Never Ending Supernatural Story
Dianna Wickham
Disclaimer: Do not own Supernatural or The Neverending Story by Michael Ende (RIP)
Summary: This story begins with a lonely chubby 12 year old boy named Samuel Winchester and the strange book that draws him into the beautiful but doomed world of Fantastica.
Chapter 1
Fantastica in Danger
Carl Conrad Coreander Old Books read in fancy faded lettering across the store window. Sam Winchester peaked in between the letters, eyeing the mounds of books inside wistfully. It had been two weeks since they moved here to New York, two weeks that Sam has barely seen his dad as he was engrossed in his latest hunt for wear wolves. The lunar cycle would be perfect the next couple nights, so Sam expected not to see his father at all. And in the meantime, now that he was considered old enough, Sam was left to his own devices. Since school had finished for the summer that left the only thing Sam did outside of school. With determination, Sam made his way into the old book shop. Meandering his way through familiar beloved titles, Sam began the search for something new.
"Goodness gracious!" There came an unexpected exclamation from behind Sam, making the untried young hunter jump.
Apparently someone was sitting behind one of the many mounds of books in one of those faded chairs famous for being in the television series Mystery Theater. An old man with a pipe sat there with a worn book in his hands, blinking owlishly at him through his coke bottle frames. The man frowned, "listen my boy, I can't abide children. I know it's the style nowadays to make a terrible fuss over you—but, I don't go for it. I simply have no use for children. As far as I'm concerned, they're no good for anything but screaming, torturing people, breaking things, smearing books with jam and tearing the pages. It never dawns on them that grown-ups may also have their troubles and cares. I'm only telling you this so you'll know where you're at. Any-way, I have no children's books and I wouldn't sell you the other kind. So now we understand each other, I hope!"
The man made an impassioned harrumph sound before continuing with his reading.
Sam blinked a few times, unsure of what to do. He really wanted to buy a book… but this man with the attitude was dismissing him because he was a child. Sam, not for the first time, wished he had someone bigger with him to stick up for him when words failed.
Sam cleared his throat uncertainly.
The man looked up with consternated frown, "you're still here?"
"I just wanted to say, not all children are like that." Sam said in a quiet meek voice.
The man harrumphed again, resting his book on the arm chair so that he could level his gaze at the squirming pudgy twelve-year old.
"And I suppose you're the admirable exception?"
Sam lowered his gaze, "I'm just looking for a book, mister… and I don't read children books, I haven't for a long time."
The man looked at the boy critically, "What's your name kid?"
"Samuel Winchester." The boy stated promptly, glancing up hopefully.
"A rather odd name."
"Like Carl Conrad Coreander is any better…" Sam muttered.
The man leaned forward sharply in agitation, "what was that?"
"Nothing." Sam looked away again.
"Why aren't you out playing with your hooligan friends, Sam Winchester, instead of pestering me?"
"I don't have any friends." Sam hazel brown eyes were sad.
"And why is that?" The man asked curiously.
Sam shrugged his shoulders, and adjusted his backpack, before brushing his shaggy brown hair back from his eyes and sticking his hands into his jean pockets.
"Dunno. I just moved here, but everyone thinks I'm a freak."
"Why do you suppose they think you a freak?" The man's voice was not harsh, nor was it gentle.
Sam shrugged again, tracing the same path with nervous hands that he took earlier at the gesture.
"Are you athletic?"
Sam shook his head, glancing down guiltily at his chubbiness. Many times did he hear the harsh commanding words of his father, telling him over and over of his disappointment at Sam's clumsiness.
"I suppose you're a genius then, always know the answers and raising your hand in class." The man seemed to be enjoying classifying the boy before him.
Sam again shook his head, he didn't consider himself to be a genius and he rarely raised his hand in class. Raising your hand drew attention to you, and often gave cause for ridicule.
The man became disgruntled again, "then what are you good at?"
Sam shrugged, "I like to read…"
The man gave a nod of acknowledgment, being a bookstore owner; he found no fault in that.
"What is it that you like to read then?"
Sam looked around at the large book shelves packed with old books and the stacks of books to his left and to his right. Close enough on both sides to reach out and touch.
It was a comfortable familiar feeling.
"I guess I like them all." Sam stated finally after a long moment of silence.
"All? You seem like the type to like fantasies about vampires, wear wolves, and ghosts… isn't that what most little boys read nowadays?"
"I see enough of that outside of books; don't need to read about it." The boy muttered meekly to himself.
"What was that boy, speak up!" The man gave off yet another disgruntled harrumph before touching the book at his side, as if intending to pick it up, but just then the phone rang. With some difficulty, Mr. Coreander pulled himself up out of the armchair and made his way into the back to answer the phone. A moment later, Sam could hear the quiet mumbles of phone conversations. The boy fidgeted, wondering if he should leave after all. The little pocket money he had could be put to better use.
Sam's eyes fell to the vacated spot that the old man had sat. Resting innocently on the armchair was the forgotten book that the old man had been reading when Sam came in. Curious, Sam moved closer to study the cover. It was a strange book with aged brown leather covering that shimmered in the light like silk, bound to the front was a metal adornment of two snakes, gold and silver, biting each others tail in a never ending loop. The title read; the Never Ending Story. Sam felt a shock of energy course through him, before being filled with an overwhelming need to reach out and stroke the spine of the old book. To put to memory the feel of the old book, to crack it open and breathe in its musty pages before devouring its contents.
Sam was positive that whatever story this book contained, Sam was meant to read it. But the boy knew that the old man would not part with what was obviously a very expensive and valuable old book that was possibly one of a kind to a twelve year old with little pocket money. Now normally Sam considered himself to be an honest boy, but he was no stranger to the illegal thanks to his father's teachings. Besides, Sam could always return the book when he was done. Nodding to himself in decision, he crept forward like the thief that he now was, and snatched the book from the chair and slipping it quickly into his ready backpack. Hearing that the old man was still on the phone, Sam made quickly for the door to the chaotic outside world.
**
TBC
A/N: Well, what do you think? Reviews I thrive on… and for those who are thinking it, I don't believe Sam to be OC here, after all he is portrayed as the self proclaimed 'Sammy is a chubby twelve year old.' And we already knew that Sam was a bibliophile as well as a computer nerd. Next chapter we get to see Dean! YAY! I relate to him better to be honest, all though I understand the twelve year old Sam.
Cast List so far:
Carl Conrad Coreander: The Author Michael Ende
Bastian Bux: Sam Winchester
Atreyu: Dean Winchester
Carion the centaur: Bobby Singer
Falcor the luck dragon: Sasha Kelly the Incubus from Crimson1 (He'll be his glorious Incubus self and not a dragon.)
Artax; Atreyu faithful steed: The Impala
I take suggestions, but I've already decided to put myself and my roommate in the parts of the helpful gnomes at the Oracle. It was just too perfect to resist. Thank you. =c)