Search for the answers I knew all along
I lost myself, we all fall down
Never the wiser of what I've become
Alone I stand a broken man
All I have is one last chance
I won't turn my back on you
Take my hand drag me down
If you fall then I will too
And I can't save what's left of you
Sing something new
I have nothing left
I can't face the dark without you
There's nothing left to lose
The fight never ends
I can't face the dark without you
- Without You by Breaking Benjamin
Carry On
"Only the foolish visit the land of the cannibals." – Maori proverb
Prologue:
Insanity
Then: Kansas, 2010
"What are you looking at?"
Taylor Harding jerked involuntarily as she looked away from the window of the small motel room that she was holed up in, the badly-faded fabric of the curtain falling from her fingers and shielding the dirty glass from the rest of the room. The woman didn't turn around as she leaned up against the wall with her right forearm braced up against the stained wallpaper, her delicate hand clenched tightly into a fist even as she stared out at the chaos beyond the window with a distant look in her eyes.
"Hell on earth," she finally said flatly as she pushed herself away from the window, forcing herself away from sight of the flame-colored clouds that heralded the return of Lucifer. Fire and ash filled the sky, and demonic howls of glee split the air as Taylor turned around to look at Castiel, a strained look in her eyes even as she reached up and dragged a blood-stained hand through her long hair. The angel nodded once in understanding as he approached Taylor, who let out a shuddering sigh as she turned back to the morbid sight outside the window.
"He killed Dean, Cas," she finally whispered hoarsely, tears pricking uncomfortably at the corners of her eyes as she fought back the urge to cry. She would not lose it now, not after everything that had happened. "I… I can't believe that Sam said yes. I… he let Lucifer kill Bobby, and then he killed Dean." Taylor trailed off as she swallowed painfully, the steadily darkening bruise on her throat that was in the exact shape of someone's hand burning with the movement. "He tried to kill me."
"But he didn't," Castiel said simply as he placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder. "And that can mean many things. Perhaps some small part of Sam still exists within Lucifer."
A long stretch of silence hung between them, taunting the two with the absence of the two other people who should have been in the room with them. Finally, Taylor wordlessly looked up at Castiel, and the sheer amount of anguish in the simple expression almost knocked the angel over.
"I think you and I both know that's not possible, Cas," the woman said as she gave a sad little half-smile before she sat down on the end of one of the twin queen beds occupying the room. "Thank you for trying to give me some hope though. That means a lot."
Thunder rolled ominously outside the room, and both hunter and angel looked over at the door as lightning lit up the landscape in an eerie likeness to a classic horror movie. The sounds of people running around and shouting frantically met their ears, and for once they just sat there instead of going out and fighting against the demons that followed the Morningstar.
Castiel stared intently at the thick line of rock salt that Taylor had laid down after they had entered, as well as all of the protective seals that she could think of sketched onto the walls – as she had pointed out, if they survived this night, who would care about the state of the room? – and frowned slightly.
"Taylor, you did not grow up in the same manner as Sam and Dean, correct?" he asked slowly, a single thought twisting around in his mind. It could work, if he did it correctly. After all, what did they have left to lose?
"No, I didn't," the woman admitted with a shrug as she gave a rueful smile. "I was twenty-three when some whack job tried to get me to join his cult. He showed me this creepy clearing with some kind of seal carved into the dirt, and I ended up bleeding on it. Well, you know that my blood doesn't exactly do fun things when it gets spilled on some symbols, so you can probably take a guess as to what happened after that."
"He attempted to use your Rift Jumper abilities to his own gain, correct?" Castiel frowned as he looked over at Taylor, who nodded once in response.
"Yeah, something like that," she muttered. "But that's how I ended up here." The hunter sighed loudly as she glanced over at the man, a slightly strained grin twitching at the corner of her mouth. "Right smack-dab in the middle of the biggest freaking horror movie ever." She quickly cast a sheepish glance in the angel's direction. "No offense or anything Cas."
"None taken." He stood there for several seconds, staring intently at the woman, before he tilted his head to the side. "Taylor, have you ever regretted your decision to stay here?"
"No."
"Never?"
The woman let out a humorless laugh as she shook her head, flinching slightly as something slammed into the door even as her hand flew to the stock of her shotgun. Whatever it was banged on the other side of the door for several moments, and Taylor slowly got to her feet, cocking her shotgun as she did so, only to relax slightly when the pounding stopped. She never set down her gun, but sat back down on the edge of the bed while holding the firearm across her lap, ready to leap up and use the weapon at a moment's notice.
