Heartless: Episode 4 (Supernatural Fan fiction)

4th installment in the Taylor Nelson saga... (2 more episodes to completion)

Heartless: Episode 4

“The Man Who Sold The World”

Bobby lay awake that night thinking of all the words he had read from the pages of a dirt covered journal. He flipped through the pages idly, his fingers tracing the spine when he reached its final pages… “It don’t make a lick of sense,” He murmured through the darkness. Sheryl lay half-asleep on his bed, just a few feet away from the couch he was lying on. She sighed and Bobby saw her body heave with the intake and exhalation of a heavy breath.

“The final lines?” She asked.

“Yeah, it’s like she ripped out a tonne of pages,” Bobby said. “I don’t get it… it just ends with this random line-”

“If I knew… I would’ve thanked him,” Sheryl said, and they let the words settle in the hot, silent room.

“Why’d she rip out all those pages… why’d she leave the rest?” Bobby asked.

“Maybe she was in a hurry,” Sheryl replied and yawned. After a short pause, she rolled over and peered through the darkness to where she figured Bobby was lying, “You sure about me sleeping in your bed, Bobby… are you comfortable over there?”

Bobby grunted, “It’s all yours Sheryl, I don’t sleep in that bed anymore, you know that,”

“Huh,” Sheryl scoffed quietly, “Just an old man stuck in his ways,” She murmured as her heavy eyelids fluttered shut. In the darkness, Bobby let those words circle around in his head. Just an old man stuck in his ways… Bobby had lived out his prime years, and his peak had come and gone. He remembered what it was like hunting with John Winchester when they were Sam and Dean’s age… and he remembered how careless they had been with their lives. Lives lived on the head of a pin sure cranked past pretty quickly. Before he knew it, he was just an old man… stuck in his ways.

Listlessly, he shuffled through some Polaroids that had fallen from the pages of the journal; shots of a sunset, and shots of an old Ford truck… even a couple of pictures of a black haired muscle man called Francis who scowled and looked away in every shot. And then there were the ones Bobby couldn’t help but stare at; three shots of Taylor Aubrey Nelson; a mysterious girl that he knew so much and so little about. She stared straight down the barrel in one of the shots, a candid snap that Bobby imagined Francis took when she was unprepared. She had raven black hair with a single pink streak through her fringe, and light green eyes that stared hauntingly back. Her tan skin was perfect, except for a few cuts and bruises on her arm, and a scuff along her jaw that she must’ve gotten from all those badly-prepared-for hunting trips. She wore a ripped pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a sullen picture of Kurt Cobain plastered over it. She was just so young… Bobby could barely believe it. But in this line of work, 23 can feel a lot like 33. You have to grow up quickly, and find your feet as soon as you hit the ground running… or you’re out.

23 year-old Taylor Nelson, or Taylor Thopper as she often went by while on the road, was no stranger to the concept. There were days, weeks, months- when she felt like 33; a woman who had seen it, been there, done that… and whose growing cynicism was slowly replacing her innocence. Then there were days she felt 53; a woman passing her peak and entering the slow-down-stage of life… a place of perpetual weariness, and of perpetual fatigue. Strangely enough, there’d also be times when she felt 13; when Francis would leave the room to take a phone call, or when he’d refuse to let her drive… or when he’d tell her to stay in, lock the doors, and open it to no one… not even room service. It was confusing, and every day was a contradiction of instructions of how to act and who to be. Taylor Nelson often wondered if she would ever just get a chance to be Taylor Nelson… and if one day, she could just be 23.

Bobby ran through the last pages of her journal again, phrases, lines, moments, and all the strange and haunting scenes already embedded in his mind. “Who the hell are you,” Bobby whispered quietly, “Where have you gone?”

***

Adapted from the journal of Taylor Nelson:
December 9^th 2009

When we reached the doors of the hospital, Castiel stood back as Dean and Sam entered the building. Dean held the door open and waited for me, his eyes darting back to the car to make sure the Impala was still waiting for him like some sort of doting lover. “Aren’t you coming?” I asked Castiel who looked distracted by secret thoughts.

“I cannot,” He replied, “The demon covers his territory with Enochian magic… I cannot enter,”

“That’s how he’s been avoiding getting ganked,” Dean added, “Every place we’ve been in this town lately has been smothered in anti-angel crap,”

“What happens if you go in?” I asked, looking at Castiel worriedly.

“I simply can’t,” He replied, “This is why you’re so important, Taylor… you understand don’t you?” He rested a hand on my shoulder, “We would not have asked this of you if it wasn’t our only option.”

