~(A/N: It's been quite a while! Really sorry for the extremely late update...I literally had no idea what to write about but now I do! I'm sorry if it's not that good. I feel like my writing just hasn't been what i used to be. I don't want writing to feel like a chore for me because I do love it immensely, but at the same time, I don't want you guys to be waiting for eternity for me to write. So here you go, hope you like it :D)~
How would you describe your neighbors? One word.
Strange.
Ah yes, the pair of brothers that return to their large, not so well hidden bunker ever so often covered in dry blood and mess. You're the one who lives in the small shack behind it. The one that they never notice eavesdropping in on their conversations, the one that's tried every possible way to get into their bunker and try to find out what they're hiding. The one that doesn't understand a lick of what they're saying half the time because usually it's about things that don't exist.
It was a normal endeavor for you- being outside of the loop. If you weren't so stubborn, you probably wouldn't mind. But you were determined to figure out why your incredibly hot neighbors were so incredibly strange. One night, you heard the sound of an engine revving. Luckily, you were already dressed(and by dressed that meant you were at least not in just your underwear) and ready to head on out. Once you were sure they exited the driveway, you made your way in, knowing that Dean, who you learned was the older one(surprise), always forgot to lock the garage door.
You lifted the garage door slightly up, using as much strength as you could, then rolled in firefighter style. Just the garage was big enough, with loads of cars probably dating back to the 20's. They were surprisingly all in good condition, like you could just hop in one and go for a ride at anytime. But enough of that, that wasn't what you were looking for. What you really wanted to find out, was who these guys were and what they did for a living. Cause it sure wasn't legal.
Making your way out of the garage, you entered a long hallway leading to a staircase. There were a bunch of doors on each side of the hall. You decided you had a little time to look around since they were gone, so you opened and closed each door, taking a few seconds to glance inside. They were all guest rooms designed pretty much the same. You weren't sure why they needed so many rooms, but it just made you more curious. As you got to the end of the hall and opened one of the last few doors, you stopped. It was different than the others. There wasn't much diversity, but after looking around for a while, it was obvious this was someone's room.
You walked over to the nightstand and checked the wooden auburn drawers. Inside, was a brown leather book--a journal to be exact. You flipped it open to a random page and started reading:
January 24, 1994
Dean turns fifteen today. A week ago he helped me take out a spirit haunting a grocery owned by an Indian family in Erie, Pennsylvania. It was like any other spirit-you find the remains, you salt, you burn. But also it wasn't. I'm learning that all spirits have some things in common, but it matters who they're haunting. It matters what their traditions were when they were alive. Have been reading about Indian mythology. Gods upon gods, thousands of them, and each of them has attendant monsters and demons. Some of the ones that keep popping up, not so much mythology as folklore, are pishacha and acheri. (This is from "John Winchester's Journal" by Alex Irvine. I do not own this. All rights to this section go to him.)
You flipped through more pages in awe, finding strange drawings and some things written in different languages. None of it made sense though- ghosts, demons, the supernatural? That was all fiction to you and no more than that. You quickly shut the book and put it back where it belonged, telling yourself that none of what you read was true and was probably just some story.
You continued venturing on around the room, noticing the vast collection of weaponry on the wall. As you continued examining the complete arsenal, trepidation consumed you and you felt more hesitant about staying in there any longer.
~Meanwhile~
"Son of a bitch!" Dean slammed on the brakes of the impala, causing Sam to lurch forward and hit his head on the front window.
"Ow," Sam glared at his brother, "What was that for?"
"Forgot to lock the garage door," Dean answered and started swerving the car the other way.
"You've got to be kidding me," Sam groaned impatiently.
"It won't take that long. We're not that far from the bunker anyway."
~Back at the Bunker~
You continued roaming around the bunker until a certain room caught your eye. The door was slightly ajar, but the room was hidden around the corner. You walked in cautiously, finally hearing some noise other than the deafening silence of the air. There was a slight tapping noise; one that was impatient, almost impending. You walked further to see a faint light casting over a person. It was difficult to see, considering there were boxes and metal storage shelves blocking the way.
"Hey you! I see you there!" the person called out, looking directly your way.
You maneuvered your way through the mini maze of books and miscellaneous to get a clearer look of the person. It was a guy, probably in his late-twenties. He had light brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a slightly muscular build. "Me?" you asked, pointing to yourself.
"Yes you, who else would I be talking to?" he snapped.
The man was tied down to the arms of a chair with one of his arms handcuffed to a table in front of him and looked beat up to the pound. "Who did this to you?"
"I can explain later. Please, they could be here any second. I need you to let me out," he pleaded.
You looked around to find a key that could unlock his handcuffs. "I don't know where the key is."
"Do you know how to pick a lock?" he asked.
"I can try," you suggested and quickly pulled out a hair pin from your hair, causing some strands of hair to fall onto your face. You knelt down beside him, starting to work on the lock.
~Meanwhile~
"What the hell..."Dean muttered as he noticed the slightly open garage door. "I don't remember leaving it like that."
"I don't remember that either," Sam said as they both got out the car. "You think someone got in?"
"I dunno, let's just split up," Dean ordered as they both slipped into the garage. Everything was there, nothing stolen luckily. The first place he headed to was the dungeon, assuming that the demon they left in there must have called one of his friends in to help. Sam scanned the rest of the hallway, making sure nothing else significant was stolen.
As Dean approached the entrance to the dungeon, he heard the sound of muffled voices. "Hurry,' the demon whispered. The hunter slowly crept in, trying not to make a sound.
"I'm trying," a different voice whispered.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean raised his pistol up the the (girl/guy) who had been trying to unlock the demon's cuffs. (She/He) didn't look like anyone he recognized, with (H/C) hair and (E/C) eyes.
You froze from your spot, unsure whether or not you should continue helping since you had a gun aimed right at you. "I should be asking you that. Why do you have some innocent guy locked in a dungeon?!?" you asked, practically shouting. Apparently, loud enough to get Sam's attention as well. The giant came running downstairs in a heartbeat.
"Who's (she/he)?" Sam asked.
"Working on figuring that out," Dean explained, then turned his attention back to you, "And that's not a person you're trying to help. That thing is a demon."
You just laughed in response, "You're crazy. Demons don't exist."
"Oh really?" Dean reached in his pocket and tossed you a bottle of what looked like water.
"Why'd you give me water?"
"Toss it at him."
Confused at first, you decided to comply and opened up the bottle. You toss a splash at the guy, who grimaced and screamed as his skin sizzled. "What..how is that..."you trailed off. You poured the water on your hand, and felt no burn or anything of the matter."
"Do you believe us now?"