Wicked Twisted Road
By, Ne'J
A/N:
I need to come up with a better title. As for the title, it's the lines from a song called, "Wicked Twisted Road" by Reckless Kelly. It's a pretty song~
As for the story, yes it takes place in the future. Yes it has different characters. Yes it will have the Winchesters, I mean, duh come on. Yes it takes place after the Apocalypse. (Wait, WHAT?!) Yes I think I came up with something plausible enough to work for the benefit of this story.
The main character is Michael. Michael being a boy from the first season who watched Sam and Dean take down the Striga. (I hope I spelled that right). Not going to let you in on much else.
I apologize for errors. Sorta threw this together quickly. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Well, for the most part. Their new personalities I guess, but I take no credit!
Chapter One:
A Cold One
Michael rubbed the rim of the cool beer bottle in a circular motion over his lips. His nose caught the sour scent, it teased his taste buds. His eyes lazily glanced from the idle bartender sorting different liquor bottles to the newspaper the man a few stools down from him. He watched the older gentleman who appeared so drawn into the black and white text. Michael felt the corner of his lip twinge into an amused smile.
The alone waitress took a seat left to him, flipping her brown hair out of her face playfully. She winked at him, before turning her focus on the bartender, pretending to listen to her bosses rambling. However, her eyes were very cautiously peering at Michael, looking him up and down, approved.
The right corner of his lip curved again, he was used to this. Young, just barely turning the age to drink a few months ago. Of course he had tasted the cold edge of a hard Miller years before. Smooth dirty blonde hair, that was growing aggressively after been tackled by a buzz cut. It turned saggy, the hair style women were into right now. Brilliant, dark green eyes framed by long brown lashes and handsomely sculpted thick brows. The square jaw and a steady muscular figure that hit the six foot mark perfectly.
He took a quick sip, indulging his senses and passed her a friendly glance and head nod. She grinned, twiddling her fingers as a greeting, then pressed them against her rose red lips.
She was flirting with him. Michael sighed. He just wanted to be friendly.
"What's your name?"
"Michael, yours?"
"Janey." She faced him, rolling her shoulders back, trying to show off her chest. "What are you doing out here?"
"Just out on a job." He replied, taking a longer swig of his drink. "Hey barkeep, one of whatever she wants."
Her eyes lit up, he knew he made a mistake in doing so, but it was nice to prolong the company. No matter how interested they might be.
"Just the same as him," Janey started to lean closer to Michael's direction. "What kinda of job?"
Here is where they pry, Michael thought. Seeing if the handsome, young, hopefully single, man makes money. The desirable catch. And this is where he pulls of his corny sense of humor, which they either hate or love.
"If I told you, I would have to kill you."
"Oh, so you're an FBI agent?"
"Maybe. Can't tell you."
She giggled, bouncing girlishly on the stool. She leaned over further, and titled her hair to let it roll across her low v cut shirt. "You must be! A fit guy like you out in the boonies must be here because of all those recent disappearances."
"I must be, I must be." He nodded. Michael went to pick up his beer, but the sounds of heavy stomping coming his direction caught his attention.
Before he could move, or even take another sip from his drink, a tough hand gripped his shoulder. The strong forced pulled him in a 180 degree turn, facing a rather large, and gruff looking Harley riding wannabe.
"You flirtin' with my girl?" The man's voice threatened.
"Wouldn't think of it. Brunette's aren't my type," Michael turned towards her, after hearing an insulted squeak. "Sorry babe." He winked.
The man drew back his arm, raring to launch a strong punch Michael's way. Michael kicked his legs up, slamming them into the man's chest, knocking him a few feet away to give himself some free space.
The man stumbled, but smirked proudly. "So, the little pretty boy can fight back?"
"More like the little pretty boy can kick your ugly—" Michael jumped out of the way of a flying chair. "Strong arm my good man."
His foe scowled. He took one giant leap towards him, blinded by his rage. Michael grabbed his bottle in one swift motion, and stepped out of the way of the charging bull. Michael crashed the bottle against the muscle budging bald head, watching pieces of glass and precious, wasted beer run across the back of a leather jacket. Michael's attacker paused for a brief moment, stunned in pain. It gave the young man enough time to bring up his leg into his attacker's stomach, knocking the wind and conscious out of the man's body.
