Beacon Hills has just been declared a Hellmouth with the continuous Supernatural events that continuously keep occurring. In an effort to gain control of Beacon Hills, the Watchers Council delivers the ultimate weapon of their generation: their Slay...
It was 1977 in the middle of nowhere in the desert with just one lone motel: Motel California.
An unknown man parked his large truck in one of the many empty parking spots of this motel, eventually getting off his truck with a noticeable limp that bled as he carried a large duffle bag inside with him. He paid for his room, Room 217 to be exact and made his way up the stairs into his room where he dropped the duffle bag next to the door.
Nightfall was creeping closer as he went into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror and lifting his tank top to reveal a large, bite mark on his rib cage... almost like a animal bite.
He walked back into the rest of the room, opening the curtains as he tossed his wallet on the floor where it flipped open to show his driver's license that said: Alexander Argent.
He got down on his knees as he saw the full moon, feeling the curse begin to take over him and he began to pray in French.
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~ Present Day, 2013 ~
The bus pulled into the parking lot of a motel for the night, some motel named Motel Glen Capri if she was reading it right. They were all exhausted from having been on the bus but the crappy motel in front of them felt like it was worse than being on the bus.
"I've seen worse", Scott said, trying to seem optimistic.
"Where have you seen worse?" Stiles asked as he carried their duffle bag.
Coach blew the whistle, "okay, listen up, the meet's been pushed till tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves. You'll be pairing up, choose wisely."
Coach held out a large amount of room keys and one by one, everyone was grabbing the keys and walking to their rooms.
"And I'll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants. Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!"
~
In the motel room, Y/N laid on one of the beds next to Stiles while Scott laid in the other one; the three of them staring up at the ceiling in silence before Stiles said, "I have 4."
"You have 4 suspects?" Scott questioned.
"Yeah, originally it was 10-"
"10?" she asked, looking at him. "How the hell did you have 10 people?"
"I had Derek on there twice."
"So who's number 1? Harris?" Scott asked.
"Just because he's missing doesn't mean he's dead."
