**Hey! So I hope everyone likes this chapter. It's a pretty fast update compared with how I've been doing lately, so that's good! If you have any ideas, thoughts, or comments, I'd love to hear them! Really! I'm super excited to write the next chapter cause it's one of my all time favorite episodes! I'd love to hear any ideas for flashbacks you have. I'm thinking about adding one in the next chapter as well! Thanks so much for reading!**
Playthings
"Yeah," Sam was saying into the phone as Dean and I opened the door. "Okay. Thanks, Ellen," He hung up the phone, glancing at us as I placed his coffee in front of him.
"Any news?" I asked hopefully. We'd rented a motel room and had been staying there for awhile now, searching desperately for any leads on Ava's whereabouts.
"She got nothing," Sam informed Dean and I dejectedly. "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? What about you two?"
"Nothing new," I told him, matching his disheartened tone. I had come to care about Ava in the short time I'd known her, and I couldn't just stand by and watch as the world we dragged her into destroyed her. Her fiancé was already dead. I wasn't about to let her follow. I took the seat across from where Sam was sitting with his laptop open.
"Ellen did have one thing," My eyes snapped to Sam's face, a new hope forming. "A hotel in Cornwall, Connecticut - two freak accidents in the past three weeks,"
"Yeah, what's that have to do with Ava?" Dean asked, checking his phone while moving towards the bed.
"It's a job," Sam pointed out, and I considered it for a moment. A job would be a welcomed relief from what we'd been doing. "I mean, a lady drowned in the bathtub, then a few days ago, a guy falls down the stairs, head turns a complete 180, which isn't exactly normal, you know?" Dean shrugged off his jacket, throwing it on the bed as Sam talked. "Look, I don't know, guys, it might be nothing, but I told Ellen we'd think about checking it out,"
"You did?" Dean asked, surprised.
"I think it's a good idea," I spoke up. Sam and I had been cooped up in the motel room since we'd began looking for Ava, and I knew Dean was starting to worry about us. He'd finally managed to drag me out of the room to get some coffee half an hour ago.
"You do?" Dean questioned, his eyebrows rising in further shock.
"Yeah," I confirmed. "Why does that surprise you?" I asked, seeing the look on his face.
"Well, it's just, you know, I didn't think you'd want to leave the trail," He explained, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows at him. "And it's not really the patent Sam Winchester way, is it?"
"And what way is that?" Sam inquired, his mouth twitching up in amusement.
"Just figured after Ava, there'd be, you know, more angst and droopy music and staring out the rainy windows," I shook my head at him from behind Sammy, swinging my fingers in front of my neck to tell him to stop. "I'll shut up now," He stated wisely.
"Look, I'm the one who told her to go back home," Sam stood from his chair, and my heart sunk as I remembered what had happened. "Now her fiancé's dead, and some demon has taken her off to god knows where, you know?"
"It's not your fault, Sam," I started, making him glance at me from where he now sat on the bed opposite Dean. "Look, I just figured we've been looking for a month now and nothing, so we should start hunting again. People could be dying waste time following dead ends," "Right, we have to save as many people as we can," Sam agreed readily, and I turned my attention to Dean, who seemed surprised at our statements.
"Wow, that attitude is just way too healthy for me. I'm officially uncomfortable now. Thank you both," I crumpled up a piece of paper from my notebook and threw it at him. He barely lifted an arm to deflect it before turning to show me one of his rare, genuine smiles. "All right, call Ellen. Tell her we'll take it,"
They say when you drown, everything's calm. Your whole life flashes before your eyes, and there's no more pain or panic. You're just floating, waiting for the inevitable. Well, I really wouldn't know; I've never drowned. I could see how it was peaceful though, being submerged under the water and going limp, just letting yourself drift. There was a loud splash accompanied by a ripple in the water, and I felt strong arms wrap themselves around my waist, pulling me to the surface of the pool. Then, there was hot cement under my back, but I didn't open my eyes. Not even when I felt my face being grabbed by two familiar hands.
"Mel?" My boyfriend was hovering over me. I could tell by the way the water was dripping from his hair onto my face. "Melody!" He snapped my name, as if it were a command to open my eyes. "Somebody help me!" He yelled, but I knew there would be no one coming. It was the late afternoon, and everyone was either still at work or out doing something else. No one would be in a motel at 5:30 in the afternoon. "Shit. What do I do?" He mumbled to himself, and he sounded so desperate I began to feel bad for what I was doing. "What do I do?" He repeated the words, and I took the opportunity to open my eyes and fix them on him.
"If only there was a technique that you could learn in high school that would help here," Dean just stared at me incredulously before looking away and giving a half laugh of relief and disbelief. I sat up as he turned back to me and put his hands on either side of my face, looking into my eyes.
"Never do that again," I just smiled slightly at the seriousness in his voice and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to admit defeat. Finally, he sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll take the stupid class," I smiled brightly at his surrender and kissed him softly. One of his arms went to my lower back and before I knew it, he picked me up bridal style, and then was in the air as he tossed me into the pool. I surfaced, laughing at splashing him as he jumped in after me. I'd been trying to convince Dean all week to take the CPR class with me, but he had kept refusing, saying he didn't need it. Suddenly, a phone went off, pulling me from the thoughts of my victory, and I turned towards where Dean and I had dumped our shirts and my shorts, to see it was mine. I pulled myself onto the the poolside and snapped the phone open, pressing it to my ear.
"Hello?" I answered, knowing it was Sam.
"Hey. Where are you? Practice is over," I glanced back at Dean and motioned for him to get out of the pool before grabbing his phone and checking the time. 6:30. We'd really lost track of time.
"Shit, Sam. Sorry. We're leaving right now," I promised him, and I heard him sigh in annoyance. I pulled my shorts on over my black bikini bottom, and threw the grey tank top on to cover my blue and black top. "We're late to pick up Sam," I informed Dean, who swore softly as I threw him his shirt, trying not to notice how hot he was shirtless. I couldn't fathom how he stayed in such great shape when all he did was eat cheeseburgers and crappy gas station food. He put on his shirt, and we walked to the parking lot. John had joined my dad and Jez on a case, which meant that he'd left the Impala with us. We set up towels so we didn't get the seats wet before Dean gunned the engine and we went to pick up Sam.
