Hey guys, this is my first fanfiction in a while and the first for Supernatural so I would appreciate reviews to tell me what I can work on and any ideas you may have. Definitely point out any grammar mistakes I make (there will be some) because I like to convince myself that I'm infallible when it comes to grammar.
The light filtered through windows, bouncing off the dust in the air, and illuminating the room in an eerie green glow. The walls were streaked with blood, the crimson liquid a harsh contrast to the off-white paint. In the middle of the room were three chairs all facing outwards, with three figures facing outwards. On the floor was a man, lying face down with a pool of blood radiating out from it. I walked closer to the body, carefully placing my feet, avoiding the patches of blood. Upon reaching the body I knelt down and flipped him over, but when he fell on his back I stared in shock at his face. There were no facial features at all, just a smooth patch of skin. Startled, I stumbled back, bumping into one of the people tied to the chair.
"Blake, I'm surprised you came back," a deep rumbling voice said, from on of the dark corners of the room, "I'd have thought you knew to stay away."
I turned towards the voice, my fists curling up, my teeth clenched. In the corner was a dark figure, whose face was completely obscured by shadows, with only a strange red glow coming from his eyes. I moved towards the figure, now ignoring the three hostages, but my body was suddenly unable to move. No muscle would respond other than my head.
"Who are you?" I asked, my eyes still struggling to see anything to hint at who the dark figure was.
"I'm your reckoning," he replied, stepping forward. Now a line of light fell across his face and I could see a sharp, hooked nose with two glowing eyes, the same color as the blood streaked on the walls. "Your father has been quite the thorn in my side for some time, but as you can see I've taken care of him. But how do I know he didn't teach his son some of the tricks of the trade? I need to cover all the bases and of course your sisters and your mother were just icing on the cake."
"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," I spat back, "You're insane."
As the man opened his mouth in retort I heard a loud crash behind me and suddenly a bright, white light came upon the room like a blazing star. I heard heavy boots pounding on the old, wooden floorboards and a strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me back.
"Amadeus, I should have figured you would come here," the man standing in front of me growled. Wasting no time, the man whipped out a revolver and shot at the other man, but as I watched the bullet stopped in midair and dropped to the floor with a ping.
As I watched the two men stare at each other, the room soon began to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it was pitch black. My body soon lost all sense of weight and I began to float in nothingness.
"Blake?" a gruff voice asked, and I felt a rough punch to my arm. I groggily sat up and rubbed my eyes. I looked around in the car, a dusty old black Mustang with squeaky leather seats, and looked out the window. Shooting by us, I saw fields of wheat and corn covering acres and acres.
"Yeah?" I replied, "Where are we?"
"Somewhere in Kansas, I think," Ben replied, and then looked at me, surveying me with a curious look, "You had another nightmare. It sounded worse this time. More tossing."
"You think we're Kansas?" I retorted, rolling down my window and breathing in the dry air, "I'm pretty sure that's one of the things you're supposed to be keeping track of."
Ben grunted and then fell silent, fiddling with the static-y radio. I flipped through Ben's brown, leather journal, the pages yellowed with age. I thumbed through the pages, my eyes gliding over the words, but never actually reading a single one. Running through my head was the dream, the same one I'd been having for weeks now, but this time it was longer. This time Ben actually made an appearance in it. For weeks it had merely been Amadeus and I in my living room; I would always be filled with a crushing sense of despair, but with Ben in the dream it was different. Him being there made me lose some of the despair, merely to be replaced with anger. Blinding, uncontainable anger.
"So where are we headed next?" I asked, not looking up from his journal.
"Whig, Kansas. There have been some murders recently that look like they could be our kind of thing. All the victims have been middle-aged men, most were well off, and all of them are married. They seem to be leaving their wives considerable sums of money," Ben explained and I could feel his eyes on me waiting for a reaction.
"Coven of witches?" I asked, still pretending to be engrossed in Ben's journal, "Could have planned the murders, get rid of their husbands, get the money, easy deal."
"I was thinking that too, but this doesn't seem to match the usual M.O. of witches, but I think we're going to look into it," Ben said as he rummaged in the bag lying on the center console until he found a folder. "This is my research, catch up on it. I've also put your I.D. in there, we're going in as state troopers."
I mumbled in agreement and grabbed the folder. Opening it up I spread the sheets across my lap and began to read up on Whig, Kansas.