Author Note: I realized there is a lot of errors through out this story. I'll probably just post the story, then make major revisions after. So hang in with me, please.
CHAPTER THREE:
I needed to stop freaking myself out. It's obviously not him. Dean Winchester is dead. The internet does not lie. Okay, so that's a lie right there, but I don't think they'd lie about dead bodies.
"Well. Congratulations. You could be some of our final guests," the woman told them.
"That seems vaguely ominous," possible Dean commented.
"No, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I mean, we're closing at the end of the month." Pause. "Lemme guess. You guys are here antiquing?"
The two shot each other a look.
"How'd you know?"
"You just look the type. So...a king-sized bed?"
The other one, who was a bit taller, stepped in. "No. Two singles. We're brothers."
"Oh. I'm so sorry."
"Wait, what do you mean, 'we look the type'?" possible Dean asked.
I covered my mouth to constrain my laughter to a limit, hoping to catch no attention to myself.
The other one placed a card down on to the desk. "Speaking of antiques, that's an interesting urn on your front porch. Where'd you get it?"
"Oh, I have no idea. It's been there forever." She handed the tall one back his card. "Here you are, Mr. Mahoggoff."
Ms. Thompson rang the bell and Sherwin shuffled in. He looked the two up and down, judging.
"Lemme guess. Antiquers?"
I chuckled quietly to myself.
As possible Dean passed me, it was no longer possible, but the Dean Winchester. I was sure. Unless he had a twin. Oh God, I hope he has a twin.
"Good to see you again miss," Sherwin greeted me.
I nodded back in response, following about twenty feet behind up to my room. Our rooms were right next to each other. In a huge empty hotel like this, they had to put me next to a killer?
Dean shot me a flirty smile. I laughed. That seemed to discourage him.
I entered my room, leaving the door open a creak. I felt like such a stalker. But how weird is it that they came to the hotel I had just happened to stumble upon? Maybe fate is real. Did it have to be so violent though?
The sound of footsteps echoed through out the hotel. It was them. I got up, counted to twenty and followed.
The two were heading up to the third floor. I pulled out on phone and pretend texted so it wouldn't make me look too stalkerish.
"Hey, look," said the taller one. He was pointing at an old vase. "More hoodoo."
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and sat, trying to catch their conversation. They shot me a confused look, I could feel it. I cursed at myself for being so obvious and I probably was being annoying. Gahh. Honestly though, hoodoo? What is that? They lowered their voices, making it even more difficult, but in a quiet hotel like this, I was still able to make out most of it.
Dean knocked on the door. Ms. Thompson answered.
"Hi there," he said.
"Hi," she responded.
There was an odd pause.
"Is everything okay with your room?" Ms. Thompson asked.
"Oh yeah, it's great," the tall one explained.
That pause again.
"Good. Well, I was just in the middle of packing, so..."
"Hey, are those antique dolls? Sam here..."
Sam...What? What?! Could it be really them? Could my actual brothers be in the same hotel as me? Oh my God, what if they're stalking me? What if they're the ones killed my family? And I'm next? They're following me! I was dizzy. All that blood everywhere, the dead bodies laying in their beds. The scarring images flashed through my head again. I pressed against my forehead, my phone falling between my fingers. It couldn't have made a louder sound. Everyone turned towards my way.
"Everything okay?" Ms. Thompson asked.
"Yeah, just..." I trailed off. "Yeah."
My phone's screen was now cracked right in the middle.
"Dammit," I muttered, shoving the thing into my pocket.
I ran back to my room and typed something new into the search bar, Sam and Dean. But this time, books popped up. It was series of books titled Supernatural, written by Carver Edlund. They told the story of Sam and Dean, as they hunted down Supernatural creatures. Just yesterday I would have believed that this was only fiction, but after this morning, the paranormal seemed very likely.
I searched the nearest book store, grabbed a twenty, and took off.
The drive from the inn to the book store took me a good thirty minutes. To find the novels, I had to ask the old, Hispanic woman working the cash register. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, as she stared down into her own book. She muttered something in Spanish then handed me the first three.
"Gracias." I paid her, then left.
Back at the hotel, chaos was going on. An ambulance was out in the front. A coroner pushed a body towards the van. Dean, Sherwin, and Susan, and a few maids were all outside, watching. I parked my mother's car down a ways. I walked over to Dean and Susan.
"What happened?" Dean asked.
"The maid went in to turn down the sheets, and there he was," Susan explained. "Just hanging there."
"That's awful. Was he a guest?"
"He worked for the company that bought this place," Susan took a deep breath, attempting to collect herself. "I don't understand."
"What?"
"We've just...had a lot of bad luck around here. Look, if you'd like to check out, I'd give you both a full refund."
I waited for Dean to answer, before giving mine. He had his eyes on the ambulance. "Oh. No thanks. I don't scare that easy."
"Same." I said, "Besides it was just a suicide, right? No one actually did this to him?" Well, I hope at least.
Susan nodded, almost unsure. "Must be. None of our staff would ever do this."
I ran up to my room and got started on my reading. I opened up to the page of the first one, taking in every detail. Soon I was deep into my book. I couldn't believe it. We were living in a world of monsters and we didn't even know it. One of these things must have been the thing that killed my family. But how exactly did this Carver Edlund find out all about Sam and Dean's story? I'd have to ask.
There was a loud thump from the next room over—their room. I took this as an opportunity to talk to them. I dog-eared the page I was on and walked over, breathing deeply and nervously. I knocked.
Dean opened up the door, he seemed a tad annoyed. "Hello?"
"Hi, is everything okay over here?" I asked. "I heard a noise."
"Yeah, just fine." He started to shut the door.
"Wait!" Dammit. Why did I say that?
"Yes?" Now he was definitely annoyed.
"Actually, uh..." Just spit it out Thea. What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, guess what? I'm your long, lost sister! Now I need a place to go. Can I tag along?'
"Is there a certain reason why you're following us around?"
"Yes." Oh my God, did I really? "We're related. I'm your sister." I did...