Got my monster in one hand, horror music blaring, I'm ready to write!

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Episdoe: Season 2 Episode 11

Part: 1

Key:

(M/n) = Male Name

(L/n) = Last Name

(N/n) = Nickname

(D/n) = Demon Name

WARNING: Death, swearing, boy x boy, some triggering stuff. This is Supernatural, everything happens in this show/fandom

Enjoy~

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~Peoria, Illinois~

~Motel room~

The room was covered in maps, handwritten notes, and a missing poster with Ava's face on it. The whole scene was eerily reminiscent of John's middle-of-a-hunt wallpaper.

"Yeah, Okay. Thanks, Ellen." Sam said, hanging up his cell phone.

Dean and (M/n) walked in. "What'd she say?" The oldest asked his brother.

"Oh, she's got nothing. 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?"

"Huh." Dean handed over one of the two coffee's he was carrying.

"So how did it go?" Sam asked.

"Pretty good. It's official, (D/n) the demon has a cell phone." Dean smiled, wrapping an arm around the demon beside him shoulder. Sam smiled a bit.

"Well, Ellen did have one thing."

"Hmm?"

"A hotel in Cornwall, Connecticut. Two freak accidents in the past three weeks."

"Yeah? What's that have to do with Ava?" Dean asked.

"It's a job. 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. Which isn't exactly normal, you know?((Every time I read 'You know?' it reminds me of my ex-best friend saying it every five fucking minutes and I hate it)) Look, I don't know, Dean, it might be nothing, but I told Ellen we'd think about checking it out."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You seem surprised."

"Well yeah, its just, you know. Not the, uh, patented Sam Winchester way, is it?"

"What was is that?" Sam asked, looking a bit upset.

"You know, with the whole Ava thing, we figured there would be more angst and droopy music and staring out the rainy windows, and-" (M/n) began, but stopped as the taller male gave him a look. "Yeah, I'll shut up."

"Look. I'm the one who told her to go back home. Now her fiancé's dead and some demon has taken her off to god knows where. You know? But we've been looking for a month 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 tooo healthy for me, and I'm officially uncomfortable now. Thank you." Sam looked down and chuckled. "All right, call Ellen. Tell her we'll take it."

~Pierpont Inn~

The roads were wet and the air was misty as Dean parked the Impala in front of the inn. Dean got out of the driver's side door.

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

"Like what?"

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

As they went up the stairs, Sam noticed an urn on the side of the porch. "Hey, wait a sec." He inspects it more closely. "I'm not so sure haunted's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"You see the pattern here?" The other two look at it. "That's a quincunx, that's a five-spot."

"Five-spot."

"Yeah."

"That's used for hoodoo spell work, isn't it?"

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

"Except I don't see bloodweed. Don't you think this place is a little too, uh, whitemeal for hoodoo?" The demon asked.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

As they enter, looking around at the quiet interior, Susan entered briskly.

"May I help you?" She asked.

"Hi, yeah, I'd like a room for a couple of nights."

As (M/n) moved in,Tyler darted in front of his legs, chased by Maggie, who runs behind him.

"Hey! Sorry about that." The woman apologized to the boy.

"No problem."

"Well, um, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests."

"Well. Sounds vaguely ominous."

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

Dean gave the two boys next to him a 'why not' look. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, you just look the type." Dean looked vaguely uncomfortable. "So, uh, king-sized bed?"

"What? No, uh, no, we're, we're....two singles. Me and him are brothers, he's a friend..."

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

"What'd you mean we look the type?" Dean asked. The girl has a trouble articulating an answer.

"You know, speaking of antiques, you have a really, really interesting urn on the front porch. Where did you get it?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I have no idea, it's been there forever." She handed Dean a key. "Here you go, Mr. Mahagov."

"Thanks."

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

"Let me guess. Antiquers?" Sherwin drug Dean's clunking duffel bag behind him, up the steps, as the boys follow.

"I could give you a hand with that bag."

"I got it."

"So the hotel's closing up, huh?" (M/n) asked.

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

"Yeah?"

"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. Gonna miss it. Here's your room." He slips the key in the lock and opens the door, handing the key to Sam as he brushes past. Dean turns to shut the door and Sherwin is standing there, hand extended.

"You're not gonna cheap out on me, are you, boy?" Dean shrugged, looking annoyed and got out his wallet.

~Later~

Sam was sitting, sifting through papers, Dean was pacing, (M/n) was laying in one of the beds. Dean chuckled as he approaches an antique wedding drew displayed on a wall like a ghost.

"What the-"

"What?"

"That's normal." He gestured to the dress. "Why the hell would anyone stay here? I'm amazed they kept in business this long."

"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."

"Well, there's a connection, they both are tied to shutting the place down."

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

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

"No, doesn't seem likely. I mean, she is the one selling."

"So what then, Sherwin?"

"I don't know."

"Of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're all gay?"

"Well, you are kind butch. Probably think you're overcompensating....plus you and (M/n) do have a thing for each other."

Dean just did a mocking laugh.