Prologue
"This place…it's full of woe and suffering and loss. It'll be perfect for them. We'll pitch them there. All we have to do is to create a little…attraction. Something suspicious for them to find,"
"It should be easy,"
"Of course it should. Since when have Winchesters avoided a fight?"
"Never,"
"Never indeed. Create something for me. Make a death look supernatural; call them to this place. Ah. Look. Death. Everywhere. They'll come, they'll come quickly. And they'll find our new test,"
"I will be quick to make something-"
"No. Wait. Savour it. Just a little longer. Give it time, and we'll make a mess for them to clean up,"
"But it will be years, Master. Our time is quicker than theirs; if we wait, it will be years-"
"Winchesters still won't avoid fights…Winchesters will still hunt the supernatural, although by then one may be lost. We'll let the youngest hit his twenty third birthday before we call them,"
"I understand. A good plan-"
"An excellent plan. When the time is right, bring them to this place,"
The trees hid him well, their shadows allowing him to blend effortlessly into nothingness. He sprinted lightly over the litter of the forest floor, flying over clumps of bracken and nettles that may have threatened his bare feet. His heart clanged noisily in his head, a heavy pressure in his chest wildly out of control. Behind him the thrashing of trees and branches being torn out of the way grew in volume. He'd had the advantage of a head-start, but it was fast waning. He couldn't keep up the pace, he couldn't stay ahead.
He tripped in his panic; a misplacing of his foot that sent him over on his ankle. He cried out automatically as he pitched forward: too far, too fast. The sudden incline of the forest floor, moulded by tree roots, hurled him head first downwards, flipping him forward. He landed awkwardly on his shoulders, and screamed out as a hot piercing pain speared into the muscle. As his body landed shortly after, he felt the same searing pain up and down his skin. He had a moment of quiet, a moment of still in which he decided: barbed wire.
And thought: 'Who the hell put barbed wire out here?' before the face of his chaser appeared above him. It was dark; clogged up with the shadows of the forest, matted and snarling. The moon, bright and full, was all but blotted out by the dark shape. He couldn't make a sound. His own voice was throttling him in fright.