One-Shot: Supernatural: Structurally Unsound (1/2)
Title: Structurally Unsound
Author: PatriciaTepes (AKA Patricia de Lioncourt at fanfiction.net )
Character(s): Sam, Dean, Castiel, mentions of others, necessary OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~10,269 (total, both parts)
Warnings: Violence-no more than a usual episode; light language-again, no more than a usual episode
State: Alabama
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. Those belong to Kripke and the CW.
Author's Notes: This is set within Supernatural season 6, somewhere just past The French Mistake. The places mentioned within this story are real, but I've taken some real fictional liberties with them. And the art included was done by the lovelyeyestoowide, as apart of thespn_gen_bigbang. Be sure to check the art out at the link! Also, I'd like to thank my dear friend Kimmi, who not only prompted me this fic for wishlist_fic(of which it is horribly late, sorry), but also beta-ed for me. Thanks so much, dear!
Summary: Set in SPN S6. The Apocalypse is over, and Purgatory is all anyone can talk about since Eve hit the scene. However, Sam and Dean find themselves drawn to the campus of the University of North Alabama where supernatural mischief has students and professors pushing up daisies. Although they first suspect the little girl ghost, Molly, is responsible, they soon find that that's not the case. Instead, the Winchesters find that they are up against an item the subject of some real curiosity, a bottle tree.
Link to Art Masterpost | Link to Part II | Link to Story Masterpost
Structurally Unsound
The Impala pulled to stop in a rather snug parking spot within the Visitor Parking Lot. Dean shook his head, staring out the front windshield at the scenic college campus that stretched and curved out in front of him. He leaned down a little, trying to fight the glare of the early afternoon sun. Sam was already out of the car, and Dean only shook his head as he followed after.
"Little girl ghosts… never something I've gotten over," Dean muttered as they made their way toward the fountain that sat in the center of the campus.
Sam didn't reply, his gaze focused instead on the entrance of the several stories tall building on the other side of the white-well, white when freshly cleaned-marble fountain. The spray off the running water hit them before they were even close enough to touch it, and they stopped, moving just out of its reach. Dean shielded his eyes, taking in his surroundings. They were encircled all around by buildings-artfully old-flowers, and a cage. Dean took it all in in one sweep of the area. However, he found himself redirecting his stare back at the cage-out of curiosity. After a moment or two of watching the black bars, he saw not one, but two lions-a male and a female. He pursed his lips.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Sam asked, turning to his brother.
Dean arched a brow. "Thinking about what? The hunt?"
Sam grinned. "No. You're wondering what would happen if the lions ever got loose."
Sighing, the eldest Winchester nodded in defeat.
"Fine, genius. It had crossed my mind. It's not like there's anywhere closer than thirty feet if they happened to be right in front of the cage."
Sam shrugged. "I'm sure they have all sort safety measures in place, Dean."
"Whatever you say. But all I'm seeing is bars. Widely spread bars at that." Dean sighed, turning toward his brother with a small flail of his hands. Groaning, he added, "Really, Molly is causing all these recent deaths, you think?"
Sam gazed at his brother in confusion, taking in the sheer amount of unwillingness that seemed to be emanating from him. The youngest Winchester made his way over to a black, metal bench nearby, taking a seat on it, while Dean moved closer and chose to remain standing.
"What's the deal? We've ganked little girl ghosts before," Sam said.
Dean shrugged. "I've read up on Molly. She's never been violent before. The worst it's been recorded that she's done is slam a door. She didn't act up while we were up against the Apocalypse, so why now? What's the trigger?"
Sam leaned back. "Wish I knew. Kind of thought that was why we were here."
Dean nodded. "Fine. But first, we've got to find this damned Off-Campus bookstore. Granted, I would think it would be, you know, off campus, but you took off in this direction."
Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Well, you didn't have to follow!"
Dean crossed his arms, turning his eyes back toward the buildings. Suddenly, as if some silent alarm had been rung, the paved sidewalk that made up the majority of the campus was filled with students pouring out in droves of each building. Dean moved to stand a bit closer to the bench, watching as a crowd of students made their way over. A young girl, a freshman most likely, brushed right by him, and he stopped her with a light tap on her shoulder. She whirled, her eyes a little bit annoyed at the obvious interruption to her destination.
"Hey, uh, we're here, um-" Dean began, but Sam picked up.
"Touring the campus, and we got lost. We were told to meet up at the Off-Campus Bookstore. Do you know where that is?"
The girl rolled her eyes, jerking her thumb back in the direction the Winchesters had come from moments earlier.
"Try actually being off campus. It's the stone cottage across the road from the teacher's parking lot," she said, whirling and walking off in a huff.
"Someone just got an F," Dean muttered before turning to grin at Sam, adding, "I told you so."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's just get over there and see what we can figure out before they close."
He pulled himself up from the bench-which was clearly not made for a man of his height-and the two took off in for the bookstore. They stuck to the right-hand sidewalks as they began to spilt to make room for the circular entrance and two parking lots. They took the small rise in the land easily, spotting the cottage in question as soon as they had topped the hill. They cut across the parking lot closest-the teacher's lot-and across the semi-busy road until they stood underneath the cottage's attached awning.
"It had a sign," Dean said, pointing upward, "that clearly reads 'Off-Campus Bookstore.'"
"Yeah, Dean, yeah. You were right."
Dean's hand rested on the store's door handle-which was clearly still the original door from when the cottage had actually served as a home-and grinned.
"And we drove right by it."
Sam rolled his eyes and pointed at the door. Dean chuckled as he entered the shop. A bell tinkled over head as they allowed the door to close behind them.
It was a quaint little shop, and it seemed as if the category of "bookstore" hardly fit it. The floors were carpeted in soft, shaggy gray, and shelves-flimsy, glass shelves with no backs-had been erected all about the main room. Whatever doorway that had once stood to divide a living room off from the next room over was gone, only a ramp rising up in its place. Off to the left was a long counter, a small room filled with much sturdier shelves behind it. The woman who stood behind the register there grinned, her short, bottle-dyed blonde hair bobbing as she rounded the counter.
"Hi. What can I do for you today?" she asked.
Dean and Sam exchanged a look before Sam finally smiled, answering.
