He snapped upright in his seat, a half empty glass of bourbon in one hand and a pen in the other. In exhaustion, he massaged his aching head; those dreams are back. His droopy eyes flickered down to the paper and he skimmed over what he had so far, all he had to do was end the first chapter and the dreams would go away for a bit. He leaned forward and took a swig of the drink before setting it farther away and getting a better grip on his pen. Then, he began to write.
"Sammy!" Mary glared at the demon who held her child. With a hardened voice she said, "Give me back my boy or I'll kill you." The demon smirked, what was his name again...she couldn't remember. It had been at least ten years since his last appearance.
"As if you could sweetie, your days of hunting are over. Now be a good mommy and leave me to my work."
She didn't move but instead made a grab for Sammy. It was futile, the demon flung a hand up and used his powers to send her crashing into a wall. Her eyes widened in pain as breath was painfully sucked back in. With resistance, I moved my body against the demons powers, inching forward. The demons hazy yellow eyes flickered up to her, the focus and sudden surge of power sent her crashing back into the wall. "Bastard," I growled, curling my hands into fists.
Azazel. That was the demons name. Azazel, blankly blinked at her before the stare was broken by Sammy crying. She jerked forward as the demon cooed in a attempt to calm her child. Anger spread through her as it worked and lulled Sammy back to sleep. Azazel looked back at her, meeting her eyes. "Now what's with that look?" He said in a strange tone, reaching forward to grab her chin and harshly jerk it side to side. "...Afraid I can't let anybody know what happened to little Sammy here," She knew what was going to happen next. Her eyes flickered over to her baby whom had woken up and begun to cry again. Her heart squeezed in despair at seeing that demon comfort her boy. But she couldn't do a thing about it, and she couldn't do a thing about this either.
The heat rose dangerously in the room as flames sparked on the ceiling, Azazel flicked his hand up and suddenly she was flying through the air and glued to the ceiling. Flames licked at her sides scorching her skin, the pain was excruciating. Her blonde hair tickled her cheeks as her mouth stretched open into a silent scream but hesitantly closed it as she noticed movement below. Through the noise of the crackling flames, she heard Sammy's cry. Her blurry vision focused and she saw the bulky figure of her husband, John. Tears pricked her eyes as she saw the horror on his face, the confusement. She probably should've explained her early life sooner. After all, you can't escape the life of a hunter. And that was the last thing she saw, before her life ended and she was engulfed in the flames.
He scrolled down on the World News site; a string of killings that resembled his unpublished book a little too much was happening across the US. He scratched his stubbled chin and clicked on a link, it read;
November 3rd, 1983
Last night in Lawrence, Kansas, Mary Winchester was found pinned to her infants ceiling in flames. Sadly she didn't survive this incident leaving her husband to raise her two sons. The police think this fire is related to the other cases of arsonry recently happening in a widespread number across the U.S. The FBI have been called in and are currently investing the fire, but as far as we know it had been labeled as a gas leak and no further information has been given out. Stay tuned on World News for more updates on new cases.
With a sigh, he shut his computer and glanced at the clock, it was half-past twelve. That case was a bit strange, but he dismissed it as a simple coincidence. At the time, I prefer to write on paper so the only way to get the drafts would be to break into my house and steal it. With a glance he knew the crinkled papers hadn't moved since he last touched them; they balanced on the edge of the desk in a neat stack, clipped together by a paperclip. His front door was bolted shut by three locks-you could say he was a bit paranoid, windows were locked for he never opened them. A sudden pain shot through his head causing him to wince, "Fine." He muttered and pulled out a dull pencil and the paper that held his latest piece of writing. It was in Sam's POV, he was alone in a motel while Dean and John were on a hunt. And he sat there for a good hour, writing his newest dream, and the future.
(A/N Hope you guys liked it! As for the POV in the beginning and end, that's Chuck Shurley, the prophet you writes the supernatural books in the TV show. I based him around 20 years of age. Thanks for reading!)