"Dude, this is sweet," Dean commented as he checked out the building we'd be staying in. The one with all the deaths. "I never get to work jobs like this," He continued as I shouldered my duffel and Sam grabbed his backpack from the trunk.
"Like what?" Sam asked.
"Haunted houses," I answered for Dean, knowing where his mind was. It was pretty damn cool. I loved the old-school jobs.
"Yeah, old-school," Dean seemed to read my mind as he slipped an arm around my waist, slamming the door with the other.
"Oh, come on, Sammy," I rolled my eyes as I saw Sam's sour face as he looked at the building. "Secret passageways, fog,"
"Sissy british accents," Dean added, making my grin widen.
"Oh, do you think we'll run into Shaggy or Scooby while we're inside?" I asked, feigning excitement, which caused both Sam and Dean to laugh lightly. It was good to hear them laugh. There hadn't been much laughing in the past month.
"Hey, wait a sec," Dean and I turned from the top of the stairs to regard Sammy curiously. His attention was on one of the potted plants on the side of the stairs. "I'm not so sure haunted's the problem,"
"What do you mean?" Dean questioned as I descended the three steps to stand next to Sam and look at the pattern that was carved into the pot. It was an X with red circles marking the end of each line as well as the center. "That's a quincunx. It's a five-spot,"
"Five-spot," Dean echoed thoughtfully, all traces of humor gone.
"But that's used for hoodoo spell work," I remembered from the hoodoo case we'd worked in New Orleans. It was the last case Dean and I had worked alone before getting Sam from Stanford.
"Yeah, you fill this thing with bloodweed, you got a charm to ward off enemies," Sam added, but something wasn't right. A feeling in my gut told me it wasn't hoodoo. It was a haunting.
"But if that's right, where's the bloodweed?" I pointed out, not seeing any around us.
"Don't you think this place is a little too white-meat for hoodoo?" Dean did have a point. Hoodoo was usually in the deep south, never this far north.
"Maybe," Sam conceded, unwilling to give up his theory just yet. He seemed to snap out of it, and the boys stared walking through the doors into the hotel, only to realize I wasn't with them.
"You two go ahead. I'll catch up in a minute," I glanced up to see Dean's hesitation. "Go, I'll be fine," Slowly, cautiously, I reached my finger out to touch the quincunx. As soon as my fingers made contact with the cool metal, I gasped as pain shot through my head. I could hear two little girls' giggles accompanied by the pattering of footsteps. They were running. One set of footsteps seemed farther back than the other, leading me to believe one was chasing the other.
I yanked my hand back, breathing hard as my hearing slowly returned to normal. It wasn't until I'd taken my hand off the quincunx that I realized the entire time I was hearing, my vision had gone dark, as if I were blind. It returned to me all at once, causing me to jerk back at the sudden brightness. I shook my head quickly, trying to rid myself of the lingering, ominous feeling that clung to my mind and heart. What had just happened? I started up the steps to the lobby of the hotel.
"You just look the type," I heard her say as I opened the first set of doors. "So, a king-size bed?" I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips as I entered the lobby as the woman said that.
"What? No," Sammy stammered adorably, trying to find the words to tell her that they were definitely not in a relationship.
"Hey, babe," I greeted Dean, kissing him. I'd meant to peck him on the lips, just to make sure the manager knew Dean and Sam weren't together, but Dean caught the back of my head, causing the kiss to lengthen. I smiled into it, shifting to face him completely as my arms slid around his neck. We hadn't had much time to ourselves over the past month, and I'd forgotten how good it felt to be in his arms without worrying about anything. There was a cough from behind me, and I broke away from Dean quickly, remembering where we were.
"Actually, we'll be needing two rooms," Ever since Gordon, Dean had been getting one room for the three of us. I think he wanted to keep us close, in case one of us decided to split again. The thought hurt me. I wished to god I'd never left. That had been such a stupid thing to do.
"O-Okay," The woman agreed hurriedly, reaching down to change something in her book.
"And what did you mean that we looked the type?" Dean asked her, his arms sliding around my waist as I stood in front of her, watching her open and close her mouth a few times before deciding to save her.
"Hey, I was wondering about the antique you have on the front porch. The urn. Where'd you get it?" I inquired, and she turned her attention to me gratefully.
"You know, I have no idea. It's been there forever," She told us as she handed Dean a room key. "Here you go, Mr. Mahogoff. You'll be staying in room 237," She handed Sam another room key. "And you, 238,"
"Yay," Dean muttered sarcastically, making me elbow him lightly.
"Sherwin, could you show these people to their rooms?" An old, wrinkled butler came towards us, seizing us up.
"Let me guess - antiquers?" Sam's nod was the only response the butler got before he grabbed Dean and my duffels and Sam's backpack, heading up the stairs.
"I can give you a hand with those bags," Dean offered the man who was dragging the duffels up the stairs.
"I got it," The butler insisted.
"Okay," Dean backed off quickly.
"So, the hotel's closing up, huh?" Sam asked, trying to change the subject.
"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," The butler explained in a sorrow filled voice that told me he'd worked here a while. "It may not look it anymore, but this place was a palace. Two different vice presidents laid their heads on our pillows. My parents worked here. I practically grew up here. I'm gonna miss it," He stopped walking, turning to the room on our left. "Here's your room," He opened room 137, and all three of us walked in. The butler didn't ask, for Sammy's room was just next door and he had a key.
"Thanks," Sammy smiled briefly at him before going into the room and throwing his bag down on the couch. I followed, placing my duffel at the foot of the bed while Dean stayed at the door a moment longer.
"You're not gonna cheap out on me, are you, boy?" Dean just stared at him in disbelief, making me smile slightly. "What would your girlfriend think?" Dean glanced back at me, and I raised my eyebrows. He paid the butler.
Thirty minutes later I was sitting next to Sammy, looking at the pictures he held in his hands and trying to compare them to the pictures in mine. He held the images of the first victim. I had the second. As far as I could tell, there was nothing that connected them aside from the hotel in which they worked.
"What the…" I glanced up at a chuckling Dean who was looking at the dress pinned to the wall.
"What?" Sam questioned, glancing up as well.