"Actually, we're looking for a bit of information. Um, on local legends?"
She grinned, waving a hand dismissively. "You want to know about Molly, don't you?"
Dean cocked his head. "Yeah. How did you know?"
She laughed. "Oh, we get it all the time here. Molly's quite famous, you know."
The brothers exchanged another glance before they turned back to the woman. Dean shrugged, mimicking his brother's smile.
"Okay, you caught us. So, what's the story on Molly? She, um, used to live here, right?"
The woman nodded. She started toward the back of the store, and Sam and Dean kept close behind as the three of them topped the carpeted ramp. She rounded a corner, pointing at a small, rather un-extraordinary door.
"This leads upstairs, where Molly's room used to be. Her parents and she used to live here back in like, the '30s or something. She's mostly been spotted in her bedroom, looking out the window. Although, there was this homecoming parade in the early '90s that went right by the shop. Everyone on the boat, every student, described a blonde haired little girl, only about six or seven or so, waving at them from the sidewalk. They all waved back. Obviously, this was a bookstore by then and nobody matching that description was anywhere near here at the time."
"Um," Sam began, walking over to the door and gently pushing it open.
He gazed up the staircase that was before him. Again, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Plain wooden steps, painted in white, led up to another white-painted door much like the one the taller Winchester had just opened. When he pulled his attention back to the first floor, he smiled at the woman who was still patiently standing with them.
"How did she die?" he completed.
The woman's round face fell a bit as she shook her head. "Her parents had gotten her a puppy for her birthday, and it developed rabies. She was playing with it one day, and it bit her. She only lasted a week or so after that. Poor baby."
Dean arched a brow. "You speak rather fondly of her. Hasn't she caused any trouble?"
The bookstore employee shook her head. "No! I mean, well, she slams a door now and then. But she's eternally a kid, you know? She gets a bit cranky when people are in her room. Some of the football players used to use the room for card games, but the slamming doors freaked them out. Now we use it mostly for storage."
Sam crossed his arms. "So, nothing else? No one hurt? Molly doesn't, like, throw things at patrons?"
The young woman shook her head, her lips pursed in thought. "Not really. She's really quite nice. Well, except for the door slamming."
Dean moved around the employee to join Sam at the door. He pointed upward, flashing the girl another grin.
"Would it be okay if we could go check out the room?"
She blinked, and a faint blush colored her face. "Well… I'm not sure it's really allowed…"
"We won't touch anything, we promise," Sam said, putting on his gentle, trust-me-like-you-would-a-saint voice.
"You can even chill here at the door to keep an eye on us," Dean offered.
She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking to see if another employee or boss was watching. Finally, she nodded.
"Make it quick, please."
"Not a problem," Sam said as he mounted the stairs, Dean close at his heels.
The two brothers topped the creaky stairs in moments, pushing open the identical door at the top. Before long, they found themselves in the center of a room filled with rolled up, musty laminated posters, boxes, and other such bookstore paraphernalia. Dean reached into his jacket, withdrawing the EMF reader. The moment he cut it on, it spiked. Only once, but it was enough to make Dean venture a bit farther into the room. It spiked again, but instantly went back down to null. He did another quick sweep of the room before finally putting the tiny machine away.
"If there's a ghost here, it is so far below the threat level, it's ridiculous," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "Local legends tend to turn out as much. But you know what this means."
Dean nodded. "Square one."
The motel was one of the better ones that the Winchester brothers had had to share over the years. It was a handful of miles from the campus, just on the outskirts of where one could mark the beginning of the historical downtown district of Florence, Alabama. It was still by no means a palace, but the coffee maker worked, the television's cable reception was clear, and the free Wi-Fi was actually fast. Sam chose the double-sized bed farthest from the door, leaving Dean, happily, with the clear path to the electronically locked entrance. In fact, if Dean thought hard enough, he was pretty sure this was the first motel they had stayed at that had cards for keys.
"I'm not sure if I like the cards more or less," Dean commented lightly as he dropped his duffle bag on his bed.
He didn't bother to empty it, instead just digging for the fresh shirt and pants he required.
"Dips on shower," he said, grinning over at Sam.
Sam, meanwhile, had already dropped his bag, and moved to the round table that set before the room's only window-to the right of the door-to set up his laptop. He popped open the silver lid, and it didn't seem to take long before Dean could see the various internet windows opened.
"We're missing something," Sam murmured.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean said, starting toward the bathroom door, which was directly opposite the front door.
Sometimes, Dean wondered how much thought actually went into the designs of these rooms. After all, what if he had had to run out of the bathroom, forgetting something like his shaving cream or toothbrush? Because, hey, it happens. And what if Sammy happened to open the door wide to come in just at that exact time? Well, then the entire parking lot, and the highway beyond it, would get a big ol' eyeful of Dean in the buff. Total full-frontal. Who didn't think about this when building a room? Seriously? But, what was done could not be undone, so he sighed, reaching into the bathroom to flick on the light.
"We came here assuming it was Molly because of the deaths taking place on campus, and all of those people being somehow related to the campus," Sam continued, either totally oblivious to Dean's snide comment or ignoring it completely.
Dean turned, leaning in the threshold of the bathroom.
"Yeah. What were the deaths again?"
"Um, Winter Malcolm, 21. Found dead in the center of the campus. Cause has yet to be determined, but it said that it looked like she drowned," Sam said, reading off of his screen. "Authorities think she was drinking and drowned in the fountain."
"And then what? She got up and walked out of the fountain after she died?" Dean huffed. "Jeez, the things people will make themselves believe."
"One of the Professors, Dr. Jeffery Rosen, was found dead shortly after that. He was found fairly far away from where the Malcolm girl was," Sam continued. "He was found on the steps of Norton Auditorium, and it looked like he was strangled. Only, there were rope burns on his neck, and his neck was broken."
Dean crossed his arms, his much wanted shower-it had been a long drive from their last hunt to north Alabama-moving further and further from his thoughts.
"Like he hung himself?" Dean asked.
He pushed himself off of the threshold, dropping his clothes back onto his bed, as he pulled up the table's second chair.
"Yeah. And there's about three more deaths here, all different, all found on campus, all somehow related to the campus, either student or employee," Sam said, leaning back with a sigh.