With a loud thud, his body felt limb against the ground. The waitress looked both stunned, yet aroused by Michael's strength. Though she couldn't mask the bit of anger for taking out her boyfriend so easily. She probably was dating him based on his rough exterior.
"Well," Michael turned to the barkeep. "That was interesting. But, I think it's time to get some rest." he laid a roll of wad up bills on the countertop.
Another hand grabbed his arm; he felt nails against his skin. His eyes met Janey's hungry gaze. "Where are you doing to stay?"
"Again, if I told you, I'd have to kill you." He winked, and with one motion, reached into his tan, leathery biker's jacket. His hands gripped a sliver pistol. A black strap around the gun, dangling a wooden, beautifully craved cross swayed. "But, I need to kill you anyway babe."
Janey stared at him in utter disbelief, eyes filled with fear. She stood up from the bar stool, and her mask lifted with a smirk. Her fingers pressed gently against the mouth of the barrel. "Such a smart little boy. You knew it was me?"
"After much trial and error, I figured it out miss succubus." He cautiously paced around her, gun still firmly poised towards her face. "I mean, why else would a broad like you be caught with him?"
She snickered, her once gray eyes flashed a deadly red. "You know, you're suppose to like people for what's on the inside. That's what counts."
"Uh huh. I'm sure you follow that philosophy. Oh wait…you kinda do, you like to suck their souls away."
"Yes, and it's so delicious. I wonder what yours will taste like." She knocked the gun out of Michael's gun before he could react. Then, her leg collided with his side, causing him to slide across the wooden floors into a table.
"And I was really hoping we could be doing something a little more fun than fighting." She teased.
Michael rolled over, coughing, dragging himself to his feet. "Come now, what's more fun than fighting?" he weakly grimaced. She watched her personage disappear in a flash, then felt her nails grinding into his neck. He grabbed her arm, trying to pull away, desperately gasping for hair. His feet left the ground, and she held him high in the air. The bartender and the man with the newspaper stood in the background, terrified, huddled against the back wall.
Michael's eyes darted about the room frantically looking for some way out. He kicked her, even resolving to hitting below the belt, but he didn't seem to affect her in any way. He hated it when that happened.
His whole body was starting to go limp, and the room was beginning to blur. She lowered him back towards the ground, but his feet loosely floated across the floor. "It was fun honey, but, I'm starved." Her lips meet his.
Michael cursed in his head, praying his luck would start to run. He tried thinking of a quick way out as he felt his body grow fatigued with every awkward lashing of the succubus tongue pooling into his mouth. Michael thought he had something, but the annoying Latin chanting was breaking his concentration.
His eyes started open, and he could breathe again. The demon released her hold on him, and dropped to the ground, withering in pain. Michael dropped to his knees, gasping for air, feeling the bleeding indents in his skin. He watched Janey's body heave, slowly gagging out a thick, black fog. She screamed, eyes rolling back in her head, shaking vigorously. Finally her body dropped lifelessly to the ground, and the black mist screamed, disappearing.
"You're welcome." Another young man said, shaking his head at Michael. He reached over, helping him to his feet.
Michael stared into a pair of annoyed gray eyes, the dim lighting of the room casted a shadow across his normally vibrant freckles. "Thanks for saving my backside, Jesse."
Jesse nodded slowly, running a hand through his darker brown hair. He shoved Michael's pistol into his chest, smiling. "What would you do without me?"
Michael shrugged. "Either have one less person to worry about." Jesse rolled his eyes, zipping up his black hoodie. Michael leaned his arm on his younger friend's shoulder. "Or be dead."
"Hey ladies!" a voice called. Both men stared at the bars entrance, a pair of dark brown eyes leered at both. "I'm tired, can we get rolling now? And hungry. Mikey, you get to by dinner because you just got your rear handed to you by a girl."
Michael sneered, reaching behind the bar's counter and grabbing a handful of paper towels to dab his neck with. "That's not fair!"
"It's completely fair," Jesse retorted, placing a few more bills on the counter top. "Hope this pays for a new table for you." He smiled.
"Remember, I get a handicap when it comes to fighting the monsters! You're freakin' Jesus and your well…" Michael shook his head at the man slumped against the doorway. "Eric, you're just special."
"Why yes I am special, my mommy and daddy did always tell me that. I was their little angel. …Ish."
"Ish indeed. Now—" Michael paused feeling the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. He grabbed it with one swift motion, and flipped the screen. "Uncle Sam's got another case for us."