Supernatural: Playthings

A/N: Hello, I am back again and I really don't have much to say since I'm a bit under the weather this week, so on with the story.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural or Criminal Minds; I just own the characters that I happen to create.

CHAPTER TWO: A HAUNTED INN?

"And it came to pass by the way in the inn, that the Lord met him, and sought to kill him."

Exodus 4:24

Three weeks later

Peoria, Illinois…

Blues music was playing on the radio and the walls were covered in maps, hand-written notes, and a MISSING poster showing Ava's face.

Sam was alone in the room and was on the phone. "Yeah. Okay," he said as both Dean and Liz entered the room with groceries and a tray of coffee. "Thanks, Ellen."

"What'd she have to say?" Dean asked.

"Oh, she's got nothing," Sam told him, sighing. "Me, I've been checking every database I can think of - federal, state, and local. No one's heard anything about Ava, she just…into thin air, you know? Even Garcia can't find anything…only that the other four people were definitely part of the non-nursery fire pattern."

"Huh." Dean could understand that connection and he handed over one of the three cups of coffee Liz was carrying to Sam.

"What about you two?" Sam asked, accepting the coffee.

"No, same as before," Dean responded, shaking his head as he took his jacket off while Liz put the remaining coffees down on one of the nightstands so she could take off her own jacket. "Sorry, man."

"Same here," Liz agreed.

Sam decided to change the subject as he sipped his coffee. "Ellen did have one thing."

Both Dean and Liz looked at him inquiringly. "Hmm?"

"A hotel in Cornwall, Connecticut, two freak accidents in the past three weeks," Sam responded.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? What's that have to do with Ava?"

"It's a job," Sam explained. "I mean, a lady drowned in the bathtub; then a few days ago a guy falls down the stairs, head turns a complete one-eighty." And Liz winced. "Which isn't exactly normal, you know? Look, I don't know, Dean, Liz, it might be nothing, but I told Ellen we'd think about checking it out."

"You did?" Dean asked, surprised.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. You seem surprised."

Dean shrugged. "Well yeah, it's just, you know…not the patented Sam Winchester way, is it?" and winced when Liz elbowed him before sitting down on one of the beds with her coffee.

"Behave, Dean."

"What is that?" Sam asked with a mildly challenging tone.

Dean shrugged as he took his coffee and sat down on the same bed. "I just figured after Ava there'd be, uh, you know, more angst and droopy music and staring out the rainy windows, and-" he paused when Sam gave him a look and noted that Liz was getting ready to swat him "yeah, I'll shut up now."

Sam sighed as he moved to the other bed, since he knew what Dean meant. "Look. I'm the one who promised that she would be safe from Azazel," he explained. "Now her fiancée's freaking out and some demon has taken her off to God knows where, along with four others. You know? But we've been looking for three weeks now, and we've got nothing. So I'm not giving up on her, but I'm not going to let other people die either. We've got to save as many people as we can."

"Wow. That attitude is just way too healthy for me, and I'm officially uncomfortable now," Dean groaned. "Thank you." This made Liz giggle and Sam ducked his head and laughed. "All right, call Ellen. Tell her we'll take it. Oh, did you ask her how Jo is?"

"Yeah, apparently Jo's still hunting, and has asked Ellen to help on a couple, which is why she isn't throwing a fit this time."

The next day, the Winchesters parked in front of the inn, and Dean got out of the driver's side with Liz, who was impressed by the place.

"This place is beautiful."

Dean grinned. "Dude, this is sweet. I never get to work jobs like this."

"Like what?" Sam asked as they got their bags out of the trunk and headed for the front door.

"Old school haunted houses, you know? Fog, and secret passageways, sissy British accents," Dean joked. "Might even run into Fred and Daphne while we're inside." He closed his eyes briefly. "Mmm. Daphne. Love her."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Dean, that's a cartoon show."

As they went up the steps, Sam noticed an urn on the side of the porch and inspected it more closely, having noticed something. "I'm not so sure haunted's the problem."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Sam tilted the urn to show them. "You see this pattern here?" he tapped a five-point symbol engraved in the urn. "That's a quincunx, that's a five-spot."

Both Dean and Liz frowned. "Five-spot."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"That's used for hoodoo spellwork, isn't it?" Liz asked.

"Right, yeah," Sam confirmed. "You fill this thing with bloodweed and you've got a powerful charm to ward off enemies."

"Yeah, except I don't see any bloodweed," Dean remarked. "Don't you think this place is a little too, uh, whitemeat for hoodoo?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

They entered the inn and looked around at the quiet interior; a moment later, Susan entered briskly.

"May I help you?"

Dean nodded and he went to the front desk. "Hi, yeah, I'd like a room for a couple of nights."

As both Sam and Liz moved toward the desk, too, Tyler darted in front of their legs, chased by Maggie, who ran behind him, and both girls were laughing and giggling.

