Author's Note: Here is the first chapter of my second story that I publish on Please review. Tell me if I should keep writing, or if this just sucks…
Chapter One
Exit light
Enter night
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land
'Enter Sandman', by Metallica, blasted loudly through the '67 Chevy impala. Sam shifted sleepily in the passenger seat, clasping his hands over his ears. Dean smiled and reached over to the cassette tape player, making the music louder. "Turn that down," Sam hissed. Dean made a left turn, picking up speed, ignoring Sam. Exasperated, Sam sat up and clicked the music off.
They pulled up in front of a tiny, fast food restaurant. Getting out of the car, Sam let out a yelp, then lost his balance, but steadied himself, grabbing on to the car.
"Sam, you alright?" Dean asked. Sam didn't answer. He grunted in pain and collapsed onto the ground of the parking lot, his hands grasping his head. "Sam?" Dean ran over to his brother, helping him up.
"Yeah?" Sam mumbled.
"What happened?" Dean said, concerned.
"A vision," Sam replied simply.
"Oh. Ok… what did you see?"
"A room."
"A room?"
"Yeah. Probably in a basement or something. There wasn't anything in it, just a concrete floor, four walls and ceiling," Sam pushed open the door to the fast food restaurant.
They sat at a table in the middle of the diner, Dean drinking his coffee and Sam searching for new hunts on his laptop. Suddenly, a telephone ringing sounded from Dean's leather jacket pocket. "Hello?" Dean answered his cell phone. "M-hmm," he got up from his seat, putting his coffee down on the table. "I'll be right back," Dean said to Sam and went outside.
Sam, bending over his laptop was reading intently about a series of mysterious murders. "Get up!" whispered a voice from behind him. Before he could turn around, Sam felt a gun resting on his forehead. "I said get up!" the voice ordered furiously. Sam got up, turning around, to see a person, a gun in each hand, in dark clothes, gloves, and a ski mask.
"Come with me. Don't move, don't make a sound," the person commanded, his voice low and scratchy. Sam picked up his chair, propelling it towards the masked person. Angry, the person grabbed Sam by the neck, pulling him closer, then put a gun to his face and whispered fiercely, "You think I was joking?" The person pushed Sam to the wall and tied his hands tightly with a chain. "Hurry up!" the voice said.
Dean went back into the diner, the door squeaking as in opened. Not a single person was inside. Food was scattered over the floor, chairs and tables turned upside down. "What the hell…" Dean muttered under his breath. He went over to the table he and Sam were sitting at. A chair split in half was lying under the table. "Sam?" Dean called, looking around the diner for somewhere that everyone might have gone to. There weren't any doors except the front entrance. "Sam?" Dean yelled again, "Sam, where are you?"