Child of Heaven (Supernatural)

Where to begin

Where does one start off, when telling a story of vast importance? Do we start with the hero? The villain? The main problem? Or something that seems completely irreverent, but will later be a key component in the tale?

With the beginning already told (sort of), the hero already introduced (kind of), and the villain already present (if you squint), the only remaining option is to ramble about something irrelevant (or so you think). 

Thousands of years (confusingly) after our story begins...

If one were to look into the basement of 9814 Douglas Pine street, one would find what looked like a dungeon. Rust covered chains dangled like vines from hooks drilled into the roof and the place reeked of blood, rotting flesh, and mildew.

Now if one were to look at the outside of 9814 Douglas Pine street the only thing that would seem strange at first glance was the stone wishing well that looked like a science experiment gone wrong. Black ooze dripped out from the gaps between the gray stone, leaving trails of inky black sludge down the rounded side.

Other than the mysterious black sludge on the dry wishing well, the house on Douglas pine seemed perfectly normal. A picked white fence surrounded the estate and the mailbox stood tall and proud at the front of the driveway. Grass as green as emeralds and bushes lush with Cyclamen flowers, these simple objects decorated the yard like a dream, but were nothing compared to the house itself. Painted yellow with white trim and baby blue shutters, the house was the material of a Model Home magazine. A cute chimney was perched on the roof and in the open windows, lacy white curtains fluttered in the autumn breeze.

The house was perfect, which is exactly the reason that it was deadly.

It was too perfect.

This very factor is what led Bobby Singer right to it.

The looks of this too perfect house gave away that something a lot more sinister was going on on the inside, but a seasoned hunter like Bobby Singer need not look at the house to know that. It was, in fact, the small details that one misses by glancing at 9814 Douglas Pine that led Bobby into the dungeon like basement.

First the black goo on the wishing well. Any knowledgeable hunter would know that look, consistency, and smell of ectoplasm. A substance formed by a seriously pissed off spirit. But that was only the first clue.
The autumn breeze may have cooled the area down, but the Cyclamen flowers by the front door just served as proof. Cyclamen flowers only grow in winter like temperatures.
Autumn had yet to completely cool down the atmosphere.

"There's a spirit here alright." Bobby informed his partner, John Winchester. A tall black haired man with the stature of a soldier and eyes like sterling silver. "But why would the boys need us for something as easy as a ghost?"

John lowered a raving EMF meter and swiped his fingertip across the rough stone surface of the wishing well. Ectoplasm stuck like glue to his skin and with a disgusted scowl, John wiped his fingers on his blue jeans.

"They're my boys Bobby, what trouble CAN'T they get into?" With a shrug of agreement and a nod toward the house, the two men stepped up the perfect wooden porch steps and came to a stop at the perfect stain glass door.
The air was eerily quiet except for the occasional creak of the porch swing and the brand new set of wind chimes that hung from the nearby Willow sapling. Other than that, nothing made sound. John and Bobby's arrival had been the noisiest thing in hours.

"Think there's any point in knocking." John inquired with a sly smirk on his face.

"Be my guest."

Scratch that, the noisiest thing in hours would be the sound of shattering wood and glass hitting a cold tile floor, courtesy of John Winchester.

"After you."