"That's normal," Sarcasm dripped from Dean's voice as he spoke, pointing to the dress that hung on the wall. "Why the hell would anyone stay here? I'm amazed they kept in business this long," Dean turned and began walking the length of room in the opposite direction, pacing again.
"All right, victim number one, Joan Edison, 43," Sam began reading as Dean took a seat on the bed, having it cave in under the weight. "A realtor handling the sale of the hotel,"
"Victim number 2," I took over for him. "Larry Williams, moving some stuff out to Goodwill,"
"Well, there's a connection. They're both tied up in shutting the place down," Dean pointed out logically.
"Yeah, maybe someone here doesn't want it to leave, and they're using hoodoo to fight back," Sam suggested.
"Or maybe it's a spirit that's tied to the hotel and doesn't want it to get sold," I countered. Sam and I had been arguing the point back and forth for a good five minutes already.
"Well, if it is hoodoo, who do you think the witch doctor is - that Susan lady?" Sam shook his head.
"Doesn't seem likely. She's the one selling the place," He reasoned.
"Could be Sherwin," I offered sarcastically, still not at all sold on the hoodoo theory.
"I don't know," Sam confessed, sounding unsure.
"I think the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?" I laughed at Dean's priorities. "Come on, it's a serious question," He insisted, despite my laughter.
"You are kind of Butch," Sam pointed out, making me laugh again. "Probably think you're overcompensating," Sam nudged me, looking at me and grinning widely as I laughed.
"Come on," I pushed Sam out of his chair, so we were both standing. "Let's go see what we can find around the hotel," We walked only a short distance before Sam spoke up.
"Hey," I turned back to him, and he showed me the pot mouth. It had a quincunx engraved inside. "Look at that - more hoodoo," He gave me a pointed look, but I still couldn't give in. I just didn't think it was hoodoo. It wasn't until I heard the knock that I realized Dean wasn't beside me anymore.
"Hi, there," Dean greeted Susan when she opened the door, and Sam and I came to stand next to him.
"Hi. Everything okay with your rooms?" Her question was met with a chorus of 'yeah's. "Well, I was just in the middle of packing, so…" She let the sentence hang, but the message was clear.
"Oh… oh my gosh, are those antique dolls?" I gushed, glancing past Susan at the dolls that covered the walls behind her. "Cause, um, you know, he has a major doll collection," I gestured to Sam, not taking my eyes off of the chilling dolls. "Right?" I nudged Sam with my elbow, glancing at him to see him giving me a pointed look.
"Big time," He confessed tightly.
"Big time," Dean echoed, clearly enjoying the lie. "Yeah. You think we could come in and take a look?" Susan narrowed her eyes suspiciously at us.
"I don't know," She told us unsurely.
"Please," I begged her. "It would mean a lot to him. He really loves them,"
"Yeah, he's not gonna tell you this, but he's always dressing them up in little outfits," I clamped my teeth shut, almost trembling under the pressure of holding back the laugh.
"You'd really make his day if you did," I added, and she finally agreed. "Right?" I nudged Sammy again.
"It's true," He spoke in the same tight voice.
"Okay. Come on in," Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder hearteningly as he walked in, glaring at both of us as he went. Dean and I stopped short upon entering while Sam moved to the far side of the room.
"Wow. This is a lot of dolls. They're nice, you know. They're not super creepy at all," Dean muttered.
"Dean," I hissed, nudging him slightly.
"I suppose they are a little creepy," Susan admitted, laughing lightly. "But they've been in the family forever - a lot of sentimental value," She explained as I walked over to Sam, who was admiring the dollhouse.
"What is this? The hotel?" Sam questioned, and she nodded.
"Yeah, that's right. Exact replica, custom built," A note of pride entered her voice. Suddenly, something in the dollhouse caught my eye, and I reached down to pick up the doll. Sam gazed at it over my shoulder, making me silently swear to myself. He would definitely think it was hoodoo after this.
"It's head must've got twisted around," I told her, holding up the doll so Dean could see. "Do you know what happened?"
"Tyler, probably," The woman explained shortly, shrugging.
"Mommy," My eyes dropped to the girl that was in the doorway. That voice. She was one of the giggling girls. I was sure of it. "Maggie's being mean,"
"Tyler, tell her I said to be nice, okay?" Her mother told her, and she nodded. Maybe Maggie was the other voice I'd heard. This was getting too real. I had to tell Sam and Dean about this.
"Hey, Tyler. I see you broke your doll. You want me to fix it?" Sam asked her, taking the doll from me and moving around the table towards her slowly.
"I didn't break it. I found it like that," She sounded perfectly confident, leaving me no doubts she was telling the truth.
"What about Maggie? Maybe Maggie did it," I suggested, but she shook her head adamantly.
"No, neither of us did it," She spoke assuredly. "Grandma would get mad if we broke him,"
"Tyler, she wouldn't get mad," Her mother comforted her, putting a hand to her daughter's head soothingly.
"Grandma?" Dean prompted, stepping forward.
"Grandma Rose. These were all her toys," Tyler elaborated for us.
"Oh, really?" Dean's eyes found mine, both of us thinking the same thing. Grandma Rose was using hoodoo for one reason or another. "Where's Grandma Rose now?"
"Up in her room," Tyler answered promptly.
"You know, I'd really love to talk to Rose about her incredible doll-," Sammy began to tell them, playing up the doll antique collector angle again.
"No," Susan immediately cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest. "I mean, I'm afraid that's impossible. My mother's been very sick, and she's not taking any visitors," Susan corrected herself from her original outburst. We thanked her and left quickly, shutting the door behind us as quietly as we could.
"What do you think?" Dean asked Sam and I as we walked back to our rooms. "Dolls, hoodoo, mysterious shut-in grandma?" Dean listed, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile at how classic this case was turning out to be.
"Well, dolls are used in all kind of voodoo and hoodoo like curses and binding spells, and…" Sam didn't bother continuing, but he did bother throwing a pointed look in my direction.
"Maybe we found the witch doctor," I admitted grudgingly, making Sam grin broadly at his victory.
