Summary: Picture this: A fantastical world post dual apocalypses where Dean, Cas, Sam, and Jet journey to find the source of strange happenings in their home. They stumble into ancient ruins and a dark truth that their world is nearing its final end. Only humanity’s best could withstand the trials to save them, but who has time to look for those clowns?
I considered joining NaNoWriMo but I’m not done editing Experimental yet. So instead my goal this month is to edit one chapter a day (or more if I can). If I manage to do this then one round of edits will be completed for this story <3
I considered joining NaNoWriMo but I’m not done editing Experimental yet. So instead my goal this month is to edit one chapter a day (or more if I can). If I manage to do this then one round of edits will be completed for this story <3
I had an idea and wrote some shit. If you’d be interested in reading a full fic hit the like button and I’ll look into doing it :)
His fingers stitched together in his lap, held tightly and firmly still.
A man’s words fell past ears that slowly warmed. Blood seeped into his face and reddened it over the passing moments.
His stomach turned as unresolved rage rose toward boiling.
“Dean?” Sam broke his melting brain.
“What’s up?” The words came out sounding less upbeat than he’d intended. Sam didn’t reply, he just glanced between his brother and the attorney sitting across from them.
Right.
Dean took a deep breath and tried to look relaxed. “So in simpler terms, you mean that this is happening whether I like it or not.”
The man across from him nodded. “I’m sorry boys, I’ve done everything I can.”
“You’ve done shit.” Dean snapped. He could’ve said more, blamed this man for fraudulent work or sabotage. But he didn’t. It wouldn’t matter, only money talked anymore.
Instead Dean Winchester took his little brother’s arm and dragged the 16 year-old out of the room.
“Dean-“
“We’ll figure it out.” He called over his shoulder.
Figure it out. That was his phrase for everything, they both knew it wouldn’t get figured out. Not without help, anyway.
“No,” Sam said firmly and planted his feet. “No more.”
Dean stalled and dropped Sam’s arm. “What’re you talking about?”
“You know what.”
Silence dropped between them and shattered the pavement under Dean’s feet.
Sam sighed lightly. “I’m sorry, I know why you’re trying so hard…”
“They were your family too, Sam.” Dean turned around to face him again. “How can you just abandon them?”
“I’m not abandoning anyone!” Sam’s eyes narrowed sharply at him for even considering it. “I just thought maybe it was someone else’s turn now. They’ve been gone for years.”
“You honour the dead!”
“Not when the graveyards are this full!”
Neither intended to yell but it came to that regardless. Both closed their mouths and glanced toward staring strangers. Sam took a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he reiterated.
“I don’t care how you meant it, I’m not letting them move those bodies.” He’d lost so much of his family already, he wasn’t going to lose their resting place too.
But the city had other plans. It took a month of fighting back against the original notice to get to where they were. Dean had seen as many city planners that would meet with him, but none of them had a good answer.
When money talks the poor can’t help but hear it, even if they don’t want to listen.
Left and right people were bought, threatened, or just didn’t give a shit. It was the year 2031 and Losa City needed more space. End of discussion. Dean was tired of hearing that line, even if that was their reasoning. It wasn’t good enough, not to dig up a whole cemetery. He didn’t care how long the bodies had been there; dead people don’t take turns in their graves.
Losa’s population vastly disagreed, it seemed.
Something happened in 2016, Dean was only four years old at the time so he didn’t really see it in person. A war broke out in the United States, bombs were launched and it left parts of the country unlivable. A dictator had risen to power that year and never stepped back down.
Civil war was next, destroying more of the continent in its wake. People migrated to newly built towns; those towns grew and joined other small towns as those grew and so on. It left one massive city near Lake Huron in Michigan. Dean had heard from older generations that ‘Detroit’ used to be nearby before it’d been blown away.
New government had been set up since the fighting ended. New everything. Dean didn’t have much reference for the older way things worked other than the Internet. And from what he read he knew that his home was in serious trouble. Moving was expensive, the world was a mess just about anywhere. He couldn’t’ see very many options.
“Dean!” Sam caught up to his huffed departure and fell in step beside him. “What’re you gonna do? We’ve tried everything!”
“Not everything,” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and took out a crumpled paper. He handed it to Sam and waited for the disapproving response.
“Hiring criminals isn’t the way to do this.”
“Well I tried it the legal way. Want me to call up the hotline and see if some vigilantes will do it instead?”
One of the additions to their current system was licensing. There were licensed criminals and vigilantes. Both were mercenaries in Dean’s opinion, except the title depended on what you did with your license. A licensed mercenary was given special rights for an equivalent exchange of more common ones.
A license allowed the individuals to break laws depending on the type they applied for. Thinning out the population was considered a noble cause, some literally had a license to kill.
“I’m going to find someone with what I need and take care of this myself.” He snatched the page back and kept on walking.
“What’re you gonna give them? Our food stamps?”
He slowed his pace to a stop and looked over at Sam again. “Well first I gotta find the guy, then we’ll see from there. It’s not always about the money, sometimes they just want you to do something for them.”
Sam’s expression fell. “Just don’t die?”
Dean had to lighten up with that tormented look aimed his way. “I’ll be fine Sammy,” he reached over to ruffle his brother’s hair. “I promise, okay?”
Sam brushed his hand away and fixed the mess made. “’Kay.”
==
Night had fallen, winter was close.
Wind whipped across his face as he huddled up in his jacket. Dean looked around at the street folk littering the space around him. Parts of the city had been sectioned off for the licensed, they lived in housing while the rest were homeless. Practically a lawless country in its own right.