He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, keeping them covered as Dean turned the laptop toward himself.
"Which death was the earliest?" the elder Winchester asked, although he was already on his way to answering that very question.
Sam seemed to know that as well, as he only sighed, waiting for Dean to find the article. Which he did. He skimmed the entry on the local newspaper's site.
"Maria Watterson, 20, found in between the Guillot University Center and Keller Hall. Looks like she was burned to death, but no evidence of a fire anywhere else around her. But she was the earliest death," Dean said, leaning back.
"You know what I don't get?" Sam asked, uncovering his eyes and leaning forward on the table. "All the deaths are different. One looks like drowning, the other looks like a hanging, another looks like a burning. Ghosts don't do that. They don't switch up their M.O.s at will. And there's several, several ghost stories about this campus, Dean."
At that, Sam took the computer back, opening a new tab on the browser's window and typing a new address in. After a moment, and some scrolling, he whirled the screen back toward his brother.
"See?" he said, pointing at the screen. "Wesleyan Hall is supposedly haunted by a civil war ghost. Norton Auditorium is supposedly haunted by a construction worker that fell to his death from some scaffolding. And students are still reporting spirit activity all over campus, including the dorms and other classrooms."
Dean leaned in toward the screen. "It says wet footsteps can be seen at night in Wesleyan."
"Yeah, but the drowned girl was found nowhere near there."
"And there's nothing specific about burning or hanged ghosts. Just guesses," Dean muttered.
"It doesn't add up. And then there's Molly, who hasn't done anything more violent than slamming a door."
Dean leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, this sure does look like square one."
"It definitely looks like a job for us, but… I just don't know which ghost to pin it on," Sam said.
They sat in silence for a moment, just staring at the glow of the computer screen. Finally, Dean stood, stretched, and retrieved his clothes once more.
"Shower," he said by means of an explanation.
"Fine," Sam sighed, grabbing up his laptop once more. "I'll see what I can find, starting with the earliest deaths. See if any red flags pop up."
"You do that," Dean said, shutting the door behind him.
He was out of his clothes and in the hottest water that he could stand in record time. He leaned his forehead on the title underneath the shower head, sighing as the water steamed up off his shoulders. He reached beyond the opaque white shower curtain for one of the motel's provided washcloths, and he ripped open one of the little complementary soaps. He folded the soap up inside the now soaked rag, running it over his body and just enjoying the relaxation of the moment.
The Mother of All might be out there, walking about, causing trouble. And they might be on a hunt that didn't make a damn lick of sense, but shower time? That was Dean's time. By God, he was just going to relax, just let his mind go blank. Just be at peace-something he hadn't been at for a long time.
"Dean! Get out here! I think I've found something!" Sam called through the door.
Dean groaned. He might not have grown up normally, in a stable home environment, but he still had to deal with all the annoyances that living with family anywhere entailed. For example, not getting a full damn minute to himself!
"Coming," he said, hoping that it didn't come out like he thought it had-in a growl.
Not that Sammy would care. He was used to it, and often had the same reaction when the shoe was on the other foot. So Dean finished washing all of the soap and shampoo off, turning off the shower, toweled off, and redressed all as quickly as he could manage-slower than he had gotten into the shower, in truth. He pulled open the bathroom door to find Sam back at his laptop. His younger brother's eyes whirled onto him, turning the laptop in the same direction.
"I found a connection," he said.
Dean took up the second chair once again, and he noted that he wasn't in the shower long enough for any of his skin to prune. He sighed, using the thin, mauve-colored carpet to dry the bottoms of his feet.
"Okay, so, enlighten me why I had to cut my shower short," Dean huffed.
Sam shook his head. "Well, since you take girlishly long showers, I thought you wouldn't mind it if I interrupted it with some actual work. Besides, you're long overdue to get your Man Card back."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I never lost my Man Card."
Sam huffed. "Dr. Sexy."
Dean pursed his lips. "What've you got?"
"An art exhibit," Sam said, pointing at the screen.
Dean leaned in, noting that Sam was on the university's website. It was the art department's section, advertising the senior-level undergraduate's showing of their art throughout the year. The student currently selected to show her pieces for the semester was a young woman by the name of Emily Rogers. The rest of the page was simply some of the professors praising her works, calling them things like "refreshing," "original," and "emotional," and some passing descriptions and pictures of a handful worth of her works. The art exhibit, according to the site, began two weeks ago.
"Two weeks ago," Dean said, leaning up to look at Sam.
Sam nodded. "Right about the same time that the first murder took place. And Maria, Winter, and the other three deaths were art students. And Dr. Rosen used to teach sculpture."
"All art related."
"Right. Maybe there's something about that gallery, or something in it, that's the cause for all of this."
Dean smiled, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he stood. "Well, Sammy, you always used to whine how I never took you to any museums. Guess you won't get that privilege anymore."
Sam shook his head. "Nice try. This so doesn't count."
There was something… peaceful about the campus at night. At least, apart from the live lions sleeping behind nothing but too-wide bars and a single pane of glass. But the fountain was still on, and fully lit. And even Dean had to admit that it looked kind of… well, he would never say "pretty." Cool. Cool was a good word.
"This way," Sam said, pointing toward a building that sat on a hill that rose above the little, fake cobblestone street that led throughout the main portion of the campus. "This is where Maria died. If we cut through here, we should be on a fairly straight shot for the art building."
"Where the gallery is at?"
"Uh, yeah, Dean."
Dean gave his brother a light punch in the arm for his sarcasm. Then, shaking his head, he added, "Wait. How do you even know this anyway? Earlier today, we couldn't have found crap on this campus. Suddenly you're an expert?"
"I looked up something called a map. Not really a revolutionary concept," Sam retorted.
"Jeez, whatever. What's got your panties in a wad?"
Sam shot his brother a glare but didn't reply. Apparently, someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. The two of them were now hiking up the small hill, weaving through the world's cruelest access ramp-the thing turned corners about five times, sharply, only to end in a wide set of three stairs-and finally emerging into another parking lot behind the Guillot Center.
"Students get their exercise with all these hills," Sam muttered, sounding a tad out of breath.
