《The Unnatural》Reader x Supernatural

Frank

The brightest light broke through the window to your crappy apartment and shone upon the walls of your once dark room, dust particles being put under a spotlight as they danced through the air. With the turning of your rested body you look to the clock by your bedside; 9 a.m. and still too early in your opinion. Cursing the morning for coming so soon you bury your face into the pillows and send out a small wish for just one more hour of rest.

When your wish is struck down for the billionth time, you finally accept that it is indeed morning and you do have to get up. You drag your feet as you force yourself through the morning routine that had been accepted as your own; that is the routine of relieving yourself and making a b-line for the coffee maker. You stood with nothing but the sound of coffee slowly dripping as your mind contemplated the very serious question of how many potato dishes had been invented as of yet, and the even more serious question; had you tried them all?

The chime of the machine before you began to cry out as a smile spread across your face. You knew this cup of Joe would be the highlight of your day. With coffee in hand and your potato dilemma pushed from your mind momentarily, you sit before the desktop preparing for the day ahead of you. 

Scrolling through the emails nothing caught your eye, which had become an unsurprising trend as of late. Your job was- well- different. You could hack, but you were mainly known for being something of a bounty hunter; finding people who wronged more powerful people. Just last year you had delivered a double-agent to the Italian Mafia which earned you a pretty penny, but times were no longer quite as simple. You were now reduced to catching cheating husbands with their pants down or even committing identity theft just to be able to pay your rent. Sure other jobs were out there, but the thought of sitting behind a desk and taking orders from 'the man' made you cringe. Times were tough, but this is what you did best.

A warm shower seemed like the best option as the lack of jobs you had became discouraging.   The pressurized water flowed over your body as it embraced your every curve; your mind was lost thinking of what you could be doing with your life besides making runs for mob bosses and stealing the identity of Gracie Lu Freebush for foreign clients. Theoretically, you could be doing anything; even flipping burgers if it was demanded of you. Doing anything was not what you wanted to do, though. Yes it was risky and yes most of the time it was not totally legal, but the job you had was the job you loved. It made you feel free and in control while life around you was pure chaos.

You ruffled your hair under a dark towel as you tried your hardest to soak up the water your locks had collected as your attention was held by a figure on the television. Bold white lettering flashed along the bottom of the screen The Rise Of Dick as a well trimmed man named Richard Roman gave a speech including his belief of good old american values; which he was clearly pulling from anywhere but the heart.

"What a dick." You chuckle to yourself as you click off the TV.

A singular ding rang out from your computer, peaking your interest. A few clicks and an email from an old friend, Frank Devereaux, was displayed on the bright screen. You had met Frank after a run in with the government when you were young, just starting out. You needed a clean slate and somehow you found him. Not only did Frank help with creating counterfeit I.D.s, he also taught you a few of his tricks in hacking surveillance and watching out for the eyes of Big Brother. Frank knew many people, but not many people knew him, making you proud that he acknowledged you as a friend some time ago; you wouldn't doubt if you were his only friend.You would spend hours at a time just listening to his conspiracy theories and wild tales of actual living monsters.  He was odd to say the least, but he was a good man.

You hadn't talked to him in a few months, but radio silence was not an abnormal trait of his. This time was different. The realization struck you like a train when you opened the attached documents; these were some of the most secretive files he had, he would not send these over unless something had happened to him. His client lists and his projects were sent to you in hopes of you taking over the little business he started. There was information on every person Frank had ever worked with, including a file on you.  

One folder was labeled Richard Roman Enterprises. With brows furrowed in curiosity you clicked open the folder, images and articles filled your screen with information on something called a Leviathan. An ancient race of monsters that fed on humans; led by the one and only Dick Roman. You spent the next couple hours or so reading every bit of information those folders held. Vague blanket plans for the development of SucroCorp and a hint to the end game of the sketchy company. 

Information on creatures of every form and the means to end them also existed in the files. It made sense. Frank had talked about the evil and weird things in the world; even mentioning the group of individuals that called themselves hunters. As if every suspicion needed to be erased, all information you would ever need sat before you. It was real. Monsters, Demons, and even Angels. It all made sense in an odd way. The sun had begun to set without your knowledge; the kitchen falling dark as the day rolled into night.

Both confusion on the information and the denial that something happened to Frank drove you to take a journey out to the trailer of the paranoid fool.  After a short drive in the pounding rain, you pulled up to the run down and technology stuffed trailer that had become the dwelling of dear Mr. Devereaux. A rap on the door did not gain access, which was not a big shocker. You made the executive decision to open the flimsy door and enter the trailer without permission; Creedence Clearwater Revival was blasting from the radio. Empty. The trailer was without occupancy, but the rearranged furniture and odd paint on the walls made your stomach drop.

Sure enough, something happened to frank. Judging by the disheveled equipment  and the splatter on the wall it was something unpleasant. Whoever attacked the old fart was clearly looking for something. Immediately you moved to begin pulling apart the computer only to find someone else already had; the hard drive was missing. You began rummaging through the scattered papers hoping to find information of any kind only to be greeted by scribbles and nonsense. Finally, a name began to stand out scratched along the shreds of deconstructed trees; Winchester. 

Before you could get to lost in your thoughts, a loud bang against the door made you jump. Cursing under your breath, you frantically began looking for a place to hide. As you ducked behind a grate a voice called out, but you couldn't tell what it was saying. The door slammed open and the sound of clunking boots quickly filled the small space. Instinctively, you reached for the gun that was usually stashed in your belt; you had left it in the car knowing how Frank reacts to armed persons. 

"Not good." A scruffy voice stated as Bad Moon Rising came to a close.

You peaked your head around the corner to get a look at the intruders. Two men stood with worried and slightly frightened expressions plastered on their faces; one was taller than the other and both were quite attractive. As you were sneaking a peak, the taller man spotted you and quickly tapped the blonde headed counterpart; apple green eyes peered at you as a gun was raised in your direction.

"Get up!" He demanded forcefully as his face contorted to anger.