Challenge #2: write a fanfiction.
When you’ve never done something before, it can be intimidating as hell. Where do I start? What if I suck? I have no idea what I’m doing.
I still have that lingering sensation of self-doubt, but this turned out to be a lot of fun and, for the sake of keeping this post at a manageable length, transformed into another project that I hope to continue. It’s untitled, but for those of you who are unfamiliar with the characters (
I mean, how is that possible?), it’s based on the show Supernatural.
I hope you read it, but more than that, I hope you enjoy it.
“Keep your fucking hands off her,” she said, gritting her teeth, feeling the weight of the gun in her hand, her finger twitching toward the trigger. He held his hands up in surrender, his eyes darting to glance at the gun she kept lowered. He was surprised. If it were him, he’d have fired long ago.
“No problem,” he said. Her shoulders traveled up and down as she heaved heavy breaths, nearly growling at him in anger. Yet she still didn’t aim at him. He could see the shift in her eyes as her emotions slid from anger to sadness to acceptance. This was always the worst part.
Her eyes misted over, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to cry over this monster that resembled her family. Her sister had been dead a long time. She’d already grieved her loss once. She wouldn’t do it again. He lowered his hands, sensing that the tension was ebbing. She was looking over the body that he’d destroyed, a sense of loss and longing clouding her face. He knew that look. At least, he knew how it felt. He was just lucky enough to live in a world where death wasn’t always final; there was always a way back to life if you were willing to pay the price.
“Thank you,” she finally whispered, so softly that he had to strain to hear. She cleared her throat and her gaze sharpened on him. “Thank you,” she said again, more firmly.
He just nodded, understanding. It was one thing to see an innocent loved one die. It was a completely other tragedy to see them transformed into something of nightmares. At least now she’d have the chance to move on, if there was such a concept. They stood there for another few moments, and he started to feel awkward. He’d never been comfortable with silence or grief; he usually barreled through them with sarcasm until he was a safe distance away. The mess needed to be cleaned up, but she still had the gun in her hand, and he wasn’t about to risk a bullet again by trying to take care of the body.
“So, we can’t leave her here,” he said as gently as he could. He’d never been good at being tactful and empathetic either. That was Sam’s role to play. She narrowed her eyes, and he thought he saw her tense again, but she relaxed and let out a breath. Tucking the gun into the back of her pants, she nodded.
She moved to grab the body that used to be her sister’s under the arms and, looking at him questionably, asked, “Well, are you going to help me or what?”
His eyebrows shot up and he shrugged, going for the legs so they could get the body to the car that was parked haphazardly at the end of the alley. He could deal with a sense of purpose. She’d pulled up in a rush, tires squealing against the pavement as she hit the brakes, wrenching herself through the driver’s side door that was left open in her panic only to find that he’d already twisted the knife. He could still hear her echoed screams as what used to be her sister fell in a heap onto the trash-littered pavement of the dark alley.
They struggled with the dead weight, but managed to lay the body across the back seat of the little sedan. Dean closed the door and wiped his hands on his jeans. He could see that the keys were still in the ignition and took the liberty of climbing in the driver’s seat. She didn’t say a word, only slid into the passenger side. They remained silent as they pulled away from the dark, abandoned buildings, neither looking forward to the task at hand.
The fire crackled, overtaking Sara’s body in a matter of moments. It was scary how quickly love and memories could turn to ash. Ashley sniffed, shoved her hands in her pockets and turned back to the car.
“You need a ride?,” she asked Dean as she walked away from the last of her family. She couldn’t watch her sister and the plans they had made go up in flames for one more second. Damn waiting for the fire to turn to coals. Let it burn the whole fucking forest to the ground.
“Uh, sure,” he hesitated, torn between attending the growing fire and not getting his ass left in the middle of nowhere. Seeing that she wasn’t slowing in her determination to get the hell out of there, he opted to follow.
She pulled up behind the Impala that was parked a few blocks from the fateful alley and put the car in park.
“What was that thing?,” she asked quietly, and he noted that she wasn’t referring to the monster as her sister.
He sighed. It was unavoidable after what she’d seen. Ashley had witnessed her sister’s transformation and animalistic need to tear into and devour a human body. She’d looked on in horror at the aftermath, the gaping, shredded cavity in a human chest where a beating heart used to thrive. She hadn’t said much about it at the time, which Dean had admittedly found unusual, although he’d also considered it luck that he wasn’t going to push. He’d been an idiot to think he’d avoid this conversation altogether as she just turned away and continued the search for Sara, as if eating a human heart was normal behavior. But now that it was all over, she knew what and how and why it all happened to an extent; she was just asking for confirmation.
“Look, I’m just gunna give it to you straight. That was a werewolf.” He made a motion with his hand that suggested he knew what she was going to ask next. “Yes, they’re real. And yes, that means other monsters exist too.” He didn’t have the patience for the truth-spilling spiel, the confession that changed a person’s perspective of the world they thought they knew. He’d lived in it for so long that it was hard to empathize with disbelief and shock.
“And this is what you do? Kill werewolves?” Her tone was matter-of-fact without that edge of doubt that he usually heard when people found out who he was. She was calm, asking the questions that must have been at the back of her mind for the last couple of days since they crossed paths in the search for Sara.
He shrugged. “Yeah, werewolves and … other things.” He didn’t feel the need to go any deeper. He wished it were as simple as just hunting run-of-the-mill monsters, the way it had been before he had been shocked with more truth than anyone should know. Leviathans, demons, angels and all that apocalyptic rapture bull-shit that he and his brother had been wrapped up in recently didn’t need to be mentioned. He considered this hunt a type of vacation, and he was doing his damnedest to keep his mind away from what he and Sam went through. What Sam was still going through.
Sam would know how to say goodbye to this girl, to ease her back onto the path of a normal life, and then they’d be able to hit the road guilt-free, moving on to the next shithole town with a monster problem. As for Dean, he never knew what to say, but he was sure that he didn’t want to leave anything undone. He needed to make sure she’d be okay. That’s what all this was about, right? Saving people?
“I figured that’s what it was. It made sense, I guess, if any of this is actually supposed to make sense.” Her fingers were shaking a bit as she tucked her dark hair behind her ear, but her voice remained steady. “But I didn’t actually believe it was my sister.” She turned to Dean now, looking for more answers than he might be able to give. “If werewolves exist, then the lore is true, right? That’s how this happened? She was bitten?”
He pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded. That was his next line of thinking also. Who had bitten Sara? He had hoped to continue that road alone, but seeing the look of vengeance on Ashley’s face, he knew he’d have her on his heels whether he told her to go home or not. He felt that same need for justice for his brother, so how could he deny it to anyone else?
“Where do we start?,” she asked, determination in her voice. She wasn’t going to be pushed away, and she was making sure he knew it.
He sighed and climbed out of her car, turning around to lean in and meet her narrowed eyes. “Follow me.”
He slammed the door and got into his Impala. He sat for a moment before starting it up, briefly wondering what the hell he was getting himself into bringing a civilian along on a hunt. He looked in the rearview mirror and, even through the darkness, could see the anger clinging to every feature of her face. He sighed again, resigned.
“Fuck it.” He turned the key in the ignition.