Dean didn't reply, reluctant to admit that the hills had winded him a little as well. The two of them cut a corner of the parking lot, hitting a sidewalk and crossing a thin, obviously one-way only street before Sam pronounced they were officially within the realm of the art building.
To Dean, it looked like just another building. Three stories tall, and looking like the side of a hotel were all the rooms opened to the outside, it really wasn't all that impressive. Across from it, and one story shorter, was another building-a little more enclosed-that attached via walkway to yet another two story structure, one that was completely round and had a set of double glass doors. Sam pointed at the round building.
"I think that's the gallery," he said.
Dean nodded as both brothers approached the doors-which stood under a tiny hanging of brick. They both hugged tightly in, in case of cameras, and Dean laid a hand on the door. One tug, and it flew wide open. He arched a brow at Sam.
"It's unlocked," he said, disbelief coloring his words.
Sam shrugged. "Let's not question it."
Dean agreed, and the two made their way inside the dimly lit building. The room was full of art, but sort of empty at the same time. Several pieces of black and white photography hung on the wall, as well as some sculpted pieces that showed off various shapes-apples, Dean thought he saw in one. The both of them walked a bit farther into the room, Dean reaching into his jacket for the EMF again. Almost the second he turned it on, it spiked high, and stayed that way.
"Sam, check this out," he said, barely looking up from the EMF.
"Uh, Dean, check this out," Sam said.
Dean glanced up to see that his brother had crossed the gallery's floor and was now standing in a little space that the spiral staircase left open, and it was obviously modified to hold the main attraction. Occupying the small pedestal now was a tree. But not one that would be found naturally.
It was constructed entirely out of welded wrought iron, making the trunk and the branches of the tree-and there were three sets of five branches. And at the end of each branch, and on the very top of the tree, were bottles. Clear, blue bottles. The trunk of the tree was not entirely unornamented. Objects of all sorts-rings, hairclips, money clips, and several other small, otherwise useful things-were attached right about where each branch met the trunk.
"It's a bottle tree," Sam said.
"I can see that, Sammy," Dean groaned.
"No, Dean. Bottle trees have long since been associated with hoodoo. It comes from long ago from the idea that spirits could be trapped in bottles and destroyed in the morning light. But that got mixed in with other beliefs, like that the color blue could prevent spirits from entering or leaving a place."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I remember Dad telling us about that. Um… haint blue, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. Dean, all these bottles are blue. Not one of them is a different color," Sam said.
The boys exchanged a glance, and almost as one, they took another step near the tree. Dean held the EMF out toward the structure, and it was almost off the scale. He looked to his younger brother before glancing back at the reader.
"Well, that isn't good. Either that's one powerfully pissed off spirit in this tree, or-"
"Or there's more than one," Sam murmured. "Dean. Look at the bottles."
Dean pulled his eyes away from the EMF just in time to see exactly what it was Sam was talking about. Sixteen bottles, total, on the tree, and suddenly, all of them had faces inside of them. Plural. As in one for each bottle. Hands appeared to push against the inside of the glass as the faces contorted and screamed soundlessly. Dean's eyes widened.
"Sixteen ghosts. Well, that explains the different types of deaths," he sighed.
"Not really. Look," Sam said, lifting a finger to indicate the nearest bottle.
The ghost of a young woman, her hair dark and fluid-like she was underwater-pushed against the inside of the bottle. Her hands appeared, curling into fists and beating against the glass. Her mouth opened and she screamed, but no sound came out.
"They're trapped."
Dean leaned in a bit farther toward the tree. "I'll be damned. Apparently, haint blue works. Who knew?"
Sam arched a brow and shook his head. Dean put away the EMF reader in his jacket.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
As if in answer, the sound of fluttering wings sounded behind the brothers. They both turned, more than a little surprised to see Castiel-trenchcoat, suit, askew tie, and all-standing behind them.
"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.
Castiel's bright blue eyes flitted to both brothers before he finally stopped to rest them on something beyond the two. Dean glanced over his shoulder, watching the ghosts struggle against their prisons. He turned back to the angel, jerking a thumb in the bottle tree's direction.
"Yeah, isn't that something? Blue traps ghosts," he chuckled.
"Still wondering why you're here. I mean, no offense, Cas, but since you've got the weapons back, I thought you'd be rather busy for a little while," Sam said.
"Forgive me," Cas said, stepping forward toward the tree. "I thought you were hunting for Eve, and I thought I'd see if you had made any progress."
"Nope. Nothing new, so we decided to take up this hunt," Dean answered. "Sorry."
Castiel's eyes fell on the eldest Winchester, and the angel looked like there was maybe more on the subject that he wanted to say. However, he simply stayed silent. After too long a moment of such silence, Dean finally shook his head.
"Well, we've gotta figure out what to do with this thing. No telling how far and wide the bodies of these ghosts are spread," he said.
"We've got bigger questions first, Dean. Theses ghosts are trapped. How did they get out to commit the murders?" Sam asked.
"Good question. Maybe we ought to snatch the tree, try to take it somewhere safe and figure it out."
"I could remove it for you," Castiel offered.
Both brothers looked to the angel questioningly.
"We can't move it. It'll be noticed, and we can't have a missing bottle tree show up in any sort of news until we figure this all out. These ghosts can't have killed those people, not like they are now, at least," Sam argued.
"But this variety of ghosts is the only thing that makes sense," Dean replied.
"Simply destroying it would fix this dilemma. Would you like me to do that for you?" Castiel offered.
"No," Sam and Dean said simultaneously.
Castiel looked somewhat startled by the response, and Dean chuckled.
"We've got this. We'll keep you posted on Eve, too, okay?"
Castiel stared between the two, his lips pursed. Finally, he nodded.
"Likewise."
And with that, he was gone with another flutter of wings. Dean shook his head.
"Dude," he groaned. "All right, so the tree. If we can't move it, and we can't destroy it or the ghosts… what do we do?"
Sam shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose."
"Nothing? Seriously?"
"Nothing until we can figure out more on whether this tree is related to our murders or not. I say we head back, sleep, and then do some more research in the morning."
"Great," Dean said, throwing his arms up in a half-hearted shrug. "Fine. More research while we hope these ghosts don't somehow kill another person."
