And the Guilty Soldiers Fall, 4/10, R, Gen
Need to get to bed, but I'm waiting for my cold medications to kick in. Yay for teaching kids and getting sick all the time! /sarcasm
Title: And the Guilty Soldiers Fall
Rating: R for horror, gore, language
Chapter: 4 of 10
Genre: Horror, Gen, Suspense
Spoilers: Season 6, up through 6x14: Mannequin 3, the Reckoning. Spoilers also for Requiem of the Forsaken, last year's Halloween fic that's set in Season 5. Also, spoilers for Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" of which I refer to by a lot.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sequel to Requiem of the Forsaken. Another haunted hotel appears on the Winchesters' radar, and the boys reluctantly take the case. When they find themselves locked in with a frightened group of civilians, and bodies begin to drop one by one, the brothers fight not only to find their ghost and guess the next victim, but to also keep each other alive until sunrise.
Wordcount: 3,670 for this chapter.
Previous parts here
Warnings: Okay, folks. Gore, death, mystery, hurt!boys, protective!boys, language, and some pretty graphic dying scenes. If you're squeamish, this...might not be for you.
A/N: You MUST have read "Requiem of the Forsaken" first before reading this, I cannot reiterate this enough. NO SENSE WILL THIS MAKE FOR YOU IF YOU DO NOT.
A/N the 2nd: As last year's fic came from an inspired source, so too does this one. Inspired by my crazy, evil brain and by Agatha Christie's creepy-as-fuck "And Then There Were None". What? It had to be done.
The last chime echoed in the room, the ticking of the clock suddenly too loud where it hadn't even been heard before. Everyone seemed frozen in time, unable to do anything except watch the clock in horror. None of them really knew what it meant, but if they took a look at Dean's face, they'd know it wasn't good.
Sure enough, Clara glanced their way and turned a little more pale. “That's it, I'm getting out of here,” she declared in a loud, trembling voice, racing for the exit with the doors. The rest of the group quickly moved to follow her, and Sam's wide eyes over the crowd said they were two seconds away from a stampede, and god knew where they'd go.
Dean quickly shoved himself in front of the doors, arms out wide. “Woah, woah! Just calm down, okay?”
“We have to get out of here!” Teddy yelled. “We can't just stay, man!”
“Agreed, but if you go out there now, we'll all wind up dead,” Dean warned. “If we stay together, we'll make it.”
“Staying together makes us slower,” the older gentleman said, inserting his opinion for the first time. He nodded his head towards Dean. “But it also makes us more difficult to separate. Harrison. Harrison Marshall, attorney at law.”
Good to know they had someone on their side, someone with a shred of common sense. “Good points all. We stay together,” Dean said.
“But we'd move faster on our own-”
“Does anyone in here watch horror films?” Amanda called out above Daniel's panicked voice. “Seriously? Wandering off is the first thing the first victims do.” She pinched her lips, meeting Dean's gaze. “I don't like this,” she admitted, “but they're right. We have to stay together.”
“I'm not staying in here with Devina and that...that woman,” Clara choked out. Voices quickly raised in agreement, and Dean held up his hands to call for silence. Not that he blamed them for wanting to stay as far away from the dead body as possible, but chaos wasn't going to help.
“Then we'll get out of here and try to find another exit, a safer place to stay. Together.” He reached back for the doors, already knowing that Sam wouldn't be far behind him. “Everyone keep your eyes peeled and stay together. You see anything, anything, and you say something. I don't care if you saw a purple cat with a wide ass grin. I'll ask you what you're tripping on after.”
No one laughed. “God, tough crowds in haunted hotels,” he muttered, but turned to face the doors. There were still whispers and scared voices behind him, too much white noise that he couldn't hear if there was anything else out in the lobby. No tap, tap, tap. He gritted his teeth but quickly twisted the door handles and flung one open.
Nothing. The trees outside the big bay windows were starting to wave wildly, and there was a tiny tinkling sound against the glass panes. It was just the rain, he knew that, but looking around the lobby, he wasn't half sure some of it wasn't the quiet tread of ghostly feet on the tiles, either.
“Everyone move,” Dean said in a low voice. Like silent school children the group followed, eyes wide and watching every shadow.
As lame as Dean had thought Teddy, Paul, and Amanda's efforts regarding the body were earlier, he was grateful now that it wasn't there for people to freak out over. He'd have to mention that after they got out of the hotel. When they weren't in danger of becoming the next body themselves.
Jesus H. Christ. Two people dead, even before the night had fallen. What the hell?
“Wait,” Sam called out, and Dean stopped the group from moving further. Sam quickly jogged from the rear of the group - not where Dean wanted him, but unfortunately where he needed him to keep everyone safe - up to the middle of the lobby. “If we move them upstairs, we can check the upstairs for EMF at the same time,” Sam said softly. “The rooms up there will probably only have one exit, since they're hotel rooms. Then we just wait this out.”
