A/N: Like whoa. I wanted to write a Supernatural fanfic for my lovely old friends, and this is what suddenly started flowing from my fingers. Again I say, like whoa. Remember, I don't own anyone – except my lovely character that will be mentioned later. isn't revealing anything until you actually read it Also, I have this character in another story that I wrote out by hand, and am in the process of typing. This one is more of a prelude, I think, to that one. Who knows right now? shrug So, sit back, relax, and enjoy. Don't forget to R&R plz!! hugs everyone Oh, and this was inspired by "Bones" by Little Big Town. Yeah, just thought you'd like to know. shrug And spoiler alert for Season Two, just in case. Well, definitely for the first episode.
A soft wind blew across the orange tinted sky, carrying along the sound of panting in exasperation. The soft pitter-patter of rain upon pavement was met with the rhythmic thuds of heavy cowboy boots jogging, running. There was something amiss in the air, something wrong. Panicked inhalations of the autumn air burned down a dry throat in terror and yet something more. Hope. Hope that if this frightened being could possibly make it back to the safe walls of the cabin just up the old road, that they'd be saved of whatever horror lay behind, chasing forever more. The patterned claps against the pavement sped up in wanting. Wanting of safety.
The constant beeping of an alarm clock filled the stuffy morning air in an old, smelly cabin. A feminine hand reached out and hit the snooze button again to shut the black metallic contraption off. Rolling, she reached over and unplugged it from the outlet on the wall beside the bed. Blue toenails escaped the disheveled plaid covers that were gathered at the foot of the bed and no longer tucked into their separate corners of the mattress. Soft sounds of a song echoed through the cabin as she turned on a radio and slowly cranked up the music, hoping not to wake anyone else but herself up. Her other houseguests should wake up soon, but that was another matter.
What goes around, comes around
Feel it breathin' down, heavy on you
Covers piled up at the end of a thin mattress let anyone know how unkempt this man normally was, especially in his sleep. The blue plaid boxer shorts – which had been a gift – were almost half pulled down from his night of happy dreams. He always had the best dreams, but none of them came true. Not like they did for his best friend. His brother. For a moment, the older man thought he had heard an alarm clock buzzing in the background, but had figured it wasn't for him since his hunting partner hadn't started yelling at him to get out of bed. That meant more sleep for him, right? So, he turned back over, his hand clutching what was left of the covers.
A phone rang softly, muffled by the thick jean pocket it had been stuffed into. No one moved to answer it, though. Fire crackled in the corner of the room, inside of the old brick fireplace that was built with this cabin to keep its occupants warm during winter and whenever else they may need it. There was a rusty metal poker sticking halfway out of the fireplace itself, and heavy pacing shook the dust on the refurbished hardwood floor. A chair, perhaps, had been moved to the center of this room, and someone was sitting upon it. Tied to it.
You made that bed you're layin' in,
Deeds that you have done, now you can't undo
In the next bed over, the covers were almost equally undone. But, the man inside the bed didn't seem to be having as pleasant a sleep as the older man in the first bed, nor as the grumpy woman in the other room. No, he was tossing and turning in bed constantly, having what seemed like fits in his obviously restless sleep. Unseen where flashes in his head of things to come, of future evils coming to walk the earth. But this time it was different. There were more recognizable figures. And he was outwardly sound asleep – aside from his crazed tossing and turning and inaudible ramblings of things to come. The things he saw were coming – sooner rather than later – and he had to stop them. But, the tall figure couldn't shake himself awake. Not until the vision had finally played out in his head.
Hardened, joyless laughter echoed across the room, bouncing off of the olden wood beams and coming back to its source. Now he stepped from his shrouded cloud of shadow that had hidden him for so long, and stopped pacing. Mind games had never been this mans calling in life. But something had taken control over his body. He was no longer himself, no longer to be trusted by anyone – his family included. Well, his only living family, that is. Only two of them survived the past twenty-three years of running, pain. Now half of the equation was possessed – not himself. The tall figure with shaggy brown hair laughed more as he bent down for the iron handle of the protrusion from the fireplace. It was almost time to begin.
You've got bones in your closet,
You've got ghosts in your town