Bonus Post: The Final Fate of Abel Cochrane

(I wrote this chapter weeks ago as a joke for fellow Supernatural fans Serena and Rebecca. Just thought I’d share.)

Cochrane gaped at the two men standing before him. “What do you mean, no?”

“You want me to draw you a picture?” the hard-eyed older one said. “Because it’ll look like this: a big black N and a big black O, with a nice heavy line underneath. Any other questions?”

“But you’re hunters,” Cochrane said. “You’re supposed to be the best in the business. There’s a town full of shifters out there. Monsters. They’ve got a mad scientist turning normal people into even worse monsters. Didn’t you hear what happened out on Route 15?”

“We heard,” the tall one said. He was not as hostile as his brother, but just as adamant. “We know who caused it, and we know who stopped it. It’s over. Let it go.”

“Are you kidding me? Talbot’s Peak has been taken over by those—those animals. You want to wait until they start branching out? Killing innocent people instead of each other? How can you just let it go and still have the gall to call yourselves hunters?”

“Watch us,” the older one said.

“We’ve been to Talbot’s Peak,” his brother added. “We know the situation there. It’s best to leave it alone. Even our father warned us to stay away from there. If you were there and they let you go, then you’re ahead of the game. I’d take it and run.”

“Your daddy’s dead and gone,” Cochrane said with a sneer. “And you two have lost your edge. I don’t know why I bothered. With or without you, I’m cleaning up that pit. You two can—”

“That’s it,” the older one said. “You’re lucky I don’t consider you worth the jail time. Cas?”

Cochrane whirled at a fluttery sound behind him. A man in a trench coat, who hadn’t been there seconds before, reached out and touched him.

The motel room disappeared.

A frigid wind nearly knocked him off his shaky feet. The room’s walls had been replaced by open sky of an eye-blasting blue, pierced by towering, snow-laden mountains. Make that MOUNTAINS. These made the Rockies look like speed bumps. Three men bundled in thick wool clothing and surrounded by a herd of goats stared at him. The goats barely blinked.

“What the hell?” Cochrane cried in rising panic. “What the hell? Where the hell am I?”

One of the men cleared his throat. “Tibet.”

“Tibet?”

“Yes, yes. Tibet.” The men hurried their goats away.

“Tibet?” Cochrane repeated weakly. The wind whipped the word away. Gradually he realized his feet were wet. He looked down and discovered he was standing up to his shins in snow.

“Goddammit,” he snarled. Those two lunatics weren’t hunters. They were witches. Had to be. That meant when he was done with Talbot’s Peak he’d have to kill them too. But first …

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” It wasn’t the end of the world. Well, technically, but still. He had his sheepskin coat and the weapons concealed beneath it. Snow was just really chilly water, so thirst wouldn’t be a problem. There looked to be plenty of daylight left, time enough to find shelter. Cochrane started walking.

Tibet. The Himalayas. Yetis. Some village out in this snowy waste must have a yeti problem. He could earn a living here. If not here, India. That swampy jungle mess was rife with shifters and djinns. Or Japan. You couldn’t take three steps in Kyoto without banging into a demon.

It wouldn’t take him long to work his way back across the Pacific. Then they’d see some action, just you bet.

Saving people, hunting things. Making the world a cleaner place, one continent at a time.