Supernatural Oneshots | ✓

Chains {Winchesters}

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

Prompt: On your old family farm, there's an oak tree with a big rusty chain around it. What used to be chained to the tree?

Summary/prompt change: You look into the dark past of your family's old, creepy farmhouse and the old tree behind it.

There were three legends about your family's farmhouse.

The first was that chained to the large, old oak tree in your backyard, the one that you used to climb when you were younger, was an angel. Rumor was that the remnants of the golden blood of angels could still be found glittering on the rusted chain.

The second was that many years ago, a demon had been chained there. Or a young man possessed by one. That detail had a knack for changing based on the person, but the rest of the story was always the same–the priest banished the demon, but a crust of sulfur was still on the chain.

The third was that your ancestor had taken a ghost (or an angry spirit of some sort, depending on who you were talking to), dragged it from the house, tied it to the tree with the iron chain, and sent it to wherever the hell it was supposed to go. A small marking,

Of the three legends, you believed none. That tree was your childhood–you would climb the branches and spend your days shaded by the leaves. You fell from it and broke your arm and your leg when you were in third grade. You used the chain to pull yourself up when you were too short to reach the lowest branches, and you had finished countless books, essays, and homework assignments hidden among the branches. There being anything out of the ordinary about that tree was absurd.

Or so you thought. When you came back from your first year of college for the summer, the house seemed different. It seemed darker. The windows and doors seemed to stick to their frames like they didn't want to open after they'd been shut. No matter what you did, you were always cold. Your parents couldn't seem to see the difference. But you did.

You were studying one night after a power outage when your candle suddenly blew out. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, and you stood from your bed. Your fumbled around in the dark, searching on your desktop for your matches. When you tried to relight the candle, nothing happened.

You let out an angry huff and dropped the matches onto your bedside table. A dark shape rushed across your room to your windows. A cold breeze followed it, stirring your hair and making the white curtains twist like living things. Your cold hands trembled. "Hello?"

There was no reply.

The next day, you went down to the tree. You hadn't been near it in months. And instead of feeling the usual comfort, you only felt cold.

You took the chain in your hands, the metal cold despite the heat of the early afternoon. Bugs buzzed in the high grass that you were going to mow later. Your heart felt like it was in your throat rather than your chest.

You carefully turned over the heavy chain, inspecting it slowly. You felt for any grooves or markings, and then you found one. Three, actually, all in a row. The first was like a cross turned on its side, the top segment ended with a triangle and the left segment marked by two. The second was one you recognized from school when you were younger–a hook and something else. Egyptian, you thought. You knew it symbolized a god, but who it was, you couldn't remember. The third was a diamond with a little open triangle beneath it. Like the first, you didn't know this one.

"Excuse me, are you Y/N Y/L/N?" You turned. Two tall men stood behind you, hands tucked into the front pockets of their worn jeans. Despite the summer heat, they were both wearing jackets.