“So what, now we're freaking supernatural tour guides?” Dean grumbled, but Sam had a good point. All of the rooms down here had glass walls, and while a spirit might not be able to get through it, it would cause pandemonium amongst the group. And that was the last thing they needed.
A loud cracking sound made Dean jerk to the left, his heart racing. The innocent tree branch knocked against the window again, then slid away with the storm winds. “If we're moving people...” Sam started.
“We need to do it now before the power goes out,” Dean said, nodding. “Okay. Second floor.” He paused, glancing at the stairs with trepidation. It was the last place the ghost had been violent, and god, they didn't even know who she was. It wasn't like this place was going to help solve any mysteries, either, but so far, no one with an axe had shown up.
And god, he was really trying to jinx the shit out of them, wasn't he?
“Is there another stairway?” Sam asked the group.
Daniel raised his hand again, and Dean just rolled his eyes. With a cough Daniel lowered his hand sheepishly. “Uh, down the halls, both sides.”
No way was Dean going to get the group down to the hallway on the right. No, they'd have to go to the left hallway, where she hadn't been. Yet. Maybe they could stop at the kitchen on the way.
Dean straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Let's go,” he called, steering clear of the grand staircase and down the hall to the left. Sam fell back to the tail of the group, leaving Dean up front, clenching his fists and attempting to not look behind him to make sure Sam was there. Considering he'd thought the kid was dead for a year, and considering he'd been half right, he figured he still had a few months to go before letting Sam out of his sight didn't leave his stomach in knots. He'd done fairly good with leaving Sam at the library, he thought. Even if the kid had wound up giving himself a headache.
Speaking of... Dean couldn't help but glance back once, over the heads of the group, to where Sam was leading up the rear. Sam's brow was furrowed as he glanced around, checking everything they passed for any signs of the spirit. He seemed like he was breathing better, but he still looked pale.
All Dean wanted to do was shove him into a chair and let him sit, let him rest. Unfortunately, not with a killer spirit on their hands.
But had she killed them? Or had they just been freak accidents? Landon, maybe. Devina? No, that hadn't been a random death. Dean was fairly certain the spirit had killed her somehow. But when he'd checked the body, there'd been no marks around her neck, no bloody wounds, nothing. She'd just...gone to sleep and hadn't woken up.
He forced himself to take stock of the place around them. The ballroom was by far the biggest room on the ground floor, with two separate entrances besides the main one that led out into the lobby. It looked like it could be closed off, from what Dean could see, but everything was dark inside. He moved past it quickly, taking stock of the next room on his right as they made their way down the hallway. A dining room, also large, held everything from chandeliers to a large fireplace, with cozy seats to sit in front of it with. To the left was a laundry room, looking clean and state of the art.
Considering how well the laundry room in the last hotel had gone, Dean was more than happy to stay away from it.
Up ahead at the end of the hall was a set of flapping doors and a dark room beyond it. Probably the kitchen. What caught Dean's eye, however, was the bright, glowing red sign that said 'EXIT' up on top, pointing to a door on the right before the end of the hall. There were lights on inside, and the sign on the door said 'STAIRS' with a small zig-zag line and a stick person climbing.
And no axe murderers anywhere nearby. Dean was okay with that one the most.
“Those are the stairs to the second floor,” Daniel said, quickly stepping up behind Dean. “All the rooms upstairs are unlocked for the guests of the party.” He bit his lip, glancing around at the group. “For all the guests,” he said miserably. “God, I can't believe that two of them are dead...”
As long as he had Daniel nice and close, Dean might as well finish his questions from earlier. “You never answered my question,” Dean said, making Daniel frown. “What the hell's with the party?”
“It was my idea,” Daniel explained, eyes glancing nervously about. “Well, mine and my dad's. Thomas Latter.”
Dean frowned. “Wait a minute. Thomas Latter is your dad? As in the Thomas Latter who owns and put up the resort? Your last name doesn't match.”
“From his first marriage,” Daniel said, nodding. “I wanted to reconnect with my dad, y'know? Get into the family business? I asked if I could help with social relations on the project, and he was ecstatic to have me, and I was just happy to be around him, y'know?”
Yeah, Dean did know. “So you're the 'host' of the party? And didn't you say that everyone was a winner?”
“It was a contest,” Daniel said. He nearly tripped over his shoes before righting himself and pursing his lips. “Publicity. I suggested we have people come try the place out before it opened, get good reviews in before it happened, and someone suggested to my dad that they make it a contest. People sign up, winners are drawn, winners get a free night at the new Huckston Retreat.”
