Heartless: Episode 1 (Fanfiction)

Bobby is shown a journal penned by a mysterious hunter; Taylor Nelson. The pages tell a foreboding tale of violence, self discovery, and a strange meeting with the Winchester boys themselves.

Heartless: Episode 1

"Who the hell is Taylor Aubrey Nelson?"

            Bobby Singer opened the door one hot and humid afternoon in July and found an old friend standing on the porch.

            “Hey Bobby,” She had said, with an inflection and tone that mirrored what she had said almost two whole years ago; “Bye Bobby”. He didn’t know how to respond at first, and for a moment he wondered if the heat was finally getting to the old bag of bones he was getting half-to-death-tired of lugging around lately.

            “Sheryl?” He said, wishing he didn’t sound so shocked.

            “You’re shocked,” Sheryl replied, her warm smile still lingering.

            “Well,” He said, a smile curling upon his lips too- it’s funny how contagious those things are. “It has been awhile…” he reasoned, and Sheryl’s gaze dropped to the ground. She noticed that he was wearing the same old pair of jeans and the same old pair of leather boots he had been wearing the day she left. “Last time I saw you… you were runnin’ off after some demon at Hunter’s Pass,” He said.

            That’s when instinct kicked in, and Bobby took a few steps backwards. He realized then that the odds that Sheryl Palmer was still alive was a million to one… and yet, here she stood. Or at least, he considered, it sure looked a lot like Sheryl Palmer. “It’s hard to keep track of friends in a job like this,” She said, “I knew I shoulda called or something, but… well… you of all people should understand,” She explained, “Sometimes it’s easier to just keep going,”

            Bobby knew what she was talking about; in the line of work that they were in, it wasn’t just easy to become a loner, it was damn-right necessary. The less people you knew, the less you had at stake; the less you had to lose. Hunting ghosts, demons and monsters was a gamble all the time, every time. Bobby was constantly aware that he was living on borrowed time, and the more he wandered around on this temporary plane of waste and despair, the closer he’d come to one day losing this game. But for Bobby it was simple, he no longer had a wife to worry about, and there were never any children… well, unless you count-

            “How are those Winchester boys of yours?” Sheryl asked, her voice breaking the silence.

            “Uh,” Bobby said, coming out of his spiral into existential ponderings. “Why… why don’t you come in,” He said, and stepped aside for Sheryl to enter. She paused for a moment, then nodded and stepped over the threshold. He watched her as she looked around at the ancient all-American, all-Southern house with a faint, knowing smile. Bobby silently closed the door.

            “Hex bags, right?” She said.

            “What?”

            Sheryl nodded at the hex bags above the door, “Have I passed the test yet or do I need to down a gallon of holy water too?” She grinned, raising an eyebrow at Bobby who just scoffed and shook his head.

            “Can you blame me, Sheryl?” He said.

            Moments later, after she had swallowed down a glass of holy water without spurting out blood and spitting out black smoke, Bobby finally felt the knot in his stomach relax. “If you don’t mind,” Sheryl said, a little smirk on her lips, “I’d like something a little stronger now. Bobby grinned and they embraced.

            “It’s good to see ya’ Sheryl,” He said. “I mean it, really, I never thought… well…” there wasn’t a need for an end to that sentence, they both knew that, and so with a nod and a smile, Sheryl sat down at the dinner table as Bobby hunted down a nice aged  bottle of whiskey.

            Bobby Singer was usually a man of a few words, but Sheryl always had a way of swinging him out of his old-man-hermit rut. They were old friends from way back in high school, and they both grew up to be hunters. Sheryl moved around a lot, but always found a way back to Bobby’s front door… and somehow, always in one piece. She was a witness at his wedding, and a shoulder to cry on when his wife passed on.

            Right now though, Bobby Singer was positively festive, and he even defrosted the last packed of instant apple pie for them to enjoy together at the dining table. Sheryl smiled as she cut a slice that was half piping hot and half still slightly frozen, and she listened to him talk about the Winchester boys with livid enthusiasm. The Winchesters were a special topic of course, and it was one Sheryl had been used to hearing about even on the road; a couple of brothers thrown into the world of hunting demons and monsters when their mother was killed by Azazel, a yellow eyed demon. Mary Winchester was killed one night when she had gone to check on little baby Sam. John himself found her, hanging from the ceiling with her guts ripped out and dripping blood all over their child who cried in his cot. And then, she exploded in a blaze of fire that consumed the house and their normal lives as they knew it ended. John packed the boys up in his black Chevrolet Impala and shipped them out on a journey to find the demon who killed her. Their story was unfortunately, a lot more complicated and a lot more twisted than a relatively simple homicide and search for revenge.

