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Some fake artist are so afraid of what people think of them, so afraid to be vulnerable and honest in they art. They don’t put nothing out, and what they do mediocre. I give no fucks I’ve made the ultimate sacrifices for this art. Being an artist should hurt a little bit, if you ain’t hurting you ain’t dope.
This is a quote from my cousin’s FB page. My cousin and I haven’t had a real conversation…
Sam and Dean are on the trail of a supernatural event the likes of which they have never seen. They're expecting the hunt of their lives, but could they find themselves some unlikely allies?
The night was quiet except from the gentle washing of the sea in the distance, it's tangy taste heavy on the air. A clear sky revealed endless stars, the kind of night where lovers would spend hours staring to the heavens on the beach. Yet there wasn't a soul on the beach at this hour; not by this house at least. It stood isolated from any other structure, but it was not unoccupied. Light burst out from gaps in the curtains, casting long shadows about the small front yard as first it hit the raised porch, and then onto the neat shrubs and finally a small white fence that marked the boundaries. Anyone who came upon the place would have given it a wide birth, though none would be able to explain why. Whatever the reason, it would have meant they would have missed the two bulky figures who blended into the shadows, as easily as embracing an old friend.
Sam couldn't tell whether it was the gentle breeze or the rush of adrenaline that was screwing up his hearing but either way they felt muffled somehow, and it put him on edge. The ocean air was bringing back unwanted memories, he recalled what he'd learnt in college about odours being a tool in eye-witness accounts because they attached themselves so readily to emotional moments. As the scent of salt washed over him with a fresh gust of wind, it wasn't him and Dean blasting away spirits with the stuff that sprang to his mind; it was Jess. Before he could stop himself Sam was immersed in a memory so beautiful it was excruciating. It was their first vacation together and they were lying on the beach gazing at a sky painfully similar to the one Sam was trying with all his might to ignore. Jess was curled up under his arm and he laughed freely as her wild hair tickled his nose. They never said anything that night; the moment felt too perfect to be sullied with trivial words. But he would never forget the way that the moonlight got caught in her golden hair, or the way she captured the light of every star in her eyes as she looked up at the sky in wonder, never noticing how Sam spent more of the night captivated by her beauty than stargazing. He wanted to reach out to her, to make her understand how he felt in that moment, to show her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. More than anything he wished he could just say sorry. A single tear fell from his eye, as Sam was ripped from his sorrow by a low hiss that pierced his previously muffled hearing and he became a pure hunter once again.
Dean hissed at him again from the other side of the stairs leading up to the porch. Sam double, no, triple checked his inventory. It was a big haul for tonight, they'd had to empty nearly the whole trunk and the pockets in his jacket and jeans were fit to bust with various hunting paraphernalia. This time he checked only the most vital of his arsenal; two fully loaded guns. One was a shotgun, which felt like little more than a toy in his massive hands, but was loaded with rock salt. The other was a colt, filled with silver bullets. The shotgun was what he carried now as he nodded to Dean that he was ready, it wasn't a full moon and so it was unlikely that they would be having problems with the werewolf tonight. Although that didn't mean they weren't going to have to take care of that one too.
Sam crept forwards as Dean did the same, instinctually aware of his brother movements. Dean raised his hand suddenly and they both froze. The curtain flickered; someone was checking for movement outside. Once the yard had returned to its previous state of darkness the boys continued to move in, automatically placing their feet in the correct way to minimise noise. They reached the door and stood either side of it with their backs to the wall, guns raised. They took a split second to breathe and listen for any signs of trouble before they nodded to each other simultaneously and span round to face the door. The door came crashing open as Dean landed a kick and they ran into the room guns steady and looks of steel on their faces. Four faces spun round to stare at them before there was a clatter of china falling to the floor and one girl completely vanished. The other woman rolled her eyes as she sat at the dining table and a man with short mousy hair and glasses sat with her, completely frozen, holding a steaming mug halfway to his lips. Finally a man with long black hair, dressed in a shirt over a t-shirt and fingerless gloves let the last remnants of a smile be wiped from his face as he unfolded his arms and spoke in a thick Irish accent.
Sam and Dean are on the trail of a supernatural event the likes of which they have never seen. They're expecting the hunt of their lives, but could they find themselves some unlikely allies?
The bar had a classic Old-America feel to it, the air smelling of worn-out leather and whiskey and filled with the sound of classic rock. It was fairly busy for a small bar somewhere along route 80, the continuous bustle made Sam slightly nervous and, not for the first time, he wished Dean would let him pick the bars occasionally. They were supposed to be headed to Davenport to investigate the sudden deaths of four men in the last year, all of whom had their insides turned to soup as though they had been near a contained explosion. Naturally the doctors were stumped. It sounded like just their kind of thing, probably a malicious spirit, but it could be something far worse; there was never a way to be sure with their line of work.