Author: PatriciaTepes (AKA Patricia de Lioncourt at fanfiction.net )
Character(s): Sam, Dean, Castiel, mentions of others, necessary OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~10,269 (total, both parts)
Warnings: Violence-no more than a usual episode; light language-again, no more than a usual episode
State: Alabama
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. Those belong to Kripke and the CW.
Author's Notes: This is set within Supernatural season 6, somewhere just past The French Mistake. The places mentioned within this story are real, but I've taken some real fictional liberties with them. And the art included was done by the lovelyeyestoowide, as apart of thespn_gen_bigbang. Be sure to check the art out at the link! Also, I'd like to thank my dear friend Kimmi, who not only prompted me this fic for wishlist_fic(of which it is horribly late, sorry), but also beta-ed for me. Thanks so much, dear!
Summary: Set in SPN S6. The Apocalypse is over, and Purgatory is all anyone can talk about since Eve hit the scene. However, Sam and Dean find themselves drawn to the campus of the University of North Alabama where supernatural mischief has students and professors pushing up daisies. Although they first suspect the little girl ghost, Molly, is responsible, they soon find that that's not the case. Instead, the Winchesters find that they are up against an item the subject of some real curiosity, a bottle tree.
Link to Art Masterpost | Link to Part II | Link to Story Masterpost
Structurally Unsound
The Impala pulled to stop in a rather snug parking spot within the Visitor Parking Lot. Dean shook his head, staring out the front windshield at the scenic college campus that stretched and curved out in front of him. He leaned down a little, trying to fight the glare of the early afternoon sun. Sam was already out of the car, and Dean only shook his head as he followed after.
"Little girl ghosts… never something I've gotten over," Dean muttered as they made their way toward the fountain that sat in the center of the campus.
Sam didn't reply, his gaze focused instead on the entrance of the several stories tall building on the other side of the white-well, white when freshly cleaned-marble fountain. The spray off the running water hit them before they were even close enough to touch it, and they stopped, moving just out of its reach. Dean shielded his eyes, taking in his surroundings. They were encircled all around by buildings-artfully old-flowers, and a cage. Dean took it all in in one sweep of the area. However, he found himself redirecting his stare back at the cage-out of curiosity. After a moment or two of watching the black bars, he saw not one, but two lions-a male and a female. He pursed his lips.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Sam asked, turning to his brother.
Dean arched a brow. "Thinking about what? The hunt?"
Sam grinned. "No. You're wondering what would happen if the lions ever got loose."
Sighing, the eldest Winchester nodded in defeat.
"Fine, genius. It had crossed my mind. It's not like there's anywhere closer than thirty feet if they happened to be right in front of the cage."
Sam shrugged. "I'm sure they have all sort safety measures in place, Dean."
"Whatever you say. But all I'm seeing is bars. Widely spread bars at that." Dean sighed, turning toward his brother with a small flail of his hands. Groaning, he added, "Really, Molly is causing all these recent deaths, you think?"
Sam gazed at his brother in confusion, taking in the sheer amount of unwillingness that seemed to be emanating from him. The youngest Winchester made his way over to a black, metal bench nearby, taking a seat on it, while Dean moved closer and chose to remain standing.
"What's the deal? We've ganked little girl ghosts before," Sam said.
Dean shrugged. "I've read up on Molly. She's never been violent before. The worst it's been recorded that she's done is slam a door. She didn't act up while we were up against the Apocalypse, so why now? What's the trigger?"
Sam leaned back. "Wish I knew. Kind of thought that was why we were here."
Dean nodded. "Fine. But first, we've got to find this damned Off-Campus bookstore. Granted, I would think it would be, you know, off campus, but you took off in this direction."
Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Well, you didn't have to follow!"
Dean crossed his arms, turning his eyes back toward the buildings. Suddenly, as if some silent alarm had been rung, the paved sidewalk that made up the majority of the campus was filled with students pouring out in droves of each building. Dean moved to stand a bit closer to the bench, watching as a crowd of students made their way over. A young girl, a freshman most likely, brushed right by him, and he stopped her with a light tap on her shoulder. She whirled, her eyes a little bit annoyed at the obvious interruption to her destination.
"Hey, uh, we're here, um-" Dean began, but Sam picked up.
"Touring the campus, and we got lost. We were told to meet up at the Off-Campus Bookstore. Do you know where that is?"
The girl rolled her eyes, jerking her thumb back in the direction the Winchesters had come from moments earlier.
"Try actually being off campus. It's the stone cottage across the road from the teacher's parking lot," she said, whirling and walking off in a huff.
"Someone just got an F," Dean muttered before turning to grin at Sam, adding, "I told you so."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's just get over there and see what we can figure out before they close."
He pulled himself up from the bench-which was clearly not made for a man of his height-and the two took off in for the bookstore. They stuck to the right-hand sidewalks as they began to spilt to make room for the circular entrance and two parking lots. They took the small rise in the land easily, spotting the cottage in question as soon as they had topped the hill. They cut across the parking lot closest-the teacher's lot-and across the semi-busy road until they stood underneath the cottage's attached awning.
"It had a sign," Dean said, pointing upward, "that clearly reads 'Off-Campus Bookstore.'"
"Yeah, Dean, yeah. You were right."
Dean's hand rested on the store's door handle-which was clearly still the original door from when the cottage had actually served as a home-and grinned.
"And we drove right by it."
Sam rolled his eyes and pointed at the door. Dean chuckled as he entered the shop. A bell tinkled over head as they allowed the door to close behind them.
It was a quaint little shop, and it seemed as if the category of "bookstore" hardly fit it. The floors were carpeted in soft, shaggy gray, and shelves-flimsy, glass shelves with no backs-had been erected all about the main room. Whatever doorway that had once stood to divide a living room off from the next room over was gone, only a ramp rising up in its place. Off to the left was a long counter, a small room filled with much sturdier shelves behind it. The woman who stood behind the register there grinned, her short, bottle-dyed blonde hair bobbing as she rounded the counter.
"Hi. What can I do for you today?" she asked.
Dean and Sam exchanged a look before Sam finally smiled, answering.