"Okay, Mel and I are going to go see what we can dig up on Granny. You get online, check out old obits, freak accidents, that sort of thing. See if she's whacked anybody before," Dean ordered, and Sam nodded without arguing. "Don't go surfing porn. It's not the kind of whacking I mean," Dean threw over his shoulder as he walked away. Sam threw a look at me before I followed Dean down the hallway.
"You want to do thirty compressions. No more no less. Then tilt the head backwards by placing two fingers under the chin. Pinch the nose and blow," Dean caught my eye from where he was sitting next to me and feigned a massive yawn, making me cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. It was more boring than I had originally thought, but it was still worth it. One day Dean and I were going to need it to save someone's life.
"Pay attention," I told him softly, nudging him lightly.
"Why? Are my mouth to mouth skills not good enough for you?" A persistent smile tugged at my lips, and, as much as I tried to stifle it, it only grew.
"Mr. Winchester," Dean and I both looked up quickly. "Do you have something to share with the class?" Please say no. Please say no.
"Yeah, can you demonstrate the mouth to mouth again? I don't think some people are very good at that part yet," The class roared with laughter, and the teacher's face turned a bright scarlet.
"Mr. WInchester! Do you need to be removed from this classroom?" The teacher asked furiously, glaring at my boyfriend. I glanced at Dean, who smirked back at her, opening his mouth to reply. Before he could, I took his hand in both of mine, giving it a warning squeeze. He'd promised he would do the class with me, and Dean never went back on his promises.
"No," He replied to her, much to the disappointment of the rest of the class. "No, I think I'm good," He smiled again, that infuriating smile that told the teacher he was far from done making jokes. Class ran for another ten minutes without further incident, and then the bell rang, granting us our freedom from school.
"You really should try harder to get along with the teachers," I told him as we walked down the sidewalk towards the motel we were staying at. I was by no means a teacher's pet, but that didn't mean I tried to sass and irritate them at every turn as Dean seemed to do.
"Why? We're just going to be leave in another week or so," He pointed out logically, but I frowned at him anyway. I knew how he felt about making friends and getting good grades.
"The things you learn in school can help with hunting," I told him, and I knew he knew I was right. Just the other week, there was a hunt that was related to a civil war soldier, and I figured out the hunt because I'd payed attention in class.
"Really? Do they teach you how to shoot? Lie? Track?" He asked, listing the most important skills in a hunter. We walked up the stairs to the second floor and turned the key in the lock, opening up the empty room. Sammy was at soccer practice, and we didn't have to pick him up until later. Normally, we would've taken the Impala to school, but the school was so close, and Sammy was getting a ride to soccer from a friend so we decided to walk.
"Here," I threw my backpack to the side, laying down on the bed. "If I'd just been underwater and wasn't breathing, what would you do?" Dean straddled my waist and placed one hand over the other, lacing his fingers together and placing them against my chest.
"Thirty compressions," He repeated the instructor's words from earlier. "Then you tilt the head up," He placed two fingers under my chin, tilting it upwards. He placed his mouth on top of mine, but instead of blowing out like he would've if I'd been unconscious, his lips began moving slowly, and I found mine moving along with them, smiling softly into the kiss.
I snapped out of my thoughts as my eyes focused on Susan, who looked shocked and saddened all at once. The oddest thing, though, was that she looked just a tiny bit relieved as well. The paramedics loaded the body into the back of the ambulance while Susan came over to us.
"What happened?" Dean asked, sounding as shocked as Susan looked.
"The maid went in to turn down the sheets, and he was just hanging there," Susan told us, shaking her head in sorrow.
"That's horrible. He was a guest here?" I questioned, trying to be sympathetic while still getting information, something Sammy was a master at.
"He worked for the company that bought the place," Susan nodded confirmation, and I bit my lip. That was interesting. Another man who had something to do with the hotel being sold was dead. "I don't understand,"
"What?" Dean prompted her.
"Had a lot of bad luck around here. Look, if you'd like to check out, I'll give you a full refund," She offered us.
"No, that's all right," I turned down the offer. "We don't scare that easily," She gave us both a disbelieving look before shrugging slightly and turning back to the crime scene. Dean and I ascended the stairs to Sam's room where he was looking for information on previous deaths related to the hotel.
"There's been another one," Dean announced, taking the key out of the door and shutting it behind us as we strode purposefully into the room. "Some guy just hung himself in his room,"
"Yeah. I saw," Sam stated, sounding odd, but I ignored it as I went to his computer, powering it on.
"We have to figure out what's going on here before another person dies," I spoke to both of them at once.
"She's right. What'd you find out about Granny?" Dean questioned him.
"You're bossy," My fingers froze from where they'd been about to type in the search bar. Both Dean and I turned to look at Sam, who was sitting slouched in the chair.
"What?" Dean asked, not sure if he'd heard right. Sam threw his arms out to the side, giving us a 'it's true' expression.
"You're bossy," He repeated, his hands dropping to his sides. "And short," He cracked up at that as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
"Are you drunk?" Dean asked, real surprise in his voice.
"Yeah. So?" He threw his arms out to the side again and shrugged sloppily. I didn't think he could've gotten up from the chair even if he wanted to. "Stupid," I glanced at Dean, and I could see my own uncertainty reflected in his eyes. Sammy never got drunk, least of all when he was working.
"Sam, we're working a job. What were you thinking?" I asked him, and he met my eyes, his suddenly shining with unshed tears.
"That guy who hung himself - I couldn't save him," I felt my heart lurch at his words.
"Sam, come on, you didn't know. No one knew. There was nothing you could've done," I tried to reason with him.
"That's just an excuse, Mels, and you know it. I should have found a way to save him," Sam looked directly into my eyes as he spoke, his words making my heart ache for him. "I should have saved Ava, too. I should have listened to you,"
"Yeah, well, you can't save everybody. Even you said that," Dean pointed out, and Sam turned his attention on Dean. Sam slammed his hand down on the table as Dean and I approached him.
"No, Dean, you don't understand, all right? Only Mel does," My eyebrows rose as he turned to me again. "The more people we can save. The more we can change,"
"Change what?" Dean questioned, glancing back and forth between Sam and I while I kept my eyes locked on Sam.
"Our destiny, Dean," Sam yelled, pointing to himself and then to me.
