Supernatural: Fallen Son

Get Out Alive

'Okay. Were there any witnesses, Officer Skye?' Sam asked, straightening his tie when taking another glance at the campfire story's moniker carved into the crime scene. 'Well, yes. Though she's not exactly in the best state of mind, and's currently in protective custody as a suspect.' The officer replied genuinely. Dean gave Sam a quick look of 'Great' and then further questioned the cop. 'Where can we find her?

Later, Dean and Sam were sat at at a small, square green table - and were waiting impatiently for their only witness' lawyer to get the hell out of the room. 'Do you think that there's time to go and get some pie?' Dean asked Sam casually, shifting his legs around under the table whilst he checked around the room to see if there was anyone who would notice if he put his legs up on it. Sam gave him a truly withering stare, and Dean pouted like a schoolgirl.

The tall and boring lawyer had now left the room, and so Sam walked straight in, flanked by Dean. They were promptly taken aback by the wobbling portrait of grief that lurked before them. She sobbed and wept, her head in her hand and her short, black hair hanging lank like corpses through her fingers. 'They think I killed my daughter.' She sobbed with a hoarse and raggedy voice.

All the while, Officer Skye was still at the crime scene; watching over a small mob of forensic scientists. 'William Skye.' A voice whispered from just around a corner. Skye cocked his head just slightly towards it. 'Yeah?' He replied, without looking around the corner. 'Where is my Tailypo?' The disembodied voice continued, in a whispering-hissing tone that sent chills rocketing up the policeman's spine. His fingers played ever so slightly on the handle of his handgun, and he inched his way around the corner.
There was no-one there.
Just a cupboard and a couple of shirts that had been hung out to dry by the residents of this house. Skye pressed his hand harder onto the gun, and opened the cupboard in a rush of adrenaline. He shirked back quickly as a rat ran out from the darkness, and his hand relaxed on the trigger. He must have been hearing things. This case was keeping him up at night.

'Yesyoudoyesyoudowilliam. Give it back!' The voice once again sharply sliced through any sense of calm that the cop was building up, and then he walked straight for the door of the house. Fresh air. To clear his head. As he scurried down the carpeted stairs, a young CSI cornered him. 'Sir, can you give him back his Tailypo?' The trainee spoke, like it was perfectly normal.
Now Will was panicking. He ran for the door and opened it in a single, sweaty motion.

Now out in the garden, he didn't stop there, instead - he opened the gate and stood, panting over a hedgerow. He felt sick with fear. Like a ton of rocks had been dumped into his stomach. Looking down into the undergrowth, he placed his hands on the fence above him and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, two red spheres of light stared up at him from the bushes.

Eyes.

Two small, black paws clasped around his arms, and he barely had time to scream before he was dragged into the undergrowth. Beneath the red eyes, a smiling mouth filled with needles opened, and gaped wide as he was pulled towards it.