Disclaimer:I do not own any recognizable characters, storylines, places, songs, or anything else referenced in this story. However, the fictional town of Antioch and its inhabitants belong to me.
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester head to a small town in Alabama to investigate the mysterious death of a college student. But when they arrive, they find a lot more than they expected. Connections to the yellow-eyed demon, a knowledgeable church girl with premonitions, acting skills, slight OCD, and a knack for finding trouble, and a very different path to their ultimate destiny. Features Dean/OC relationship.
Timeframe: Late season two. Just after "What Is and What Should Never Be." It's basically a retelling/reworking of the show from there out. Instead of ending up in Cold Oak, South Dakota, for Azazel's psychic children showdown ("All Hell Breaks Loose, Part One"), Sam and Dean look into a potential case in Alabama, sending them down a different path.
Author's Note: I know it's kinda lame, but I'm writing The Good Fight in the style of episodes with commercial breaks. Each "episode" is five chapters long, and they'll be posted collectively under the series title. "Don't Fear the Reaper" is the first. I have lots of ideas for future stories, and I will certainly write and upload them if someone will read them! I'd really appreciate any feedback you guys can offer. Thanks!
"Don't Fear the Reaper"
Shadow Lodge College Apartments,
Three Days Ago.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
"Trevor! Open up, man!" Blake Cavender shouted above the gushing rain. He knocked on the closed oak door again. Rang the doorbell for a second time. "Anybody home?"
A frown settled across his chubby bearded face at the lack of response. He tightened his grip on the handle of his umbrella and glanced over his shoulder at the parking lot where his friend's old hatchback sat. The silver Chevette had been parked there for days, untouched by its owner.
Blake gnawed on his lip as he turned back around to face the door. A growing pile of unread newspapers had collected in front of it.
He raised himself onto the tips of his red Chuck Taylor All Stars and peered through the glass at the top of the door. A light was on inside the apartment, just as it had been for nearly a week.
Plagued with concern for his classmate and neighbor, Blake reached for the doorknob and twisted it.
It was locked.
He sighed. "Crap, Trevor," he mumbled to himself, digging into the left pocket of his Volcom jeans. He removed a key ring that held a single brass key, a key given to him in case of an emergency. He could be wrong, but this sure felt like one. Blake inserted the key into the dead bolt. He heard the lock give way as he turned it.
He pushed the door open. "Hey. You here, man?" With one foot in Trevor Bradley's foyer and the other on the doorstep, Blake shook his umbrella furiously as he closed it, sending raindrops flying in a hundred different directions. He leaned the thing against the interior wall and continued across the threshold.
Thunder growled overhead.
"It's Blake from next door," he called out, slowly making his way into the apartment. "You alright? I haven't seen you in class for like a week." The lamp was on in the next room over, the living room. He could see its light from where he stood. "I haven't seen you anywhere all week."
He gulped as he approached the doorway to the lamp-lit living room.
When he got there, he gasped.
Blood littered the sand-colored berber carpet; there were splatters in front of the television, small droplets next to the sofa. And in the center of the room, the crimson fluid was carefully arranged to form a large, intricately-detailed occult symbol- a wide hexagram, with complex figures drawn at the tip of each point, all placed inside a circle surrounded by a bigger circle.
A few feet away from the symbol lay the body of Trevor Bradley.