Supernatural
Storm
Trafalgar Square, London, Britain.
The day is dull and wet. The rain clouds seem to be at their darkest. Not many would look up and see this as a bad thing, just dark clouds filled with rain to them, but Daniel Storm, a twenty seven year old man with short, dark brown hair, blue eye, six feet tall and well built, knows different. He is walking towards a busy, Trafalgar Square with purpose, but stops at the top of the steps and looks over to Nelsons Colum.
He is looking for someone.
As people rush passed him and through the square he finds who he is looking for, the figure is hard to see for now but to, Storm the person is unmistakable. He sighs heavily, and then makes his way down the steps and across the wet greying concrete, with less purpose and a little more hunched.
He reaches the column and standing there in a long grey trench coat is a man. He looks to be in his late sixties, with slightly longer, greying hair, than Storm. They are around the same height, but the older man is shorter through age. His eyes are dark and battle scarred and his face, joyless. His frame looks weak but he is broad.
"This can't be a good thing, if you have summoned me here." Said Storm. His accent isn't distinctive to any region of Britain, but unmistakably English to any foreigner, and it's lightly coarse.
"No it's not good, Daniel. As you know, I wouldn't have called you to a meet without it being of grave importance." The man replied. His voice was darker and coarser, sounding like it had been damaged somehow.
Storm sighed and then a small, smile came to light, a show of joy appeared in his eyes. "It's good to see you uncle, all the same."
No emotion reared in his uncle, but inside he felt it. "You too kid."
As much as they both wanted to hug and pat each other on the back, they stayed in their manly stances.
"Is it them?"
"Yes, they have resurfaced and are out for revenge and to raise hell."
"Mum?"
"She is safe."
A tear almost breached Storm's bottom eyelid. "I miss her."
"I know."
"Where do I have to go?"
"America."
"Why there… the brothers have never had an interest in America before."
The man wipes the rain from his face and flicks his hand. "Damned rain. No they haven't, not in the last few thousand years at least."
"What changed?"
"The apocalypse."
"Because it was stopped?"
"Yeah… two brothers called the Winchesters. That's who the brothers are interested in and why they have gone to America."
"I am to save them?"
"Not quite, they are capable of saving themselves, believe me. After all they did stop the apocalypse."
"I didn't mean it like that… I just – it's been a tough few years."
"Yeah, I know. They don't know the brothers, they probably never even heard of them, not many have. Even their Angel is unaware of them."
"Castiel doesn't know? But -"
"The brothers are older than even he. And despite what the pompous bastards like to think, even they don't know everything."
Storm sighs and it's his turn to wipe the rain from his face. "Damned rain is right." He flicks his hand. "I'll get the first flight out."
"You could just call him."
"I ain't calling no Angel!"
"Not that he needs to be called as he can hear us. The stubborn arsehole."
Storm chuckles.
"What are you laughing at? You're just as stubborn as he is."
"I'll see you soon uncle."
"You better."
The two men looked to each other with saddened stares and both tried to raise a smile. After a pause they both walked their separate ways.