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Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural - unfortunately
Happy Anniversary. I'm actually new this year to Supernatural so it feels cheating to be already celebrating the 20th Anniversary, but I guess I just chose the right year to join lol.
Here's the start of my new Series. I hope you will enjoy the premise.
I'm currently abroad on holiday so I hope this posts on the right day.
The Road Untaken
A hush of space older than breath stretched vast and more absolute than light. Sound did not echo here; it yielded, yet carried a harmony woven through the air like tension in a finely drawn string. Within this endless expanse, the two presences did not disturb the realm – they were part of it, threaded into its very essence, burning with the shape of their own design.
The first shone with the terrible brilliance of command – his form a fusion of wings layered without number, light refracted lawlessly, a core of fire too bright for stars to imitate.
A flicker passed through the second, like a crack in stillness.
“So, it is as we believed.” His voice was precise, barely a vibration. “Azazel has marked another.”
The other, form forged into edges that faceted like a blade, coiled and exacting, responded flatly. “He has marked many. Each the same – blood from the crib. What makes you so sure this is the true vessel?”
“Subtlety has never befallen Our Father. The brother. Older and born of a cupid’s touch. It echoes like prophecy.”
“And the others?”
“And it is written – the first demon shall be the last seal.” The invocation of scripture drew the second taut. “If Lilith must fall, she must first be freed. That boy will need to be tempered for such a feat, and competition breeds corruption.”
“And what of the First Seal? We were under illusions that the father’s path was beginning to lead him to be the righteous man in Hell. Not the son.”
“The path will unfold as it must, but the roles have always remained... interpretable.” the first answered – voice like pressure through crystal. “The shape of the tale is set, and if Azazel has discovered the younger, I will not be caught inert.”
“Azazel is filth,” the second spat with sharpened energy. “A fallen disgrace, dragging rot behind him as he wears authority like a stolen robe.”
“Careful. He is effective, and we cannot afford to be reactive. An opportunity for the Seals will arise.” The first’s tone became final. “As he shapes the younger, we will shape the elder.”
A silence like pressure coiled around them.
“Then the plan unfolds as you decreed?” The second shifted, pause heavy with meaning. "Might I ask, why you do not insist to fulfil this task yourself?"
“This is a fragile, singular design – it requires precision and caution. Direct interference could lead to consequences and fallout far beyond our reckoning.” The first’s gaze hardened. “No, another must be assigned – one with the strength to bear the future burden, yet insignificant enough that their loss would not be mourned should misfortune befall them.”
“Then one has been chosen, and Naomi has been warned her utilities are required for something 'different’. As for the rite, Joshua continues to bind himself to garden. He refuses to emerge, yet has agreed to invoke the word demanded for such cause.”
“Good.” The brightness dimmed. “Then you begin. Ensure none grasp the true meaning of this mission – not those who partake, or deliver it upon the earth, and certainly not the chosen themself.”
“And with that, they dispersed – Michael’s light unravelling into the distance. Zachariah remained, obedience proud and unyielding in its echo. Somewhere far below, the world spun on, oblivious to first new domino already tipping.”
✡ ✡ ✡ SPN ✡ ✡ ✡
January 24th 1984
Dean had turned five today.
He didn’t know if birthdays were supposed to feel different now, but this one had.
The motel room still smelled of that sour cleaner that made his nose sting and his stomach feel wobbly. The TV was on, but it was just noise to him tonight.
Instead, he lay curled in the too-small provided crib, knees tucked close, arm wrapped around his baby brother, holding him close against his side. Sammy was warm and soft beside him, his bottle lying forgotten between them, half-empty.
Daddy hadn’t come back since before it got dark, and it wasn’t long after that Sammy started to fuss, restless little whimpers turning into tiny cries. He knew he wasn’t far away – the distant sound of a car engine humming outside was enough to pinpoint where he was, but Dean knew how to feed his brother by now. He’d watched Mommy enough times before–.
He hadn’t eaten much himself.
Daddy had asked if he’d wanted a special pizza or pie before he left, but he’d just shook his head. He wasn’t hungry.
He couldn’t explain why. The words just got stuck in his throat.
Still, some peanut butter cups had appeared on the side table from somewhere. He’d nibbled on one. Had let Sammy lick a bit of chocolate off his finger.
Outside, a car door creaked. Dean paused, eyes fixed on the closed motel door–waiting to see if it would open. But it didn’t. The room stayed quiet except for Sammy’s sleepy snuffles beside him.
The lights flickered.
Dean squeezed the blanket tighter, hoping they’d stay on. He didn’t want it to go dark, but instead, the TV snapped off, crackling noisily.
He flinched, peering over his shoulder through the bars of the crib as something shifted in the air–like a rustle, but not wind. It felt wrong.
Like some birds had flown in from nowhere.
But there were no birds. Just them.
