Short story I wrote about Supernatural

1. Heaven
can
wait
Creative
writing
Fall
06/10
C h r i s t i a n
H o l m s t e e n
N i e l s
B r o c k

2. 2
T
……
he blood powered enochian symbols, often inscribed in cracking walls and doors, are
generally used to trap demons. Some are different though. Sharper around the edges,
require a larger sacrifice to create. These symbols are not for capturing demonic creatures;
instead they serve the purpose of survival. They keep demons and even angels from entering your
home (note, see page 413 for instructions on angelic symbols).
The symbols are very effective but should only be used if all else fails, as the scribing of enochian
draw on your power. ONLY SUITABLE AS LAST OPTION IF ALL ELSE FAILS!!! …….
The
remaining
text
on
that
page
was
either
scribbled
out
by
a
tired
hand,
or
completely
unreadable
by
the
harsh
conditions
it
had
been
exposed
to.
Dean
could
easily
tell
the
page
was
written
in
haste,
and
could
have
been
done
more
thoroughly.
The
last
thing
his
brother
had
told
him
was
to
destroy
the
symbols
keeping
angels
from
saving
him.
Then
he
had
hung
up
on
him.
He
had
failed
to
help
his
brother
from
whatever
was
after
him.
He
hadn’t
heard
from
him
since
that
call.
He
closed
his
father’s
old
notebook,
and
dumped
it
in
the
pocket
of
his
ragged
brown
coat.
The
past
few
weeks
had
gone
by
swiftly,
and
everything
just
seemed
to
coalesce.
He
turned
around
and
glanced
at
the
mirror
in
the
back
of
the
room.
He
had
seen
better
days.
His
hair
had
grown
too
long
and
his
beard
was
untrimmed.
It
all
made
him
look
pretty
ferocious,
as
he
smiled
to
himself.
He
definitely
had
seen
better
days.
He
was
standing
in
the
war
room,
with
a
single
table
in
the
center,
which
had
an
illuminated
world
map.
Towards
the
end
of
the
room,
they
stored
a
few
old
computers
and
communication
devices.
A
single
half
empty
glass
of
scotch
stood
on
the
table,
where
he
left
it
last
night,
before
falling
asleep
not
even
halfway
through
that
night’s
research.
As
he
walked
through
the
corridors
of
the
old
bunker,
build
for
the
men
of
letters
almost
a
hundred
years
ago,
he
found
himself
once
again
in
the
endlessly
large
library.
Here,
the
once
so
glorious
organization
stored
their
world
wide
collected