"Okay, I think it's time for bed, Sammy," I suggested.
"Yeah," Dean readily agreed as we each grabbed an arm and heaved him up, stumbling towards the bed.
"I'm gonna get him a water," I told Dean as we sat him on the bed, and Dean nodded, straining under the weight of holding him up alone. I knelt by the mini fridge, drawing out a water bottle before freezing when I heard Sam begin to speak.
"I need you both to watch out for me," Sam told Dean.
"We always do," Dean replied evenly.
"No, no, no. I need you to watch out for me… all right?" Dean didn't reply this time. "And if I ever turn into something that I'm not… you have to kill me," I stood, turning just as Dean met my eyes, his clear with pain.
"Sam…" He brushed off Sam's request.
"Dean, Dad told you to do it. You have to," Sam shoved him, drunkenly stumbling a bit.
"Yeah, well, Dad's an ass," Dean snapped, and Sam's face mirrored my surprise at the outburst. "He never should have said anything. I mean, you don't do that. You don't lay that crap on your kids,"
"No, he was right to say it," Sam argued against Dean. "Who knows what I might become?" He turned to look at me then, and I could see the fear and tears in his eyes. "Who knows what we might become? Even now, everyone around me dies,"
"Well, we're not dying, okay?" I pushed Sam back onto the bed despite his protests, pressing the water bottle into his hand. "And neither are you. We'll figure this out," I promised him, unscrewing the water for him and making him take a drink before setting the bottle on the end table.
"No, Dean, please. You're the only one who can do it," Sam begged him, and I turned away, unable to see his broken face.
"You can't ask that of me," His voice grew gruff as he tried to convince his brother to stop.
"Dean, please. I know Mel wants you to do the same with her," I could feel Dean's eyes on me, but I kept my eyes firmly on Sammy's puppy dog face. "You have to promise me,"
"I promise," My blood ran cold at Dean's words.
"Thanks," Sam's grip on Dean's jacket loosened, and his hands fell back down on his lap. "Thank you," I pulled Sam's jacket down so he was lying on the bed and Dean set his feet on the mattress as well. As Sam shifted to his stomach to get comfortable, I glanced at Dean, whose eyes were now shining with self-loathing and pain. In one smooth motion, Dean was up and out of the room. I planted a quick kiss on in Sammy's hair, knowing he was in for a rough morning, before I followed Dean out the door.
"Hey," Dean didn't stop, forcing me to catch up to him. "Hey!" I snapped louder, grabbing his arm and spinning him to face me. To my surprise, I found his face twisted in anger.
"Is it true?" He asked, and I was taken aback by the tone of his voice.
"What?" Was the only answer I could muster.
"You want me to promise the same thing to you?" He didn't give me a chance to answer before he continued, his words getting louder and faster the more he talked. "You know what? I'll do it, Mel. If you really want me to do it, I will. I promise you that if you ever-" I slammed my lips against his, shutting him up. I kissed him harshly, desperately, throwing myself into the kiss with everything I had, and I felt him freeze for a moment before kissing me back equally as passionately. I pulled back, pressing my forehead against his, my hands on either side of his face.
"I don't want you to promise me that. I want you to promise me that we're going to be okay. That whatever it is that's coming, we can beat it. Together. I was being an idiot before, when I left. It's me, you, and Sammy. That's all that matters. Just me, you, and Sammy. Promise me that the three of us are going to be okay," I took a shaky breath as I finished.
"I promise," He whispered, pressing his lips against mine.
-3rd Person: Dean-
Dean rose slowly from the bed, not being able to stay asleep as easily as Mel seemed to be doing. Mel let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering open to fix on him with a tired curiosity. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I'm going downstairs. Can't sleep," He explained briefly as he slid on his jeans, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the lips before pulling his shirt on too.
"Be careful," He barely caught the mumbled words, but they seemed to dispel the fatigue from his muscles and give him strength. He smiled softly at her. Even when she was half asleep, she still worried about him.
He descended the steps, thoughts of Sammy and his first promise slowly replacing the ones of Mel. He reached the bottom, not really knowing where he was going, but walking anyway. Eventually, he found himself at the bar, the old butler sitting on the opposite side.
"Find any good antiques?" The butler questioned amicably.
"No, no," Dean shook his head as he sat. "Got distracted," A brief smile ghosted over his lips as he thought of his distraction.
"That woman of yours?" The man guessed, and Dean's face broke out into a small smile that quickly disappeared as he thought of Sam again. "Have a drink," The man placed a glass in front of Dean when he didn't answer.
"Yeah, thanks," He agreed readily as the butler poured out some scotch. "So, poor guy, huh, killing himself?" The butler screwed on the bottle cap while Dean took his glass.
"That kind of thing seems to be going around lately," The man commented, piquing Dean's interests.
"Yeah. Yeah, I heard about the other ones. It's almost like this motel is cursed or something," He raised the liquid to his lips, hoping for the man to open up about something that could lead to some answers.
"Every hotel has it's spilled blood. If people only knew what's gone on in some of those rooms they've checked into…" The man let the sentence hang.
"You know a lot about the place, don't you?" Dean realized.
"Down to the last nail," The butler confirmed, pride lining his voice as he sipped his drink.
"I'd love to hear some stories," He commented, searching for a lead.
"Boy, you should never say that to an old man," Dean chuckled along with the butler as they finished their drinks. "Come on," Dean followed him to the stairwell wall that was covered in old pictures in Victorian frames.
"This is little Miss Susan and her mother, Rose," The butler pointed to the picture of the mother and daughter. "Happier days," He reminisced sorrowfully.
"They're not happy now?" Dean questioned.
"Well, would you be, leaving the only home you ever knew?" The butler asked rhetorically.
"I don't know. I never really knew one," Dean admitted, his mind going back to the house in Lawrence, Kansas.
"People can be your home, too, boy," He thought about that for a moment, surprised at the wisdom in the old butler. People could be your home, too. "Anyway, this was Rose's home, been in the family over a century. Used to be the family estate, and now she gets to live in some senior-living graveyard, and they tear this place down,"
"That's too bad," Dean's words were accompanied by the click of his tongue as he tried to lighten the mood before descending the steps again. "I hear Rose isn't feeling well, either,"
"No, she isn't," The butler agreed.
