DISLCAIMER: I don't own Supernatural
A/N: I have been bitten by plotbunnies in rapid succession. This is the result of the latest one. The supernatural creatures hinted at in this prologue are real phenomena (well, they're as real as a supernatural being can be.) Please review and tell me what you think.
He was coming home from school, strolling, taking his time. His friend Kyle was beside him, and they walked together in companionable silence, the idyllic atmosphere putting them at ease. They were both drowsy from the night before, when they had stayed up all night playing poker, and neither could be bothered making small talk. He had won over half of the games; a cocky grin adorned his face as he remembered the tantrum Kyle had thrown over the loss of fifty dollars.
"What's up?" asked Kyle, seeing his friends' grin.
"Nothin'." It was innocent, angelic, and Kyle raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious.
"Spit it out, Shawn," he demanded, turning to face his friend. Shawn grinned and shook his head slightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was so fun to wind Kyle up. "Come on, man!"
"What if I don't wanna tell you?" Shawn cooed, voice singsong. Kyle scowled and whirled around, walking away from his friend. "Hey, come back!" Shawn called after him, worried and annoyed.
"What if I don't wanna?" Kyle called out over his shoulder, laughing at Shawn's sour expression. "See ya, dickhead! I'm off to meet Di!" He slowed down his stride slightly, wanting to hear Shawn's reaction. He was almost immediately rewarded for his efforts.
"Fine then, I won't tell you, jackass! You and your girlfriend can get bent!"
Laughing, Kyle continued down the street, waving over his shoulder at Shawn, who stood in the middle of the footpath, scowling. It was no fun being beaten at your own game. With a huff, he whirled around, and all of a sudden his vision was filled with darkness. He tried to scream, to jump back, but he was frozen in place, shivering, peering into shadow so thick it was almost opaque. The air was as thick as smoke, and he choked, gagging on a foul odour, the smell reminding him of rotten cabbage. He struggled to draw air into his lungs, whilst sinking to his knees and clawing at his throat as if he could somehow tear open his clogged up windpipe. Oh god oh god I can't BREATHE -
Sam woke with a gasp, snapping into a sitting position, still caught in the grips of the vivid dream. He sat there, panting, as one by one his senses registered his surroundings. Upon discovering that he was in his tiny bedroom, sitting (tangled in sheets), on the equally scant bed, he fell back with a sigh, flinging an arm over his forehead and closing his eyes. He lay in that position for a while, reacquainting himself with the real world, before he pushed himself up and out of bed, stumbling slightly and groaning. He had never been a morning person, and the recurring dream he'd been having over the past few days did nothing to change that fact.
It was always the same dream, always ended the same; with Shawn dying, suffocated to death by some unknown being Sam was sure was supernatural. He never got a good look at it though; all he ever saw was darkness, thick shadows. He had surmised, after the third dream, that Shawn was most probably right in front of the creature that was attacking him, and if he could just step back, they would both see what it was.
When he was dressed and had his school bag in hand, he exited the room, still pondering his dream. The apartment was eerily quiet. John and Dean Winchester were on a hunt, investigating ghostly encounters in a youth hostel over in the next town; they had said that they would be back in two days. Well, that was the plan, anyway. It was rare that everything went to schedule in the case of hunting. Frankly, Sam was glad he wasn't on this hunt. Usually he would have complained at being made to stay behind (he was sixteen, for gods sake, but his family mollycoddled him as if he was some freaking bubble boy), but he desperately wanted some time alone, especially now that the exams were coming up. And, of course, there was the problem of that dream…
John and Dean had left the day after Sam had started having the dream. They hadn't noticed anything off about him, and Sam was both happy and sad about that fact. On one hand, he was glad they hadn't noticed, because otherwise Dean would be distracted, worrying about his Sammy, when being distracted whilst on a hunt could mean death. On the other hand he was scared, and he wanted to tell them, to share the burden, to explain how he had woken up unable to breathe, scared that he was going to die. Wanted to be comforted, to be told that it was only a dream, and that dreams can't hurt you.
The problem was, Sam knew better than that.
School had been easy. They were revising for the exams, going over things Sam had already memorised, so he had spent most of the day dozing, catching up on some much needed dreamless sleep. By the time the bell for the end of the school day finally rang, Sam had been jittery and restless, anxious to get away. After getting out he was jogging home, trying to get rid of this sudden burst of nervous energy, when he saw it.
He stopped in his tracks, breathing only a little laboured. In the corner of his eye, through his peripheral vision, he saw what looked like a solid mass of shadow. A feeling of dread coming over him, he whipped around to look in the shadows' direction.
There was nothing there.
A thrill of foreboding went through him. Shivering, Sam started jogging in earnest, anxious to get home, unwilling to admit to himself that he may have just caught a glimpse of the villain that was in his dreams. Dreams aren't real. He'd been having nightmares since before he could remember, and none of them had ever come true. Yeah, but none of them were like these ones.
When he reached his home he was unable suppress a sigh of relief, slamming the front door shut behind him and leaning against it, tired more by fear than by physical exertion. He tipped his bed back against the hard wood, taking deep, calming breaths, and closing his eyes at the same time. For a few moments he stood there, letting his body relax, and then he stepped forward with a sigh, dropping his bag on the couch and throwing himself down with it.
Three hours later he lay in the same position, watching the television religiously. He was much too comfortable to get up, but he wasn't so comfortable that he could let himself go to sleep, let himself dream. He was about to doze off, despite all his willpower, when a shrill noise struck his eardrums. He had jumped off the couch and dropped into a defensive stance before he realised what the sound was. The phone was ringing.
Rolling his eyes at his stupidity, Sam walked over to the phone and took it off the hook. Looking at the clock, he realised it was seven thirty; time for the daily call. Whenever the family was split up because of a hunt, John or Dean would call Sam every day at the same time, to check up on him and tell him about their progress.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Sammy," Dean's tired voice came through the phone. "You alright?"
"I'm… fine, Dean. What about you? You sound really tired."
Dean laughed humourlessly. "Sure am. There's gotta be a million fucking ghosts in this damn hostel. Just when you think you've solved the problem, burned enough bones, another one comes outta the woodwork. Dunno how long this'll take, Sammy." Suddenly, the tone of Dean's voice changed; he was worried. Sam rolled his eyes. About me, like always. "You sure you're alright, Sammy? 'Fine' isn't the most comprehensive answer, little brother."
"Wow, didn't know you knew words that big, Dean," Sam drawled. "And when I say fine, I mean fine."
"Jeez, hold back on the snark. You sound more bitchy than fine." Sam bit his lip as he contemplated whether telling Dean about the dream, the shadow, was a good idea. He quickly came to the conclusion that whining to his brother about bad dreams when he was sixteen, almost a freaking adult, was much too embarrassing.
"Sorry, Dean." Sam sighed. "And I'm fine. Truly."
"Good." Dean's voice was firm. "See ya later, okay?"
"Yep. Talk to you tomorrow." Sam hung up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure hovering in front of the fridge. He paused, putting the phone back on the cradle slowly, and then whirled around. He was quick enough to see the edge of a shadowy cape whipping around the corner, down the hall, and sprinted after it, flicking the hallway light on. Squinting against the sudden bright light, Sam looked around, inspecting every inch of the hallway.
The creature was nowhere to be seen.