Here's a new cross-over Supernatural/Crimson Peak. I hope you'll like like.
Special thanks to Marina Ka-Fai for agreeing to be my Beta on this story. English is not my first langage.
CHAPTER 1 - Death's-head hawkmoth
- Where am I ?...
A distant music, echo of a long gone era, and the swash of a water falling on the ground were the only thing he could detect. Covered by a strange white fog, he had a feeling that someone or something, hidden in the moist and oppressive foggy curtain, was staring at him. He was not alone… The dreadful thing was soon swooping down at him… He could feel the foul breath of Death on his neck, hear its ruthless laughter in every drop of water hammering the ground…
He closed his eyes, dazzled by the whitish glow that surrounded him. He felt something fall on his bare foot. He jumped and opened his eyes. The steam dispersed slowly, little by little, let him catch a glimpse of where he was… An outdated shower room of a men club… He quickly took a look around him and figured out he was alone… However, he could not forget this disturbing feeling of being watched. He watched down, smirked, realising that, what made him jumped, was just a soap brick. He watched in front of him, seeing an overflowing basin and an old misted-up mirror. He wiped with the palm of his hand the mist. The face he saw looked just like him… He noted with nervousness that his hair and beard were longer, he appeared less tired than usual… The face he saw was definitly not his own. He came closer to the mirror to examine the man who faced him.
A shadow flitted behind him, as fast as a wing flapping of a butterfly, a thrill shivered down his spine… This shape was so quick that he nearly doubted to have seen it in the mirror. He turned back to note he was still and always alone. Whispering, he get back to his previous examinations. Surely, he must have been dreaming up… Years of hunting, the threat of the Apocalypse, the care he felt constantly for Sam and Dean were perhaps too much for him… This hallucination was surely made by the lack of sleep of this past nights.
He loosened his warning, when he felt a hand grabbing him by the neck. His head violently met the faience basin for several times. He passed out, as his body hit the ground. The water running on the ground melted to the blood flowing of his cracked skull… He felt himself falling down in the darkness… Everywhere he looked, he couldn't see anything but mirk…
A weak light began to appear… Cold, uncanny, threatening… The shape of a woman slowly emerged from the center of it. Wearing a black dress, the face hidden by dark veil, she seemed to suddenly focused on him. Pointing her bony finger at him, the ghostly form rushed toward him with rage. He barely took a glimpse of her tormented skull before she vanished, her beyond-the-grave voice falling in the darkness :
- Beware of Crimson Peak !... Edith… Save her…
Breathless, Bobby woke up of his odd dream… Much too real, much too disturbing, much too oppresive to be just a dream… He swallowed with difficulty and shook his head, trying to make it go away. He turned the light on his nightstand on and catched his alarm clock. 4 a.m.
- Damn ! I have slept five hours ! Bloody wasted time ! I'm too old for that crap !
Grumbling, he sat on the side of his bed, and jumped when he saw the light trembled, plunging his room in the darkness for a brief moment. He turned towards the lamp and saw the reason of this failure. A dark moth hit the glass bulb of the lamp, making the light flicker. In a flash of light, the butterfly fell on the nightstand. Bobby leaned towards the little body, fighting against death, its velvety wings flapping desperatly. To his approach, the small creature evaporated and the same beyond-the-grave voice echoed in his head :
- Edith…