unfinished story paragraphs
So, to reward myself while engrossed in the tedium of my dictionary project, I went through my unfinished story file. Here are some sneak-preview paragraphs.
They watched the first wave live, safe in Bobby's panic room. They watched every news report until the power failed, and then they stayed until the panic room ran out of supplies. Sam marked the days on the wall and Dean paced, steadily growing more and more agitated because the world was ending while he kept himself buried in the ground.
The file on Dean Winchester fills three boxes. It starts with his birth certificate, has records of the house fire that killed his mother, and is then intermittent with school notes and a few juvie reports, and doctor files mainly from emergency rooms all across the country. By all accounts, though, Dean was a bright, if mildly difficult, child.
Alistair spent several centuries with his new toy, a gift from Lilith’s hands herself, and when he finally pulled back, he had a masterpiece unequaled by any demon, a creature darker and more twisted than himself.
Zachariah laughs, licks the blood off Castiel's neck. I’m not a traitor, dear one, Zachariah whispers into his ear. I just see how to make things go my way. God’s gone, and Michael. The angels need a leader, so I’ll lead.
“Hello, Dean,” Mommy says, which isn’t right, because Daddy said that Mommy is gone and not ever coming back, but she’s right there, crouched down next to him and smiling her happy Dean I love you forever and ever even if you spilled macaroni all over the kitchen, and you wanna help me make cookies? smile.
No one has heard from Dean Winchester in twelve years. Sam Winchester vanished, too. Then this punk-ass kid shows up, same MO, same eyes, same cocky words and cocksucking lips-yeah, he’s a Winchester, for damn sure.
“Tomorrow,” Dean tells Sam, even though Sam is actually asleep now, “I’m taking you to Bobby’s. I can’t do what needs to be done if you’re there."
Mary had always planned to name her first son Michael. But then Mom died and she wanted to honor her: Dean Jonathan, after Mom and John’s dad, and then Sammy, four years after, named for Dad.
Ruby paced, trapped in her meatsuit, three steps across, seven steps around, over and over and over again. She slammed her fists against the walls, kicked the bricks until her feet ached and her toes snapped, yelled her voice hoarse.
And their daughter taking herself out of the game was a total blindside. She vanished not too long after the funeral, with her little civilian(as much of a civilian as a marine could ever be, anyway) and some of the old-timers shook their heads. Disrespectful, that girl, turning her back on what her parents had stood for.
Jim didn’t recognize them at first. Mistook them for new parishioners, for lost souls seeking redemption. He welcomed them into his church, and even invited them to his table. He and the eldest, John, spoke about crops and music and the war they’d both fought in, John as a marine and Jim as infantry. The two youngest, Dean and Sam, talked amongst themselves in low tones; they seemed to be discussing who was cooler, the Joker or the Riddler, from what Jim overheard.
Hello, Dean, she says quietly. The onyx ring on her finger glints in the moonlight. I’ve been waiting for you.
Uriel doesn’t hear him, too caught up in speechifying, but Other does and scolds, Gently, Dean. He is misguided.