"Actually, we're looking for a bit of information. Um, on local legends?"
She grinned, waving a hand dismissively. "You want to know about Molly, don't you?"
Dean cocked his head. "Yeah. How did you know?"
She laughed. "Oh, we get it all the time here. Molly's quite famous, you know."
The brothers exchanged another glance before they turned back to the woman. Dean shrugged, mimicking his brother's smile.
"Okay, you caught us. So, what's the story on Molly? She, um, used to live here, right?"
The woman nodded. She started toward the back of the store, and Sam and Dean kept close behind as the three of them topped the carpeted ramp. She rounded a corner, pointing at a small, rather un-extraordinary door.
"This leads upstairs, where Molly's room used to be. Her parents and she used to live here back in like, the '30s or something. She's mostly been spotted in her bedroom, looking out the window. Although, there was this homecoming parade in the early '90s that went right by the shop. Everyone on the boat, every student, described a blonde haired little girl, only about six or seven or so, waving at them from the sidewalk. They all waved back. Obviously, this was a bookstore by then and nobody matching that description was anywhere near here at the time."
"Um," Sam began, walking over to the door and gently pushing it open.
He gazed up the staircase that was before him. Again, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Plain wooden steps, painted in white, led up to another white-painted door much like the one the taller Winchester had just opened. When he pulled his attention back to the first floor, he smiled at the woman who was still patiently standing with them.
"How did she die?" he completed.
The woman's round face fell a bit as she shook her head. "Her parents had gotten her a puppy for her birthday, and it developed rabies. She was playing with it one day, and it bit her. She only lasted a week or so after that. Poor baby."
Dean arched a brow. "You speak rather fondly of her. Hasn't she caused any trouble?"
The bookstore employee shook her head. "No! I mean, well, she slams a door now and then. But she's eternally a kid, you know? She gets a bit cranky when people are in her room. Some of the football players used to use the room for card games, but the slamming doors freaked them out. Now we use it mostly for storage."
Sam crossed his arms. "So, nothing else? No one hurt? Molly doesn't, like, throw things at patrons?"
The young woman shook her head, her lips pursed in thought. "Not really. She's really quite nice. Well, except for the door slamming."
Dean moved around the employee to join Sam at the door. He pointed upward, flashing the girl another grin.
"Would it be okay if we could go check out the room?"
She blinked, and a faint blush colored her face. "Well… I'm not sure it's really allowed…"
"We won't touch anything, we promise," Sam said, putting on his gentle, trust-me-like-you-would-a-saint voice.
"You can even chill here at the door to keep an eye on us," Dean offered.
She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking to see if another employee or boss was watching. Finally, she nodded.
"Make it quick, please."
"Not a problem," Sam said as he mounted the stairs, Dean close at his heels.
The two brothers topped the creaky stairs in moments, pushing open the identical door at the top. Before long, they found themselves in the center of a room filled with rolled up, musty laminated posters, boxes, and other such bookstore paraphernalia. Dean reached into his jacket, withdrawing the EMF reader. The moment he cut it on, it spiked. Only once, but it was enough to make Dean venture a bit farther into the room. It spiked again, but instantly went back down to null. He did another quick sweep of the room before finally putting the tiny machine away.
"If there's a ghost here, it is so far below the threat level, it's ridiculous," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "Local legends tend to turn out as much. But you know what this means."
Dean nodded. "Square one."
The motel was one of the better ones that the Winchester brothers had had to share over the years. It was a handful of miles from the campus, just on the outskirts of where one could mark the beginning of the historical downtown district of Florence, Alabama. It was still by no means a palace, but the coffee maker worked, the television's cable reception was clear, and the free Wi-Fi was actually fast. Sam chose the double-sized bed farthest from the door, leaving Dean, happily, with the clear path to the electronically locked entrance. In fact, if Dean thought hard enough, he was pretty sure this was the first motel they had stayed at that had cards for keys.
"I'm not sure if I like the cards more or less," Dean commented lightly as he dropped his duffle bag on his bed.
He didn't bother to empty it, instead just digging for the fresh shirt and pants he required.
"Dips on shower," he said, grinning over at Sam.
Sam, meanwhile, had already dropped his bag, and moved to the round table that set before the room's only window-to the right of the door-to set up his laptop. He popped open the silver lid, and it didn't seem to take long before Dean could see the various internet windows opened.
"We're missing something," Sam murmured.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean said, starting toward the bathroom door, which was directly opposite the front door.
Sometimes, Dean wondered how much thought actually went into the designs of these rooms. After all, what if he had had to run out of the bathroom, forgetting something like his shaving cream or toothbrush? Because, hey, it happens. And what if Sammy happened to open the door wide to come in just at that exact time? Well, then the entire parking lot, and the highway beyond it, would get a big ol' eyeful of Dean in the buff. Total full-frontal. Who didn't think about this when building a room? Seriously? But, what was done could not be undone, so he sighed, reaching into the bathroom to flick on the light.
"We came here assuming it was Molly because of the deaths taking place on campus, and all of those people being somehow related to the campus," Sam continued, either totally oblivious to Dean's snide comment or ignoring it completely.
Dean turned, leaning in the threshold of the bathroom.
"Yeah. What were the deaths again?"
"Um, Winter Malcolm, 21. Found dead in the center of the campus. Cause has yet to be determined, but it said that it looked like she drowned," Sam said, reading off of his screen. "Authorities think she was drinking and drowned in the fountain."
"And then what? She got up and walked out of the fountain after she died?" Dean huffed. "Jeez, the things people will make themselves believe."
"One of the Professors, Dr. Jeffery Rosen, was found dead shortly after that. He was found fairly far away from where the Malcolm girl was," Sam continued. "He was found on the steps of Norton Auditorium, and it looked like he was strangled. Only, there were rope burns on his neck, and his neck was broken."
Dean crossed his arms, his much wanted shower-it had been a long drive from their last hunt to north Alabama-moving further and further from his thoughts.
"Like he hung himself?" Dean asked.
He pushed himself off of the threshold, dropping his clothes back onto his bed, as he pulled up the table's second chair.
"Yeah. And there's about three more deaths here, all different, all found on campus, all somehow related to the campus, either student or employee," Sam said, leaning back with a sigh.
