INITIUM - Supernarural Season One [Dean Winchester x Reader]

IV - Phantom Traveler

You sat in your living room, nursing a cup of coffee as you flipped through a magazine you bought while grocery shopping. Normally, you would just skim through the stories that interested you most while you waited in line, but you thought what the hell and actually bought the magazine this time. 

There was an article about a man who rediscovered his faith in God after he saw an angel outside his garage. He claimed that the thing he saw had marvelous white wings and appeared to be glowing despite the darkness of night. "It waved at me," the man told the journalist. "I just knew it was a sign from God, telling me that I needed to come back to his path." The article then went on to explain the guy's sob-story, and how he's changed his life for the better. 

You rolled your eyes and tossed the magazine to the side. "Angels, yeah right," You mutter to yourself and stand up from the couch. You shut off the T.V. that was quietly playing in the background and turn around. 

The wendigo you killed a hunt ago stands behind the couch, staring at you like you were a slab of meat; in his case, you are a lambchop so the stare was fitting. Still, it froze you in place. 

You have nothing to protect yourself, no flare guns or nearby matches. Just a T.V. remote and a cup of coffee. You gulp, and turn around, tail between your legs, and sprint out of the living room to your small library.

You slam the door behind you and lock it. You remember what the old man told you about the wendigo before: that it could unlock doors. You shutter and move a bookshelf over the door. Painstakingly, you manage to block the door with the heavy bookshelf. You sigh and take a deep breath, ignoring the scratching coming from the other side of the door. 

You take a seat in the comfy chair in the corner and catch your breath. The scratching grows louder and louder, almost as if the wendigo clawed through the door. It releases a blood curdling scream when, suddenly, books fly off the shelf. The wendigo's sickly arm punches through the books and claws reaches for you. 

You whimper coming to terms that you hand nowhere to hide. 

The wendigo shoves the bookshelf out of the way and screeches again as it looks at you. You clutch your knees and scream.

In the motel room next to your's, Dean slept peacefully, well, as peaceful as his life could be. He's a light sleeper, so when the motel door creaked, his eyes opened. His hands grabbed the knife that he keeps under his pillow for 'precaution.' Dean remains motionless in bed, waiting for the intruder to make their move first.

The door slams and Dean looks over his head expecting to see a stranger but only to see that his brother came back from some trip. 

"Morning, sunshine," Sam greets with a cup of coffee in his hand. 

Dean rolls his eyes, and plants his face into the pillow. "What time is it?" He asks, blinking his sleep from his eyes. 

"5:45."

"In the morning?!" Dean whines. 

"Yep," Sam simply replies.

"Where does the day go?" Dean mumbles to himself as he positions himself on his side to look at his brother. "Did you get any sleep last night?" 

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," Sam says, his eyes shifting to the ground.

"Liar--'cause I was up at 3:00, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial," Dean replies, sitting on the side of the bed. 

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV." Sam smiles and raises his arms in defence. Dean asks him when was the last time he got a good night's sleep, obviously worried about his brother's well-being. "A little while, I guess. It's not a big deal," Sam says, blowing off his brother's concern.