"What's wrong with her?" Dean inquired as they moved off the stairs.
"It's not my business to say," Dean was surprised by the butler's silence. He'd taken the man to be rather talkative, but as soon as he asked about Rose, the man clammed up.
"Who's this?" Dean questioned, pointing to the babies in the pictures.
"That's Rose when she was a little girl," He took a different picture and showed it to Dean. The pendent of her nanny caught Dean's eyes. It was the quincunx.
"Who's that with her?" A new sense of urgency lined his voice.
"That's her nanny, Marie. She looked after Rose more than her own mother,"
-3rd Person: Sam-
Sam Winchester shifted slightly, eliciting a soft moan from the brunette woman in his arms. His eyes snapped open at the sound, and he looked down at himself only to realize he was mostly naked. The woman in his arms turned towards him, so Sam could catch sight of her face. Hazel eyes opened to meet his puppy brown ones.
"Hey," She greeted him with a tired laziness that made her look beautiful. She moved her head to press her lips to his shoulder briefly before smiling up at him. "Morning,"
"M-morning," Sam stammered out, not sure what to do. How drunk had he been last night? How had this… this couldn't have happened. "Last night was a mistake,"
"Best mistake I've ever made," She told him, propping herself up on her shoulder before leaning to press her lips against his. He melted into it, one hand coming up to gently cup her cheek and brush her hair behind her ear. Suddenly, he broke away from her forcibly, shaking his head in determination.
"No. Dean… Dean'll be coming soon," She just shook her head, kissing him again.
"I don't care. I want to be with you, Sammy," He let out a shaky breath. He couldn't. He couldn't do that to Dean. He knew how much she meant to him.
"We can't," He started only to be muffled by another kiss and another. His resolve withered before disappearing all together in her kisses. He began kissing her back and before he knew it he was on top to her.
"I love you, Sam Winchester," She breathed out, and his body shivered with desire as his lips paused on her neck.
"I love you, too, Melody Scott," He whispered as he returned to kissing her neck.
"Glad to hear it," He froze, jerking away from her as her irises turned a dark, evil yellow. She grinned, sitting up with the blanket around her and looking at him with a pout.
"Come on, Sammy. Don't stop," Her voice became almost whiney, and she opened her mouth to say something when she looked over his shoulder, her eyes widening. He whipped around to see the yellow-eyed demon sitting in a chair, watching him interestedly. When he looked back, Mel's eyes were no longer yellow, but their usual hazel brown.
"I'm dreaming again," He could never remember his dreams while he was dreaming. That is, until after he realized he was dreaming. It was infuriating. "Get the fuck out of my head!" He screamed at the demon, but it only laughed lightly.
"She could be yours, you know. All you have to do is accept your destiny, Sam," Before Sam could answer, the thing raised it's fingers and snapped.
Sam jerked upright in bed, panting and sweating from his dream. His distressed stomach rebelled against the sudden movement, and he found himself blindly stumbling towards the toilet, where he threw up. He heard the door open and shut, but didn't bother to check who it was. If it wasn't Mel and Dean, he was screwed anyway.
"Sammy, are you okay?" He heard Mel's voice call to him from the main room accompanied by Dean's chuckle. In response, he groaned loudly, spitting up some more.
"I guess mixing whiskey and jager wasn't such a gangbuster idea, was it?" Dean's voice added. "I'll bet you don't remember a thing from last night, do you?"
"No," He began, his voice hoarse. "I can still taste the tequila,"
-1st Person-
Dean and I exchanged a relieved glance at Sammy's words. I had been hoping he'd forget what he'd said the night before. Whatever Dean had promised Sam, he wouldn't be able to go through with killing the kid. Never.
"You know, there's a really good hangover remedy. It's a greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray," There was a loud groan from the bathroom.
"Oh, I hate you," Sam muttered, spitting into the toilet.
"Yeah, we know you do," I replied, turning to Dean. "So, what'd you find?" He wouldn't tell me until we came here, so Sammy and I could hear it at once.
"So, turns out when Grandma Rose was a tyke, she had a creole nanny who wore a hoodoo necklace," Dean leaned against the doorway to the bathroom, making a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he smelled the bathroom.
"You think she taught Rose hoodoo?" Sam questioned as I stayed far away from the bathroom.
"Yes, I do," I nodded in agreement without saying anything.
"All right," Sam stumbled out of the bathroom. "I think it's time we talk to Rose, then," Sam told him, and I made a face as I could smell the tequila and vomit all the way across the room.
"Oh, you need to brush your teeth first," Dean informed him, trying to fan away the smell with his hand.
"And take a shower," I added helpfully, making Sam look at me in slight confusion.
Thirty minutes later, we were walking towards the door marked PRIVATE with a much better smelling Sam in tow. Sam knocked on the door, but no one answered.
"Hello? Susan?" Sam called before he swept the surrounding area with his eyes. "It's clear," I knelt down and began picking the lock as fast as I could. I got us in in no time and realized two things. One, the dolls are even creepier the second time. And two, something seemed oddly off. It felt cold in here. Unnaturally cold. "Here," I followed Dean into the adjoining room that was unlocked. The room turned out not to be a room but a staircase, which we proceeded to climb. We went down the hall to the chipped and bruised door, pushing it open to reveal a single woman sitting in a wheelchair watching the rain fall on the windows. "Mrs. Thompson?" Sam asked, receiving no answer.
"Hi, Mrs. Thompson. We aren't going to hurt you…" I trailed off when I realized the woman wasn't responding to my words at all. "Rose?" I tried her first name to no avail. Suddenly, it all made sense what the coldness was, what was wrong with her, everything. "Guys," I walked a short distance away from the woman with Sam and Dean following. "She's had a stroke,"
"Yeah, but hoodoo's hands on," Dean protested, and I nodded. "You got to mix herbs and chant, build an altar,"
"So it can't be Rose. Heck, maybe you were right," Sam glanced at me as he spoke. "Maybe it's not even hoodoo,"
"She could be faking," Dean pointed out.
"What do you want to do, poke her with a stick?" Sam asked sarcastically, and I happened to catch sight of Dean's nod.