He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, keeping them covered as Dean turned the laptop toward himself.
"Which death was the earliest?" the elder Winchester asked, although he was already on his way to answering that very question.
Sam seemed to know that as well, as he only sighed, waiting for Dean to find the article. Which he did. He skimmed the entry on the local newspaper's site.
"Maria Watterson, 20, found in between the Guillot University Center and Keller Hall. Looks like she was burned to death, but no evidence of a fire anywhere else around her. But she was the earliest death," Dean said, leaning back.
"You know what I don't get?" Sam asked, uncovering his eyes and leaning forward on the table. "All the deaths are different. One looks like drowning, the other looks like a hanging, another looks like a burning. Ghosts don't do that. They don't switch up their M.O.s at will. And there's several, several ghost stories about this campus, Dean."
At that, Sam took the computer back, opening a new tab on the browser's window and typing a new address in. After a moment, and some scrolling, he whirled the screen back toward his brother.
"See?" he said, pointing at the screen. "Wesleyan Hall is supposedly haunted by a civil war ghost. Norton Auditorium is supposedly haunted by a construction worker that fell to his death from some scaffolding. And students are still reporting spirit activity all over campus, including the dorms and other classrooms."
Dean leaned in toward the screen. "It says wet footsteps can be seen at night in Wesleyan."
"Yeah, but the drowned girl was found nowhere near there."
"And there's nothing specific about burning or hanged ghosts. Just guesses," Dean muttered.
"It doesn't add up. And then there's Molly, who hasn't done anything more violent than slamming a door."
Dean leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, this sure does look like square one."
"It definitely looks like a job for us, but… I just don't know which ghost to pin it on," Sam said.
They sat in silence for a moment, just staring at the glow of the computer screen. Finally, Dean stood, stretched, and retrieved his clothes once more.
"Shower," he said by means of an explanation.
"Fine," Sam sighed, grabbing up his laptop once more. "I'll see what I can find, starting with the earliest deaths. See if any red flags pop up."
"You do that," Dean said, shutting the door behind him.
He was out of his clothes and in the hottest water that he could stand in record time. He leaned his forehead on the title underneath the shower head, sighing as the water steamed up off his shoulders. He reached beyond the opaque white shower curtain for one of the motel's provided washcloths, and he ripped open one of the little complementary soaps. He folded the soap up inside the now soaked rag, running it over his body and just enjoying the relaxation of the moment.
The Mother of All might be out there, walking about, causing trouble. And they might be on a hunt that didn't make a damn lick of sense, but shower time? That was Dean's time. By God, he was just going to relax, just let his mind go blank. Just be at peace-something he hadn't been at for a long time.
"Dean! Get out here! I think I've found something!" Sam called through the door.
Dean groaned. He might not have grown up normally, in a stable home environment, but he still had to deal with all the annoyances that living with family anywhere entailed. For example, not getting a full damn minute to himself!
"Coming," he said, hoping that it didn't come out like he thought it had-in a growl.
Not that Sammy would care. He was used to it, and often had the same reaction when the shoe was on the other foot. So Dean finished washing all of the soap and shampoo off, turning off the shower, toweled off, and redressed all as quickly as he could manage-slower than he had gotten into the shower, in truth. He pulled open the bathroom door to find Sam back at his laptop. His younger brother's eyes whirled onto him, turning the laptop in the same direction.
"I found a connection," he said.
Dean took up the second chair once again, and he noted that he wasn't in the shower long enough for any of his skin to prune. He sighed, using the thin, mauve-colored carpet to dry the bottoms of his feet.
"Okay, so, enlighten me why I had to cut my shower short," Dean huffed.
Sam shook his head. "Well, since you take girlishly long showers, I thought you wouldn't mind it if I interrupted it with some actual work. Besides, you're long overdue to get your Man Card back."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I never lost my Man Card."
Sam huffed. "Dr. Sexy."
Dean pursed his lips. "What've you got?"
"An art exhibit," Sam said, pointing at the screen.
Dean leaned in, noting that Sam was on the university's website. It was the art department's section, advertising the senior-level undergraduate's showing of their art throughout the year. The student currently selected to show her pieces for the semester was a young woman by the name of Emily Rogers. The rest of the page was simply some of the professors praising her works, calling them things like "refreshing," "original," and "emotional," and some passing descriptions and pictures of a handful worth of her works. The art exhibit, according to the site, began two weeks ago.
"Two weeks ago," Dean said, leaning up to look at Sam.
Sam nodded. "Right about the same time that the first murder took place. And Maria, Winter, and the other three deaths were art students. And Dr. Rosen used to teach sculpture."
"All art related."
"Right. Maybe there's something about that gallery, or something in it, that's the cause for all of this."
Dean smiled, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he stood. "Well, Sammy, you always used to whine how I never took you to any museums. Guess you won't get that privilege anymore."
Sam shook his head. "Nice try. This so doesn't count."
There was something… peaceful about the campus at night. At least, apart from the live lions sleeping behind nothing but too-wide bars and a single pane of glass. But the fountain was still on, and fully lit. And even Dean had to admit that it looked kind of… well, he would never say "pretty." Cool. Cool was a good word.
"This way," Sam said, pointing toward a building that sat on a hill that rose above the little, fake cobblestone street that led throughout the main portion of the campus. "This is where Maria died. If we cut through here, we should be on a fairly straight shot for the art building."
"Where the gallery is at?"
"Uh, yeah, Dean."
Dean gave his brother a light punch in the arm for his sarcasm. Then, shaking his head, he added, "Wait. How do you even know this anyway? Earlier today, we couldn't have found crap on this campus. Suddenly you're an expert?"
"I looked up something called a map. Not really a revolutionary concept," Sam retorted.
"Jeez, whatever. What's got your panties in a wad?"
Sam shot his brother a glare but didn't reply. Apparently, someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. The two of them were now hiking up the small hill, weaving through the world's cruelest access ramp-the thing turned corners about five times, sharply, only to end in a wide set of three stairs-and finally emerging into another parking lot behind the Guillot Center.
"Students get their exercise with all these hills," Sam muttered, sounding a tad out of breath.