"Cas, in all honesty, the only thing that I regret is the fact that I didn't have a damn clue what in the hell Ruby was, and I didn't know how to stop her sooner," the Scotswoman finally said as she reached up to massage the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the massive migraine that was building up. Castiel cocked an eyebrow – something that he had learned from Dean – and approached the woman.
"What if you could go back and do it all over again?" he asked quietly. "What would you change?"
Taylor glanced over at him, a thoughtful frown on her face, before she sighed and dragged her right hand down her face in frustration.
"I don't know," she admitted reluctantly before nervously running a hand through her tousseled hair. "I kind of wish that I could have started hunting sooner, that I had known what was out there." The hunter gave a humorless snort as she shook her head, her expression darkening slightly as she ran the pads of her fingertips over the smooth steel of the shotguns twin barrels pensively. "That one's pretty much impossible right there. It's kind of hard to know what goes bump in the night when you're from a reality where all of that stuff is fiction."
The angel took a step back and glanced at the door, almost as though he thought that something was going to burst through, and froze. Taylor's eyes widened as she immediately shot to her feet, gun in hand, and for a split second Castiel could see the emerald flare that flickered deep within the human's irises before she went as white as a sheet.
"Oh God," she whispered hoarsely as she looked over at the angel, who nodded once to show that he knew what was happening. "He's here."
"Lucifer has arrived," Castiel agreed, and for one moment Taylor thought that she saw an uncertain look cross his face before he looked at her seriously. "Taylor, if you could have a second chance to stop this, would you?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
For the first time in over two days, the angel smiled.
"It won't be easy," he warned, and Taylor couldn't help the defiant smirk that crossed her face as she looked up at her friend. For one moment, she looked like her usual self.
"Castiel, that's probably the understatement of the year."
Blue eyes stared intently into hazel, before Castiel reached out with two fingers and placed them gently on the woman's forehead. For one moment, all that could be heard was the whispering of a language that was far older than either of the occupants of the room, before everything dissolved into a glorious blaze of white.
Now: Oregon, 1991
Most people believe that insanity is relative.
After all, in this day and age, the truly insane are often transported into sanatoriums – they're not called asylums anymore, sanatorium sounds so much kinder – so they're out of the view of the public. And the ones who are no longer institutionalized are medicated, provided with an ever-increasing array of drugs to suppress the madness that bubbles up inside them like an oil well. It's capped off, blockaded from the rest of the mind behind the mental and pharmaceutical equivalent of the Berlin Wall.
What people seem to forget though is that madness can be hidden. There are those just warped enough to know how to conceal the madness, to hide their darker thoughts and desires behind a curtain of normalcy. And do you know what the truly terrifying part is? They can be anyone. Your mother, your father, the mailman, that nice clerk in the local ice cream parlor who always has a smile for everyone, your math teacher – well, only if you're incredibly lucky – or even one of your grandparents.
Insanity is everywhere, and it is usually the innocent that find it hidden in others.
"Grandpa!"
An elderly man somewhere in his sixties looked up from the delicate wooden carving that he was working on, quickly setting down the knife that he was using to carefully peel away tiny shavings of oak from what would eventually become a wooden dog – a replica of the same shepherd dog that he owned – before dusting off his hands on the leather apron that he wore as he turned around to face the little girl that abruptly rushed into the shed that served as his workshop. The elderly man's weathered face broke into a broad grin as he bent down and allowed the child to rush into his arms before he lifted her up and propped her on his hip.
"Hello there, my little beag tine," he crooned affectionately as he reached out with his free hand to ruffle the girl's barely shoulder-length hair, a thick Scottish brogue lacing his words. "I see that your mum brought you over for a little visit."
The girl wrinkled her nose slightly at the nickname, but the eager smile on her face easily betrayed the fact that she was overjoyed to be there with the man. The man – Robert MacFinn – burst out laughing at the look on his granddaughter's face before he gently tapped her on the nose with the tip of one of his work-roughened fingers.
"Ah, so your mum told you what that means, eh?" he chuckled fondly. The six-year-old grinned proudly back in response.
"It means 'little fire'," she piped up before she tilted her head to the side, her freckled face scrunched up in obvious confusion. "Grandpa, why am I a little fire? I'm not on fire."