Wait a minute. “So this contest wasn't your idea?” Dean asked. Daniel shook his head, and the bad feeling in Dean's gut returned. “Whose idea was it?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don't know. Someone my dad outsourced, I guess. Someone offered to set up the contest for my dad, draw the winners, and my dad agreed. I don't know who. He never told me.”
Great. A third party that signs random people up for a night locked in with a dangerous spirit sounded nine types of wrong to Dean, but it wasn't like he could even look it up on Sam's phone. There'd be no research, nothing, until they got out of the house.
He held up his hand for the group to wait, leaving Daniel to almost bump into him. “Sorry,” Daniel said meekly when Dean glared at him. He stepped back a few paces until he was back at the front of the group with Monica, taking her hand firmly.
Dean quickly stepped up to the stairwell door and peered through the small glass window. Nothing appeared on the other side besides well lit metal stairs that were painted a gentle gray. The walls were an off white, leaving it all pretty, expensive, and new. Most importantly, the lights were all new, lighting up the stairwell better than a runway. He breathed out a sigh of relief then stopped, frowning. Had that been mist in front of him? He reached for the doorknob and found it cool to the touch. Maybe a little too cool.
Shit. “Everyone upstairs, now,” Dean ordered, swinging the door open wide. Everyone quickly pushed past him in a rush, shoving him up against the door with a bang. Dean winced as he hit the door hard, forced to wait until everyone had moved past him to push himself away. Sam paused at the bottom of the stairwell, looking back in concern, and Dean shook his head. “Go, get to the front,” he said, shutting the door tight behind them and hurrying up after Sam. God, how the hell did school teachers handle a group of kids without losing them?
“Wait, guys, wait,” Sam called, fighting his way up to the front of the group. Fortunately, he'd gotten to the top of the stairs before the group had. He glanced through the window of the top door, frowning at whatever he saw.
“Sam?” Dean called up.
Sam shook his head. “I can't see, it's all dark,” he said. “Where are the light switches to the hallway?”
“Ask Daniel,” Dean said, still trying to make his way up the stairs. The group had clustered together near the top, making it impossible to get through. “Daniel, where are the lights?”
Daniel didn't answer. Dean stopped on the fifth step from the top, frowning. “Daniel!”
“Where's Daniel?” Sam demanded, looking through the group. Dean tried to look through the group, but the huddled masses made it impossible to not only get up the stairs, but to find out who was there.
“Oh god, he was right here,” Monica said, a frantic pitch in her voice. “H-He was right here, holding my hand, and he's gone-”
A scream resounded from downstairs, muffled from the closed doors. “Daniel!” Monica shrieked, desperately trying to fight her way through the group. “Daniel!”
“Stay right there!” Dean bellowed, already flying down the stairs. Sam hurried down after him, nearly slamming into Dean's back when they got to the bottom door. Dean pulled his gun out and immediately swept the hallway. It was all brightly lit, all shining and clean and new.
Except for the very bright bloodstains on the floor.
“Oh god,” Sam whispered beside him, his own gun drawn. The stains tapered out to long streaks on the tiled floor, leading straight back to the end of the hall before taking a left. There was a door to the left of the kitchen that Dean hadn't seen before in his glancing, and he carefully stepped over the blood to see what it said.
BASEMENT ACCESS - EMPLOYEES ONLY
The blood led straight under the door. “Daniel!” Dean shouted, immediately trying the doorknob to the basement. Locked. “Daniel!” he shouted again.
There was no reply.
“Dean,” Sam called softly, pulling Dean from the door. Sam was staring at the blood streaks on the floor, looking nauseous. “There's a fingernail,” he managed, swallowing hard.
She'd dragged him away screaming. How the hell had Daniel fallen to the back of the group anyway? Unless-
Unless she'd grabbed him, fast, while the others had made their mad dash upstairs. Dean hadn't seen who'd flown past him, they'd shoved him aside so fast. “Did you see if he went into the stairwell?” he asked.
Sam shook his head. “The group was moving so fast, and I was trying to keep up with them.” He looked nine types of miserable and swallowed again. Yeah, Dean knew how that felt.
Three deaths, because Dean wasn't holding out much hope that Daniel was alive. “Think there's another way to access the basement?” he asked.
Sam shook his head. “Maybe from outside, or down the hall, but that's not somewhere I want to take the group.”
No, they had to get the group safe first, then deal with the basement. “You didn't see an elevator anywhere, did you?” Dean asked.
Sam turned even more pale. “Really, Dean? Really?”
“Hey, I'm the one who's been praying not to go down to the basement,” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender. Still, the blood stains on the floor arrested his attention, and he glanced down uneasily. Fuck but it was a lot of blood. No way was Daniel still alive.
“The group,” Sam said, and Dean tore himself away from the gruesome remains of Daniel's life to the stairwell, following after Sam back up the stairs. The group was already moving through the doors to the second floor, apparently done with waiting. Dean cursed and pushed himself to follow, his back protesting the use. Being thrown into a door and shoved into it hadn't helped.