"Hey!" Susan shouted at them and then turned to Sam and Liz. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," Sam said, chuckling and Liz nodded.

"It's all right."

Susan smiled and took the card that Dean handed her. "Well, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests."

Dean blinked. "Well. Sounds vaguely ominous."

"No, I'm sorry, I mean we're closing at the end of the month," Susan explained and then appraised them. "Well, let me guess. You guys are here antiquing?"

Dean shared a "why not?" look with Sam and Liz. "How'd you know?"

Susan shrugged. "Oh, you just look the type." And now Dean was vaguely uncomfortable. "So, uh, one king-sized bed? And one queens-sized bed?"

"What?" Sam yelped and realized what she meant. "No, uh, no, we're, we're…two singles, we're just brothers, and she's our sister." And Liz fought down a laugh…here they go again with the whole gay thing bit.

Susan flushed. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry."

Dean swallowed, wondering why this kept happening to them, even with Liz around. "What'd you mean that we look the type?"

"You know, speaking of antiques, you have a really, really interesting urn on the front porch. Where did you get that?" Sam asked, deciding to save some face.

Susan shrugged, returning the card. "Oh, I have no idea, it's been there forever." And then she handed Dean a key. "Here you go, Mr. Mahagov."

Dean took both items. "Thanks."

Susan dinged the bell. "You'll be staying in room 237. Sherwin, could you show these gentlemen and this lady to their rooms?" she requested, and Dean turned to see an old, balding man in a black blazer shuffling up behind him.

"Let me guess," Sherwin said upon seeing them. "Antiquers?"

After telling Sherwin that Sam and Dean weren't gay, making Liz resist the impulse to laugh, the old man was now dragging Dean's clunking duffel bag behind him, up the steps, as the Winchesters followed.

"I could give you a hand with that bag," Dean offered.

Sherwin shook his head. "I got it."

Dean didn't look convince. "Okay."

"So the hotel's closing up, huh?" Sam asked.

Sherwin nodded. "Yep. Miss Susan tried to make a go of it, but the guests just don't come like they used to. Still, it's a damn shame."

"Oh yeah?" Liz asked.

"It may not look it anymore, but this place was a palace," Sherwin explained. "Two different vice presidents laid their heads on our pillows. My parents worked here, I practically grew up here. Gonna miss it. Here's your room." He slipped the key in the lock and opened the door, handing the key to Sam, who took it, as he and Liz brushed past. Dean entered, turned to shut the door, and Sherwin was standing there, hand extended expectantly. "You're not gonna cheap on me, are you, boy?"

Dean was annoyed as he pulled out his wallet.

A while later, Sam was sitting, sifting through papers, Liz was sitting on one of the beds, and Dean was pacing; he chuckled as he approached what appeared to be an antique wedding dress displayed on a wall like a ghost.

"What the-?"

"What?" Sam asked, looking over.

"That's normal," Dean joked, nodding to the dress and then turned away. "Why the hell would anyone stay here? I'm amazed they kept in business this long."

"I'm sure it was more popular when it first open it doors," Liz suggested. "I mean…this place is filled with history."

Sam decided to focus on the case. "All right. Victim number one: Joan Edison, forty-three years old, a realtor handling the sale of the hotel; and victim number two was Larry Williams, moving some stuff out to Goodwill."

Dean grimaced. "Well, there's a connection, they're both tied up in shutting the place down." and went to sit down next to Liz, and they both tensed when the bed sagged slightly under their combined weight.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe somebody here doesn't want to leave, and they're using hoodoo to fight back."

"Who do you think our witch doctor is, that Susan lady?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, doesn't seem likely. I mean…she is the one selling."

Dean thought about it. "So what then, Sherwin?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted.

Dean sighed, already foreseeing that this was going to be a tough case. "Of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?" and Liz laughed.

"Well, you are kinda butch," Sam teased. "Probably think you're overcompensating."

Dean rolled his eyes, forcing a laugh. "Right."

That night, the Winchesters poked around the hallways, Sam spotted another urn and picked it up. It too, had a quincunx inscribed. "Hey. Look at that. More hoodoo." And he put the urn back down.

They approached a door marked "PRIVATE" and Dean knocked; a moment later, Susan opened the door. "Hi there."

"Hi. Everything okay with your room?" Susan asked.

Liz fought back a laugh as Dean and Sam began talking over each other. "Yeah, yeah, everything's great."

Susan smiled. "Well, I was, I was just in the middle of packing."

"Hey!" Dean looked past her and noticed the dolls on the shelves. "Are those antique dolls?" and he nudged Sam. "Because this one, this one here, he's got a major doll collection back home. Dontcha? Huh?"

Sam shot Dean a look while Liz elbowed their brother.

