The Inevitable End || Supernatural & Harry Styles

Prologue

He was starting to grow impatient just as the door opened up and out came the little group. He looked at his watch, noticing it was the same time as yesterday and the day before that. They gathered every day at the same time and always looked the same, with their big black wool coats and black hats. His lips curled into a smile as he got up from his seat and steadily walked after them. With his brisk pace, he easily caught up with them. He slowed his stride, deciding to hang back for a little while longer.

'Let's see where they take me.'

Harry was eager to find out where they were headed. He stared down at his feet, his thumbs fiddling together. He blew out a breath, water vapor appearing. He was leaning on the back of a closed restaurant. It was five minutes after midnight. He watched as they stood and then began to walk again. He wondered if this was some type of tactic to distract someone that could be following them or they were simply just boring.

Soon he grew bored with following them around. They walked towards the area he called downtown, which wasn't what you would think of when you think of downtown. Jerome wasn't a city. It was a small town, where everyone knew everyone which was the first thing that made him interested in the group of men. And it was his interest in them that didn't allow him to give up on his mission. They walked past the shops and resturants, past the hotels. His perseverance finally paid off, when they apparently reached their destination. Their choice of location peaked Harry's curiosity.

It was a rundown, abandoned house. He stepped a couple of feet from it.

'It's as good a place as any, I suppose,' He thought, a wry smile on his face. 'They definitely have to be up to no good.'

They brushed past the ratty fence, walked through the overgrown weeds and slipped through the front door. All the while, the group of men constantly looked over their shoulder and despite their cautious demeanor they didn't see him. And he supposed they weren't so careful and clever as he had first expected.

'I knew it was a good idea to follow them,' Harry thought, feeling giddy. It's just been too long since something interesting has happened.

Inside the house, it was dark and gloomy. But soon the light flickered off the walls as the group of men set up candles around the room. Harry was able to find a nice little place for him to hide, without being noticed. There he stood, inside the small closet, peering out through cracks in the door, trying to make the least amount of noise possible.

He took small shallow breaths, his eyes growing wide as the men drew back together and formed a circle. He strained his ears, trying to understand what the muffled voices were saying. He frowned and realized it didn't sound like a language he understood.

On the other side of the door, the men stood tall and ready to begin to the sacred ritual. Everything was ready; everything was in place. In their own language the leader of the group told his followers, "Take each other's hands. It is time to start."

Just as they began to chant, the candles blew out; all of them. They looked at each other in worry and confusion. The leader, a chubby bald man in his early thirties, switched to English instead, snapping at the younger men, "Which one of you left the blasted window open? We can't have drafts." He continued to bicker, even as the youngest of the groups rushed to close the window.

But as he reached the window, he was surprised to find in closed. He turned back and opened his mouth to tell the leader that there was never any draft. His mouth abruptly closed as he took in the leader's tense stance and glaring eyes. He didn't look to be in the mood for questioning. Instead, the young man weakly said, "Closed it."

Inside the closet, Harry pushed his ear closer against the door. He could just barely hear what was being said. Maybe if he opened the door just a little bit more...

He found himself flying through the air and landing in front of five pairs of shocked eyes. Fear laced his heart as he took in the group's appearance: their tough demeanor and their face painted what appeared like blood, no scratch that, it was blood. His eyes fell to the ground as he saw an empty container stained in blood.

He stuttered for words as he struggled to get up and dust his hands. "I..." he closed his mouth shut as he felt laughter bubble inside of him. This was not the right time to want to laugh. "I will just get going then," he cleared his throat, taking a step back. "I assume this isn't what it looks like?"

The leader of the group took a couple of steps forward, there was something in his hand Harry couldn't quite see. He squinted his eyes trying to see better. He took another step back. The man pointed his gun saying, "Or is it?"