“Guys, wait,” Sam said, getting to the top before him. A few stairs down, Dean could see that they were heading to the room across the way from the stairs. A gleaming gold 7 on the door led to what seemed like a homey, deluxe suite. The lights were on and people were finding somewhere to sit or a corner to pace in. There were only two windows, leading out to the front of the resort, and they were both black from the darkness and storm outside. The rain was much louder now against the windowpanes, and it left Dean hastily shutting the door to the suite behind him. Everyone looked to him in askance, and Dean pursed his lips. It was answer enough.
Clara was pacing this time, unable to sit still. “We shouldn't have left him behind,” she said, running long fingers up her bare arms. Her top and slacks looked perfect for a nightly group meeting or a business dinner, but now, she just looked cold. And scared. Definitely wasn't forgetting the scared.
Monica let out a shriek that had both Dean and Sam whipping around towards her, but she only sank back into one of the chairs in the room, head cradled in her hands. “Oh god he's dead,” she moaned. “Oh god Daniel, oh god, h-he got left behind, and I hated that poem, I hated that godawful poem, I hated that book-”
Dean frowned, and thank god everyone looked as confused as he did. “What book? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Christie,” Monica choked out, and Sam inhaled sharply. “A-Agatha-”
Amanda sucked in a startled breath, and when Dean turned, both her and his brother looked white as a sheet. “No way,” Sam said faintly. “There's no fucking way.”
When Sam started cursing, it was time to get scared. “WHAT?” Dean roared, freaked out now that Sam was freaked out. “Someone explain!”
“And Then There Were None,” Amanda breathed, eyes wide. “Agatha Christie's horror mystery.”
“What on earth does that have to do with anything?” Paul asked, bewildered. “It's a novel that took its title from a poem-”
“Ten little Soldier boys went out to dine, one choked his little self and then there were nine,” Sam recited softly, and Monica whimpered in the corner. Sam swallowed but continued. “Nine little Soldier boys sat up very late, one overslept himself and then there were eight. Eight little Soldier boys traveling in Devon...” Sam looked over at Dean, fear in his eyes as he finished quietly, “One got left behind, and then there were seven.”
Dean slowly looked around the room, counting the heads. Clara, Amanda, Monica. Teddy, Paul, and Harrison. That made six. Daniel, Devina, and Landon had only made nine, so where did they come up with ten?
“You must be Leroy Hutchinson, with a...guest?”
“Shit,” Dean breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was ten. Sam had been an extra to the game. There were still seven “little soldiers” to kill off.
And they'd all died in a perfect matching manner. Landon had “choked himself” while Devina had “overslept”.
And Daniel had gotten left behind.
“It's just a coincidence,” Paul said, but his voice sounded uneven.
“There's no such thing as a coincidence,” Sam and Dean said in unison. “Not in our line of work,” Sam added.
“Okay, time out,” Dean said, putting his hands up in a T. “You're trying to tell me that our spirit's got a hard-on for Agatha Christie?” Not that they hadn't heard of and dealt with weirder, but still, even with the evidence right in front of him, it just felt wrong. Not that any of this felt right, though. “She's out of her time by decades,” Dean continued.
“Actually, the novel was published in 1939 under a different title, and republished as And Then There Were None in 1940,” Sam said, and Dean felt a surge of fondness for the geeky kid in front of him, his geeky kid that was there in front of him to tell him random factoids like this. God but he was so damn happy Sam was there and alive and with him.
Dean weighed that against what little they did know. “Old style dress, Sam,” he said, wincing. Old style from the early 20th century, according to their witnesses.
“Could've been a wedding dress,” Sam countered. “Styles in 1940 meant they were generally borrowed or passed down on account of fabric being scarce in the war time.”
“Does he know everything?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus man, set up a Wikipedia or something. Is that true?”
“It is,” Harrison spoke up, drawing all eyes to him. “My mother's dress was a hand-me-down from her mother, who got married in 1911,” he said quietly.
Amanda began to pace again, pulling at the hem of her plain t-shirt. “What year did your spirit die in?” she asked.
Dean shut his eyes, already knowing that Sam would have the date ingrained in his head and more than able to spit it back out. He wasn't disappointed.
Still, Sam's stricken, “October 12th, 1940,” wasn't a welcome statement. It was all damning evidence, pointing to a twisted ass poem and a book Dean had never enjoyed in high school, if just because he'd dealt with enough death on the hunt. He hadn't needed it in the classroom.
Paul's next statement was equally as chilling. “If it's following the pattern of the novel, then...who dies next?”
Silence filled the room, the only sound the now pouring rain and the howling wind from outside. These weren't random deaths anymore: these had a pattern. The three that had died were supposed to die that way.