The Scotsman started laughing once again as he ran a rough hand over the child's light brown – so light, it was almost blonde – hair. It was at that moment that a boy about twelve years old with a thick mop of bright red hair poked his head around the door leading into the workshop, a slightly worried look on his face.
"Grandpa, have you seen Taylor?" he asked hesitantly as he stepped into the shed, squinting his blue-green eyes against the sudden change in light from the bright summer afternoon outside to the dimmer interior of the shed. "Mom said that she ran off out back, but I can't find-"
"Mikey!" the girl squealed enthusiastically as she twisted around in her grandfather's arms, her hazel eyes lighting up as she spotted her brother. "Lookit what Grandpa's making!"
The boy relaxed visibly as he looked at the younger girl before he trained his attention on the half-finished wooden carving of a dog. He smiled briefly before he walked over to where his grandfather and sister were standing, reaching up to tug lightly on a strand of baby-fine hair hanging near her face.
"Very cool," he remarked calmly before he flashed the child a grin. "Do you know what he's making Taylor?"
Taylor frowned for a moment, her face scrunched up cutely – as only a child's can – before an understanding light flared up in her eyes and she glanced over at the dog.
"Pizza?" she asked. Mikey was forced to bite down on his hand to keep himself from roaring with laughter even as he nodded his head in agreement.
"Yes Taylor, that's Pizza," he said, managing somehow to keep a straight face the entire time. Pizza was the name of their grandparent's huge Collie, although the word was also the source of some serious frustration for Taylor's kindergarten teacher. One day the class had been asked to draw one of their pets, and Taylor had very proudly scribbled out a crude representation of the dog. When asked what she had drawn, she had proudly proclaimed 'Pizza'.
The rather startled teacher had attempted to correct her by informing her that "No, sweetheart, that's a dog."
It had taken several rather firm insistences from a very stubborn five-year-old, plus a seemingly-nonchalant question to Michael when he had dropped by that afternoon once kindergarten was over to pick up his little sister, for the teacher to figure out that 'Pizza' was the dog's name. Even now, his parents would still start chuckling whenever the saw the infamous drawing proudly pinned to the front of the refrigerator with a large Mickey Mouse magnet.
"Oh, hey Grandpa, Mom wants to talk to you," the boy said suddenly, drawing Robert's attention away from Taylor's rather enthusiastic account of a picture in her coloring book that she had finished earlier. He cocked a graying eyebrow in response as he glanced over at Mikey.
"Really now?" he asked quietly as he set Taylor down on the ground, absentmindedly brushing off the few shavings that clung to the girl's sky-blue sundress before he released her. Mikey nodded before he turned around to follow his sister as she rushed out into the sunlight, giggling happily as she went out to search for Pizza.
"Yeah, she says that she wants to talk to you about Grandma," the boy offered. At the mention of his wife, a look of worry flashed across Robert's face.
"Aye, well, I'd best go and see her then," he said before he reached over and ruffled Mikey's shaggy hair. "Michael, you're a good lad."
Mikey beamed at the compliment before he took off in pursuit of the human hummingbird that was his little sister. Robert stood stiffly by the door of his workshop as he watched his grandchildren run off into the warm summer sunlight, with Taylor laughing loudly as Mikey tackled her to the ground – taking care not to hurt his sister – before he started to tickle her. The Scotsman sighed before he pushed himself away from the doorframe and headed towards the stone house that he and his wife had called home for over thirty years.
Elaine MacFinn had been called many things during the course of her life. Happy with her marriage had never been one of them. She had been forced into an arranged marriage at the tender age of nineteen at her mother's insistence, and he had been an acquaintance of the family who had moved over to the States when he had been naught more than a lad himself. As a result, the then-young woman had been shipped over from Scotland to Boston, where Robert had met her on the docks for the first time.
Robert sighed again as he reached up and ran a hand though his gray hair. He had known her feelings about their union for quite some time, and he had even offered her a divorce at one point in time, when their children had still been young. She had refused, stating that a good wife did not leave her husband. The man snorted wryly at the thought as he shook his head.
He didn't want to admit it, but Elaine had been acting… oddly for the past few months. There had been several moments where he had seen her staring at Michael and Taylor with an odd look on her face, one that was almost… hungry. And at other times, she would stare off into space, an expression of upmost longing on her pale features.
