at me from her small hiding place, swinging the knife wildly and letting out equally berserk yells. I blocked and dodged as best I could. My ego would have liked it better had I managed to get out of this tiff without so much as a scratch, but at one point the knife had connected with the flesh of my arm and blood was let loose.
I jumped back. She lunged forward, this time pulling out a nifty little spin-kick right for my head. I grabbed her foot (which was encased in a dilapidated pair of converse), and I pushed it back down to the floor. She swung the knife again. This time I blocked it with one arm and grabbed the handle with the other. I ripped it from her delicate fingers and threw it as far away from us as possible. I held my hand up and she went flying back into a wall, held there by an unseen force.
At that second, Sam came running back to the scene. “I’ve got it all covered by the way,” I said with just a hint of disdain. He gave me a look and then pointed his antique revolver, the Colt, at her head. “Yeah, genius, let’s put a bullet through the brain of the exact person we were looking for.”
“What?”
“I can sense other Nephilim, remember?” As Sam held his gun down, I turned to the girl. “Let’s try this again: My name is Nick. The Neanderthal with the pout is Sam. We don’t want to hurt you. Okay?”
She nodded. I eased my hold on her just enough so that she could move freely, but I retained a small grip just in case she decided to get feisty again.
“What’s your name?” Sam asked with actual concern in his voice.
The girl hesitated still, but after a moment she decided that, saviors or rapists, it would behoove her to cooperate. “Mikaela,” she answered in a surprisingly strong voice.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Sam continued. She tensed up a bit then, but he went on: “Did any other men come to see you? One was your height, sandy-haired, the other had a trench coat and no personality?”
“The only people I’ve run into in weeks...tried to hurt me. But no, they didn’t look like that.”
I could tell Sam’s worry level had exceeded the charts at that moment, his head spinning with the grimmest thoughts. I decided to continue our interrogation. “These people that came after you, did they happen to have large, black eyes? Smelled like rotten eggs?”
She nodded.
“Okay! So, at least we know the demons were here and not some other nasty that’s going to get in our way. It’s a start,” I said to Sam.
Sam’s eyes still showed signs of concern. “Dean’s not answering his phone. I’ve got the Impala. They’re not with Bobby and Chuck. So where are they?”
“Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but we don’t have time for that now. We’ve got to get her Bobby. That’s the plan, right?”
“No. New plan. You get her to Bobby, I go look for Dean,” Sam said as he exited the diner and headed for the Impala.
I let go of the girl. “I don’t mean to sound like Ahnold, but you should probably come with us if you want to live.”
“I have no idea who you two are. I’m not going to put my life in the hands of strangers,” she said.
“We are, we really are, but you can either live in this little shack that’s about to fall down come the next breeze,” I responded, “or you can come with us and hang in a pretty nice car that seems to be impervious to anything that isn’t a truck.”
ALL'S FAIR
By epitaphtwo
By epitaphtwo
I stood facing the ocean. My bare feet were awash in the seawater, buried slightly beneath the sand. The ocean advanced and retreated from me, and the waves glistened in the moonlight like shattered glass blowing in the wind. The chill of the breeze from the ocean gently caressed my skin, calming me. I did not want to think about what had happened. I just wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. The moon seemed somehow larger that night; I could plainly make out every nook and cranny of its ancient surface. I closed my eyes and tilted my head up toward it. I fancied it to be the sun, just for a moment, warming my soul in its eternal glow. I hadn’t seen sunlight in almost three months, and in that instance, it felt as if everything that had happened since then just melted away into nothing. There was absolutely nothing in the world other than me, the stars, the moon, and the beach on which I stood.
Of course, pretending can only get one so far.
“I know you’re there,” I said aloud. “You’re not exactly covert ops-guy.”
I turned toward the bushes behind me that lined the boardwalk. From behind them and through the shadows Samuel Winchester stepped out. He was a tall young man in his mid-twenties. He had long brown that fell over his almost Neanderthal-like brow. His dark, blue-green eyes suggested someone who’d gone through a lot in his life, most of which probably didn’t involve puppies and candy. His lips were pursed in his signature pout, and the sense of tension I garnered from his arched shoulders told me this wasn’t going to be any more fun than our last encounter.
“World’s going to Hell out there, and here you are wading in the ocean,” he said sternly, although I could sense a hint of envy in it, as well.
I turned back to the moon. “World’s always goin’ to Hell, Sammy. You of all people know this.”
“Yeah,” he said, stopping at my side just out of reach of the water. “Except I’m out there actually trying to do something about it.”
