Author's Note ;; The following story starts in Season One after Episode 2 and will continually go through the season as if it naturally occurred in the show. I do not own Supernatural or its characters. This is merely a story for entertainment purposes only. If you are NOT entertained, you are welcome to complain and I'll see what I can do about that. Flamers are welcomed but compliments are forever loved. The story is done in true form to the show. This first chapter will read slightly funny and be short but the rest of the story shall be regular style.
PREVIOUSLY ON SUPERNATURAL
What happened that night …
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean, go!"
What they witnessed …
"Mary! No!"
Sent two brothers …
"Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."
On a quest for answers 22 years later …
"I swore I was done hunting."
"I can't do this alone."
"We've got work to do."
"This is dad's single most valuable possession, everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. Y'know, saving people. Hunting things. Family business."
"No. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about."
"Sammy, you know we're going to find dad, right?"
"Yah."
S U P E R N A T U R A L
Stonefield, Iowa
An old pickup truck rumbles its way up a long dusty road. The driver is an old woman in her mid seventies, her graying hair pulled back in a traditional bun. A few strands are out of place and it looks as if the woman has been working. There are a couple of grocery bags sitting on the seat next to her, a receipt sticking out of her small purse. The radio is playing a song and the woman hums happily along. It's quiet out on this road, miles from the town. There are only a few houses out here, mostly old farms that still struggle to make ends meet. Not like her farm.
She smiles when she sees the large Victorian house, a proud building, and pulls into the gravel driveway. The headlights begin to blink suddenly and the engine sputters, dying before she's able to turn. Confused, she tries the keys in the ignition and steps on the gas pedal. But nothing seems to work. She shrugs and pulls out the key, tucking it into her purse as she unlocks her door and steps.
There isn't anything to fear out on her farm. All the animals have been put in and the dogs are standing alert on her porch, like they always have. She doesn't worry about anyone coming up here and living on her own. It's nice. Safer than most cities.
It's cold and dark out but she doesn't seem to mind. There have probably been colder and darker nights. Grabbing her purse and two grocery bags, she slams her truck door shut and continues the rest of the way on foot. It takes her only five minutes to reach the grand front doors. The door is unlocked and she gives her lonely truck one last look before stepping inside and locking the door again.
The kitchen light is flipped on. She sets the bags on the long white table and wipes the sweat off her forehead. It's been a long day and she's glad to be home. Before she can start to relax with a cup of hot tea, the kitchen lights begin to flicker. The woman rolls her eyes and mumbles something about 'faulty wiring'. But it's a problem that's best left for morning.
Groceries are put away and a kettle is set on the stove. It's whistling soon and a tea bag is set into a tall cup while she pours the hot water. The lights flicker a couple times but they stop after awhile. She drinks her tea and heads upstairs for bed. For an old house, the floors are strangely quiet. There's only the sound of the trees moving outside and her soft breathing.
Upstairs, she changes for bed and makes sure all the windows are closed. The dogs start barking downstairs. She pauses, hand on her pillow, as she lifts her head to listen. They're barking frantically for a moment and then they stop. Complete silence. For a moment, it looks like she's wondering whether or not to check on them but then, she's shrugging and pulling back the covers on the bed to slip in.
It's the creak of a door opening that alerts her. Suddenly, she's going for the shotgun hidden underneath her mattress. It's loaded and ready to go. But she doesn't know who is down there. There was no glass breaking. Did they have a key? There's no squeak as they climb up the stairs. Just a quiet thump as their shoes hit each step.
She can hear them coming down the hall and she raises her gun. The safety is off and the gun is cocked, her finger on the trigger. But then, she looks confused when she sees who it is. "You, what are you doing all the way up here?" The person says nothing and only stands there, staring. She lowers her gun and sets it on the bed. Her face is a mixture of worry, suspicion and bewilderment.
But only for a second because soon she's being pushed viciously backwards by an unseen force. There's the sound of glass shattering, the window breaking as her old body is shoved through it and then, the long stretch of silence before the dull thud as she hits the ground below.
The dogs are barking again.