Something was wrong with his wife, but he had no idea what. And it looked like his children had noticed it as well.
In another time, another place, Elaine MacFinn – nee Stewart – had been a willful young woman running loose in the moors of northern Scotland. All of that had come to a spectacular end when her own mother had shipped her off to America after the war to marry a man that she had never even met before.
All because she had met a man that she had loved more than life itself, yet her parents had not approved of him in the least.
But now, now she had a way to undo all of the damage that her family had wrought. Why hadn't she seen it before? The same blood in her veins ran through Margret's, and by default, Taylor's as well. And if the tales that her own mother had told her from childhood were true, then that meant that all of her daughters, and their daughters as well, had the Gift.
A satisfied smile crossed the elderly woman's face as she sashayed out into the yard, watching Taylor intently as the little girl rolled around in the grass with the shepherd dog that Robert had brought home three years earlier. She hated that infernal dog; it always growled at her whenever she approached any of her granddaughters, which made her plan just a bit more complicated. In order to get what she needed, she would have to separate Taylor from her brother and the dog.
Michael's head snapped up almost the second that she stepped off of the front porch, blue-green eyes narrowing slightly before he returned his attention back to his little sister. Elaine forced herself not to glare at the mop of red hair covering the twelve-year-old's head as she approached the two children. If she acted any differently than normal, Michael would grab Taylor immediately and run to their mother, knowing that nothing could happen while she or Robert were around. The blasted boy had become almost overwhelmingly overprotective since the incident last summer when a runaway Rottweiler had attacked Taylor in their own front yard.
"Hi Grandma!" the six-year-old chirped brightly when she caught sight of the woman, grinning widely as she rolled off of Pizza's furry back. Elaine smiled at the little girl as she reached out and plucked a blade of grass out of the child's hair.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked as she looked in between her grandchildren. "Michael, there are some cookies in the kitchen if you want them. Fresh-baked." And indeed they were. Margret had lingered in the kitchen after she had arrived with the children, helping her pull out a tray of still-hot chocolate-chip cookies from the oven.
"Why?"
She would not roll her eyes. It was a juvenile action at best, and entirely undignified.
"Because I have something special that I want to give to your sister," she said patiently as she straightened up. "It's a special gift."
Mikey shot her a suspicious look, but got up and headed towards the kitchen nonetheless. Elaine had to force herself not to smile as Taylor quickly walked up to her and laced a set of small fingers in between her own wrinkled ones. For a single moment, the woman's heart clenched as the little girl beamed up at her with an expression of complete trust, before she ruthlessly shoved it away.
There was far too much of Robert in their children, and in their grandchildren. Both Mikey and Taylor had her husband's fair hair, although Taylor did have unassuming hazel eyes instead of the usual blue or green ones that permeated the rest of the family, but those were solely the result of Jason Harding's genetic contribution. She actually felt physical pain whenever she looked at any of her progeny, because they were all his. All of them, from David – her eldest – to Margret, and all the way down to Karen, were Robert's children, the children of a man that she had never loved.
Over the years, there had been numerous nights that she had lain awake in bed, trying to visualize what life with Tom would have been like. She knew that they would have had children; he had promised her as much the last time that she had seen him. But even now, as she pictured the man's raven hair and his intense gray eyes, as well as the smile that had made her weak at the knees when she had only been a lass of nineteen, she couldn't picture what their children could have looked like. The only thing that she could see was Robert, with his damnable Scottish brogue and large, work-roughened hands, as he smiled proudly at Michael and Taylor.
Tom had been nothing like Robert. Tom's hands had been long-fingered and pale, almost like a pianist's hands, and any calluses that he may have possessed were few and far between, and he'd had a British accent that had sounded poised, refined. Where Robert was blunt, Tom had been subtle.
Elaine scowled as she gently led Taylor inside the house, pausing only for a moment as she looked at the kitchen to make sure that neither her husband nor her daughter saw her. If either one of them suspected that something was up, she'd never have this chance again. Taylor was the only way that she could ever see Tom again. After all, thanks to Robert, she no longer had the ability to open up the way to Tom.
The woman sighed quietly as she escorted her granddaughter up the steady wooden stairs that led up to the second story, and then directed her towards the library. Everything inside was ready to go. All that was needed now was the catalyst.