"Leave Sam alone, Dean," she said in a scolding manner, and then turned to Susan. "Actually, I'm the one who has a collection back home, and those are beautiful dolls."

"Big time," Dean agreed, after shooting his twin a look. "You think she could come…or we could come in and take a look?"

Susan didn't look sure. "I don't know-"

"Please?" Dean pleaded, deciding to tease Liz instead of Sam, partly to get back at her for his sore ribs. "I mean, she loves them. Liz's not gonna tell you this, but she's, she's always dressing 'em up in these little outfits and, um, you'd make her day. You - she would, huh? Huh?"

Liz sighed, wishing that she hadn't said anything now. "It's true."

"Okay," Susan agreed. "Come on in."

"All right. All right!" Dean slapped both Liz and Sam on the backs and followed them in, while his siblings shot him a death glare each. "Wow. This is a lot of dolls. I mean, they're nice, you know. Not super creepy at all." And he was almost certain that they were following him with their eyes.

"Yeah, I suppose they are a little creepy," Susan agreed. "But they've been in the family forever. A lot of sentimental value."

Both Sam and Liz noticed the massive dollhouse and went over to examine it, both impressed and mildly disturbed by the resemblance to the inn. "What is this? The hotel?"

Susan nodded. "Yeah, that's right. Exact replica, custom built."

While Liz examined the exterior, Sam examined the interior when he noticed something; he leaned down and picked up the broken doll, frowning.

"His head got twisted around," he remarked, holding up the doll. "What happened to it?"

Susan shrugged; it'd been a while since she'd spent any time around the dollhouse. "Tyler, probably."

And on cue, Tyler ran in. "Mommy! Maggie's being mean," she complained, her sister was nowhere in sight.

"Tyler, tell her I said to be nice, okay?" Susan suggested with a mother's patience.

Sam, still holding the doll, moved from behind the dollhouse. "Hey Tyler. I see you broke your doll. You want me to fix it?" he offered.

"I didn't break it," Tyler told him, unconcerned by the condition of the doll. "I found it like that."

"Oh. Well, uh, maybe Maggie did it," Liz suggested.

Tyler shook her head. "No, neither of us did it. Grandma would get mad if we broke 'em."

"Tyler, she wouldn't get mad," Susan tsked.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Grandma?"

"Grandma Rose, these were all her toys," Tyler answered.

Dean gave both Liz and Sam a knowing look, getting an idea. "Oh. Really. Where's Grandma Rose now?"

"Up in her room," Tyler responded.

"You know, I'd, I'd really love to talk to Rose about her incredible doll-" Liz began, getting Dean's hint.

"No," Susan said suddenly, surprising them. "I mean…I'm afraid that's impossible. My mother's been very sick and she's not taking any visitors."

After talking with both Susan and Tyler a bit more, the Winchesters exited the room, and were talking in hushed voices.

"Well, what do you think?" Dean asked. "Dolls, hoodoo, mysterious shut-in grandma?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, dolls are used in all kinds of voodoo and hoodoo, like curses, and binding spells, and-"

"Yeah, maybe we've found our witch doctor," Dean cut in. "All right, we'll see what we can go dig up on Granny, you go get online, check old obits, freak accidents, that sort of thing, see if she's whacked anybody before."

Sam nodded as he turned to the door to their room. "Right."

"Don't go surfing porn," Dean teased, "that's not the kind of whacking I mean." And winced when Liz swatted the back of his head.

"Dean, grow up."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to the room as his bickering siblings left.

The next day, Susan was signing a wordy legal document with the word "AGREEMENT" at the top, and a weak-chinned lawyer was standing nearby.

"I've been meaning to ask," Susan said, setting aside her pen and handed the document to the lawyer. "What sort of renovations are you planning?"

"They never told you?" the lawyer asked, surprised by the question.

Susan frowned. "Told me what?"

The lawyer became nervous and slightly twitchy. "Uh, Ms. Thompson we plan on demolishing the hotel."

Susan was floored by this news, concerning just how old and famous the inn was. "Oh. I see. Excuse me."

Meanwhile, Tyler was humming to herself as she played a tea party with several dolls, and Maggie was nowhere in sight…again.

In an upper room of the dollhouse, a dark-suited figure sat at the edge of a bed.

Upstairs, in the parallel room of the real hotel, the lawyer sat at the edge of his bed.

The door behind doll-lawyer creaked open.

The door behind the lawyer creaked open as he fiddled with his collar.

Tyler was still humming and pouring tea when she heard a creak and went over to the dollhouse. Peering in, she saw that the doll-lawyer was hanging by the neck from the ceiling fan.

Upstairs, the lawyer was hanging from the neck, which had an electrical cord tied around it, from the ceiling fan, twitching.

A/N: And other victim is claimed. MWAHAHAHAHA! R&R everyone!