So, as I dilly-dally with updating Honor Thy Father, I've been reading a few fanfics where people get dragged into Supernatural and let the boys know what happens, stuff like that and I actually had no intention of creating a fic like that but a few scenes kept popping into my head and I couldn't really get rid of them. So I actually used one of my original story plots as a way to explain why someone from our world would be in the Supernatural world, kinda. I haven't really worked out the kinks so I'm just winging it right now. Basically here's a prologue, if you will, to my somewhat newest creation, Skipping Stone. Let me know what you think.
Crouched down in the bushes on the outskirts of the corral, just out of sight of the two men fighting and grappling with each other, it suddenly really, really hit me. I could stop a lot of bad crap from happening. Not all of it, but enough to really make a difference. Jo and Ellen. Bobby. Rufus. The whole kit and caboodle.
Hearing the men growl as punches and kicks were thrown, I vowed that when I got back home, I was having a Supernatural marathon. I was gonna buy a crap load of note books and pens then hole up in my apartment with Zane, writing every freaking episode down, every word, name, and creature mentioned.
A notebook of every episode. Maybe I'll even have specific notebooks for specific people, their whole history written down. Granted I'll probably write it down in my goofy secret handwriting, that way no one would be able to use it against me or the boys. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Last thing I needed was giving the bad guys the holy grail. If the pattern stayed the same, I'd be back home in a day or two and that's when I'll put my plan into action.
Seeing the dark-skinned man go down, I took a deep breath, willing myself to relax. Fat luck that'd do. Everything was balanced on this one moment. This would be the wooden block that took down the entire tower. Of course I'd never been really good at Jenga but that was besides the point.
Feeling the weight and shape of the rock in my hand I was at least confidant that I could make this throw. My family were baseball people and although I hadn't played softball since high school, I had a canon and I could send this bad boy sailing across the field toward my intended target no problem.
Seeing the tall, and adorably young, gangly man starting to walk away, gripping at his shoulder, I slowly stood from my crouch, turning my body slightly, building up the energy I'd need to throw my missile. It might not seem like much, just throwing a rock at someone, but really I had to time this just right. Too soon and he'd dodge or dive away. Too late and…well it'd be too late and I didn't want to think about that.
Quietly, I slipped out from the shadows of the trees, ducking in between the wooden fence of the decaying corral, watching as the victor shuffled away, his attention captured by the shouts and calls of his name from afar. I took a deep breath, watching as the dark-skinned man rose silently from the muddy road, edging toward the discarded weapons.
It was time. Ignoring the two men that were now in view, I stepped forward, took aim, and threw the large rock, unleashing the kinetic energy I had built up. I watched, heart in my throat, as my ammo sailed straight for Jake at the same time he sped toward Sam, knife glinting in the dark.
I'm sure, at least hoping, by now everyone knows what scene this is, if not than you need to go revisit some episodes. We have Sam's impending death scene, well his first death scene. I doubt this story will go far, more like a way to get rid of this scenes that keep cropping up in my brain. I might even adopt the story out at some point. Let me know what you think! -Mez