And there were seven more deaths promised to come.
Chapter 5: The 6 Canisters
~Nebula
Title: And the Guilty Soldiers Fall
Rating: R for horror, gore, language
Chapter: 4 of 10
Genre: Horror, Gen, Suspense
Spoilers: Season 6, up through 6x14: Mannequin 3, the Reckoning. Spoilers also for Requiem of the Forsaken, last year's Halloween fic that's set in Season 5. Also, spoilers for Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" of which I refer to by a lot.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sequel to Requiem of the Forsaken. Another haunted hotel appears on the Winchesters' radar, and the boys reluctantly take the case. When they find themselves locked in with a frightened group of civilians, and bodies begin to drop one by one, the brothers fight not only to find their ghost and guess the next victim, but to also keep each other alive until sunrise.
Wordcount: 3,670 for this chapter.
Previous parts here
Warnings: Okay, folks. Gore, death, mystery, hurt!boys, protective!boys, language, and some pretty graphic dying scenes. If you're squeamish, this...might not be for you.
A/N: You MUST have read "Requiem of the Forsaken" first before reading this, I cannot reiterate this enough. NO SENSE WILL THIS MAKE FOR YOU IF YOU DO NOT.
A/N the 2nd: As last year's fic came from an inspired source, so too does this one. Inspired by my crazy, evil brain and by Agatha Christie's creepy-as-fuck "And Then There Were None". What? It had to be done.
The last chime echoed in the room, the ticking of the clock suddenly too loud where it hadn't even been heard before. Everyone seemed frozen in time, unable to do anything except watch the clock in horror. None of them really knew what it meant, but if they took a look at Dean's face, they'd know it wasn't good.
Sure enough, Clara glanced their way and turned a little more pale. “That's it, I'm getting out of here,” she declared in a loud, trembling voice, racing for the exit with the doors. The rest of the group quickly moved to follow her, and Sam's wide eyes over the crowd said they were two seconds away from a stampede, and god knew where they'd go.
Dean quickly shoved himself in front of the doors, arms out wide. “Woah, woah! Just calm down, okay?”
“We have to get out of here!” Teddy yelled. “We can't just stay, man!”
“Agreed, but if you go out there now, we'll all wind up dead,” Dean warned. “If we stay together, we'll make it.”
“Staying together makes us slower,” the older gentleman said, inserting his opinion for the first time. He nodded his head towards Dean. “But it also makes us more difficult to separate. Harrison. Harrison Marshall, attorney at law.”
Good to know they had someone on their side, someone with a shred of common sense. “Good points all. We stay together,” Dean said.
“But we'd move faster on our own-”
“Does anyone in here watch horror films?” Amanda called out above Daniel's panicked voice. “Seriously? Wandering off is the first thing the first victims do.” She pinched her lips, meeting Dean's gaze. “I don't like this,” she admitted, “but they're right. We have to stay together.”
“I'm not staying in here with Devina and that...that woman,” Clara choked out. Voices quickly raised in agreement, and Dean held up his hands to call for silence. Not that he blamed them for wanting to stay as far away from the dead body as possible, but chaos wasn't going to help.
“Then we'll get out of here and try to find another exit, a safer place to stay. Together.” He reached back for the doors, already knowing that Sam wouldn't be far behind him. “Everyone keep your eyes peeled and stay together. You see anything, anything, and you say something. I don't care if you saw a purple cat with a wide ass grin. I'll ask you what you're tripping on after.”
No one laughed. “God, tough crowds in haunted hotels,” he muttered, but turned to face the doors. There were still whispers and scared voices behind him, too much white noise that he couldn't hear if there was anything else out in the lobby. No tap, tap, tap. He gritted his teeth but quickly twisted the door handles and flung one open.
Nothing. The trees outside the big bay windows were starting to wave wildly, and there was a tiny tinkling sound against the glass panes. It was just the rain, he knew that, but looking around the lobby, he wasn't half sure some of it wasn't the quiet tread of ghostly feet on the tiles, either.
“Everyone move,” Dean said in a low voice. Like silent school children the group followed, eyes wide and watching every shadow.
As lame as Dean had thought Teddy, Paul, and Amanda's efforts regarding the body were earlier, he was grateful now that it wasn't there for people to freak out over. He'd have to mention that after they got out of the hotel. When they weren't in danger of becoming the next body themselves.
Jesus H. Christ. Two people dead, even before the night had fallen. What the hell?
“Wait,” Sam called out, and Dean stopped the group from moving further. Sam quickly jogged from the rear of the group - not where Dean wanted him, but unfortunately where he needed him to keep everyone safe - up to the middle of the lobby. “If we move them upstairs, we can check the upstairs for EMF at the same time,” Sam said softly. “The rooms up there will probably only have one exit, since they're hotel rooms. Then we just wait this out.”