I nodded. I knew Castiel felt like he had sinned horribly against me for making me go through with this… and I knew it was weighing down on him like cinder blocks. I wish I could have told him it was okay… and that I was going to be fine… but how do you comfort an angel? Was I supposed to pretend like I had the answers even when a divine messenger of God did not? I let his hand fall from my shoulder as I walked inside.

Dean led the way, his torchlight streaming through the darkened hallways. All the staff and patients were asleep, tucked in hospital beds, draped over reception tables, or sprawled across floors- alive, but lost to the world. Sam checked some of the bodies, “Look,” He said, lifting up a nurse’s hand that bore a ghastly looking sore. It was a mass of 3 or 4 blisters, framed with hot red and yellowing scar tissue. Some scratch marks around it showed that they weren’t new.

“What the hell has this son of a b***h done?” Dean whispered back to his brother, stepping over yet another unconscious doctor.

“Must be a spell,” Sam said, “Maybe he’s incubating them for later use,”

“Sick b*****d,” Dean spat as continued down the hallway. Sam stayed next to me, shining his torch light across the rooms with his salt-packed-shotgun in tow. Sam Winchester was an interesting soul, filled with a chilling innocence and naivety for a man of his age and circumstance. It wasn’t hard to see that he had a warm and gentle heart that ached to love and be loved… no matter the cost. It was obvious he worshipped his older brother, even if he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about playing second fiddle; he always took a moment to process when Dean barked orders at him. Even when it was something simple like: “Sam, check that room”, Sam would look to his brother like he had just been kneed in the guts and told he was a useless retard, before finally going to his job. For all the wealth of care and generosity that Sam had stored inside the four walls of his 6’5” physique, there was also something very wrong going on inside him. Maybe it took my special skill to see it, or maybe not, but he wore it like an abuse victim wears a scar delivered by their assailant; with so much guilt that it’s a wonder he functions at all. There was something different about him; something wrong; maybe it was even evil… maybe he didn’t even know. The more I watched him, the more I wondered… but he wasn’t the puzzle I was meant to be solving.

“Anything weird, Taylor?” Dean piped up, sounding bored. “I mean, besides the usual avalanche of doctors and nurses we seem to be having here,”

“Nothing,” I said, my eyes scanning the waiting room in the paediatric ward. I couldn’t help but stare; there were little children littered everywhere. They were pale white like cherubs; morbid Christmas decorations waiting to be put on display. “Wait…” I stopped suddenly, my hand grabbing for Sam’s arm. He stopped short and pointed the torch light to where I was looking to. “There’s a man…” I said, “He’s not looking at us… he’s just standing in front of that room,” I lifted a finger to point, shakily.

“Where?” Dean said, squinting as he spun around to shine his torch in that direction too. My heart sank and I felt fear boil up inside me. My stomach knotted up into tourniquets. My mouth went dry. I felt sick.

“Wait,” Sam said, “What is he wearing?”

“All black,” I said, “Like f-for a funeral,” I stammered out.

“It’s a reaper,” He replied, sharing a glance with Dean, “He’s no trouble,” Sam said.

“Like a grimm reaper?” I said.

“There’s probably a whole lot of em’ around here,” Dean shrugged.

“Maybe he saw the demon,” I suggested, my eyes still on the man who appeared unperturbed by our presence. “I could ask him… I mean, they don’t attack do they?”

“No,” Sam said, a little smile on his face, “I don’t know if he’d be up for talking though,”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “They’re more the staring into space in silence kind,” he smirked, “Like Van Halen fans, but less fun,”

“Noted,” I said, and stepped over a sleeping nurse in pink scrubs to get to the reaper. “Hey,” I called out to the man, “Guy?” I said, “Reaper?”

“Told you,” Dean said, and Sam gave him a dirty look, “What?” He replied, “I did, didn’t I?”

I started to turn around again when the reaper finally decided to say something. I paused, frozen in place. “You alright, Taylor?” Sam called out. I turned back to face the Reaper who refused to return the favour. He kept staring at the door even as he spoke to me. His voice was quiet, and he spoke in a distant tone that was saturated with a lack of energy or passion. It damned near sucked the air right out of my lungs. It was the voice of death.

“He is here,” The reaper said. “I saw him come and feast here, and take his home here too… he will not leave,”

It took me a moment to find my voice again so I could respond, and behind me, Dean called my name for the second time. “You spoke to him?” I asked the reaper.

