[HIATUS] Runaway ° Supernatural

o. prologue

"hours of the holy, we were so alone there. just can't seem to get away, shade our eyes to veil the pain." mother road, chelsea wolfe.

Artemisia crouched behind the tree with the matching set of initials carved into it that she had just climbed yesterday. Now, instead of being used for childish leisure, the tree was the only thing hiding her from the view of the officer who was on her trail.

She knew she hadn't done anything, but how was she going to explain that the tablecloth across the room from her burst into flames out of nowhere to the police?

She held the hand she had burned quite badly up to her chest and muffled her sobs with the other. The man's footsteps came closer.

She heard him mumble something into his radio that sounded like some sort of confirmation. His footsteps receded and Artie let out a shaky breath of relief, wiping the tears from her cheeks which only resulted in smudged dirt on her face.

Artie stood up, struggling to stay calm, and began to trudge through the forest on a rainy night with a sprained ankle. After the few years she had lived here, she'd managed to make something of a hidden pathway that only she and her older brother knew about.

The thick night air mixed with the faint smoky scent that filled it was making her drowsy and a bit nauseous, but there was no chance she'd make it if she stopped going now.

Once Artie reached the back road, her adrenaline rush began to disappear and both her ankle and arm began to throb. She couldn't keep running like this. She had to figure out her options.

Turning herself in was not one of them, since, with her multiple run-ins with the police of her town, they would not be understanding, and she would be serving time that she didn't deserve. Her since passed grandmother's house was about four miles down the road, but Artie knew she didn't have it in her to walk that far, and it would most definitely be investigated.

Then, she scanned the area and found the victim of her escape. A scarily familiar, sleek, black car parked on the side of the road that had apparently left by its owner for some reason or another.

Still trembling, she pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and she thanked God for her strange, overprotective dad that she met very few times. The lock was surprisingly hard to pick, as if it had been altered or broken many times before and it took her a while to get it right. Once she had it done, she opened the door and hopped inside, searching for keys. She found none.

At that moment, it hit her that she was going to have to hotwire and steal a strangers car. She had a miniature existential crisis and leaned back in the seat, running a hand through her singed hair. 

Before she could even think about starting to figure out the best way to hotwire this car, she was pulled out of the car by her arm and practically tossed to the ground.