Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
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Back at the hotel bar, the cosplayers each sat with a glass of whiskey in hand, downing it quickly. Honestly, I probably would have felt bad for them if I hadn't found the whole ordeal pretty amusing. Dropping his empty glass back on the bar top, fake Dean shuddered. "That was-"
"-Awful? Terrible? Makes you wish you'd never heard of Sam and Dean?" Dean slammed a bill on the counter between them. "Rounds on us, guys." He gave a half a smile and began walking away.
Not even two steps the other direction, Bean Pole stopped us. "How," he cleared his throat, "how did you guys know what to do?"
I shared a look with the Winchester men, not really sure what we wanted to tell them. Finally, Sam spoke up. "We, uh, read the books." The others seemed to deem this an acceptable answer as they nodded and turned back to their drinks with frowns on their faces.
I managed to send them each a small smile, before walking after my boys. Chuck was standing a few feet off to the side, talking with the convention manager. Dean beelined straight to him as Sam and I followed like lost puppies. "And screw you very much." Dean's comment pulled a loud chuckle from me. The author looked slightly terrified, but didn't say anything as Dean just kept on walking. I waved at him before making my way toward the front doors with the boys. But apparently leaving wasn't in the cards. "Door's locked."
Sam pushed past his older brother, rattling the door loudly before giving up; the heavy oak doors refused to budge. "Try other exits, and stay on your toes. I don't think we're done here."
"On it, Jolly." Wood creaking beneath our feet, we split up to check windows and doors. Each one came up with the same result: locked. "Well that confirms it." I remarked, arms crossed over my chest as we met back at the front. "Something is keeping us all in here."
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly as a scream sounded from upstairs. This one didn't seem like it was waiting around for a bunch of Larping fans to come traipsing through: this was shrill and desperate. Racing single file up the staircase, Dean all but ran over a woman wearing the same outfit I'd seen on the ghost of Leticia Gore. Her hair was pulled half up and half down, a dark brown that almost matched my own in both color and length. "Don't go in there!" She cried at the sight of us.
Dean ushered her downstairs as Sam and I continued into the room. My gaze flew around in an attempt to find the problem. "Why did you send my mommy away?" My eyes shot to the same small boy we'd met earlier cowering in the corner of the room. "Why?" Blood oozed down his forehead and fear coated his eyes.
Flabbergasted, Dean scoffed at the young child before him. "Uh, maybe because she did that to you?" Dean pointed to the kid's head. "How bout a thank you?"
The boy looked utterly distressed at the statement. With wide eyes, he shook his head, causing blood to ooze down further. "My mommy didn't do this to me."
