The Winchester Girl (Supernatural Fanfiction)

Here I Go Again

A/N: So, I didn't like this chapter, but I hope you guys do. XD The next chapter is currently underway, but I can't make promises about when it'll be out. Also, I apologize to any 5SOS fans. I didn't realize Luke Hemmings was a real person, much less a famous musician. A warning! There is a pretty graphic description of torture within the first few pages. Enjoy, my ever patient readers!

I stumbled, gasping, my insides burning. I had never tried that before alone. It hurt so damn bad.

I looked up, realizing that I was standing on some street corner. Sucking deep gulps of pained breath, I analyzed my surroundings. There were only a few people around the small town. None seemed to have noticed me. A coffee shop stood to the left of me, with a hardware store on the right.

I hefted my satchel up onto my shoulder once more, setting off down the street, keeping an eye out for a sign of where I might be. I glanced in a hobbyist window, making out the depiction of a state shape that had been embroidered on a throw pillow. "South Carolina." I said aloud to no one in particular.

I jumped suddenly, goosebumps rising on my arms as my cell phone started blaring "Renegade." I fumbled in my pocket for the device before answering with a slightly annoyed, "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Luke?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice. "What is it?"

"Um, MacK. I, um, I've got something here that has your name on it. It was with her stuff. I wasn't sure if maybe you'd want to take a look at it."

Her. Meaning Emma, I realized. A needle pricked at my heart once more. "Yeah. Sure. What is it? Where are you?"

"Uh, I'm in South Carolina." The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? I had popped here by accident. I'd been aiming for Georgia really, but must have dropped when I couldn't make it. Then again, coincidences didn't happen in my lifetime.

Luke continued, "It's a journal, a book of some kind."

"You got an exact address?"

"184 Bloomington Street, Lancaster Mill, Deer Run Motel, room nine."

I nodded. "I'll be there, give me a few hours."

"Wait, where are you?"

I hung up. "Alright." I said once more to the empty air. "Let's get this party started."

* * * * * *

I'd hitched a ride to Lancaster Mill. And by 'hitched a ride,' I mean hotwired a car. Sorry, but times are tough.

I knocked on the door to room nine and moments later, it was opened by the blond haired boy I remembered from Wyoming. "Hey. How are you?" He asked, gesturing me in.

I sat down on the unmade bed, smiling faintly. "Okay. You?"

He cleared his throat. "Same old."

I nodded, silence descending on us. Shifting uncomfortably, I cleared my own throat. "So this journal you were telling me about?"

"Uh, right." He scratched the back of his neck. He shifted through the debris on the table. "So you gonna tell me what all this is about?"

"If Emma didn't want you to know, I'm not gonna break it to you now."

That wasn't the only reason.

"Aha!" he produced a thick leather bound book and handed it to me.

I read aloud in a reverent whisper, my fingers brushing over the cover, "Mac Thomas."