Title: Veni, Vidi, Vici
Summary: It's been years since Dean and john last saw Sam - since he left for Stanford in fact. But news is the YED is heading there - for him. In a race against time, the older Winchesters head towards Stanford - towards Sam. But what they find is not what they expected.
Warnings: Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Violence, Horror
Disclaimers: I in no way, shape or form own Supernatural or it's associated plot and characters. The afore-mentioned all belong to Eric Kripke, McG, and Robert Singer. All I own are the made-up locations, OC's (Original Characters) and the plot of this story
Spoilers: 1x01, backstory, Charlie Bradbury, Kevin Tran (sort of) and Men of Letters (sort of)
Prologue:
The night was dark. The wind howled as it rushed amongst the streets, calling litter and leaves to it as a pied piper would to rats. The trees lifted their heads in salute, their branches creaking ominously, twigs snapping off and joining the leaves and litter in their haunting dance. As the screaming air reached a new height, six figures appeared, running desperately from shadow to shadow, their coats swirling around them, flowing behind them as if they were shadows moving independently of their origins.
The leaves swirled around the figures' legs, manacles of green trapping them within their grasp.
The figures ran on, heedless of all but their flight, breath coming in grasps, sounding as if rocks were blocking their lungs, stealing their breath and killing them from the inside out.
As the leaves enveloped the figures legs in their cold embrace, the church clock struck twelve and a low growl came out of the darkness, as if the night itself was a monster. The figures stopped suddenly, looking back at the shadows, their once friend now turned against them.
As the growl rang out again, one of the figures gasped in fright and stammered
"What… what is that?"
"Nothing good." Came the terse reply. Once more the wind screamed, and once more the growl came. As pounding footsteps cut through the encroaching fog, the figures turned and fled once more, this time in the flickering light of the rusty streetlamps.
As the footsteps neared the six figures, their speed increased air nothing but a faint memory to their aching lungs. With a final burst of speed, they turned the corner, sprinting for the last few feet. As the footsteps followed them, silence once more enveloped the street, interrupted only by the wind. As the trees turned their heads to the sky in salute, and the leaves, twigs and litter once more danced upon the road, the night was dark.