Four of them. Standing just inside. There’d been no door sound. No footsteps. They had just... appeared.
Tall like big statues and faces wearing no smile.
Dean froze.
Just for a second.
Then he moved quickly, but in little, careful motions, pulling the crib’s thin blanket up and over Sammy’s head, tucking it gently around his brother’s small body.
He had to protect his brother. Just like last time.
It was only after that he felt the guilt squeeze his chest, the words repeating never to cover his brother’s face whispering to him from the past.
He’d done it before. Once when Sammy first came home. He’d wanted to play peek-a-boo, and had hidden himself from Sammy with a blanket, but Mommy had caught him. Warned him.
“Not ever, baby,” Mommy had said. “Blankets can steal his air, Dean. Promise me you’ll never do that.”
He had promised.
But now–
He’d broken it, but it was too late.
The first, a red-haired woman, stepped forward, her eyes scanning the room. Her gaze froze on the front wall, as if she could see through it. She took a sharp breath before speaking, her voice clipped and careful.
“This must be done quickly. The father is just outside. The longer we delay, the more he risks interrupting.”
The second, a dark-skinned man also stepped forward, expression curling in distaste as he looked toward the crib. “I do not understand where His Will would lie in this mission. There is a darkness shrouded here... it is foul and lingering.”
Dean’s stomach clenched again. He didn’t understand the words. But he felt the wrongness in them. They looked human, but he’d seen Daddy kill that shapeshifter once that looked human too.
Monsters can wear suits. Not like on TV.
“I never thought you would question our Father’s Will, Uriel. Perhaps it is this darkness we are here to counter.”
“Surely merging with a mud monkey is beneath us, regardless of his intent or Will” The dark-skinned man sneered. “It is hardly surprising Castiel was chosen for such a burden. I would sooner meet my demise.”
“You speak of our Captain. It is not a sign of weakness that he was chosen. Castiel is among the strongest after our Commander.”
A blond woman scoffed at the speaker. “Don’t be foolish, Inias. Castiel’s mind has not been clear since Balthazar’s sacrifice. His attention has fractured. He is compromised.”
Dean couldn’t follow all their words. He didn’t know what a mud monkey was and the names – Uriel, Inias, Castiel – sounded strange as his mind echoed them. They spoke weird, like he wasn’t meant to understand.
The red-haired woman finally spoke again, heavy with defense. “You call his grief a compromise, and yet I call your indifference disloyalty.. His compassion is not weakness. He has only fought harder for us in battles since.”
The dark-skinned man gave a low, disgusted breath. “Careful Anah. Castiel harbours none of those feelings. We are not hampered by–.”
The blond woman cut in sharply, tone silencing the room.
“This conversation is fruitless. We were ordered not to discuss this mission, especially not to Castiel upon our return. We must begin so we can leave.”
Nodding, the one they’d called Inias stepped closer.
Dean, now on his knees, shrunk back, shielding the covered figure of his brother. He should scream. But no sound would come. His throat was tight and closed–mute like always.
He pulled something from his coat – a small flask, clear but pulsing inside with white and pale blue swirls, thick like syrup but shimmering. Inside floated a single bird’s feather, thin and curved, glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light.
He wanted them to leave. He didn’t want them near.
He backed up, but he couldn’t go much further or he’d squash Sammy.
The dark-skinned one’s face grew angry, and in less than a second, he stalked forward in barely two steps, closing the distance and reaching out–
There was a dizzying shimmer, and before Dean could blink, he was standing, the crib abandoned behind him.
The shadow of his captor loomed over him. He fought against the grip, kicking at shins, but it only hurt him.
The other unscrewed the cap, knelt slowly, clasped Dean’s face, and poured.
It was cold. Then hot.
Then Dean’s vision exploded into white.
His chest burned. He jerked, light bursting from inside him like he’d swallowed fire.
Like the fire that had burned Mommy.
Everything around him grew loud. Deafening. The sound of glass breaking filled the room, crashing all around him.
Dean’s limbs felt heavy. His skin itched. Something tugged at his insides like a thread being pulled too tight.
Sammy began to wail, shrill and terrified under the blanket.
The glow faded. The four stood silent, watching. Or waiting?
But something was different. Dark shapes unfurled from their backs, spreading wide and filling the small room, blocking the only light still shining–from the window.
Wings.
The door slammed open, as his Daddy thundered inside, eyes wild in rage, gun clenched. The group vanished just as they arrived – except this time, Dean watched as each wing rose to flap.
“DEAN!”
Daddy’s hands grabbed him, but his mind was foggy, confused. He barely felt the shaking, the trembling hands cradling his face.
“What did they do? What the hell did they DO?!”
Dean blinked up at him.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t explain.
The room was empty.
The four strangers were gone, like they’d never been there at all.
Only Sammy’s cry now pierced the air, as Dean’s eyes slipped closed.
What do u think so far?????? Thanks for reading.