Tragedy ° DEAN WINCHESTER

o. | the origin story of emery wilson

Disclaimer; I do not own Supernatural. All rights reserved to Eric Kripke and the writers.

btw, if i get one more comment about teen wolf on any of these chapters, i'm deleting it. I get that there are lots of fans, but this book has nothing to do with teen wolf. thank you.

also, i got to add this. please don't spoil the show in the comments. sure, you may be caught up, but a lot of people are either just starting/watching/catching up on the show. i mean, it's fifteen seasons. would you want any of them spoiled for you?

another thing, i wrote this book when i was fourteen-fifteen, and i have advanced as a writer. still, a lot of these plot lines are meh, but they're mine and i'm proud of them. also, some of the decisions are the oc's character, so can't change them if i wanted to.
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"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

EMERY HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT OF HERSELF as the hero. Ever since she was twelve. Well, the day that her parents died more like it.

It was an ordinary Sunday. As ordinary as it ever was around the Wilson household. Emery's dad was making blueberry pancakes, the young girl's favourite.

The day seemed to carry on like any other Sunday. The family had gone to the church ceremony, and then went over to the Parker's household. Emery played with Alex, the ten year old Parker boy. The family had a swing set in their backyard, and Emery remembered swinging on it for two hours before her parents had came and told her it was time to go.

She'd jump off of the swing and run up to her dad, smiling a wide smile, brunette hair flying behind her. She would ride in the backseat of their mini-van, staring out the window.

It was that Sunday night when it happened. Of course, it was the full moon, and Emery was just getting tucked in when she heard her dad's grunt of agony. Her mom told her to stay where she was, before the older woman ran out of the room. Emery remembered not listening to her mother, and getting out of her bed.

She crept along the hallway and down the stairs, looking through the banister. What Emery saw made her scream. Her parents were both lying on the floor, their own blood pooled around them. Her father's torso was ripped open, intestines spilled everywhere, and her heart obviously missing. And her mother was a whole different story.

That thing was still feasting on him. All over her body, there was bite marks and limbs tore off and thrown all over the room.

When Emery's scream pierced through the air, the intensity of it making her vocal chords feel like they're getting ripped to shreds, the thing snapped its head towards her. Blood was dripping down its mouth, its lips curl back in a growl, canine's showing.

Emery ran up the stairs, away from the thing, her vocal chords still ripping themselves apart. She ran into the first room she saw, which was the bathroom, and threw herself against the door, locking it. She heard the thing scratching at the door, trying to claw its way inside.

It was there, trying to do that for what felt like hours. Emery was sobbing, tears staining her cheeks, her hand covering her mouth to try to quiet herself down. She heard footsteps, then suddenly, there was five loud bangs.

Ear-shattering bangs.

Someone knocking on the bathroom door is what snapped Emery out of her little fit.