Castle [STILES STILINSKI]

NINE

"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be all right, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound."
Safe & Sound; Taylor Swift

-/-

"I've seen worse."

Sabrina and Stiles both glanced at Scott, who was surprisingly optimistic about the place they had arrived at. "Where have you seen worse?" Stiles asked. Scott sent them a sideways grin as Coach began to talk.

"Listen up," he called once everyone had gotten off the bus, "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." He held up a handful of keys and started to hand them out. "You'll be pairing up, so 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!"

Sabrina shook her head and rolled her eyes as they waited to get their keys. She decided she was going to room with Lydia and Allison, but they'd probably have to share a bed. After Allison got their key, they glanced back at Lydia. "You okay, Lyds?" Sabrina asked. The strawberry blonde's green eyes were trained on the building, unblinkingly. "I don't like this place." Allison laughed. "I don't think the people who own this place like this place." Her joke didn't seem to ease Lydia, so she added, "It's just for a night." Lydia sighed and hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder.

"A lot can happen in one night."

-/-

As it turned out, Sabrina didn't like this place either. Especially the parts that reeked of nicotine. Like the towels, for example. "Lydia, can you go ask for new towels?" Allison told her friend, tossing the stack at her. "These smell horrible." Sabrina sniffed. "This whole place smells horrible."

Lydia nodded, agreeing, and Sabrina kicked her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'll go too," she said, standing. A wave of nausea washed over her and she stumbled. Lydia raised an eyebrow. "What was that?" Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, willing the dizziness to go away. "I-I just got dizzy," she said, "Sorry, I must've just gotten up too fast." Lydia nodded but kept an eye on her friend as they made their way to the front desk.

When they got there, a pudgy woman waited inside the booth. "Excuse me?" Lydia asked, a little snappy, "The card on the dresser says we have a nonsmoking room, but somehow all of our towels reek of nicotine."

The woman turned around and Sabrina quickly averted her eyes from the breathing tube implanted in her neck. "Sorry about that, sweetheart," the raspy-voiced receptionist told them, accepting the stack of towels Lydia handed her. Sabrina frowned up at the framed number above her head.

"What's that? That number?" she asked. The receptionist glanced at her. "It's kind of an inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up."

Sabrina and Lydia shared a glance. "What do you mean?" Lydia questioned. The woman raised an eyebrow. "It's a little morbid to be honest. You sure you want to know?" Lydia gave her a look. "Tell me."

"Well," the receptionist mused, "We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction..." Lydia huffed, "Obviously."

"But we are number one in California when it comes to one disturbing little detail," she continued, pointing at the number behind her. 198. "Since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest suicides."