This is a story I stated a couple of years ago and all but abandoned when I hated how it was coming out. Because I still liked the concept and didn't want to let it die, I decided to revisit it in an experimental kind of way. Each chapter (or most chapters) will largely be from a random, non-main character's prospective (i.e. People Dean and Sam might talk to, random spectators and eavesdroppers, and so on). I hope you all enjoy the slightly unique and experimental breath that brought this story from the brink of death. If you like it, don't hesitate to leave a review. Reviews fuel my creativity (and they don't hurt the old ego none, either).
Elsie awoke to an impossible darkness and a splitting headache. The overpowering smell of rubber and the throbbing in her skull left her so discombobulated she hardly noticed she was being carried like a sack of flour over some brute's shoulder. She tried to piece together her evening, half certain she had drunk herself into a stupor (that would explain the headache, wouldn't it?). She remembered walking out of work at the hospital. She recalled walking through the parking garage when a white van began to follow her at a menacing speed. The van had frightened her, but not enough to devour the confidence she had in her self-defense skills. Her nerves were on the downswing when the van looked like it was going to pass her, and then – WHAM! Something bludgeoned her in the side of the head and she watched stars explode across her field of vision before the world went dark.
Remembering this invoked a new sense of panic. Realizing she was being hauled potato-sack style intensified the dread in her bones. Instinct told her to lash out. To writhe and wiggle and scratch and bite (especially bite – always bite) her way to freedom. But the man was immensely stronger than Elsie, which meant the man who carried her was not actually a man at all.
Elsie managed to get a grip on her situation long enough to make use of her heightened senses. She searched beyond the rubbery interference for the scent of fresh air drifting in from an open door. The sound of her captors to calculate how many of them she was up against. The feel of hope. But all she could smell were monsters; the sulfuric stench of a demon, the decaying odor of a ghoul, the beastly scent of werewolf. All she could hear was their collective dismay; a young djinn was openly weeping, a witch was muttering in desperate tongues of ancient languages (Latin, mostly – witches loved Latin), and a rugaru was whimpering. All she could feel was Fear.
The Fear was everywhere. It pulsed through the whole stinking place. It touched every creature there, caressed them with its cold hands. And it radiated from the man-thing that was hauling Elsie down what sounded like a prison hall with brick flooring.
Elsie didn't know what was going on, but she surmised two things. One, the rubber bag shrouding her head had been crafted to overpower her senses long enough to prevent her from picking up any clues as to where she was and how to get out. Two, she was Fucked with a capital F.
The man-thing stopped, which was almost worse than being hauled down the hall. A loud whine of rusting metal pierced her ears as a heavy door yawned open. And then, quite unexpectedly, she was tossed like a ragdoll to a hard, cold floor.
Elsie and the stone floor were ill met. Her body slapped the surface, which returned the assault by dislocating her left shoulder. A sob lodged in her throat and was replaced with a sharp gasp. She ignored the eruption of pain (it would pass soon enough, anyway) and engaged in a skirmish with the rubber bag on her head, battling it with her right hand. The bag inevitably lost the fight (although it took a handful of long black hair as a souvenir), but it came loose only in time for Elsie to watch a dented door hammer shut, leaving a metallic echo and darkness in its wake.
Even in the dark, Elsie's deep brown eyes could see with crystal clarity her new surroundings. She took them in with eyes wide with terror as she slowly rose to her feet, cradling her shoulder as she stood. The darkness that surrounded her was accompanied by a cell of concrete, sturdy but old, with crumbles of rock and cracks and carvings. Scores of tallies scratched the gray walls in clusters, the ghosts of occupants past who had counted their days in the dreary (and that was putting it mildly) place. The tallies were paired with messages scrawled in thin cuts and oxidized blood. Help. God forgive me. The Abomination never loses. Abandon all hope.
Each word was as chilling as the next, but the one she found particularly unnerving was painted thick in flaking blood (vampire blood, to be more precise) across the metal door that ensured her captivity.
ABOMINATION WILL BE YOUR END.
"Oh god," Elsie gasped. She didn't know what Abomination was, but it made her undead heart skip about five beats before it sluggishly started, and then skipped seven more.
She sniffled. Choked on a sob and rubbed her shoulder, which was shifting itself back into place. Her eyes watered, and it took several furious blinks for her to keep them from falling. It took a few more rapid blinks before she noticed the window in the door. It was small, narrow and bared, but enough to give her a peek at the world she had been hurled into. She cautiously approached it like it was a sleeping dragon, and peered through it.
Outside, there were brick floors and more concrete and notched metal doors like her own. But that was ninety percent of what she could see. The other ten percent consisted of a set of big, lavender eyes that lit up among the mass of gray. The eyes came with an oval face and pillowy lips, and hair that was stark white with black stripes (or was it black hair with white stripes?). The unusual eyes, full of curiosity and empathy, studied Elsie from the cell across the way.
"Where are we?" Elsie asked her neighbor. A thought came to her and stole her breath. "Is this… hell?"
"No," the girl on the other side said. "What are you?"
Elsie hesitated. She could identify the other monsters by their smell. The woman across from her was unlike anything she had ever come across. It smelled new, but old. Light and dark. It looked innocent and mild, but felt threatening and powerful. It was confusing, contradicting, and, although Elsie didn't know what this young looking woman was, she knew it shouldn't be.
"Vampire," Elsie said with a tremble in her voice. "You?"
The girl with the lavender eyes blinked, but said nothing. Not to be impolite, Elsie suspected, but because of the look of shame that flickered across her eyes.
"What's going on?" Elsie asked when the girl remained silent. "Is he a hunter?"
"No," the stranger supplied helpfully but woefully. "That was Deimos. He's not the only one."
"The only one what?" Elsie asked, not bothering to withhold the distress from cracking her voice like a sledgehammer on asphalt. Elsie didn't know much about pagan gods. If the uniquely featured girl had said Zeus or Isis or Odin, Elsie would have put it together. The name of the Greek god of Fear meant nothing to her.
"God," the lavender-eyed thing said. "They're all gods."
"What do they want with us?" Elsie wanted to know. She curled her fingers around the bars and rattled the door, but she was no match for its strength. "Are they going to kill us?"
"No," was the response she was given. The lavender eyes filled with tribulation as they locked onto Elsie's. "I am."
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural, the CW or any of the talented people who labor to gift us the wonder that is Supernatural. This is a creative work of an obsessed fangirl who is not profiting from it (unless you count satisfaction as profit, in which case I am guilty of that, but nothing monetary is being made here.) Original characters are the brainchildren of "Domino Darkwolf", and she (I) take little to no responsibly for them; they were built with free will and they do as they please.