“We do not speak… but I see him, and he sees me. We do not need to speak… we have no business to discuss,” The reaper replied, “He has stopped everything here; made it slow. How will I go if I cannot take her with me?”

I looked to the room door and through the small window on it. Inside, a little girl with blonde hair lay asleep. I thought the reaper sounded almost sad, but his disappointment seemed to stem more from his inability to complete a job. I suppose the show must go on.

“He’s here,” I said to Dean and Sam. “The reaper saw him,”

“He is here,” The reaper said suddenly and I whipped my head around again to face him. He was still looking away, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. With his husky, deathly voice, he spoke; “He sees you.”

Before I could think to warn the Winchesters, we were flying across the room and crashing into a lilac and white pin-striped wall; a flash of blinding white light forcing our eyes shut. A deep rumble resonated through the room as we flew, and I could have sworn everything slowed down- we slow motioned swan dived into the concrete wall. The shot guns lifted out of Sam and Dean’s hands, as did the torch lights, and even a nurse’s table lined with pills and syringes took flight with us.

“Taylor!” I heard Sam’s voice call out to me, distant, hollow, and almost lost in a persistent ringing that filled my aching head. “Taylor!” I slowly opened my eyes, met with the face of a sleeping child beside me. “Taylor!” I was barely able to move my head, but I managed to tilt it upwards just enough to see Sam struggling against the wall just a few feet away. He looked at me, gritting his teeth as he struggled against an unseen force that held him there. “The gun!” He said, before cringing in pain and hanging his head forward. I saw a thick black halo appear around his body, like an electrical force that pulsed from his skin. It took over, snaking over his flesh and travelling through his veins. It wrapped around him as he tossed his head back and screamed, still unable to move. He was drowning in it… his wrath; a sickness that was always inside him; the wrong thing that marred his generosity, his warmth, his brotherly love. Even though I knew he meant me no harm, I was afraid. “Taylor!” He shouted again.

I couldn’t see Dean, but as I looked around, I saw the orb of bright light that had pushed us through the room. It lit up the darkened reception area like a supernova of ghostly energy. I flinched, my eyes snapping shut just as I heard Dean scream, assuring me that he was still in the room. When I opened my eyes again, I was somewhere else…

It was the darndest thing…

“Taylor?” I heard a calm, familiar voice say to me, “Are you okay?” I felt a gentle hand rest on my shoulder. I looked around, feeling my body move more freely now… I recognized the wooden floors I was lying on immediately. The hand gripped my shoulder, and slowly, I got to my feet.

“Cas?” I said, confused. The angel stared back at me, his head tilted to one side as he studied my shocked expression. “What’s going on?” I looked around, and saw an eerily familiar dining room. An oak table stood beside us, inside four walls painted a sunshine-shade of yellow. Heart-shaped placemats were placed around the table- I counted them; there were 5. “Where are we?”

“Your old home,” Castiel replied, and his words felt like a million razors sinking in my skin.

“I know where we are, Cas…” I snapped, “What happened to the hospital-”

“You’re still there,” He said, “You’re dreaming, or more rather, re-living a memory,”

“What?” I blurted out. “Why are you here?”

“It’s the only way I could follow you inside the hospital,” He explained.

“You hitched a ride inside my brain?” I asked; shocked at how little say I had in the matter of keeping out or inviting in an angel to my inner most secrets, memories and dreams.

“You and Dean have an eerie similarity about the way you speak,” Castiel replied, sounding like a scientist making an observation about his lab rat.

“Why am I here, Cas,” I asked, “Dean and Sam are in trouble,”

Before he could answer, I heard a murmur from the lounge; a quiet whisper that sounded unmistakably like my brother. Every inch of me knew I wasn’t going to like what I was about to see, but my feet marched forward towards the room anyway. Slowly and hesitantly, we reached the room, and even though all I wanted to do was run, I forced myself to stay. “I’m right here, Taylor,” Castiel whispered to me. “You’re not alone,”

My brother Francis was huddled over on the ground, his hands on his head as his body shuddered through terrible sobs. He was covered in the blood of our family that lay beside him, scattered on the floor with their throats slit open in jagged cuts. Their eyes were open… mom… dad… little sis… there was so much blood, so much red- I didn’t think it was possible for four people to bleed that much… Yes… four… because I saw myself there too. I was nailed to the wall; crucifixion style, my clothes drenched with blood from a dozen stab wounds. Painted around me in the same stuff was a devil’s trap, just like the kind Francis taught me to draw. Just like the ones we used to imprison the demon we found in Wichita. Just like the one I managed to botch in Denver. Just like the one we were planning to trap Amon in…

All that time we spent on the road, I never stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, Francis was so hell bent on killing Amon because he was afraid he was going to kill us first. “This… this isn’t right,” I said, my eyes welling up in tears. “What happened, Cas?”