            Truth was; Sheryl was also friends with the boys’ father John Winchester. Then again, there wasn’t a hot blooded woman in the entire world who wouldn’t have wanted to get a little closer to John Winchester… He was a troubled, but good looking man who did just about everything in his power to protect and train his sons Dean and Sam. He fought for them to the ends of the earth, until all he had left to give was his own life.  If he had only known how much his sons would have to endure, and how the weight of the burden on their shoulders would grow over the many, many torturous years to come… perhaps he would’ve had the decency to leave them in that burning building in the first place.

            Now the Winchester boys were on a mission to save the world, destroy the devil and stop the apocalypse. A far cry from their usual hunts… but the truth was, there were so many other hunters out there dying left and right for the sake of the world that didn’t even know they existed. They were out there in their hundreds, thousands… maybe even millions; no one was keeping tabs… but they were out there every day and every night, keeping the rest of the world safe.

            “Thing is, Bobby…” Sheryl began as she sat her dessert fork down and reached for something in her leather satchel. “I found something that I thought you had to see for yourself,”

            “What is it?”

            Sheryl lifted it out; an old moleskin journal tied together with a grease-stained bit of kite string and a red shoelace. She sighed and put it on the table in front of Bobby, who still looked confused. He reached for it and she quickly put a hand down on it to stop him. “Bobby, the reason why I decided to bring it here to you… was so that you could read it for yourself,”

            “Alright then,” Bobby said, turning serious, “You gunna tell me what it is or not?”

            “It’s a journal,” She said, “It’s by a hunter…”

            “A hunter?”

            “Her name was Taylor Aubrey Nelson,” Sheryl said carefully, turning solemn and pensive, “I met her once, a long time ago… and she went by a different name then,” she sighed. “You see, she met Dean and Sam,”

            “She what? What happened to those two?” Bobby piped up suddenly, like a startled guard dog.

            “Nothing- nothing,” Sheryl said quickly, “It’s just that, they were on the brink of discovering something about her, but she never… well, she took off,”

            “Discovering what about her?” Bobby squinted his eyes questioningly.

            “That’s what I need you to read about… I’d tell ya’ Bobby, but I doubt you’d believe me for a second,” She replied, taking her hand off the book and sitting back in her chair. Her finger tips rested on the rim of her glass of Whiskey for awhile as she floated away into thought for a moment, “I think she’s important Bobby… and I mean apocalypse important. And once you’ve read this, I need you and those Winchester boys of yours to help me find her.”

            “Me?” Bobby picked up the book and looked up at Sheryl again, “I don’t understand…”

            “Just read it,” Sheryl said and took a gulp of her Whiskey. “Thing nearly bowled me over when I did…”

Adapted from the Diary of Taylor Aubrey Nelson:

December 4^th 2009

We had stopped at another cheap and greasy diner, and I had ordered another salad at the feeble attempt of maintaining some sort of internal-health-balance. Francis, my brother, seemed hell bent on consuming copious amounts of red meat instead, and ordered a double bacon cheese burger, as well as the house steak. I suppose you can do anything you want when you’re built like a tank.

        “You should get something a little more if its gunna last you,” He said softly, adjusting the placement of the cutlery on the table as we waited for our meals. “Chicago winters can really take it outta you,”

        “I’ll take my chances,” I said with a soft smile, also dodging eye contact by staring down the dessert menu, “Besides,” I said, “The last job didn’t exactly pay off a lot… I think I’d like to save some of the cash for the new Placebo album,”

        Francis scoffed, “You’re the only person I know who’s still worrying about music in these… conditions,”

        “Hey,” I quipped, “If I have to listen to one more classic rock album, I might have to off myself,” I laughed.

        Somehow, Francis laughed too, and I was almost taken a back at the sight. “Not my fault you only like that new-agey-rock s**t,” He smirked as he stood up, “And Motley Crew ain’t classic rock,” He said, waving a finger at me. I raised an eyebrow as he patted me on the shoulder and took off towards the restrooms.

        “Classic enough,” I called out, “Tommy Lee ain’t no spring chicken,” I smirked.