"Dean, we are not going to poke her with a stick," I snapped at him, appalled that he would even consider it. I folded my hands over my chest as he opened his mouth to protest when I heard footsteps approaching. "Dean-" I didn't get through more of the warning, for the woman had already arrived.
"What the hell? What are you doing in here?" The three of us began making up excuses as Susan rushed to her mother's wheelchair to make sure she was alright. "Look at her. She's scared out of her wits. I want you out of my hotel in two minutes, or I'm calling the cops," Susan threatened us.
"Wait-" I was cut off by Dean's arm around my waist, pulling me out the door. It was probably for the best; I don't think we could've talked her out of kicking us out, even if we'd told her the truth. We were out in three minutes and driving away in four, despite my twisting stomach.
"It's not bad," Dean confessed, reading his certificate as we walked to the motel from school. We'd just passed the test and gotten a certificate, which was really just your name on a slip of paper.
"I told you," I teased him, having stowed mine in my bag before we left.
"We should celebrate," Dean nodded towards the ice cream stand we were passing, and I nodded eagerly. Ice cream was among my favorite foods ever created. We bought ours, payed and headed towards the motel again, knowing that we had nowhere to be for the better part of two hours. I took some of his ice cream with my spoon, savoring the taste on my tongue before eating more of mine. Dean always got mint chocolate chip, which I liked, but it wasn't my favorite. Coffee was my favorite.
"You know, you should really have John frame that," I quipped sarcastically as we made it back to the motel and dropped our bags in the room. Dean rolled his eyes at me but laughed at the idea of John framing something. I threw away the remainder of my ice cream, not hungry anymore, and fell on the bed, pulling Dean through our joint hands to lay next to me. "Well, now, if I ever drown, you'll be able to save my life," I told him, turning my head so he could see my grin, but it disappeared when I saw his frown.
"You won't need CPR," He informed me almost matter of factly. "I'd rescue you long before you drown," I kissed him softly, smiling as his lips moved with mine. "Besides, we are seventeen year old hunters. When are we ever gonna drown?" He brought up a good point.
"At least now we know. Just in case," I watched him look down at me from where he'd propped himself up on his elbow, my left hand toying with his right. "I'm proud of you," He smiled broadly at that. "You didn't get kicked out of class once," We both laughed.
Dean parked the car, and all three of us sprinted out of it. I could hear weird squeaky sounds coming from in front of the house, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. We came into view of the house and everything happened at once. I saw a car heading towards Susan, who was crying out for help and running from it. I jerked forward to help her but was caught around the waist by Dean, who pulled me to his chest, preventing me from helping. Sam dove for her, and the car drove forward.
"Sam!" I couldn't help the scream from escaping my mouth as he narrowly missed getting turned into a pancake. Dean and I hurried around the car to where Sam and Susan were on the floor breathing hard.
"Come on. We have to get inside," I urged them, helping Susan to her feet and rushing inside.
"Whiskey," She told us as we entered the bar and sat her down at a table.
"Sure. I know the feeling," Sam replied, going to the bar and taking the bottle of reddish liquid.
"What the hell happened out there?" She asked, trying to still her trembling hands.
"You want the truth?" I sat across from her as Dean spoke.
"Of course," She told us, glancing from Dean to me and then back again. So there would be a ' the truth is out there speech' after all.
"First, they thought it was some sort of hoodoo curse, but what you just saw out there. That means I was right. It's definitely a spirit," I concluded my little story, watching her eyes widen.
"You're insane," She informed us, but I heard the waver of doubt in her voice. Sam placed the whiskey in front of her and she took it greedily.
"It's been said," Dean noted, shrugging as the words had no affect on any of us.
"Look, I'm sorry, Susan. We don't exactly have time to ease you into this, but we need to know when your mother had the stroke," Sam informed her urgently, ignoring her confused look.
"What does that have to do with anything?" She asked, glancing between the three of us.
"You'll see. Just answer the question," I told her, and she took another shaky breath.
"Uh… about a month ago," She answered, and the last piece clicked into place.
"Right before the killings began. You see?" Sam turned to me, and I had to admit that I had been slightly wrong. "So what if Rose was working hoodoo, but not to hurt anyone, to protect them?"
"Right, she was using the urns to ward off the vengeful spirit," I agreed as it all began to make sense. "Until she had the stroke, of course. Then she couldn't anymore,"
"I don't believe this," Susan muttered, shaking her head at our insanity.
"Listen, sister, that car didn't try to run you down by itself, okay?" Dean's words made me look at him with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I guess it did technically, but with a spirit - forget it,"
"Just believe what you want, all right," Sam took over for Dean, sitting down in the chair next to me. "But the fact is you and your family are in danger, so you need to clear everybody out of here - your employees, your mother, your daughters, everyone," She suddenly looked at Sam in confusion.
"Um… I only have one daughter," I frowned at her in confusion until, suddenly, it all made sense. The vision hearing thing I'd had. That was of Tyler and Maggie, but Maggie wasn't real.
"I thought Tyler had a sister named Maggie," Dean stated, and Susan looked back at Sam.
"Maggie's imaginary," She told us.
"Where's Tyler now?" I asked, trying to remain calm. Instead of answering the question, Susan chose to sprint up the stairs to the private section of the motel and open the door to reveal an empty room.
"Tyler?" She called with no answer. I stopped short as I walked into the room and saw what was scattered across the floor. Bits of broken dolls. Someone had smashed them all. "Oh, my god. Tyler! Tyler!" Susan ran around frantically calling for her child while Dean, Sam, and I checked the closets and cabinets. "She's not here!"
"Susan, tell us what you know about Maggie," Sam commanded, stopping her running.
"Um, not much. Tyler's been talking about her since mom got sick," She told us.
"Was there ever anyone that lived here by that name? Maybe someone who died?" I questioned, and Susan just shook her head until suddenly she stopped, looking right at me.
"My god - my mom had a sister named Margaret. She barely spoke about her," Susan told us, and I knew that was it.
"How did Margaret die?" I asked her.
"She drowned in the pool," Susan informed us breathlessly.
"Come on," Dean ordered, running out the door with the rest of us following. We sprinted to the doors to the pool and banged on them, but they wouldn't budge.