Once she had shut the heavy wooden doors firmly behind her, Elaine went over to one of the bookshelves and withdrew the small knife that she had hidden amongst the leather-bound tomes. Taylor was too busy looking around wide-eyed at all of the books – her granddaughter had a thirst for knowledge that was not restrained by the lack of comprehension of some of the vocabulary found in the books – and thus failed to notice the fact that her grandmother was approaching her with an object that she had been forbidden to touch.
"Grandma, can I look at one of the books?" Taylor asked softly, her hazel eyes still riveted on the masses of knowledge as a look of eager anticipation stole over her face. Was her present going to be that she could read the big book of legends that her grandpa always brought out whenever she and Mikey came over? She was six now, so she could understand a lot more words than a five-year-old could.
Silence greeted the girl's question, and the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled uneasily. Something was wrong. The girl glanced down at the thick lines of chalk that covered formed a circular-looking sigil; one that, had it been drawn in blood, would have banished an angel from the area. For one second, she wasn't standing on the wooden floor of the small library/study, but instead on a dusty hiking trail in the middle of the woods. Words danced in the child's ears, making her eyes widen in a combination of fear and unease as a feeling of faint recollection washed over her.
"So, when you mentioned that there were going to be scarier things out tonight than your brother, what did you mean? Were you talking about ghosts and vampires and all that stuff?"
"Yeah, kind of."
"Are you Wiccan or something then?"
"Excuse me? Just where exactly are you trying to go with that?"
An age-worn hand suddenly grabbed the girl by her right wrist, and Taylor was temporarily broken from her trance as she looked up at her grandmother with wide eyes as the older woman stared back blankly.
"This is for Tom," Elaine hissed before she swiftly dragged the razor-sharp blade across her granddaughter's wrist, and a rush of crimson escaped from the wound as Taylor instinctively jerked backwards with a shriek of pain.
"I was being sarcastic. It was supposed to be a joke. You know, funny, ha ha? There's no such thing as ghosts, vampires, werewolves, or the monster in your closet. Never have been, never will be. They're all just a bunch of stories made up by the superstitious in the Dark Ages to explain things that they didn't understand, or stories told by parents to make their children behave."
Terror filled the six-year-old's eyes as she recoiled from the older woman, unconsciously holding the bleeding appendage close to her chest as tears started to dribble down her face. The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs caused Elaine to turn around, still clutching the bloody blade in her hand as a not entirely sane look entered her eyes. She would not allow them to take this chance away from her!
"So, what do you think?"
"It's a rock. You doodled on it with a Sharpie. What am I supposed to think?"
However, Elaine failed to notice the fact that Taylor was now standing right in the middle of the seal that she had so painstakingly drawn earlier. Even as the girl clutched her bleeding wrist close to her chest and sobbed, thin lines of red started to drip down her arm. A single crimson bead dribbled down the child's arm, hanging unsteadily on the very end of her elbow for a few moments, before it fell, and a single drop of blood hit one of the chalk lines. The entire array lit up in a blaze of blue-white light
"Dean, I don't think that she's-"
"Sam, she managed to get in here even with the salt and she appeared from out of nowhere. I think we've already established that doesn't exactly scream 'human'."
The sound of someone trying to kick down the door reached her ears, and Taylor let out a pained whimper as she fell to her knees, voices swirling around her as the light flared even brighter.
"So you're only out for yourself, huh? It's all about number one?"
"Being a hunter is so much more noble? A bunch of obsessed, revenge-driven sociopaths trying to save a world that can't be saved?"
"Well, aren't you a glass half-full?"
"No!" Elaine shrieked as she finally noticed what was happening, and attempted to haul the girl out of the now lit circle, only to snatch her hand back as though she had been burned. The light slowly faded to a pure, blinding white, and a kind of enraged horror shone in Elaine's eyes as she glared daggers at Taylor.
"How do you sleep at night?"
"On silk sheets, rolling naked in money."
Somehow, Robert managed to kick down the door just as Elaine attempted to throw the knife at the terrified six-year-old, who was curled up in the middle of the circle in a tiny ball, her hazel eyes wide with fear. Taylor didn't have any idea what was going on, but she wanted to get out of this thing, now. She wanted her mom!
"Sam Winchester's the Antichrist."
"Ooh. I'd heard something about that…"
"It's true."
"…from the Easter Bunny. Who heard it from the Tooth Fairy. Are you off your meds?"
