Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, and sadly, I never will. That's why I write Fanfiction. A/N: Thank you very much to all of the reviewers!
The Impala came to a rumbling halt as Dad parked the car near the old cowboy cemetery. Heaving a sigh, I pushed the door open and stepped out into the chilly air. The sky was a gloomy, dark gray; it looked like it could downpour at any minute. I shuddered, pulling my jacket closer to my body. I didn't like the looks of this at all.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm already getting bad vibes from this place." I admitted.
"Me too." He agreed. We walked over to Ellen and Bobby, who were standing by the trunk of the Impala, while Dad dug out the weapons. He handed everyone a gun; as he was giving me one, he paused.
"Be careful, Alyx." Dad ordered sternly.
"I always am."
"I know, kiddo, but if anything happens, stay close to one of us."
"Yes, sir." I replied automatically, taking the gun from him. We headed into the cemetery, keeping our eyes peeled and alert for any sign of Oliver. We hid ourselves behind fairly large gravestones. I stayed next to my dad, like he had ordered.
We waited…for quite awhile, I might add. And it wasn't warm out there—not by any stretch of the imagination. I was shivering the entire time, trying to pull my jacket even closer to my body for some kind of heat. It didn't work too well; the frigid wind seemed to go right through every layer of clothing I had on.
An hour or so after we arrived, Oliver appeared. We watched as he ambled very confidently over to a huge crypt that was about thirty feet away from where we were. The crypt had a pentagram in the middle of its doors, with a slot for what I guessed to be some sort of key. The key, I predicted, was the Colt. Once Oliver was just a few feet from the crypt, he pulled the Colt from the inside of his jean jacket.
That's when the five of us sprang into action, approaching Oliver cautiously with our guns trained on him. Oliver whirled around to face us, frowning.
"Hi, Oliver." I said casually, with a hint of sarcasm mixed in.
"Just take it really easy there, son." Bobby advised.
"And what if I don't?" Oliver taunted.
"Wait and see." I replied. We all kept our guns on him.
"What, you gonna kill me?" he asked.
"That's a thought." Sam answered. Oliver laughed.
"What are you smiling at, you evil bitch?" Dad questioned. I didn't care at this point if he was addressing my boyfriend in such a way, because this wasn't the real Oliver I once knew. Oliver paused, as if considering something.
"Hey, lady, do me a favor," Oliver demanded, referring to Ellen. His eyes flashed yellow and black for a split second. "Put that gun to your head." We watched as Ellen's hand slowly rose to her temple, trembling severely. Everyone (including me) immediately tensed, but we continued to keep our guns trained on him.
"Let her go, Oliver." I commanded.
"Shoot him…" Ellen pleaded, her voice forced, and shaking.
"Everyone put your guns down…'cept you, sweetheart." Oliver ordered. Bobby, Dad, Sam and I looked at each other before reluctantly obeying his order. We placed our guns on the grass at our feet.
"Okay," Oliver answered calmly, "Thank you." And with that, he took off running. He sprinted to the crypt, the Colt in his hand. Sam, meanwhile, ran over to Ellen, moving the gun from her head moments before the shot fired. I watched as Oliver stuck the gun into the keyhole in the center of the pentagram. The pentagram started to spin, the gears inside clicking and groaning. Oliver witnessed it as well…before Dad full out sidelined him with a blow to the back of the head, with his gun. Oliver dropped onto the ground, knocked unconscious. It was better that he stayed that way until this whole ordeal was over.
The five of us stood in a clump, watching and listening to whatever was happening to the crypt. It didn't sound too good.
"Oh, no…" Bobby said gravely. He was staring wide-eyed at the pentagram spinning quickly.
"Bobby, what is it?" Ellen inquired.
"It's Hell."
We all glanced at each other, genuinely shocked.
"Take cover! Now!" Bobby yelled. We scrambled out of the way, diving behind tombstones. Dad covered my head with his arms; I was lying flat on the damp grass, my own hands over my head as well. The doors shook violently, then burst open with an amazing amount of force. I picked my head up slightly just to see what was going on, my curiosity getting the best of me. The doors released a ton of thick, black smoke, which swept over the cemetery, causing a sudden ripple before taking off into the sky. The sky seemed to all of a sudden get twice as dark; the wind picked up, and it began to thunder and lightning, but no rain fell. It was extremely noisy and chaotic around us.
I glanced at the inside of the crypt; it looked just like what I imagined Hell would appear to be—fiery, angry, and not at all pleasant. Black wisps of smoke were steadily being released; I figured those were other demons that had been trapped there. The opening of the portal had also set free many souls of those who had died; I saw their transparent forms shimmering in the dim light.
"What the hell just happened?" I asked, as Dad and I sat up, but remained behind the tombstone. Bobby and Ellen were behind the one across from us, and Sam was hiding behind the one on the other side of us.
"It's the Devil's Gate! A damn door to Hell!" Ellen shouted over the noise.
Oh boy. So not good. Oliver literally just opened up Hell, and with it, the Demon's army.
Perfect.
"C'mon, we gotta shut that gate!" Ellen yelled. She, Bobby, and Sam ran to the doors of the gate, but Dad and I stayed. Dad went to pick up the Colt, which was now lying on the ground. And I stood still with a sense of dread washing over me, as I watched the railroad lines being broken by the various demons escaping from the Devil's Gate, the metal ripping and tearing loudly. The steel was mangled and scalding hot, glowing orange at the ends where they broke it with what I guessed to be hellfire.
I completely froze when I saw the Demon waltzing right on through like it was nothing.
That's when I knew we were in big trouble. Or better yet, I was in trouble.
I hate confrontations.