Just a quick one shot about life before the Winchesters...kind of. BUT DID YOU WATCH THE NEWEST EPISODE? I HAD A MENTAL BREAKDOWN. I'M SO SAD AND MAD. And anyways, I was just bored and wanted to write. Let me know is you want me to do another one-shot or something like that. It doesn't have to be about Ghost Meetings. It can be anything related to SPN. Thanks.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. The same sentence repeats in my head over and over as I walk into my house. My mom screaming at me as she follows behind me.
"What kind of fucking idiot to you have to be? You fucking disgraceful thing. We told you not to waste my money." Thing. I'm not human anymore. Have I ever been considered one to you assholes? I hold back a sigh and keep on walking 'til I'm sitting on the cheap scratchy couch.
"I'm talking to you, you stupid fuck!" Yeah. And I'm listening. You immature bitch. I don't reply. She gets even angrier. She storms over to me and grabs my arm in a death-grip. I swallow. She tightens her grip before flinging me up, making me almost fall across the small table in front of the couch.
"Talk! Or are you so fucking stupid that you forgot how to?" Oh man. You're real creative. I don't answer instead I look over to the pictures on the fireplace across from the TV. Three pictures of my brother and his baby that was put up for adoption. Two pictures of my oldest sister. One picture of the middle sister. Well technically it was a picture of all of us. I was on the far side. But, my parents 'accidently' bought a frame that was only big enough for ¾ of the picture. I was cut out.
Mother gets annoyed, bringing her fist back and landing it in my stomach. My eyes widen and I double over, coughing. This is the third time I've been hit by my parents. I deserve it. I don't make a sound as she slaps me across the face before shoving me back on the couch. I curl up in a ball, desperately wishing the bile in my throat would go back down. Blinking away the tears and breathing slowly in and out for a few minutes, I finally reach over across the table and grab the remote, ignoring the throbbing in my stomach. Turning the TV on, It turns on to the news channel. I almost turn, it to some other boring channel before I read the headline.
"Man who tortured several woman has been shot to death in ." It then goes onto a middle-aged man in front of a big house. St. Louis...that's an hour away from here.
"Thanks, Jane. I'm currently standing in front of the house where the latest female victim was brutally tortured. Reportedly, she knew the man identified as Dean Winchester, and felt comfortable to bring him into her home. But before she knew it he knocked her out and tied her to a chair. Then proceeded to torture her. The S.W.A.T team thankfully interrupted before he could kill her though. He escaped out through the balcony. An hour later Becky Warren made a call to the police, stating that Dean Winchester was found dead in her house." Dean Winchester. Winchester. That sounds familiar. Didn't my uncle mention the name once? Maybe he was talking about the gun.
I fall asleep an hour later to the sounds of infomercials playing over and over again. I wake up an hour later, panting, thinking about how realistic the nightmare was about the woman and two children being trapped in a house. Some invisible thing killing them. The next week I see something on the news about 'two dead victims and one hurt pastor, his daughter being targeted by some sort of serial killer.' The killings stopped randomly. That night I dreamt about the woman and her two children being carried out by two people. I never saw who saved them.
After I dreamt about an uncle and a father getting killed by unseen forces and the son committing suicide, and then seeing it on the news, I then realize that they weren't dreams. They were reality. And I was going insane.