        I watched as he passed two young men on his way; they were just entering the shop and gave Francis a cautious momentary glance as they strutted in. One was taller, and had shaggy brown hair that seemed in desperate need of a haircut. The other was about 6’1”, had short brown hair and short stubble that added to his look of carefree swagger. He nudged the taller one in the ribs and spouted a joke I couldn’t hear, before giggling and nodding at an attractive waitress behind the counter. I studied their clothes as they slumped into a booth just a few feet away. They wore beat up windbreakers, dark jeans and muddy brown leather boots. They must be from the south.

        The shorter one held my attention; I watched as he picked a toothpick from the table’s toothpick container and began to chew on it as he eyed the menu. He didn’t look like the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was pretty good looking, and this was exactly the kind of combination that caught my attention. He looked up and suddenly we fell into eye contact. I smiled, and he grinned a boyish grin… I knew the type… I was rarely wrong about these things. I had become a little bit of an expert at hustling my money from egotistical, hapless guys hoping to get laid. Sometimes it was a whole lot easier and more forthcoming than working.

        I looked down at the table and pretended to fidget with my shark tooth bracelet. When I looked up again, he was sitting in my brother’s seat opposite me. “Hey sugar,” He said, “Get food poisoning here often?”

        I laughed- I really, seriously laughed… I wasn’t expecting that.

        “Dean,” He said, extending a hand across the table.

        I shook it, smiling sweetly, “Tash,” I lied.

        “Tash,” He said, “Pretty lady, pretty name,” If I had a nickel…

        “Thank you,” I said softly, and we shared another gaze. He wasn’t as muscular as my brother, but he looked like a regular gym buff. I started to genuinely wonder-

        “What’s something so pretty doing in a place like this?”

        I smiled again, “The recession brought me here,” I said, and he laughed.

        “I know the feeling,” He said. “It’s a hard knock life,”

        You have no idea, I thought. “Look,” I said, “You better get out of that chair before my brother comes back, he’s a little protective,” I read from the script in my mind; nothing gets them hooked like a good old fashion sting of rejection.

        “Is that so?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow with a defiant look of mischievousness on his face. It was cute, but obviously, my brother didn’t think so.

        A hand landed on Dean’s shoulder, making him flinch as he looked up and was met by Francis staring down at him. “You better believe it, sonny,”

        Dean gathered up yet another charming smile, “Sorry sir "didn’t know this seat was taken.” He looked like a high school jock trying to weasel his way out of detention. He stood up, and both men made a subconscious effort of puff-out-your-chest-dominance. All that stuff must be inbuilt…“I was just offering your sister here a drink on me-”

        “We’ll take two beers,” Francis cut him off with a grin before sitting down and ignoring Dean completely. Dean paused for a moment, wading through the confusion of what had just happened and trying to regain some sort of self composure. I smiled and he grinned back with a nod.

        “Alright, then,” He said and turned towards the waitress who was topping up ketchup bottles behind the counter, “Two beers for these lovely travellers,” He ordered in a tone dripping of sarcasm.

        My gaze dropped to the booth where his friend sat, and I saw the taller guy make a face and shake his head. Dean sat down and shrugged in response as he mouthed; “What?”

        “Hustling boys again?” Francis said as our meals arrived.

        “Thanks,” I nodded up at the waitress who smiled and walked away again. I saw Dean watch her- or more rather, her behind. I spotted a long, thin scar along the side of his neck that looked fresh. “Hey, you can’t say it doesn’t work… I mean, remember that business man in Wichita?” I said, returning my attention back to my brother, “Bet the b*****d doesn’t carry around 100 dollar notes in his wallet anymore…”

        “I’d rather we washed dishes for dough,” Francis said, shaking his head with a smile, “I think our karma is bad enough without adding stealing to it…”

        Our beers arrived, and I leaned back in my chair with a grin, “Doesn’t seem so bad right now,” I said cheerily. He uncapped his bottle and we raised them simultaneously. “To money,” I said, “legitimate, illegitimate and blood soaked,” He laughed again and we clinked bottles. “You know, I could get used to that,” I said.

        “What?”

        “You laughing,”

 Francis paused, looking thoughtful. “Can’t remember the last time we did,” He said.

        “You and me both, bro,” I took a sip of my beer and speared a piece of lettuce with my fork.

        Suddenly, Dean and his friend got up from their booth, leaving their half-eaten meals behind. His friend was chatting away on the phone urgently, barely throwing on his jacket as he bolted for the door. Dean followed behind a little slower, scamming one last bite from his burger as he followed suit. He looked up, nodded and winked at me before he swung the diner door open and hurried to their black Impala outside. “You don’t see a car like that every day,” Francis said, glancing out the window for a moment before shoveling a cut of steak into his mouth.