"Elaine!" he bellowed as he lunged for his wife, somehow managing to restrain the woman even as she kicked and bit at him, his brogue thickening noticeably as he surveyed the scene before him with wide eyes. "What the devil do ye think yer doin'?"
"If this is my last day on earth, I don't want it to be socially awkward."
It was at that moment that Mikey came charging up the stairs, followed shortly by his mother. The boy stopped dead at the sight before he tried to lunge for his sister, only to have his grandfather shove him back as Elaine tried to swipe at Mikey. "Taylor!"
"Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot. You are! And I'm yours."
"You don't mean that. We're-we're family."
"I know. And those evil sons of bitches know it, too."
Taylor let out another whimper as she looked up at her brother, her eyes wide in fear. Michael let out an inarticulate bellow as he tried to force his way past his grandfather a second time, one hand outstretched as he tried ineffectively to reach for his sister. Margret hauled him backwards though, unwilling to risk her son's safety even as she glared murderously at her own mother.
"Mother, what did you do?" she demanded over the roar of the wind that had suddenly kicked up, sending loose papers flying everywhere.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."
Before Elaine could answer, a high-pitched ringing noise rent the air, sending everyone to their knees as they clapped their hands over their ears in an attempt to block out the sound. The elderly woman stared at the circle, and the lines of blazing white light that the symbol had transformed into and a look of horrified realization crossed her face.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whispered hoarsely. "Tom was supposed to be here."
"You misunderstand me, Dean. I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save this town."
"You were?"
"These people, they're all my father's creations. They're works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that's not an expression Dean, that's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means."
The ringing steadily increased in pitch, and even Taylor was whimpering in pain as the glass in the window started to crack.
"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?"
"Okay."
"I'm not a… hammer, as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."
Just when Taylor thought that she couldn't take the pain anymore, everything just… stopped. She couldn't hear the high-pitched ringing, she couldn't hear her family shouting, and even the pain of the wound on her wrist had faded significantly. The child cautiously lowered her hands from her ears and looked with wide eyes as she slowly stood up, her hair blowing into her face from the violent wind swirling around her. For a single moment, the hair on the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably in the tell-tale sensation that she was being watched, before what felt like a pair of warm wings folded themselves around her in a purely protective gesture.
"Finally, I've found you," an ancient voice whispered gently in her ear, and the child relaxed visibly as the invisible feathers covering the massive wings brushed up against her face.
"Who are you?" Taylor asked quietly, a faint quiver of fear in her voice even as something deep inside of her told her that she was the safest that she'd ever been. The invisible presence hesitated for a moment, apparently caught off-guard by the girl's question, before it answered.
"I'm Castiel."
The girl frowned slightly, and tilted her head to the side in confusion. For some reason, the presence found this amusing, as a deep, warm chuckle resonated through the feathers. "What are you?"
"I'm an angel of the Lord."
Taylor's eyes widened slightly in awe at the statement, and the vast wings tightened themselves around her protectively as Elaine managed to force herself to her feet, her eyes narrowed into a hateful expression.
"She can't go!" she shrieked as she stumbled forward. "I'm supposed to go! Not her, me!"
For some reason, Castiel really didn't like this proclamation, and a warning noise rumbled deep in the invisible chest that Taylor was being held close to before the ear-piercing noise ratcheted up to an unbearable level. The elderly woman crumbled to the floor with her hands pressed over her ears, blood streaming out from between her fingers, as the two sole windows to the room shattered in a spray of glass.
Before Taylor could register just what had taken place, everything around her dissolved into a blur of light and noise. For a single moment, she thought that she heard the sound of too-large wings fluttering, and then there was nothing at all.
Well, here we go. For all of the people who have read this for the first time, this is a rewrite of a previous Supernatural fanfic of mine by the name of In the Shadows. I kind of decided that it needed some major reworking after I a) let it sit around for about a year, and then got back to it, and b) watched the fifth season. Somewhere during that period of time, I realized that all of the main characters in the stories about people who get tossed into a TV show are all either teenagers or young adults. No one's ever really explored the concept of a child getting tossed into one of these scenarios.
So me, being the odd little overachiever that I am, stumbled upon this incredibly random thought and shouted "Ah-hah, a challenge!" And then I was belted upside the head with the concept of time-travel not too long afterwards.
After all, if you were the only person left to remember some horrendous event that had taken place, wouldn't you do your damndest to stop it?