“Always looking out for others, you are. You’re a regular St. Stephen.“
“And you’re a dick.”
My head snapped back to him. “You got a lot of balls to talk to me like that, Sammy,” I said, making my voice as baritone as possible in order to sound more intimidating. It’s something I’ve still got to work on. “Maybe the next time somebody shoots at you my divine hand might just not be there.” In the next instant I was gone, vanished from Sam’s sight in the blink of an eye. I watched him look around for a moment, and then I decided to stop messing with him: I reappeared a few feet away from Sam, my shoes placed back on my feet, my leather jacket covering me. “Now if you’d stop being all high and mighty, because— let’s face it—that Guy’s gone, we can get on with having a rather pleasant conversation. Remember: just because we’re in Hell, that doesn’t mean we have to be rude.”
“We think we’ve found another one of you people,” he said, clearly annoyed by attempt at wit. Nobody ever got my sense of humor in those days.
“What do you mean ‘you people’?”
He sighed heavily with aggravation. “You. Your kind. Your people. The Nephilim.”
“Oh yeah! Those people.” I looked passed him at the moon again. Man, how I wished I could turn it into the Sun. “Where?”
**
The black 1967 Chevy Impala shone in the dead of the night as we sped through the back roads of the south-east. I almost laughed to myself at how awkward Sam would feel down in a land of near-constant sunshine. He and his brother Dean were used to places with names that saw more precipitation than sunlight than cities with names such as Orlando or Tampa. I, however, always felt more at home in places of greater warmth and light. Maybe it was the angel in me, I don’t know. However, since the last seal was broken, the world had become immersed in darkness. The sun shone no more. The world became less saturated with the bright beautiful colors becoming all muted and gray. There was a constant cloud cover, although no nourishment ever fell from them to the land below. Once-moist green lands were becoming barren wastelands without it. In a way, the clouds seemed like the cruelest of jokers, taunting the world but never delivering. In the past few months, things just seemed murky. I was all I could do to keep a smile plastered across my face. Someone needed to.
“Dammit!” Sam shouted as she angrily hung up his cell phone. I don’t know how one can manage to do such a thing with a phone that didn’t flip, but he managed all right.
“It’s also okay to express those feelings in other words,” I said.
“Dean’s not answering.”
“What’s the big? You guys are used to that, aren’t you?”
“Before things went all Apocalypse Right Now on us, it wouldn’t mean too much, yeah. But ever since my dumb ass broke the last seal I don’t feel like taking the chance.”
“He’s with Cass. I’m sure they’re dealing just fine,” I responded, adopting my best condoling voice. “All we have to do is find this latest Child of the Atom and whip his ass in to shape. Or send him into hiding like the rest of them. Note the disdain in my voice in that last sentence,” I added pointedly.
“What would you have us do? Send you guys up against him without any warning or training? So far, you’re the only one who actually knew about this stuff before we found you. Not everyone can be so lucky,” he snapped back at me as he turned a corner, drifting on the street.
“Yeah, Dale Earnhardt, I get that, really, I do. But it’s been months. There’s a difference between preparation and cowardice.”
Sam didn’t say another at that last jab at his manhood. Instead, his face became constricted as he concentrated on the road in front of him. The antique car continued on its way.
**
It was hours later when I awoke as the Impala rattled down a road with a sign reading WELCOME TO BETHLEHEM beside it. I smiled at the irony. I turned to Sam. He hadn’t said a word in a long time, and he was at that moment calling Dean on his cell-phone yet again. I wondered if he’d ever stopped. Knowing Sam, the answer was probably no.
“Bethlehem?” I asked “Honestly?”
Sam continued to drive. Worry and terror were plastered all over his face. He clicked redial on his phone and put it up to his ear with one hand.
“Still no dice, huh?”
“He’s alive,” he stated simply.
“Whoa, defensive much? I didn’t say—“
“So don’t.”
I turned to face the road, as well, defeated. The clock on the dashboard read nine o’ clock in the morning. Actually, it just said nine-hundred, but I knew the Winchester brothers kept it on military time. As it was, however, the distinction wasn’t really necessary: the Sun hadn’t been out in three months, and I doubted that would change any time soon. Still, it felt almost comforting to think that mornings still existed. It made things feel somehow less daunting.
I looked out of my side window at the flora rushing passed. “So, where exactly are we headed in this hick-town anyway?” Almost as soon as I said it, I got my answer: Sam turned into the parking lot of a small fifties-esque diner complete with impossibly shiny exterior and a jukebox visible from my seat. “So, what, we’re going to get our snack on before we go find the others?”