        “You don’t say,” I replied as I watched them leave the parking lot. “Curiouser and curiouser…”

        “Something about those guys makes me a little uneasy,” Francis added.

        “Something about everybody makes you a little uneasy,” I scoffed, even though I felt the same way. Something about Dean, his million dollar smile, the scar on his neck and his classic car didn’t quite add up. 

        Francis smirked and reached for his beer bottle, “That, Taylor, is because most people are either packin’, hustling’ or have the kind of past you only read about in Jeff Lindsay books,”

        “So in other words, most people are… us?” I said, amused.

        He shrugged and continued eating.

        I wondered for a moment, but could barely picture those two knock around pretty boys doing what we do. When I wasn’t swiping a few bucks from pockets, and when Francis wasn’t playing bus-boy for a week, we were out doing our real job. We didn’t have a name for it until we stumbled upon some people who happened to be in the same line of business. Apparently there were a whole lot of people out there with similar sad stories; they lost someone to something they didn’t even know was real, and then they spent the rest of their lives hunting that thing down. So the job title willed itself up organically; we were hunters, and the list of things we tracked seemed to grow longer and longer as the months passed… but mostly, there was just the one big game we continuously searched for.

        In an old ranch in Missouri, we stumbled upon a group of hunters that were organizing a group bust. There was Henry Cole who had been hunting the werewolf who killed his brother, there was Kurt and Richard Wesley who were hunting a mating pair of Ghouls who had killed his wife, Laurence Phillips and Craig Walsh were hunting a shifter who had killed their best friend Greg- and was currently out there wearing his skin, and there was the Bakers who had been on the road for 5 years… they had been hunting down a demon who killed their twin daughters, and they had caught the son of a b***h 3 years ago… but after living the way they had… there was no going back to normalcy, so they kept at it. That night in Missouri, they were working on busting an entire nest of Vampires and wondered if we wanted in. Apparently Mrs. Baker, an expert in Tarot and palmistry, could also read auras, and she had seen our hunter hued bubbles a mile off. Francis and I didn’t know a lot about Vampires, so we declined and skipped town that night after scamming some food and telling our share of hairy stories.

        The one where Francis and I killed a Windego in Little Rock was a favourite; Francis was rarely as animated as he was when he was telling that story… especially the punch line where we backed into it with our truck and blew off his head with our father’s old shotgun. We were still picking out bits of the thing from underneath the battered Ford.

        “Think they stole that Chevrolet?” I wondered out loud. Francis didn’t even look up to answer;

        “Probably,”

        I looked down at the beer bottle in my hand and twisted it around on the table. Suddenly, my eye caught a glimpse of something that made me smirk; Dean had written his name and number on the side of the bottle.

***

            Bobby Singer paced as he read to himself in the silence of the time capsule he called a home. “Ijit left his name and number on this broad’s bottle?” He grumbled, taking off his trucker cap to scratch his head. “I gotta school that boy on the dangers of lendin’ out information like that… again!”

            “Calm down, Bobby,” Sheryl laughed, “Boys will be boys,” She said. “And plus, this girl wasn’t exactly the wrong crowd… got any beers?”

            “In the fridge- look, Sheryl, can’t you just-”

            “Keep readin’, Bobby… you’ll see what I’m talking about,” Sheryl said.

            Bobby didn’t like all this p***y-footing around, but Bobby also knew that once Sheryl was fixed on doing something her way, there wasn’t any chance of hell of talking her out of it. Bobby Singer just kept reading through the scribbles and coffee stains and random doodles on the old, dirt stained pages.

***

            Adapted from the diary of Taylor Aubrey Nelson (continued):

            December 6th - 7^th 2009

I can’t remember a time when we weren’t running. We were always running; all the time. We were dodging monsters, and ghosts, and even the cops sometimes. When it comes down to it, you can bet your bottom dollar we won’t be calmly walking to the exits…

        We lived out of the little bit of money we carried around in our pockets, and in an old metal hard candy box we hit underneath the front passenger seat of our 1967 Ford F-100. We had a couple of other things in there too; five silver bullets, a sprig of rosemary and dried holly- you know, to keep evil spirits away.

        It was hard work getting used to these new conditions, but whenever I could, I strayed back to old habits. Buying CDs was something I couldn’t stop- not for the life of me. I swiped a CD player from a car a few months back and made my brother Francis grudgingly install it into our truck. It’s amazing how quickly I took to stealing, maybe my conscience was always wearing a little thin, and after all the unholy things I’d seen, it finally fell apart.