A pub laid ahead of him, it seemed like the best shot. After all, that’s where he’d be if he were licensed and not working.
Dean gathered his wits and puffed up his chest. He needed to look like he was worth their time. These were people who could kill him and get away with it, they didn’t have to think twice about him or his shit.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” A stranger chuckled and spooked Dean more than he’d like to admit.
“Oh?” He regained his composure fast and looked to the guy. Dean was shorter by a few inches but the man was definitely thinner. Good, at least Dean had some muscle on him. “Why not?”
The guy just smirked and looked him over top-to-bottom. The way his gaze lingered made Dean more than a little uncomfortable. “You’re gonna get hurt, that’s why.”
Dean’s stomach tightened and his chest started to collapse inwardly. “Who’s going to hurt me? You?”
“Nah, not unless you wanted me to.” His eyes stayed focused on Dean’s face after that. “What’re you doing out here, pretty boy?”
Dean bristled and lowered his jaw, looking intimidating was something he’d practiced. Being in the presence of a licensed person was a different game, though. “I’m looking for a hire.” He did his best to keep his voice low, it was a bigger threat than squeaking at least.
“I got that, what are you trying to hire?”
“Oh,” Dean broke character for a moment to fish out his ‘details’ for whoever his hire would be. “You ever heard of Zachariah Alder?”
The guy didn’t move, just stared at the sheet of paper for a second and took out a cigarette. “Nope, who is he?”
“He’s head of city planning,” Dean continued while trying to ignore the fact that that ‘cigarette’ was definitely not what he thought.
“Bulldozing your house?”
“No, digging up the graveyard my family’s in.”
With a slow drag the guy nodded. “What do you want done about him? Sounds like you could just go in there and chat.”
“I did that already, he’s not interested in small time people’s issues. Big picture and all that crap. City’s gotta grow, apparently.” He scoffed bitterly. “So, you my guy?”
The stranger didn’t do anything to answer that until he exhaled – to his credit he angled his head away from Dean’s face. “Maybe, whatcha got to pay with?”
Dean faltered and the guy just grinned again. “How much does it usually cost?”
“Asking that is a mistake, people around here would bleed your wallet dry for almost nothing if you let ‘em.”
Dean felt foolish but what could he do? “Fine, what do you want?”
“I’m not the guy you’re lookin’ for-”
“Then why would you-“
“But,” the stranger said sharply and Dean kept his mouth shut. “But I know who you’re looking for.”
Dean furrowed his brow, “So who am I looking for?”
“A friend of mine,” the guy stuck his hand out, joint in the other. “Name’s Jet.”
“Dean.” He took Jet’s hand and smiled a little. “You’re pretty scary for a stoner, man.”
Jet snickered and took another hit before putting it out. “Not a stoner, I just like to take the edge off.”
Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know what edge. “What’s your friend’s price?”
“He’s a guy who might take on charity cases like yours. You offer what you got and he makes a judgement call. If he likes you then he’ll help you out.”
“What do I offer?” Dean followed as Jet led the way, trying to avoid empty stares.
“Anything he might find interesting.”
“What does he do if he doesn’t like me?”
“He kills you.” Jet smiled back at him, “Hope your cause is worth the risk.”
Dean stopped, “I don’t know that I want to-“
Jet grabbed his wrist tight enough to bruise. “You don’t have a choice anymore, sweetheart.”
Before he could protest further he noticed the gun on Jet’s hip. It was easily within reach and he didn’t doubt it’d be loaded. “Alright,” he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw. “Let’s do this then, what’s his name?”
“People on your side of the tracks call him Angel or some shit like that.” Jet kept walking, gesturing for Dean to follow. There was probably an ‘or else’ implied in the gesture.
“Angel.” Dean repeated as he felt his skin going cold. “You’re taking me to Angel? You know him?”
“Yes and yes.”
“He guts people.” Dean stated more obviously, mistakenly letting his concerns slip into his tone.
“And breaks ribcages to spread them backward to look like wings. Yeah, that’s him.”
Dean didn’t understand how Jet was calm about it. He didn’t understand how he’d gotten himself into such a dismal situation in the first place. Winchester luck prevails above all else, screwing over the namesake as best it can.
Every author needs a little love! Send this on anon (or not!) to 5 of your favorite authors that have impacted you in some way and you think deserve a loving reminder.
I’ve been checking out Kyoux’s work and I saw a piece I had to try out (the shading style is hard to mimic, you guys should check out their work because they’re really awesome)
I just had this awful but awesome experience. SO! I’m listening to this song called ‘Waiting for Superman’ by Daughtry, right? And suddenly my brain just kicks my ass and I’m seeing Desirae but older (like that one pic I drew with the kitten in a bag) (Experimental thing, for anyone who’s unaware)
I see it as if Cas is singing the song but it’s a music video playing. It starts with just her and a cab and she’s going back to her apartment or something. Like just listen to the lyrics man, then it gets to this part and I died
“Yeah he’s still coming, just a little bit late. He’s stuck at the landromat just washing his cape.”
LIKE
Jet died and she’s not accepting it
“She’s talking to angels, counting the stars, making a wish on a passing car. She’s dancing with strangers, falling apart. Waiting for superman to pick her up in his arms.”
Fuckin’ clones that were taken by the government finally gain consciousness over the like 5 to 10 years after the story and they attack. Going after everyone involved with MacLeod’s mansion and shit, but they only get their hands on Jet
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