Hi, I'm L.S. Blue. Before you read this Supernatural fan fiction, I would like to note a few things. First of all, I understand there may be confusion on the character names. The main character is called Samantha White, or, more commonly addressed in this fic, Sam. I named her that because I originally wrote this story as a present for my friend (her name is Sam), and I made her the main character. When I talk about Sam Winchester, I refer to him as Sammy. I realize in Supernatural Sam Winchester only ever lets Dean call him Sammy, so bear with me and look past the sacrilege.
Next, I would like all readers to know that I wrote this almost a year ago, and since then my writing has drastically improved. Editing can only get you so far on an old story, so sorry for the out datedness.
Oh, and let's not forget to address the age issue: Dean is 18, Sam is 16, Lauren and Sammy are 14, and Ellen (not THE Ellen) and John are in their 30's.
Enjoy.
Sam opened her eyes to darkness. Every muscle, every tiny little instinct told her to run, because she was in danger. Someone-or something- was in her room, a shadow against shadows. Its presence alone gave it away; tension surrounded it in waves. It was with a forced calm that Sam was able to slow down her racing heart beat and keep still and think for a moment. She was facing the hotel window, and could see the figure. No noise came from the presence, but there was a faint glow to the eyes. Immediately, she knew what it was.
Shape-shifter.
She thought fast. There was a knife under the pillow, mattress, and in the bureau. A few guns full of rock salt and silver bullets lay in the closet. Yes, silver ought to do the job. The tricky part was moving without alarming it. Well, it hadn't killed her yet; maybe it could wait a little longer before striking.
Pretending to be asleep, she rolled over on her side- hesitating slightly when something creaked- put her hand on the knife and gripped it tight. It wasn't silver, only iron. Wouldn't do anything, except force it into another body, another stolen face. That's what they do: mold themselves into somebody's identity and wreak havoc with every footstep.
Taking a deep breath, she threw off the covers and ran to the light switch on the wall. As soon as light touched the room, the shifter moved, heading toward the window. It was in the shape of a man, tall, with deep chestnut eyes and curly black hair. And really, really pale.
It slammed open the window in a flurry of escape. She was too far away; the odds of jumping him and questioning him were slim. If it got away it would only shed its skin and disappear forever. Aiming with every ounce of effort she could muster, Sam threw the iron knife in an attempt to slow the shifter down. The weapon flew through the air with a lethal speed that could only have been achieved with years of practice.
It would have stopped on its target, should have given a deadly blow through the neck, but didn't. As soon at the knife tip made contact with the creature, it exploded into silver smoke that raced out the window.
Sam, momentarily stunned, stood there in silence. Then her hunter instinct kicked in and she ran toward the window. The knife lay embedded in the ground, the monster nowhere to be seen.
She had been so sure…
"It's a ghost."
"Wait, I'm still confused," Sam's younger sister, Lauren, said. "Is it a shape-shifter or a ghost?" They both sat at a small booth in the town's diner eating bacon, while Sam re-told her adventures of the previous night.
"A ghost I guess. But the eyes… damn Lauren you should have seen them. They weren't normal."
Lauren fixed her with a pointed glare. "Sam, do you even know what normal is? After sixteen years of living this life, you should know to expect anything." She waved a piece of bacon in the air, spreading the fatty smell all over the place. "For example, is this really a piece of bacon, or is it some witch voodoo I'm about to shove down my throat?" She took a handful of the delicious, greasy bacon and jammed it into her mouth, saying something incomprehensible at the same time.
Getting the message to shut up and eat, Sam pushed the crowding thoughts to the back of her mind, deciding instead to savor the moment. It was rare that the White girls ever got a decent breakfast, what with being on the road a majority of the time. The life of a hunter wasn't exactly easy, but Sam took pride in the fact that she was sort of like a hero to a lot of people. It was a good feeling. It usually covered the despair that pulled on her shoulders when someone died on the job.
It was their- Same, Lauren, and their Mother's- last day in the small town called New Hope. The girls had killed a Wendigo just a few days past but stayed because of the damage done to their car. Now it was fixed, though, and they would be on their way back home. Just in time to see their father before he left for another hunt. Being the only permanent Hunters in the state often kept them separated for long periods of time. It's not like evil things planned their attacks around the Whites' schedule. If only life was that easy.
Sam sighed, unable to keep the memories of last night away. She couldn't just skip town without taking action. That ghost was a threat, and it was here for a reason. Either that or it was after her. The thought sent a shiver down her back. Sam groaned and rubbed her temples.
The girls' mother walked inside that moment and sat down. She wore a grim, distant expression that did nothing to help the already vast amount of foreshadowing over Sam's head. With a pale face she picked up a water glass at random and brought it to her lips. She took a big gulp and set it down on the table with a slam.
"Mom?" Lauren asked, eyebrows raised.
Their mother, Ellen White, was a small town woman who fell in love young and never really grew out of her teen years. Like most female hunters, she had a certain spunk about her. Being a mother hadn't slowed her down at all, and despite Ellen's fear of the unknown (ironic, seeing what her profession is), Sam liked to think of her as one of the best hunters in the region.
Sam and Lauren's parents met years ago on a job with a pair of cannibalistic ghouls. They traveled together for years before eloping in Vegas and having two kids of their very own. They both refuse to tell the story of how they got into hunting, so Sam's guess is that it wasn't very pleasant. She's just lucky she was born into this rather than finding out the hard way.
"Car parts weren't right," their mother began, "it's going to be a week or so before new ones come in." Her voice was shaky.
That meant they would miss their father, again, before he left for a hunt. It wasn't the first time, but still. Sam hadn't seen her own father in over a month.
Lauren sighed, uncomfortably used to the situation at hand. "That doesn't explain why you're PMS-ing all over the diner, mom."
Their mother did not answer, but instead ordered a shot of vodka from a waiter, who gave her a weird look but reluctantly shuffled off to the bar after a brief inspection of ID. A few minutes later the server returned, barely able to place the tiny shot on the table before Ellen swept it up and downed it in a matter of moments.
With a gasp she sputtered, "Winchesters."