“You’re screwing up my girl,” Francis said as he pulled out wires from the new hole he’d made in the car. “She’s not gunna know what the hell this is…”

        “She’s a car, doofus,” I huffed, and watched him work. “She doesn’t know anything…”

        My brother and I had an interesting relationship; it was strange- we were so much closer before all this… even though we spend almost every waking moment together nowadays. We barely talked or share things anymore; he just drove and I just read or flicked through CDs and radio channels.

We had spent 9 months on the road tracking down the demon that killed our parents and our youngest sister Carrie. It seemed like a worthwhile venture; dad hadn’t prepared a heck of a lot for when he got wiped off the face of the earth, and well, who was I kidding? I wouldn’t have made it through 4 years of college anyway. Hunting monsters seemed like a job I could do, as long as my brother stuck around that is.

At least that’s what I constantly tell myself. Sometimes I lie awake in bed and wonder what it would be like to live outside these four walls of fear and violence. Somewhere in an alternate universe; in another life, I would still be going by my real name: Taylor Aubrey Nelson, a name I always hated until I stopped having the right to use it. Being on the run is messy like that… the things you have to leave behind are sometimes the things that make you you. But in this alternate universe, I guess Taylor Aubrey Nelson would be living a pretty normal life, dating a pretty normal guy, and taking pictures of bridges and animals and sunsets… and she’d be working at some mid-town gallery somewhere nice. And she’d spend her days telling people about the paintings that lined the walls; from their intricate brush strokes, to the stories they told. No one would care of course, because they’d be rich, busy people- the only kind that could afford paintings like that, but she would care… I would care. Detail is so important… intricacies, smudges, scars, hair-line fractures and wrinkles… what makes you you; a name like Taylor Aubrey Nelson.

Francis, I believe, had a distant dream in his head too. But for now, he was so fixated on catching the demon called Amon, I guess he was beginning to lose sight of that kind of stuff. For now, finding a lead in Chicago was enough. 

“Taylor!” Francis’ voice echoed in the darkness behind me. I heard the sound of his boots crushing twigs and crunching through dry grass as he approached. “Let’s go west,”

“West?” I said in a hushed whisper. “If you were a big bad mother, would you be out here in the moon light or down in the darkness?”

“We don’t go looking for it in its own backyard, Taylor- you know that,” Francis huffed, “That’s just suicide.”

I froze suddenly, and a painful five seconds of silence passed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hear that?” I whispered back.

“What?” Francis paused, “No…”

“Exactly,” I said, “Everything’s… quiet…”

I could hear Francis’ heart pounding, and I bet she could too. I lifted up my shotgun.

“I think she came looking for us,”

Suddenly there was a heart-stopping roar and I heard the thing charge through the shrubs and trees. “Run, Goddammit, run!” Francis called out to me, exasperated as we bolted towards the edge of the forest where the truck was parked.

After all that running… somehow it took me awhile to get into gear again. I just stood there, staring, watching as a massive black shadow and piercing yellow eyes exploded out of the darkness.

“Taylor!”

I heard its snapping teeth as it barked wildly, and the wind whistling as it moved across the long fur on its back. I heard the sound of its paws pounding on the ground as it came closer. I heard the sound of both its hearts beating in synchronised unison with each other; a heavy bass delivery that echoed inside my skull. Still, I could not move.

“Hey!” I heard a voice tear through my trance as a body came crashing onto mine. Before I knew it, I was enveloped in a pair of arms and being carried off like the damsel in distress I never wanted to be.

“Wha-” before I could finish my complaint, I heard two explosive shot gun shots and instinctively buried my head in the shoulder of whoever it was that was carrying me.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” I heard him coo. I felt faint, and as I looked upwards to the sky, I felt my body go limp. The stars up ahead danced in circles, and my vision seesawed in and out of focus.

When we got to the clearing I heard my brother’s voice screaming out in the distance. “Get away from her! Get away!”

“Hey, lady, you have to stay with me okay?” I heard the stranger say to me as he lay me down on the grass. My head rolled to the side and I saw our truck.

“You hear me, you son of a b***h? Get away from her!” Suddenly the stranger flew backwards, hitting the ground with a thud.

“You a*****e!” The stranger yelled back angrily, holding his shoulder where my brother had kicked him. “I just saved her life!” He shouted as my brother walked up to him, pointing a shotgun at his face.

“D-don’t…” I murmured on the ground. I looked at the stranger, and as the moonlight hit his face, I realized who he was.