Dean didn't reply, reluctant to admit that the hills had winded him a little as well. The two of them cut a corner of the parking lot, hitting a sidewalk and crossing a thin, obviously one-way only street before Sam pronounced they were officially within the realm of the art building.
To Dean, it looked like just another building. Three stories tall, and looking like the side of a hotel were all the rooms opened to the outside, it really wasn't all that impressive. Across from it, and one story shorter, was another building-a little more enclosed-that attached via walkway to yet another two story structure, one that was completely round and had a set of double glass doors. Sam pointed at the round building.
"I think that's the gallery," he said.
Dean nodded as both brothers approached the doors-which stood under a tiny hanging of brick. They both hugged tightly in, in case of cameras, and Dean laid a hand on the door. One tug, and it flew wide open. He arched a brow at Sam.
"It's unlocked," he said, disbelief coloring his words.
Sam shrugged. "Let's not question it."
Dean agreed, and the two made their way inside the dimly lit building. The room was full of art, but sort of empty at the same time. Several pieces of black and white photography hung on the wall, as well as some sculpted pieces that showed off various shapes-apples, Dean thought he saw in one. The both of them walked a bit farther into the room, Dean reaching into his jacket for the EMF again. Almost the second he turned it on, it spiked high, and stayed that way.
"Sam, check this out," he said, barely looking up from the EMF.
"Uh, Dean, check this out," Sam said.
Dean glanced up to see that his brother had crossed the gallery's floor and was now standing in a little space that the spiral staircase left open, and it was obviously modified to hold the main attraction. Occupying the small pedestal now was a tree. But not one that would be found naturally.
It was constructed entirely out of welded wrought iron, making the trunk and the branches of the tree-and there were three sets of five branches. And at the end of each branch, and on the very top of the tree, were bottles. Clear, blue bottles. The trunk of the tree was not entirely unornamented. Objects of all sorts-rings, hairclips, money clips, and several other small, otherwise useful things-were attached right about where each branch met the trunk.
"It's a bottle tree," Sam said.
"I can see that, Sammy," Dean groaned.
"No, Dean. Bottle trees have long since been associated with hoodoo. It comes from long ago from the idea that spirits could be trapped in bottles and destroyed in the morning light. But that got mixed in with other beliefs, like that the color blue could prevent spirits from entering or leaving a place."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I remember Dad telling us about that. Um… haint blue, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. Dean, all these bottles are blue. Not one of them is a different color," Sam said.
The boys exchanged a glance, and almost as one, they took another step near the tree. Dean held the EMF out toward the structure, and it was almost off the scale. He looked to his younger brother before glancing back at the reader.
"Well, that isn't good. Either that's one powerfully pissed off spirit in this tree, or-"
"Or there's more than one," Sam murmured. "Dean. Look at the bottles."
Dean pulled his eyes away from the EMF just in time to see exactly what it was Sam was talking about. Sixteen bottles, total, on the tree, and suddenly, all of them had faces inside of them. Plural. As in one for each bottle. Hands appeared to push against the inside of the glass as the faces contorted and screamed soundlessly. Dean's eyes widened.
"Sixteen ghosts. Well, that explains the different types of deaths," he sighed.
"Not really. Look," Sam said, lifting a finger to indicate the nearest bottle.
The ghost of a young woman, her hair dark and fluid-like she was underwater-pushed against the inside of the bottle. Her hands appeared, curling into fists and beating against the glass. Her mouth opened and she screamed, but no sound came out.
"They're trapped."
Dean leaned in a bit farther toward the tree. "I'll be damned. Apparently, haint blue works. Who knew?"
Sam arched a brow and shook his head. Dean put away the EMF reader in his jacket.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
As if in answer, the sound of fluttering wings sounded behind the brothers. They both turned, more than a little surprised to see Castiel-trenchcoat, suit, askew tie, and all-standing behind them.
"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.
Castiel's bright blue eyes flitted to both brothers before he finally stopped to rest them on something beyond the two. Dean glanced over his shoulder, watching the ghosts struggle against their prisons. He turned back to the angel, jerking a thumb in the bottle tree's direction.
"Yeah, isn't that something? Blue traps ghosts," he chuckled.
"Still wondering why you're here. I mean, no offense, Cas, but since you've got the weapons back, I thought you'd be rather busy for a little while," Sam said.
"Forgive me," Cas said, stepping forward toward the tree. "I thought you were hunting for Eve, and I thought I'd see if you had made any progress."
"Nope. Nothing new, so we decided to take up this hunt," Dean answered. "Sorry."
Castiel's eyes fell on the eldest Winchester, and the angel looked like there was maybe more on the subject that he wanted to say. However, he simply stayed silent. After too long a moment of such silence, Dean finally shook his head.
"Well, we've gotta figure out what to do with this thing. No telling how far and wide the bodies of these ghosts are spread," he said.
"We've got bigger questions first, Dean. Theses ghosts are trapped. How did they get out to commit the murders?" Sam asked.
"Good question. Maybe we ought to snatch the tree, try to take it somewhere safe and figure it out."
"I could remove it for you," Castiel offered.
Both brothers looked to the angel questioningly.
"We can't move it. It'll be noticed, and we can't have a missing bottle tree show up in any sort of news until we figure this all out. These ghosts can't have killed those people, not like they are now, at least," Sam argued.
"But this variety of ghosts is the only thing that makes sense," Dean replied.
"Simply destroying it would fix this dilemma. Would you like me to do that for you?" Castiel offered.
"No," Sam and Dean said simultaneously.
Castiel looked somewhat startled by the response, and Dean chuckled.
"We've got this. We'll keep you posted on Eve, too, okay?"
Castiel stared between the two, his lips pursed. Finally, he nodded.
"Likewise."
And with that, he was gone with another flutter of wings. Dean shook his head.
"Dude," he groaned. "All right, so the tree. If we can't move it, and we can't destroy it or the ghosts… what do we do?"
Sam shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose."
"Nothing? Seriously?"
"Nothing until we can figure out more on whether this tree is related to our murders or not. I say we head back, sleep, and then do some more research in the morning."
"Great," Dean said, throwing his arms up in a half-hearted shrug. "Fine. More research while we hope these ghosts don't somehow kill another person."