“You were dead, Taylor,” Castiel said, “Just like your parents and your sister,” while those words stung like hellfire, I knew that he was speaking the truth. All those months ago, I stood here as an apparition of a former self, looking in on my brother as he mourned the loss of his entire family. Somehow, I had forgotten… maybe I had somehow willed it out of my mind.

“How…” tears ran down my face and I took a slow step back. I had always wondered why us… but never really stopped to ponder the question with the sort of depth it deserved. Why us? Really… Why a normal, middle-class family from New Jersey. Why a couple of parents who went to PTA meetings, church every weekend, and who insisted on celebrating Valentine’s Day like it was Thanksgiving? Why a little sister who was on the cheer squad, the glee club and the prom committee? Why me… why Taylor; the professional slacker, the nobody, the punk girl with a camera and a dream. Why all of us… and why not Francis?

“Your brother had an interesting past time,” Castiel explained, “He studied demonology, and performed some seances… small things, making small deals to get by… it’s how he got the truck, and how your father got his job back the day after he got laid off,” He said, “It’s how your dog Mercury came back to life and found his way back to your front door… he cared about you a lot, Taylor. He still does,”

“No… not Francis, it doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

“It’s true, Taylor,” He explained, “Unfortunately he didn’t know enough to stay out of trouble forever… like everyone who plays with fire, he got burned,”

“It can’t be…” I said quietly, refusing to believe it even as the hard evidence stared back at me in the form of my massacred family, “Not Francis…”

“He called upon Amon, a demon he didn’t fully understand… a fresh reject from hell, and before he knew it, he lost control,” Castiel said, “He was in your home for three days, Taylor,” He explained, “He possessed every one of your family and made them cut out their own throats… and by the third day, he had taken over your body.” Castiel took a step towards me, “Francis was forced to perform an archaic exorcism on you,”

“He nailed me to the wall?”

“It was the only way he knew… the only one he had studied,”

“He stabbed me… 12 times,” I said, all feeling, all will, all other emotion left my body as the heaviest grief descended upon me. “I remember that...” I did, deep inside me, this memory awakened itself and broke down the barriers that had once held it hostage. I remember screaming, begging for my brother to stop, but he didn’t hear me… he heard the other voice; Amon’s… as he shouted insults and spat at my brother who hacked away at my frail body. He broke my ribs on impact. How did I forget all that pain?

“Amon was caged in the devil’s trap, and since he was exiled from hell, he couldn’t go back no matter how much Francis tried to send him there,” Castiel said, “So to avoid from being bound to the wall forever, he made a deal with your brother,”

“What?” I turned to Castiel who stood beside me, solemnly fixed in a defiant gaze at my corpse on the wall. I could see his eyes were filled with tears.

“If Francis set him free from the trap, he was going to bring you back; clean, renewed… and without any memory of this,” He said, “But demons are… complex,” He added, “Amon made you an open door, he left you with the cross you bear… your ability to see through into the other world,” Casitle explained, “He told Francis that one day, he was going to come back for you,”

“That’s why Francis wanted to find him first?” I said. I finally understood the method to my brother’s madness, and the reason why he was so burdened… every time, all the time. Darkly, I wished he had just buried me in a shallow grave and walked away… just saved us all this trouble…

“Taylor,” I heard Castiel say, his hand taking mine.

“He has me now doesn’t he?” I said. “You brought me here to keep me from feeling the pain he filled me with the last time he possessed me… like being burned alive…”

“I’m sorry, Taylor…” Castiel said as placed a hand against my cheek. I began to feel faint. “I wish I could keep you here,” He said, and I saw the wealth of sadness in his eyes. “You have to go back now,” He whispered. “But I’m here,” He promised, “You have to keep fighting, Taylor… you are important,”

A bright light filled the room and Castiel enveloped me in an embrace. We fell through the light; and down the proverbial rabbit hole into a reality I wished I could escape forever. But he was right, I had to go back and keep fighting. I owed it to the sleeping children in that ward. I owed it to Sam and Dean Winchester. I owed it to my brother. Someone in the Nelson family had to be set free of all this pain… even if it wasn’t going to be me.

***