This is set towards the end of Season 3, with Dean's deal rapidly closing in. It will hopefully be multi-chapter, depending on how much support there is, but this is just to test the waters.
It was a cold night, but other than that, an ordinary one. The stars hidden beneath an impenetrable blanket of inky blackness, the air still and silent.
Stooping over the crib, she smoothed a careful hand over a tuft of blonde hair, musing at how quickly he'd grown. It seemed only days ago he'd been no bigger than a bag of sugar, but the months had soared by and her little boy was fast on his way to toddlerhood. It was a scary thought.
Absently, she glanced towards the clock and back again.
He was late again.
It wasn't unusual. Since her second trimester, he'd studiously avoided the house, making excuses, working overtime, business trips – it was as if he'd never wanted to be a father, when all the while he'd been the one enthusiastic to have a family, eager to have a son. He'd been so excited when she'd announced her pregnancy. And then, day by day his enthusiasm had waned. He'd become quiet, sullen, withdrawn. And now it seemed he barely wanted anything to do with them, with her.
And that hurt.
She scowled at the blank calendar, wondering bitterly if he was currently 'working overtime' with a female colleague.
A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. A thin, rhythmic tapping, too light to be Lee's hand. Curious now, she made her way down the corridor, hurrying faster as the knock sounded again, faster and increasingly urgent. She unhooked the chain, yanking the door inwards as her heart thudded in her chest.
A chill breeze rushed through her as she opened the door to the night, coming face to face with a middle aged woman, her face drawn tight in terror. Blood oozed from an ugly wound on her forehead, trickling sluggishly down one hollowed cheekbone to mingle with the tears glistening on pale flesh.
"Please," she sobbed, "There was a man…He-he…was…..please…"
She hovered there for a second, horrified as she stared at blood matted hair and vivid bruising.
"Of course!" she breathed, fighting a momentary wave of nausea that rose at the sight of blood.
"Come in."
She ushered the woman into the sitting room, digging out the first aid kit from under the sink.
As she hurried back into the room, something felt off. Something impossible to pinpoint, something minute, something tiny.
Something wrong.
She checked the crib with urgent eyes, a sigh surging from dry lips as she took in the sleeping infant. Still there. Still fine.
The hair on the back of her neck still rose, goosebumps pimpling on suddenly icy skin. The scene was exactly the same as she'd left it. Almost identical. She swallowed back the urge that bubbled up under her skin, the urge to flee. The air in the room seemed heavy and thick, her breathing harsh and difficult.
She set the first aid kit down upon the table, quelling the tremulous fear that roiled and scorched in her veins. Knelt beside the woman, with hands that shook horribly, wondering what on earth had conjured up this sensation of intense terror.
The woman sat slumped, head in her hands and she placed a gentle hand on the thin shoulder, feeling a burning heat blistering through the soft fabric. And suddenly, a rising stench. A powerful, burning, sickly smell that permeated her very being. Panic seared, white hot and jolting, lancing through her body like electricity and she jerked away with a cry.
Or at least tried to.
Tried to…..
Her hand was fixed in place, sealed, melted, fused to the woman's shoulder. She tugged sharply, chest heaving, mind seething with terror.
Then, a claw like hand lurched out to grasp her by the throat, powered by an almost inhuman strength. Grasping, clutching, squeezing. She choked, gasping for air, free hand flailing uselessly as she struggled for life.
And slowly, steadily, the woman's head rose, eyes glistening black as the night, bulging and bulbous in a face set with malice. She smiled, a dangerous, predatorial snarl that twisted her face into something utterly monstrous.
She tried to scream, but all that escaped her bruised throat was a hoarse, keening noise, barely loud enough to hear.
"What….are….you?" She croaked, clawing at her throat in desperation.
The snarl widened, cracking. Flesh began to twist and fade, a dark, hazy shadow oozing from every pore, swirling and fusing and swelling grotesquely before her eyes and she watched on in utter horror.
She hit the floor with a dull thud, heaving a breath through her crushed throat and she cast panicked eyes over towards the crib, the crib the black, glutinous mass was rapidly encroaching on. Horror bubbled in the pit of her stomach and she crawled upwards, using the leg of the sofa for support. She dragged herself upright, staggering towards the crib as the maelstrom of sheer blackness engorged, a shape forming through the thick haze that surrounded it and clutched at the crib, snatching her son into her arms.
She staggered away, making for the door with the last of her strength. It was like fighting through treacle, the air thick and dense, sucking at her, denying her, restraining her.
Then she was being drawn backwards, screaming, fighting, terror pounding in her heart like a death knoll. Her back slammed into hard plaster, the blackness advancing on her with vicious intent, still shaping, still taking form.
Coarse, leathery wings sprouted from the dark, a huge head surging upwards splaying tentacles upwards that writhed and twisted in the hot air. Not tentacles.
Snakes.
A serpent like tail and a crude, humanoid body with claw-like arms that extended towards her, beckoning. And the stench. The foul, burning, rotting stench.
The stench of sulfur.
The maw gaped wide, fangs glinting in the low light. And within the mouth, the red hot glow of hellfire burning from its innards with sickening glee.
"Abyzou," came the growling hiss.
"I am Abyzou."
Three hundred kilometres away, in a motel bed that had seen better decades, Sam Winchester jolted awake with fire burning in his gut. The laptop splayed in his lap burned artificial brightness into his aching skull, the screen screaming of failure.
Abyzou.
Why did that sound familiar? He glanced back to the screen, the date screaming of just how little time he had left.
Barely a month. A month to save his brother. Glancing across at the sprawled form of his brother on the opposite bed, he felt fresh panic surge through him, chasing awake the sleep that gnawed at the edges of his brain.
And started typing with renewed vigour.
Hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to give constructive criticism, I'd greatly appreciate any thoughts anyone has. Please review.