All this was irrelevant to Sam now. He had just got off the phone with Bobby and there was a seriously good case down in Florida. He has his mind made up that this was more important, now he just had to convince Dean, which was never to be taken lightly. Sam sighed and scanned the bar, finally his eyes caught sight of the altogether too casual stance of his brother leaning against the far end, talking to a pretty little blonde in a short denim skirt. This was going to be tedious.
As he walked up he heard Dean's voice, though it was a little deeper than necessary. 'It's no trouble at all. I'll call up the casting director tomorrow and see if we can't get you a little something.' Sam fought the urge to gag as he could almost hear the cheesy wink, and wondered how so many girls fell for this stupid act. As Sam loudly cleared his throat, Dean turned round with a vapid smile on his face. Sam raised and eyebrow at him.
'Sammy!' Dean cried clapping a hand onto his shoulder. 'This here's my brother Sam. Sam this is...' He trailed off, unsurprisingly.
'Crystal' giggled the little blonde. Typical was all that crossed Sam's mind.
'Crystal!' Dean repeated giving his brother a look that showed exactly what he wanted from bubbly little Crystal. 'I've been talking to her for a while now and I think she's got some potential.' He smiled a huge smile and Crystal giggled behind her hand.
'Well I wouldn't know now would I?' Sam retorted as sarcastically as he could manage. 'That's your area of expertise.'
'True, true. Sammy wouldn't know talent if it danced naked in front of him. I, on the other hand...' Dean turned on what Sam could only imagine he presumed was a charming tone. It made the younger brother want to vomit. He'd heard quite enough of this for one night, besides, they had more important things to talk about.
'Listen, Dean, the doctor called, he said the swelling's nothing to worry about but you should probably go and have the pus drained away.' Putting on the straightest face he could muster Sam revelled in the disgusted expression that came over the blonde's face.
'Ew.' was all she managed before she grabbed her purse and quickly sauntered to the other end of the bar. Dean gave him a look to kill.
'What in the hell was that?!' He demanded, downing what was left of his beer in outrage.
'I got a call from Bobby about a case.' Sam paused as Dean gave his customary look of indifference and went right ahead and said the same damn thing he said every time.
'We already have a case.'
'Yeah but this one's huge.' Sam tried to stress the importance with every syllable. 'Bobby called us specially because there's going to be hype about this one, and he thought we might want first scoop.' He knew it wasn't going to be that easy but that didn't stop the little creep of hope crawl into his tone like it did every time.
'Yeah, and?' Dean motioned to the barmaid for another bottle of beer.
'And, we already know what we're dealing with.' Sam started to let the excitement grow in his voice, 'They're from England, just moved here last week and, they have quite the reputation.' Dean took a swig from the bottle placed in front of him and looked up at his brother with a reserved expectation.
'They? Who's they?' He said with a slight impatience.
'That's what's so interesting.' Sam pressed, watching Dean's look of disbelief, confident that he would change his tune once he heard what was currently residing in Florida. A phenomenon that no hunter had experienced before in known history. That they had this case laid out for them was a miracle and Sam did his best to put every ounce of emphasis he could on his next few sentences. 'There's a spirit. A vampire. And a werewolf.' Dean's head turned slightly. 'And they're all living in the same house.' Now Dean looked Sam dead on with raised eyebrows in disbelief.
'That's impossible.'
'That's what I said.' Sam responded insistently, to show that he wasn't just mindlessly following tales, 'But Bobby says it's confirmed. There's been sightings of them all over England. They were in a city called Bristol, where a coven was destroyed, then there were definite sightings in Wales and a few unconfirmed in various other parts of the country before they disappeared. Now they've shown up in Florida.' Sam looked at Dean expectantly, as though his gaze would force a reaction from him, would make him give the consent that they should go and check it out.
'How is that even possible? Most werewolves don't even know what they are, and spirits aren't known for just picking up and emigrating.' Dean might have put every effort into looking nonchalant but Sam knew he had peaked his interest and smiled satisfactorily.
'I don't know. But get this, the vampire that's with them.' He paused to make sure the full effect of what he was about to say sunk in. 'They say his eyes turn black.' Dean's eyes rose slowly from his bottle, and Sam knew that they were both thinking the same thing.
Early the next morning fog was thick and everything was a dull grey and with the quiet air of a bar full of hangovers. The grumbling image of a '67 impala swung out onto route 80, breaking the silence until it had swung away into the fog, no longer heading for Davenport.
