HEY! I'm back from the dead, but not after finishing a whopping one season of Supernatural. I've finally accepted that I'm doomed to the fandom life…Anyway, this will be a Once Upon a SuperWhoLock (set season 1-2ish of Supernatural because, yes, I'm only to mid season two…) If you happen to not know what Once Upon a SuperWholock is *cough* saveyourself *cough* it's a fanfiction crossover of BBC's Sherlock, Doctor Who, Supernatural, and Once Upon a Time. So, yeah. Thanks and enjoy.
"Sam, hurry up!" I called to my brother as he walked out of the gas station.
I was slightly concerned, at times, at how slow he was when he walked. He was the slowest person I'd ever-
I blinked and looked around for a second, not really knowing what just happened. I blinked again, just to make sure I hadn't just been knocked out or something, but it wasn't just me, Sam was there.
"Yo, Sammy, what'd you do to us this time?" I asked, nervously joking.
"I have no idea."
It didn't surprise me that that was his answer. As we both looked around we realized we were in a clearing on some sort of land mass. There was a small fire and a rather odd group of people surrounding it. Several were boys with long hair and tired eyes, and then, the sore thumbs of the group, were a man in a dark blue suit and trench coat, an older, red haired woman in a grey sweater, a young boy wearing a red and blue plaid button up, a tall man with curly black hair and sharp cheek bones, and an older man with sandy blond hair that seemed to stick close to the man with the sharp cheek bones.
"Oh, bloody hell. More people? Okay, well, let's get this over with. Who're you two and what're your stories?" The man with the sharp cheek bones asked.
I looked at Sam, who gave me a small nod of the head, showing that I should probably just tell them what's most important and who we are.
"Well," I started, "I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my younger brother Sam. We hunt down dangerous creatures so they don't bring any harm to the general public," I said, rocking back and forth on my feet.
The others began to explain their stories one by one. The man in the trench coat was supposedly an alien called the Doctor, and the red haired woman was his travelling companion, Donna. The Doctor looked to be only 45, but his eyes made him appear ages older. Cheek bones and the older man were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Sherlock was a detective, and John was a blogger. Finally, the young boy was named Henry, and he was apparently the grandson of Snow White.
"Okay, so hello island of crazies," I said, sighing and running my hands through my hair.
"You should hear them talk about aliens and criminals," A voice behind me said.
I turned, pulling out my gun, to shoot at whatever it was. A boy, no younger than twelve, stood there with a big smirk all over his face. I frowned at him, putting my gun away. I couldn't shoot him without knowing who he was and what he was doing here.
"Were you brought here, too?" I asked, cautiously keeping my hand on my gun.
He let out a laugh as he replied, "No, but I am the one who brought you here."
We all stared at the boy, whose clothes were ragged and dirty. His hair was a very light brown, or a dirty blond, and his eyes had a blood thirsty gleam to them. He was selfish; I could just tell by the way he stood there staring at us like a hungry wolf, but smart. He had a cautious, yet cocky, stance and we all just gaped at him for a while. Well, all except for Sherlock, who looked a little less smug than the boy, but smug nonetheless.
"So, why do you need this group, or all people. There are billions of people in the world and you pick this motley bunch. Three of which are definitely crazy, and two that just seem…out of place," I asked, keeping my eyes on the boy.
The boy replied, "Because one of you has something I so desperately need."
Looks can be deceiving, I remind myself, and by the way this kid answers my question, I can't help but want to run. Just run far and fast, not from fear, but because of this feeling that he is just not right at all. That he's a monster.