“So what, now we're freaking supernatural tour guides?” Dean grumbled, but Sam had a good point. All of the rooms down here had glass walls, and while a spirit might not be able to get through it, it would cause pandemonium amongst the group. And that was the last thing they needed.
A loud cracking sound made Dean jerk to the left, his heart racing. The innocent tree branch knocked against the window again, then slid away with the storm winds. “If we're moving people...” Sam started.
“We need to do it now before the power goes out,” Dean said, nodding. “Okay. Second floor.” He paused, glancing at the stairs with trepidation. It was the last place the ghost had been violent, and god, they didn't even know who she was. It wasn't like this place was going to help solve any mysteries, either, but so far, no one with an axe had shown up.
And god, he was really trying to jinx the shit out of them, wasn't he?
“Is there another stairway?” Sam asked the group.
Daniel raised his hand again, and Dean just rolled his eyes. With a cough Daniel lowered his hand sheepishly. “Uh, down the halls, both sides.”
No way was Dean going to get the group down to the hallway on the right. No, they'd have to go to the left hallway, where she hadn't been. Yet. Maybe they could stop at the kitchen on the way.
Dean straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Let's go,” he called, steering clear of the grand staircase and down the hall to the left. Sam fell back to the tail of the group, leaving Dean up front, clenching his fists and attempting to not look behind him to make sure Sam was there. Considering he'd thought the kid was dead for a year, and considering he'd been half right, he figured he still had a few months to go before letting Sam out of his sight didn't leave his stomach in knots. He'd done fairly good with leaving Sam at the library, he thought. Even if the kid had wound up giving himself a headache.
Speaking of... Dean couldn't help but glance back once, over the heads of the group, to where Sam was leading up the rear. Sam's brow was furrowed as he glanced around, checking everything they passed for any signs of the spirit. He seemed like he was breathing better, but he still looked pale.
All Dean wanted to do was shove him into a chair and let him sit, let him rest. Unfortunately, not with a killer spirit on their hands.
But had she killed them? Or had they just been freak accidents? Landon, maybe. Devina? No, that hadn't been a random death. Dean was fairly certain the spirit had killed her somehow. But when he'd checked the body, there'd been no marks around her neck, no bloody wounds, nothing. She'd just...gone to sleep and hadn't woken up.
He forced himself to take stock of the place around them. The ballroom was by far the biggest room on the ground floor, with two separate entrances besides the main one that led out into the lobby. It looked like it could be closed off, from what Dean could see, but everything was dark inside. He moved past it quickly, taking stock of the next room on his right as they made their way down the hallway. A dining room, also large, held everything from chandeliers to a large fireplace, with cozy seats to sit in front of it with. To the left was a laundry room, looking clean and state of the art.
Considering how well the laundry room in the last hotel had gone, Dean was more than happy to stay away from it.
Up ahead at the end of the hall was a set of flapping doors and a dark room beyond it. Probably the kitchen. What caught Dean's eye, however, was the bright, glowing red sign that said 'EXIT' up on top, pointing to a door on the right before the end of the hall. There were lights on inside, and the sign on the door said 'STAIRS' with a small zig-zag line and a stick person climbing.
And no axe murderers anywhere nearby. Dean was okay with that one the most.
“Those are the stairs to the second floor,” Daniel said, quickly stepping up behind Dean. “All the rooms upstairs are unlocked for the guests of the party.” He bit his lip, glancing around at the group. “For all the guests,” he said miserably. “God, I can't believe that two of them are dead...”
As long as he had Daniel nice and close, Dean might as well finish his questions from earlier. “You never answered my question,” Dean said, making Daniel frown. “What the hell's with the party?”
“It was my idea,” Daniel explained, eyes glancing nervously about. “Well, mine and my dad's. Thomas Latter.”
Dean frowned. “Wait a minute. Thomas Latter is your dad? As in the Thomas Latter who owns and put up the resort? Your last name doesn't match.”
“From his first marriage,” Daniel said, nodding. “I wanted to reconnect with my dad, y'know? Get into the family business? I asked if I could help with social relations on the project, and he was ecstatic to have me, and I was just happy to be around him, y'know?”
Yeah, Dean did know. “So you're the 'host' of the party? And didn't you say that everyone was a winner?”
“It was a contest,” Daniel said. He nearly tripped over his shoes before righting himself and pursing his lips. “Publicity. I suggested we have people come try the place out before it opened, get good reviews in before it happened, and someone suggested to my dad that they make it a contest. People sign up, winners are drawn, winners get a free night at the new Huckston Retreat.”
Wait a minute. “So this contest wasn't your idea?” Dean asked. Daniel shook his head, and the bad feeling in Dean's gut returned. “Whose idea was it?”
