It's already horrible to awoken from one of the most wonderful dreams you could ever have. It's even more frightful to awoken from one of the most wonderful dreams you could ever have by a loud crash that sounded suspiciously like someone breaking into her apartment via the window. In which it was highly probable to be, considering that goddamn ladder was right next to the frame.
Those were the first thoughts running through Emma's head, funnily enough. Not ' oh, how shall I defend myself?! ' or even ' time to fight! '. It was the calm before the storm, supposedly. There was no denying, however, that she was now going rigid at the sound of scrabbling, the crunch of hard shoes on broken glass, the draft of cool air already flowing through the apartment. A jolt of fear ran through her veins, turning her ice-cold body to a blood-boiling warmth within a manner of seconds. Her body temperature rose rapidly, and dropped just as fast, under the horror that was overtaking her consciousness.
Oh, put on your big girl pants, Emma. She's already experienced situations such as these – It was a common occurrence when going through as many foster families as she did. When she was claimed by the ones that just needed the money, feeding her as little as humanly possible, living in risky neighbourhoods where break-ins were nothing to freak out over. She's had to defend herself more than a couple of times.
Her wariness of violent break-ins or thieves were evident by the small items littered around her house that would most likely get her locked up. If one were to look through her drawers, or peer closely at the umbrella case, they would see the little self-defence objects that would be uncommon in the regular household. A gun in that compartment, a rather sharp knife in this drawer. Nothing too big, nothing too important, yet all life-threatening. Speaking of self-defence items…
She reached underneath her bed, shifting blindly through old clothing she really couldn't be bothered picking up and putting through the wash. Her fingers brushed against a metal, cylindrical item, and her hand closed around its cool base. Dragging it upwards, the shadows showed that it was a large bat, heavy and solid, its weight a true comfort to her jumpy nerves.
Emma slid her feet out of the bed, her socks making the wooden floors slippery as she stood. Grasping the bat in both hands, she slowly began walking forward, feeling as if she were in a dream within the darkness. Her body felt limp in relief that her son, Henry, was having a sleepover at his friend Avery's apartment. What a fortunate coincidence, was all she could think at that very moment of realisation, until her shoulder hit the doorframe.
Stepping out, she tried to keep her footsteps at light as humanly possible. It was important that she were barely even there, but it seemed her hopes only made herself noisier. Every step made a faint creak, a roar in the silence, only accompanied by the whistle of the wind rushing through from the broken glass of her living room. She flinched at every groan of the wood, finally deciding to stay near the wall, where the wood would be more stable, and succeeded in making her way near the entry from the living room to the hallway towards her bedroom without being murdered.
Grasping the corner of the wall gently, she leaned on one leg to peer uncertainly around the corner, unaware of what she may be greeted with. Would the thief by male, or female? Would they have a gun, or another weapon? How many of them were there? As her gaze focused, she realised that a lone, male figure was standing amidst the rubble of her destroyed window. The darkness was all too much, so she could barely see anything of him, except for that he had a long coat and some sort of curved item in his left hand. The shadows did not allow her to identify him, or see even the faintest feature.
Grasped by a sense of ' Just do it ' – thanks Nike -, Emma took a tentative step out into the space, hoping she could remain unseen. Apparently that was impossible with this tall male, who turned around at her small movement, whirling with a stance of wariness and curiosity. Immediately, the moonlight hits the right side of his face, and glints off his blue gaze. His optics are locked onto his face, and Emma can't move.
She can see his beauty – It was obvious, and even under the vaguest amount of pale light, he seems to glow with wisdom and invisible age. But that's not what keeps her locked in her defensive stance, her mouth slack-jawed. It's the sense of unforgettable, unexplainable nostalgia that's decided to wrestle and slam her stomach. Her body decides to change its temperature once more, going ice-cold and fiery-hot within the space of five seconds.
Time escapes the two, the thudding of her heart the only time-keeper, but even that was being ignored. It appeared mutual that neither wanted to move, to break this beautiful trance, no matter their goals. Her, to knock him out. Him, to do… Well, steal, she supposed? Well, that was, until he opened his mouth – In which's jaw was ticking violently -, to speak in a shuddery voice.
" Emma? "
At that, the world begins to spin, as if her brain can barely handle what's currently happening. Her stomach does a somersault, twirling, bile rising in her throat. Her head begins pounding, and her muscles can barely keep her standing any longer. She gives in to the sensation of falling into a lovely, escaping sense of unconsciousness, and her last conscious motion is crumpling to the ground, and the world fading into darkness.
Hello there! I'm CaptainFrosty, and this is a new story I'm starting, by the name of Purely Fictional. It IS a Supernatural x Once Upon a Time crossover, leaning on OUaT but still with plenty of Supernatural. This first chapter – The prologue – unfortunately doesn't feature our friends from Supernatural, however they'll be coming along in the next one! Enjoy, my sweethearts, and I'd LOVE IT if you FAVOURITED, FOLLOWED, and more importantly REVIEWED. I LOVE reviews!
This was written to twenty one pilots – Vessel and Blurryface.