He parked the car. “This is where Cass found her. Said she was a waitress here.”
“Right, because the customers just flock to this joint,” I pointed out sarcastically as I surveyed the area: In fact, it looked as though no one had been here in months. In the parking lot cars were abandoned. Some had even been flipped over, and now various vermin and strays made these their homes. Looking harder at the diner itself, I saw that many of the windows were smashed, leaving the interior to the whim of the elements. I walked over to the entrance and opened the door. I figured that the list I could was show this place a little respect, even if the world hadn’t.
Inside the diner may as well have been the setting of a war movie. Only one or two chairs and booths remained intact; I use that phrase loosely, as they were the only piles of faux-leather and cushioning that still looked booth- and chair-shaped. Everything else was a mess. The stench of rotten food filled the air in conjunction with:
“Sulfur,” said Sam as he followed me into the small building.
“Sounds about right,” I replied while I bent down to examine a scorch mark on the floor. “Must’ve been a heated battle.”
“They’re not here.”
“Captain obvious strikes again.”
“I’m going to call him again.” Sam dug into his pocket fiercely and pulled out his cell phone. He placed another while I continued to examine the restaurant for any clues. Without much effort I spotted a small droplet of blood. It lead to a drop. This was followed by a larger drop. And then a smear. And then a small puddle. And then a girl was peering at me from beneath the counter. She was a small girl; she was at most 17 years old. Dark, tangled black hair stood in a mess all around her face, slightly covering some of the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. In the light provided only by the moon, she was terrifyingly beautiful. I lifted my hands in what I had hoped appeared as a motion of peace.
Apparently I was wrong.
She whipped out a large steak knife. It gleamed for only a moment in the moonlight before she pounced at me from her small hiding place, swinging the knife wildly and letting out equally berserk yells. I blocked and dodged as best I could. My ego would have liked it better had I managed to get out of this tiff without so much as a scratch, but at one point the knife had connected with the flesh of my arm and blood was let loose.
I jumped back. She lunged forward, this time pulling out a nifty little spin-kick right for my head. I grabbed her foot (which was encased in a dilapidated pair of converse), and I pushed it back down to the floor. She swung the knife again. This time I blocked it with one arm and grabbed the handle with the other. I ripped it from her delicate fingers and threw it as far away from us as possible. I held my hand up and she went flying back into a wall, held there by an unseen force.
At that second, Sam came running back to the scene. “I’ve got it all covered by the way,” I said with just a hint of disdain. He gave me a look and then pointed his antique revolver, the Colt, at her head. “Yeah, genius, let’s put a bullet through the brain of the exact person we were looking for.”
“What?”
“I can sense other Nephilim, remember?” As Sam held his gun down, I turned to the girl. “Let’s try this again: My name is Nick. The Neanderthal with the pout is Sam. We don’t want to hurt you. Okay?”
She nodded. I eased my hold on her just enough so that she could move freely, but I retained a small grip just in case she decided to get feisty again.
“What’s your name?” Sam asked with actual concern in his voice.
The girl hesitated still, but after a moment she decided that, saviors or rapists, it would behoove her to cooperate. “Mikaela,” she answered in a surprisingly strong voice.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Sam continued. She tensed up a bit then, but he went on: “Did any other men come to see you? One was your height, sandy-haired, the other had a trench coat and no personality?”
“The only people I’ve run into in weeks...tried to hurt me. But no, they didn’t look like that.”
I could tell Sam’s worry level had exceeded the charts at that moment, his head spinning with the grimmest thoughts. I decided to continue our interrogation. “These people that came after you, did they happen to have large, black eyes? Smelled like rotten eggs?”
She nodded.
“Okay! So, at least we know the demons were here and not some other nasty that’s going to get in our way. It’s a start,” I said to Sam.
Sam’s eyes still showed signs of concern. “Dean’s not answering his phone. I’ve got the Impala. They’re not with Bobby and Chuck. So where are they?”
“Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but we don’t have time for that now. We’ve got to get her Bobby. That’s the plan, right?”
“No. New plan. You get her to Bobby, I go look for Dean,” Sam said as he exited the diner and headed for the Impala.
I let go of the girl. “I don’t mean to sound like Ahnold, but you should probably come with us if you want to live.”
“I have no idea who you two are. I’m not going to put my life in the hands of strangers,” she said.
“We are, we really are, but you can either live in this little shack that’s about to fall down come the next breeze,” I responded, “or you can come with us and hang in a pretty nice car that seems to be impervious to anything that isn’t a truck.”