3. knowledge
of
every
object,
scroll
or
spell
ever
created
throughout
thousands
of
years.
The
gloomy
light
of
the
old
lamps
gave
the
old
place
new
life.
The
room
was
filled
with
books
and
charred
boxes
with
ancient
weapons.
He
grabbed
a
few
of
the
old
scrolls,
decorated
with
the
Aquarian
star
crest,
the
symbol
of
the
grieving
order.
Dust
had
gathered
everywhere
around
him
in
the
old
bunker,
as
he
had
never
been
much
of
a
housemaid.
His
brother
usually
took
care
of
those
things,
while
Dean
would
go
off
to
bars,
and
enjoy
the
succulent
sins
of
the
silent
night.
But
that
had
all
changed
since
his
brother’s
disappearance.
Sam
was
nowhere
to
be
found.
Dean
threw
the
scrolls
on
his
bed
as
he
entered
his
own
room.
He
sat
down
for
a
moment,
gathered
his
thoughts,
and
cast
the
spell.
A
few
enochian
words
to
engulf
the
magical
binding,
and
the
angel
should
be
there
anytime.
A
flash
of
light
and
the
well-­‐known
feeling
of
sudden
coziness
told
him
that
Castiel
had
arrived.
“Ah
Dean,
my
apologizes
for
not
contacting
you
lately.
I
have
been
busy
with
uhm…
searching
for
your
brother”.
Dean
gave
him
a
swift
handshake
and
told
him
to
follow
into
the
war
room,
ignoring
his
pathetic
greeting.
The
man
next
to
him
was
not
ordinary
at
all.
His
soul
was
encased
in
a
dream,
as
the
angel
commander
he
knew
as
his
friend,
now
possessed
the
body
as
his
vessel.
“I
know
you
haven’t
spend
time
looking
for
Sam,
so
don’t
give
me
none
of
that
angelic
crap
Cass.
We’re
both
busy;
you
have
yours
to
look
after
as
I
have
mine.
But
I
need
your
help”.
Castiel,
looked
a
bit
shutter,
but
nodded.
“But
I
do
have
news
on
your
brother
Dean.
Demons
have
been
gathering
all
over
the
states,
and
it
is
time
to
take
action.
We
know
where
your
brother
is.
If
you
don’t
mind?”
he
asked
as
he
took
a
swift
grip
in
Deans
shoulder.
Dean
hated
this
part,
but
gave
his
permission.
He
closed
his
eyes
and
felt
his
stomach
turn
upside
down.
When
he
opened
his
eyes
again,
he
found
himself
standing
in
front
of
a
murky
abandoned
church.
Surrounding
them,
dying
trees
stretched
their
arms
towards
the
ever-­‐starring
eye,
the
moon
that
burned
like
an
orb
in
the
night.
“Prepare
yourself
for
battle”,
was
Cas’
last
words,
before
he
disappeared
out
of
the
open
air.
Dean
grabbed
his
silver
blade,
inscribed
with
various
spells
and
runes
in
the
blade.
He
turned
towards
the
door
of
the
church,
and
opened
it
wide
open.
Surprisingly,
a
source
of
light
from
within
the
church
lid
his
path
up.
He
soon
realized,
that
the
ceiling
had
collapsed,
and
it
was
the
moon
that
gave
him
a
bit
of
light.
In
the
middle
of
the
church,
before
the
altar,
sat
a
single
man
on
a
chair
in
a
circle
of
enochian
symbols.
Dean
recognized
the
person
in
the
chair
as
his
brother,
who
seemed
to
be
unconscious.
“SAM!”,
he
yelled,
as
he
ran
to
his
brother.
All
of
a
sudden,
an
unknown
power
forced
Dean
to
his
knees.
The
moon
disappeared,
and
the
room
was
now
complete
darkness.
3

4. A
sound
broke
out,
and
the
chair
in
front
of
him
was
kicked
to
the
ground.
“You
should
not
have
come
here,
Dean”.
The
voice
was
his
own
brothers,
but
something
held
him
from
replying.
Something
was
wrong.
“Your
silence
will
not
protect
you!”,
his
brother
screamed,
with
a
demonic
grin.
Something
was
terribly
wrong.
Sam’s
eyes
were
glowing
red,
as
the
symbols
on
the
ground.
It
was
almost
like
they
were
moving
towards
his
brothers’
body,
upon
it
and
everywhere.
It
consumed
him,
and
he
was
soon
a
single
red
shard
of
glowing
darkness.
Dean
wanted
to
scream,
but
he
was
assaulted
from
behind.
He
managed
to
turn,
and
force
the
enemy
to
the
ground
–
a
demon.
All
awhile
his
brother
was
continuing
his
demonic
laugh.
Dean
forced
the
silver
blade
into
the
chest
of
one
demon
after
another,
until
he
could
not
hold
the
attackers
off.
They
came
from
every
corner,
every
rift
of
darkness
within
the
church.
As
all
hope
and
life
was
slipping
out
of
his
body,
a
single
symbol
caught
his
attention.
The
symbol
he
had
seen
in
his
father’s
notebook.
It
was
glowing
more
than
the
others
symbols.
He
jumped
to
his
feet,
and
ran
to
the
symbol,
crushing
it
with
his
blade.
A
single
dull
light
broke
into
the
church
from
the
ceiling,
and
erupted
into
a
burst
of
energy
that
filled
the
entire
church.
Dean
fell
to
the
ground,
as
he
looked
up
one
final
time,
smiling
to
Castiel
carrying
his
now
cured
brothers
body.
Once
again,
he
had
saved
his
little
brothers
life.
Once
again,
he
could
feel
a
bit
of
happiness.
But
not
for
long.
Never
for
long.
He
knew
that.
Light
and
eternal
darkness
was
all
he
could
see,
as
his
eyes
deceived
him
once
again.
4
“A
story
inspired
by
the
TV
series
of
Supernatural”
Written by
Christian Holmsteen