Supernatural Oneshots | ✓

The Note {Dean}

Prompt inspiration: 642 Tiny Things to Write About by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto

Prompt: A note in a bottle you found washed up on the shores of Disney World's Lake Buena Vista water park

Summary/prompt change: You're on a vacation in Disney World when you find a simple message in a bottle in a deep puddle after a storm, spelling out a simple yet eerie message.

It had been a long, large storm.

It took up more time than the usual Florida storm, ending somewhere around six o'clock at night. Your family didn't want to go to a wet park–where was the fun in stomping around in dirty puddles in the chilly air? But you couldn't help but want to go and get on some rides. So, that was why you had started, alone, on the walkway from the Contemporary hotel to the Magic Kingdom.

It was chilly, and goosebumps trailed up and down your legs, left bare by your shorts. You had to hop puddles to keep your sneakers dry, but some water would still splash up, darkening the back of your warm sweatshirt. You checked the watch on your wrist. You'd barely left the room three minutes ago.

You pushed ahead, despite the ominous sky, the dark clouds still lingering from the storm, and the puddles that would probably come up to your knees.

Not far from the park's entrance, you hopped a puddle. But this one was big–a little too big for you to successfully jump–and it made one hell of a splash when your feet connected with it. Your foot hit something solid, nearly knocking you off of your feet, and you knelt to examine the object.

Sunk down in the puddle was an empty water bottle, one that you could buy at any stand in the parks. There was a piece of paper rolled up inside. With a short sigh, you pushed up your sleeve and reached into the water, fishing out the bottle.

You freed the note while you waited to scan your band to get into the park, and you tucked the paper into your pocket before racing across the park to get to Space Mountain, hoping to beat the crowds there. You breathed a sigh of relief when you reached the ride–twenty minutes. The lowest time you'd ever seen it.

In line, you pulled the note from your pocket and unrolled it. It was a simple piece of paper, really–plain, white, thin. Messily torn at one edge like it had been ripped from a notepad too quickly. The words, written in black ink, had something masculine to the scribbles and curves of the letters, and they were crookedly scrawled across the page.

F I N D M E. L B T Y S Q R V R B T. - D. W.

You didn't understand half of what it said.

You pulled the park map from your pocket. The first part was easy enough–find me. And the third was the signature. But the second part? It had to be an abbreviation, unless this D. W. was spouting nonsense.

You carefully searched through every name on the map as fast as you could. You found it when you reached Liberty Square–the Liberty Square Riverboat. You tucked away the note and the map and made a mental note of that. After the ride, you had your destination.

It had started to drizzle a little once again, but maybe that was just the water blowing off of everything. You had your hood up, hurrying across Fantasyland to reach Liberty Square. Your stomach growled. After meeting this mysterious D. W., you'd have to get something to eat.

You made it just before they finished letting people on, bouncing on the balls of your feet. It was only when you got on that you realized the flaw in your plan–you didn't know who D. W. was. At all. They could be a man or a woman, an adult or a child. Would they be alone? Or with a group? What if it was a joke?

You stood, leaning against a railing, the note clutched in your hand. Your eyes wandered around to the people on board with you. There was a woman with her daughter, who was dressed as Minnie Mouse and clutching the string of a pink balloon. There were two boys about your age, their arms wrapped around each other. There was a family with three girls of about fourteen, all three of them giggling and squealing and taking a lot of pictures.

There was another person, too. Someone you had almost missed. It was a man, standing alone. He was tall, dressed in jeans, an old leather jacket, and a gray shirt. His hair–short and cropped–was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown. When he turned his head, you got a look at his face. He looked at you like he knew you'd been watching, knew the whole time.

Your feet were carrying you across the deck before you knew it. The letter was clutched tight in your hand, nearly crumpled in your fist. You stopped beside him and leaned against the railing. You didn't talk until he turned towards you.

"I have a feeling that you're the one that dropped this."

The man took the message from your hand and read it. He exhaled through his nose. "Damn," he mumbled. "This was for my brother to find."

"Sorry to disappoint." You said. "You could always call him."

"Nah, he's not picking up." The man stuck out a hand. "I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Y/n." You shook his hand. "If you don't mind my asking, what made you think that a message in a bottle, dropped into a puddle, would reach your brother?"

Dean shrugged. "The world works in odd ways, Y/N." He glanced over at you, eyes bright. "Are you doing anything right after this? I know a place around here that has some pretty good food. Not that far of a walk, either."

"And what about your brother?"

He shot you a grin. "He'll catch up eventually."