Daniel shrugged. “I don't know. Someone my dad outsourced, I guess. Someone offered to set up the contest for my dad, draw the winners, and my dad agreed. I don't know who. He never told me.”
Great. A third party that signs random people up for a night locked in with a dangerous spirit sounded nine types of wrong to Dean, but it wasn't like he could even look it up on Sam's phone. There'd be no research, nothing, until they got out of the house.
He held up his hand for the group to wait, leaving Daniel to almost bump into him. “Sorry,” Daniel said meekly when Dean glared at him. He stepped back a few paces until he was back at the front of the group with Monica, taking her hand firmly.
Dean quickly stepped up to the stairwell door and peered through the small glass window. Nothing appeared on the other side besides well lit metal stairs that were painted a gentle gray. The walls were an off white, leaving it all pretty, expensive, and new. Most importantly, the lights were all new, lighting up the stairwell better than a runway. He breathed out a sigh of relief then stopped, frowning. Had that been mist in front of him? He reached for the doorknob and found it cool to the touch. Maybe a little too cool.
Shit. “Everyone upstairs, now,” Dean ordered, swinging the door open wide. Everyone quickly pushed past him in a rush, shoving him up against the door with a bang. Dean winced as he hit the door hard, forced to wait until everyone had moved past him to push himself away. Sam paused at the bottom of the stairwell, looking back in concern, and Dean shook his head. “Go, get to the front,” he said, shutting the door tight behind them and hurrying up after Sam. God, how the hell did school teachers handle a group of kids without losing them?
“Wait, guys, wait,” Sam called, fighting his way up to the front of the group. Fortunately, he'd gotten to the top of the stairs before the group had. He glanced through the window of the top door, frowning at whatever he saw.
“Sam?” Dean called up.
Sam shook his head. “I can't see, it's all dark,” he said. “Where are the light switches to the hallway?”
“Ask Daniel,” Dean said, still trying to make his way up the stairs. The group had clustered together near the top, making it impossible to get through. “Daniel, where are the lights?”
Daniel didn't answer. Dean stopped on the fifth step from the top, frowning. “Daniel!”
“Where's Daniel?” Sam demanded, looking through the group. Dean tried to look through the group, but the huddled masses made it impossible to not only get up the stairs, but to find out who was there.
“Oh god, he was right here,” Monica said, a frantic pitch in her voice. “H-He was right here, holding my hand, and he's gone-”
A scream resounded from downstairs, muffled from the closed doors. “Daniel!” Monica shrieked, desperately trying to fight her way through the group. “Daniel!”
“Stay right there!” Dean bellowed, already flying down the stairs. Sam hurried down after him, nearly slamming into Dean's back when they got to the bottom door. Dean pulled his gun out and immediately swept the hallway. It was all brightly lit, all shining and clean and new.
Except for the very bright bloodstains on the floor.
“Oh god,” Sam whispered beside him, his own gun drawn. The stains tapered out to long streaks on the tiled floor, leading straight back to the end of the hall before taking a left. There was a door to the left of the kitchen that Dean hadn't seen before in his glancing, and he carefully stepped over the blood to see what it said.
BASEMENT ACCESS - EMPLOYEES ONLY
The blood led straight under the door. “Daniel!” Dean shouted, immediately trying the doorknob to the basement. Locked. “Daniel!” he shouted again.
There was no reply.
“Dean,” Sam called softly, pulling Dean from the door. Sam was staring at the blood streaks on the floor, looking nauseous. “There's a fingernail,” he managed, swallowing hard.
She'd dragged him away screaming. How the hell had Daniel fallen to the back of the group anyway? Unless-
Unless she'd grabbed him, fast, while the others had made their mad dash upstairs. Dean hadn't seen who'd flown past him, they'd shoved him aside so fast. “Did you see if he went into the stairwell?” he asked.
Sam shook his head. “The group was moving so fast, and I was trying to keep up with them.” He looked nine types of miserable and swallowed again. Yeah, Dean knew how that felt.
Three deaths, because Dean wasn't holding out much hope that Daniel was alive. “Think there's another way to access the basement?” he asked.
Sam shook his head. “Maybe from outside, or down the hall, but that's not somewhere I want to take the group.”
No, they had to get the group safe first, then deal with the basement. “You didn't see an elevator anywhere, did you?” Dean asked.
Sam turned even more pale. “Really, Dean? Really?”
“Hey, I'm the one who's been praying not to go down to the basement,” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender. Still, the blood stains on the floor arrested his attention, and he glanced down uneasily. Fuck but it was a lot of blood. No way was Daniel still alive.
“The group,” Sam said, and Dean tore himself away from the gruesome remains of Daniel's life to the stairwell, following after Sam back up the stairs. The group was already moving through the doors to the second floor, apparently done with waiting. Dean cursed and pushed himself to follow, his back protesting the use. Being thrown into a door and shoved into it hadn't helped.