"Tyler!" Susan screamed as we slammed our elbows into the glass that showed no sign of cracking. "Tyler!" Tyler turned around and then let out a short scream as her hand slipped and she plummeted towards the water.
"Is there another entrance?" Dean questioned, and Susan nodded quickly, tears making wet trails down her face as she looked at the place where Tyler had been standing a moment before.
"Around back," She answered, pressing a hand to her mouth.
"All right, let's go. Keep working," Dean ordered, running off with Susan to check the back entrance. I grabbed the plant that was growing in one of the urns and yanked it out before picking up the pot and bashing it into the window. Sam did the same with another potted plant, and we slammed it repeatedly into the window.
"Margaret," I heard the elongated name like a whisper or a breeze, and, somehow, I knew it wasn't human. With one last bash, the window shattered, and I threw my phone behind me as I slipped through the window ahead of Sam. I didn't hesitate before jumping over the railing and into the cold water below. I pushed the plastic pool cover out of my way as I swam toward the limp girl. I heard another splash as Sam jumped in behind me, but I didn't stop. I grabbed the girl, slipping one arm under her legs and the other beneath her shoulders before I lifted her to the surface, taking a greedy gasp of air and moving to the shore. I heard another smash as the door was kicked in and Dean and Susan rushed to the side of the pool. Sam helped me lay the girl down on the cement. I lifted her head slightly, remembering something I learned in a class I took in high school. If you elevate the head sometimes the body dispels the water. The girl let out a wet cough, spitting up some of the water she'd swallowed.
"Thank god. Thank god," Susan murmured, hugging her child tightly, despite how wet she was.
"Mommy?" Tyler let out a small sob as her mother's hug tightened.
"Yeah, baby, I'm here," Her mother promised as she rocked her back and forth.
"Tyler, do you see Maggie anywhere?" Sam asked, and Tyler looked around briefly.
"No, she's gone," I nodded, getting out of the pool shivering.
"Here," Dean shrugged off his jacket and pulled it around me. I grabbed it, pulling it tighter and thanking god that Maggie was alive.
"Thanks," I whispered, feeling Dean's lips pressed against my wet hair.
Ten minutes later, we were watching Susan run through the house collecting her things. It didn't come as a big surprise that she wanted to get out of this house as soon as she possible could.
"Don't worry, honey. We're leaving in two minutes," She told her daughter. I came out of the bathroom, having changed into dry jeans and a tank top with a flannel over it.
"I don't get it. Did Maggie just stop?" Dean questioned, and I shook my head as Sam entered the room as well, dry now.
"Seems like it," He figured.
"That doesn't make any sense. Where the hell did she go? Spirits don't just vanish by themselves," I pointed out, and both boys nodded. Suddenly, there was a scream from upstairs, and Sam, Dean, and I sprinted towards Rose's room. Rose's head was lying on her shoulder, her neck obviously broken.
I stood watching the paramedics take away Rose's body with Dean's arms wrapped around my waist and Sam standing next to me with his hands shoved into his pockets. We turned and walked a few steps back to the house till we were in front of Susan, who was standing with her arms folded.
"Paramedics said it was another stroke," She informed us as if she didn't believe them. "Do you think… Margaret could have had something to do with it?" She asked us, and Dean shrugged slightly.
"We don't know," He told her truthfully.
"But it is possible," I added, knowing she wanted to believe that her mom was happy in another life now.
"Susan, I'm sorry," Sam began, but Susan cut him off.
"You have nothing to apologize for," She told us, glancing at me before focusing on Sam again. "You've given me everything," She turned as Tyler came out of the house. "Ready to go, kiddo?"
"Yeah," She agreed, nodding and coming to stand beside her mom, who took her hand tightly.
"Tyler, you're sure Maggie's not around anymore?" Dean checked, and Tyler nodded.
"I'm sure. I'd see her," She told us while her mother wrapped her in her arms, and they smiled at us before heading to the taxi that was waiting for them.
"I guess whatever's going on must be over," Dean commented as me, him, and Sam followed her to the taxi.
"You two take care of yourselves, all right?" Sam told them as he held the door open for them to get in. Tyler hopped into the seat, scooting over to make room for her mother, who paused and turned back to hug Sam.
"Thank you," She spoke earnestly before turning to hug me as well. "And you," She added, getting into the cab. Sam shut the door as I gave a half wave.
"Think you could have hooked up some milf action there, bud," Dean noted as the taxi drove away. I laughed lightly as Sam rolled his eyes, and we walked away from the retreating taxi. "Serious, I think she liked you,"
"Yeah, that's all she needs," Sam muttered, scoffing.
"Well, you saved the mom, helped save the girl," Dean listed, nodding. "Not a bad day. 'Course, you know, me or Mel could've saved them but we didn't want you to feel useless," Sam glanced at me, and I let out a dramatic eye roll at Dean's words, making him laugh as he went to the back door of the Impala.
"All right, I appreciate it," He told us as I stopped beside the passenger's door.
"Does feel good, though," Both boys looked at me as I spoke up. "Hunting again. Normal jobs,"
"Yeah, yeah it does. But it doesn't change what we talked about last night," I froze, staring down at the door handle in my hand.
"We talked about a lot of things last night," Dean told him, clearly wanting to avoid the subject. I kept my eyes on the door handle, not wanting to look up and see either of their faces.
"You know what I mean," Sam told him, and I finally glanced up. Dean met my eyes, and I could see the fear and pain battling under the bravado.
"You were wasted," He told Sam, who shook his head, not willing to accept that as an answer.
"But you weren't. Neither of you were… and you promised," As I slid into the passenger's seat, I realized I'd never told them about my hearing vision. I wouldn't tell them. It had never happened before. Maybe it was a one time thing. I glanced at Dean, who was gunning the engine, his jaw tightening. He was scared. Hell, we were all scared. There was no reason to add this to the ever growing list of things we had to worry about. We drove away from the hotel, and I slipped my fingers through Dean's loosely. He'd promised me, too. Nothing was going to happen to me, or Sam, or Dean. We were all going to get through this alive and well. We were all going to get through this alive and well. I repeated that in my head until the words lost meaning, but no matter how many times I repeated them, I couldn't crush the horrible, twisting feeling in my stomach.