TW: mentions of suicides and suicide attempts

I stared at the creepy motel in front of us, my hand grinning my duffel bag to the point my knuckles were pure white.

"Listen up. The meet's been pushed till tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves." Coach frowned at the group of teens as we all had gotten off of the bus, and he held several room keys.

"You'll be pairing up. Choose wisely. And I'll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants. Got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!" Coach continued as people started snatching keys. Scott looked between Stiles and I, realizing that there was an odd number of people... and we had an odd number of friends.

"I don't like this place." I turned my head towards Lydia, staring at the motel as if she was witnessing people die.

I wasn't gonna lie. This place gave me the creeps more than our school janitor did. And he was both dead and creepy.

" I'll let you three share a room. Just don't mess around! I know about you two." Coach point to Stiles and I, and our eyes widened.

"No funny business. Got it." I slowly took the key from Coach, who walked away quickly.

"Okay, so it's just one night in a creep motel." Scott shrugged as I scoffed, shaking. My head.

"No way. Do you know how much can happen in one night? Have you ever seen Friday the 13th?" I asked as Stiles nodded slowly.

"How about we just get to our room?" Scott suggested.

"Good idea. Because I'd like to talk about the four suspects I'm thinking of." Stiles said as we all walked up to the second floor of the motel.

"Four suspects?" I asked, and he nodded as I unlocked our room, walking in.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. If I was a normal human, then the first thing I would have smelled was the overly-sprayed Febreeze. But all I could smell was fear and sadness. Like... depression sadness.

And holy shit that was the most overwhelming sadness I've ever smelt in the few months I've been a werewolf.

"It smells like something died in here." Stiles grimaced as I nodded in agreement.

"Okay... back to what you were saying. Four suspects." Scott repeated as he dropped his duffel bag in his bed.

"Yeah, well. It was originally ten. But I had Derek on there twice." Stiles scratched the back of his neck as I dropped myself onto the bed.

"So then whose number one? Harris?" Scott asked as I frowned in confusion.

"Alright uh... I know he's a really bad teacher, missing and all but— are we really gonna say that he's out committing mass human sacrifices?"

Stiles and Scott stayed silent for a moment. "Well, what if it's someone else from school? Like, you remember Matt? We didn't know that he was killing people."

"Actually I was fairly aware he was. Y'know, after that whole mistletoe thing at Lydia's party and me seeing my dead brother." I smiled awkwardly as Stiles nodded.

"Not to mention I knew he was the killer since the very beginning. And you completely ignored that." Stiles glared at Scott.

"Yeah but... we were never really serious."

"I was serious! I was quite serious, actually. Like, deathly serious." Stiles spat, and I stood up slowly.

"Well, I think the person actually making the sacrifices is Jennifer." I blurted out, and Scott frowned.

"Our new English teacher? Seriously, Dean?" I frowned back at him, crossing my arms.

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious that when she shows up the sacrifices start? Not to mention that before I hit her, my car said 'Darach." I pointed out, and Stiles' eyes widened in realization.

"I think you two just really need a nap." Scott said as I glared at him.

"What I really need is a punching bag... and a soda. I'll be back." I walked out of the hotel room, pausing as my hand held the doorknob.

"Oh Deaaaan. I know you can hear me." I frowned, turning my head as my eyes widened.

I stared at Jackson, who I hadn't seen since last school year, his claws wrapped around Jeremy's throat.

"You remember this moment, don't you? Well, I certainly do. Got all of my memories back once I turned into a wolf." Jeremy gasped as Jackson's grip tightened around his throat, blood starting to deep between his fingers.

"Jackson— please." I begged, slowly taking steps forward. But Jackson just tilted his head, eyes glowing blue as he ripped my brothers neck open, and Jeremy couldn't even gasp.

I went to lunge for Jackson, but he just disappeared into the air. I spun around in confusion, shaking my head. "I'm just tired. That's what it is." I told myself, walking down the stairs and towards the lobby.

I gagged at the scent of cigarettes that had made its way into my nose, turning around to take a dee breath of outside air before turning back in.

The woman at the counter was reading a newspaper, though what concerned me was that it was from 1986.

"Um— excuse me?" The lady groaned, looking up from the newspaper.

"What is it, boy? Can't you see I'm readin'?" She asked as I chuckled nervously, pointing to the soda machine.

"Uh... I was just wondering if that thing is working?" I asked, because I was not about to waste quarters on a machine that didn't even give me what I wanted.

"Yeah, it works. Now hurry up and get your damn soda!" I nodded, watching as she stood up and walked towards a number on the wall, changing it from 198 to 202.

"What's with the numbers?" I asked, guessing it was just how many people had stayed at this lousy motel.

The receptionist laughed, turning back to me. "It's quite morbid, actually. You sure you wanna hear it?"

"I think I've seen a lot more than you have." I asked, shoving quarters into the coin slot and grabbed a soda.

"Well dear, we are number one in California when it comes to one disturbing little detail. Since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest suicides." My heart sank at the last word, spinning back to her.

"Suicides? There have been 202 suicides?" I asked as she shook her head.

"There's about to be 202 suicides." She grinned viciously and I quickly walked out, running back to the room.

"Where's Scott?" I asked, Stiles facing away from me.

"He's probably somewhere, getting himself killed."

"You're not Stiles." I whispered, dropping my can of soda as I back up. Stiles stood up, turning around to face me.

"What do you mean, Dean? Of course I'm Stiles. Just the better looking version." He smirked, and I shook my head.

"No. Get out of my head!" I ordered, squinting my eyes shut. "You're supposed to just be a nightmare."

"Now I'm a living one. Well... I will be."

"Get out! Get out of my head! Get out!" I repeated, falling to the ground as I held my head.

"Dean? Dean!" I felt a pair of arms gripping my shoulders and I looked up. "What the hell was that?"

"What... was what?" I asked in confusion, looking around. "Why are we outside? And— where the bell is Scott?"

"Scott ran off. I don't know where. Are you okay?" He asked as I shook my head.

"No. I think— I think I'm going crazy. Yeah— that's what's happening." I stood up quickly, walking into the bathroom. Before Stiles could follow after me, I slammed it shut, locking the door.

I turned to the mirror, my eyes widening as I saw Stiles behind me. But once again, it wasn't him.

"I told you, Dean. You were going to die. Tonight is the night. You will not survive staying here."

"Get out of my head!" I repeated for the third time, covering my ears.

"C'mon, don't play like that. If you want me gone..." Stiles grazed past me, his hand lingering on my back as he whispered into my ear.

"Then you know what you have to do." There was a grin in his voice that made me question actually doing it. And perhaps he was right.

I was tired of the nightmares, tired of being in pain and not being over Jeremy's death like I said I was. I was tired of everything. The sacrifices, Scott being on my ass. The alphas trying to take me over.

It was like a giant rollercoaster that never ended. And it never stopped for me to catch my breath from screaming.

I stared in the mirror for a while before I punched the glass, grabbing the largest shard I could. "Dean?! Dean what are you doing!?"

Tears welted up in my eyes as I saw myself in the glass. "I'm sorry.." I whispered, listening to Stiles attempt to break the door down.

"What's going on?" Allison.

"I think Dean is going to do something really stupid." It was Lydia.

"What do you mean really stupid?" Stiles asked, still attempting to break the door down.

"I think he's going to kill himself."