“Sammy!” A more familiar voice called out from a fair distance away, and my brother switched to aiming at the approaching young man. “Hey, hey, hey- whoa!” The man said as he stepped towards my brother. “We just saved your sister you b*****d, and this is how you repay us?”

“D-Dean?” I muttered, too quiet for them to hear.

“Where the hell did you even come from?” Francis spat angrily. “How do I know you’re not demons playing some kind of screwed up trick?”

“Because we’re not, d****t- and if you fire that gun, you’re gunna be feeling awfully stupid,” came the reply.

“And also because I’m here,” Another gruff voice filled the air. All I saw was a pair of dark shoes and the tail of a trench coat. And then my brother fell to the ground.

“Francis…” I tried to speak, but my throat suddenly felt like it was filled with knives and razor blades and barbed wire-

“It’ll be okay,” I saw the man in a trench coat loom over me. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. “Taylor, it’ll be okay,” He spoke. He raised two fingers to my forehead and my vision cross faded to a bright white light.

***

“You did a good job with those boys, Bobby,” Sheryl said as she watched the paddocks in the distance through an opened window. “Damned near lost their lives saving that girl,”

“John taught them well,” Bobby replied; his eyes still glued to the pages of Taylor’s journal.

“You too, Bobby,” Sheryl said. They looked up at each other then and smiled. “I know you did a lot for them… I know you were probably more of a father to those boys than John ever could’ve been.”

“Now hang on-”

“It’s alright, Bobby… I knew John too, don’t forget,” She said, raising up her hands towards Bobby who looked like he was about ready to charge, “He was a good man, just too darned broken to care for those kids the way they needed him to… I would’ve been the same,”

Bobby nodded silently, and turned back to the journal. “What the hell was this girl and her brother hunting anyway? Some kind of Werewolf?”

“Well,” Sheryl murmured as she moved to the dining table to pour herself another glass of dry Whiskey. “This is where the story gets a little… well, twisted,”

“How so?”

“Well that thing they were hunting back there… it was a Calopus,”

“A Calopus?” Bobby thought he had heard wrong, and then he wished he had, “Wait a minute… you mean those extra-special-issue hell hound with antlers coming out of their giant heads inbuilt with razor sharp no-nonsense teeth?”

“That’s the one,”

“These kids just went after something like that? On their own?” Bobby was at his wit’s end just thinking about it.

“It’s amazing how many hunters get gutted out there because they never read the research right,” Sheryl said, an ironic smile across her lips… almost as if she remembered an instance where she had fallen into a similar scenario.

“Wait a minute… if it was a hell hound they were trackin’ out there…” Bobby began and Sheryl looked to him seriously; waiting for him to arrive at the punch line. “It- but… wait a minute…” He struggled, flipping back through pages. “Hang on, she said she saw the damned thing; it had yellow eyes and long fur along it’s back… there’s no way she could’ve seen a hell hound- ain’t no one ever sees a hell hound!” He snapped his head up and his eyes met Sheryl’s. “Those things are invisible to humans,” He said.

“Exactly...” Sheryl said and took a sip of her Whiskey before adding; “I told you… it’s a story you have to read for yourself,”

She stood up and walked towards him, taking the journal from his hands as he stood gaping for a moment.

“I’ll reiterate the rest,” Sheryl said, pacing towards the living room, her boots clunking loudly on the hardwood floors. “But you gotta tell me why it is these boys are messin’ around out there with a guardian angel named Castiel,”

Bobby gulped down and walked into the living room, grabbing the bottle of Whiskey off the dining table as he made his way over to his tattered floral couch. As he sat down in silence to pour himself a drink, he wondered how much about the Winchester’s sorry story would be worthwhile conversation between him and a long lost best friend. He felt the springs in the couch under him tense and condense, and he thought about how he could never bring himself to throw the damned lumpy thing away. His eyes then looked up to see Sheryl turning through pages of the weathered journal in her hands, and he decided he had to know… Who the hell was Taylor Aubrey Nelson?

 

Author's Note

Author's notes: okay, so I love the TV Show Supernatural and have been wanting to do a fan fiction for the show for awhile now... I felt like doing a story that was from the perspective of one of the many hunters they meet on their hunting trips... and this is what I came up with. I've always wondered how these hunters got started themselves, and why they were doing what they were doing... the Winchesters can't be the only ones with massive emotional baggage...

Taylor and Francis are original characters- everything else is from the world of Supernatural created by Eric Kripke.