𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑 | supernatural

September, 2008

In the writer’s room, they discussed season four of Supernatural. A few cheap chairs were around the table where they sat in arguments. On a board, they had outlined most of the episodes. At the moment, they had an intense talk about how to introduce Castiel with the little props they had available. Electricity and location were the usually difficult stages of filming to talk about. They were already tight on money as it was.

What they were unable to see was a person in a black hoodie behind them, a smile spread on the person’s features. Her pale white skin contrasted with her coral clothes. The rest of the body was impossible to see. Her mouth mumbled powerfully words in Enochian. Underneath her shoes, the surface jolted. Made papers, cups shatter to the floor, pens flew into the wall, shelves broke into pieces. Some shocked and pale faces turned towards her.

“You shouldn’t interfere with my awesome plans,” her voice firm and solid. But also just as soothing as a baby’s hand. “Do not look for Jensen, Jared, or Misha, or your dead bodies will be next, okay?” She warned them as she finished what she had come here to do. A tight smile on her face.

The ground stopped shaking before a white flash appeared in the whole room. It dimmed lit outside the windows as the blast disappeared into nothing.

The only one left still standing in the room was the chick. She played with the car keys between her fingertips. She had personally expected it to be tougher but surprises are for everyone, ain’t they? Without as much as a second glance at the papers, she put on the sunglasses. She walked out.

“This is going to be fun,” a voice said behind her.

“Yes, it will,” she turned to face the person. “As you promised it would.” A smile was matched on both of their faces.

The stage was set.