“Guys, wait,” Sam said, getting to the top before him. A few stairs down, Dean could see that they were heading to the room across the way from the stairs. A gleaming gold 7 on the door led to what seemed like a homey, deluxe suite. The lights were on and people were finding somewhere to sit or a corner to pace in. There were only two windows, leading out to the front of the resort, and they were both black from the darkness and storm outside. The rain was much louder now against the windowpanes, and it left Dean hastily shutting the door to the suite behind him. Everyone looked to him in askance, and Dean pursed his lips. It was answer enough.
Clara was pacing this time, unable to sit still. “We shouldn't have left him behind,” she said, running long fingers up her bare arms. Her top and slacks looked perfect for a nightly group meeting or a business dinner, but now, she just looked cold. And scared. Definitely wasn't forgetting the scared.
Monica let out a shriek that had both Dean and Sam whipping around towards her, but she only sank back into one of the chairs in the room, head cradled in her hands. “Oh god he's dead,” she moaned. “Oh god Daniel, oh god, h-he got left behind, and I hated that poem, I hated that godawful poem, I hated that book-”
Dean frowned, and thank god everyone looked as confused as he did. “What book? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Christie,” Monica choked out, and Sam inhaled sharply. “A-Agatha-”
Amanda sucked in a startled breath, and when Dean turned, both her and his brother looked white as a sheet. “No way,” Sam said faintly. “There's no fucking way.”
When Sam started cursing, it was time to get scared. “WHAT?” Dean roared, freaked out now that Sam was freaked out. “Someone explain!”
“And Then There Were None,” Amanda breathed, eyes wide. “Agatha Christie's horror mystery.”
“What on earth does that have to do with anything?” Paul asked, bewildered. “It's a novel that took its title from a poem-”
“Ten little Soldier boys went out to dine, one choked his little self and then there were nine,” Sam recited softly, and Monica whimpered in the corner. Sam swallowed but continued. “Nine little Soldier boys sat up very late, one overslept himself and then there were eight. Eight little Soldier boys traveling in Devon...” Sam looked over at Dean, fear in his eyes as he finished quietly, “One got left behind, and then there were seven.”
Dean slowly looked around the room, counting the heads. Clara, Amanda, Monica. Teddy, Paul, and Harrison. That made six. Daniel, Devina, and Landon had only made nine, so where did they come up with ten?
“You must be Leroy Hutchinson, with a...guest?”
“Shit,” Dean breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was ten. Sam had been an extra to the game. There were still seven “little soldiers” to kill off.
And they'd all died in a perfect matching manner. Landon had “choked himself” while Devina had “overslept”.
And Daniel had gotten left behind.
“It's just a coincidence,” Paul said, but his voice sounded uneven.
“There's no such thing as a coincidence,” Sam and Dean said in unison. “Not in our line of work,” Sam added.
“Okay, time out,” Dean said, putting his hands up in a T. “You're trying to tell me that our spirit's got a hard-on for Agatha Christie?” Not that they hadn't heard of and dealt with weirder, but still, even with the evidence right in front of him, it just felt wrong. Not that any of this felt right, though. “She's out of her time by decades,” Dean continued.
“Actually, the novel was published in 1939 under a different title, and republished as And Then There Were None in 1940,” Sam said, and Dean felt a surge of fondness for the geeky kid in front of him, his geeky kid that was there in front of him to tell him random factoids like this. God but he was so damn happy Sam was there and alive and with him.
Dean weighed that against what little they did know. “Old style dress, Sam,” he said, wincing. Old style from the early 20th century, according to their witnesses.
“Could've been a wedding dress,” Sam countered. “Styles in 1940 meant they were generally borrowed or passed down on account of fabric being scarce in the war time.”
“Does he know everything?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus man, set up a Wikipedia or something. Is that true?”
“It is,” Harrison spoke up, drawing all eyes to him. “My mother's dress was a hand-me-down from her mother, who got married in 1911,” he said quietly.
Amanda began to pace again, pulling at the hem of her plain t-shirt. “What year did your spirit die in?” she asked.
Dean shut his eyes, already knowing that Sam would have the date ingrained in his head and more than able to spit it back out. He wasn't disappointed.
Still, Sam's stricken, “October 12th, 1940,” wasn't a welcome statement. It was all damning evidence, pointing to a twisted ass poem and a book Dean had never enjoyed in high school, if just because he'd dealt with enough death on the hunt. He hadn't needed it in the classroom.
Paul's next statement was equally as chilling. “If it's following the pattern of the novel, then...who dies next?”
Silence filled the room, the only sound the now pouring rain and the howling wind from outside. These weren't random deaths anymore: these had a pattern. The three that had died were supposed to die that way.
And there were seven more deaths promised to come.
Chapter 5: The 6 Canisters
~Nebula