Mustang Fastback: A Fictional Narrative

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“Y/N, please don’t, we only have a few hours left” Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around your forearm, pleading with hazel hues as your legs swung out from the 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback, animosity igniting your veins. The worst scenario by far had just played out right before you, and if these events weren’t enough, you had watched every second unfold, a specific detail stuck between your teeth; the way the driver smirked as his door tore obsidian from aluminium, walking away without hesitation. “Did you not see what that son of a bitch did to baby? Ellie, he fucking smirked! We’ll be on the road again before you know it, I ain’t letting them take you” You broke away, lifting your body from the victim, combat boots pounding tarmac as you followed…show more content…
“Who the hell are you?” The offender turned, squinting his eyes in attempt to remember a face he’d never seen. “You mean who the hell are you, slamming your door into baby like that,” It wasn’t just a car, it wasn’t just a 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback, it was your home. You didn’t have four walls and a roof, you had four doors and a wheel. You didn’t have a mother and a father, you had Elizabeth Y/S/N and whiskey. “What? Look, I have no idea what I’ve done wrong. Can I just go get what I came for?” The man gestured to the gas station shop, shaking his head lightly. It was a shame, because the truth was, you were craving a fight. You hadn’t had a case since a few weeks ago, seemingly every job occupied by ‘the Winchesters’. It was hard enough persuading people that two girls could aim a shotgun, never mind finding scraps left behind by the guys who started, and ended, the apocalypse. “Dean, you can’t even walk five feet without starting something. Look..” A taller figure entered the corner of your vision, lingering on the absence of your…show more content…
“Y/N, I’m sorry for whatever my brother has done, but I can assure you he didn’t mean to upset anyone,” Autumn breeze brushed your cheeks, swaying your ponytail in the scent of diesel and cooling the blood that had risen closer to your skin. You felt idiotic, sandwiched between the clueless man and the guy stuffed with reason, your only fuel the gash along the left side of your Mustang. “I rebuilt her only last month, having to scavenge parts from every corner of the country, wash my blood, vampire blood, wendigo blood, you name it, from the inside, and then have to try to match her shade of black to paint her? I can’t believe you expect me to accept your half assed apology,” You continued, sharing your vision between the brothers equally now, gun pressed against the skin where your trouser waistband once lay. “You’re a hunter?” Dean questioned instantly, identifying your mistake before you could even recognise it yourself. “Yeah, we are,” The slam of a car door accompanied the footsteps of your sister, as she recovered from something close to forgotten, answering for you. Elizabeth took place beside you, as you took pride in every syllable in a way she never could. The words were never something she wanted to be able to

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