We were in a motel together, working on our next case, which had us all stumped. Sam sat at a table, looking through books frustratedly. On one of the beds, I laid on my stomach next to Dean who was sitting up against the headboard while we shared a plate of cheesy fries.

"Would you two mind not eating those in my bed?" Sam snapped at us.

"No, we don't mind," Dean responded, taking another handful.

"We don't mind at all," I added with a smirk, wiping my greasy fingers on the blanket before also taking some more. "How's research going?"

"You know how it's going? Slow. You know how it would go a heck of a lot faster? If I had my computer!"

"Hmm," Dean nodded sarcastically.

"Can you turn that down please?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

Dean reached over, turning the music on the radio up louder.

"You know what?" Sam demanded loudly. "Maybe, uh, maybe you should go somewhere for a while."

Dean shut off the radio, glaring first at Sam, then at me.

"Hey, I'd love to. That's a great idea. Unfortunately, my car's screwed to hell!"

"Dean, I told you, I have nothing to do wi-"

I was cut off by a loud knock on the door. I jumped up off Sam's bed, hurrying over to answer it. After checking the peephole, I glanced back at the brothers and then opened the door to reveal Bobby standing there waiting expectantly.

"Hey, Bobby," I greeted him pleasantly.

"Ellie. Boys," he greeted us back, stepping into the room.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, also standing from Sam's bed and walking over.

"It's good to see you again so soon," Bobby continued.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for coming," Sam told him.

"Thank God you're here," Dean added.

"So, um, what didn't you want to talk to me on the phone about?" Bobby asked, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed.

"It's this job we're working," Sam started. "We- we weren't sure if you'd believe us."

"Well, I can believe a lot."

"Yeah, no, no, it's just, we've never seen anything like it-"

"Not even close," I spoke over Sam.

"And we thought we could use some fresh eyes," Dean finished.

"Well, why don't you start at the beginning?" Bobby suggested.

"Yeah, um, alright," Sam nodded.

Dean sat on the edge of the other bed and Sam pulled up a chair while I remained standing with my arms crossed over my chest. Before Dean or I could open our mouths, Sam started telling the story from his perspective.

"So it all started when we caught wind of an obit. See, a professor took a nosedive from a fourth story window, only there's a campus legend that the building's haunted. So we pretexted as reporters from the local paper..."

⁘

FLASHBACK: SAM'S POV

I sat at a table in a campus bar interviewing two college students, Curtis and Jen. I set my tape recorder on the table.

"Yeah, we both had the professor for Ethics and Morality," Curtis was saying.

"Yeah? So why do you think he did it?" I asked.

"Who knows?" Jen shrugged. "I mean, he was tenured, wife and kids. His book is a really big deal. Then again..."

She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice a bit.

"Who's to say it was suicide?"

"Jen, come on," Curtis scoffed.

"Well, what else could it be?" I feigned surprise.

"Well, you know about Crawford Hall?" Jen asked.

"No, I don't, actually."

"It's a bunch of crap," Curtis cut in, "it's a total urban legend."

"Yeah well, Heather's mom went to school here, and she knew the girl," Jen gave Curtis a pointed look.

"Wait, what girl?" I inquired.

"Thirty years ago, this girl was having an affair with some professor. He broke it off, she jumped out the window and killed herself."

"You know her name?"

"No. But they say she jumped from room six-six-nine. Get it? You turn the nine upside down?"

I nodded while Curtis rolled his eyes at Jen, laughing as she continued her story.

"So now she haunts the building. And anyone who sees her? They don't live to tell the tale."

"Well, if no one lives to tell the tale, how does the tale get told?" Curtis pointed out.

"Curtis! Shut up!"

"You know what, uh- thanks a lot guys," I told them, stopping the tape recorder and standing up. "Excuse me."

I made my way to the other side of the bar where Dean was doing shots of some strange blueish-purple liquid. Ellie was a little ways away, flirting with the bartender.

"Dean. Dean, what are you drinking?" I asked him.

Dean burped, turning to face me drunkenly.

"I don't know, man, I think they're called purple nurples?"

"Okay, well listen. I think we should go check out the professor's office."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no I can't right now, I've got some feisty wildcat on the hook, and I'm about to- zzzp- reel her in. I'll introduce you."

"Dean-" I started.

"Starla! Starla, hey," Dean got the attention of a heavily made up blonde girl wearing a tight mini skirt and fishnet stockings. "This is my shuttle co-pilot Major Tom. Major Tom, Starla."

"Enchanté," Starla said, draping an arm sloppily around Dean.

"Hi," I replied, glancing over to where Ellie was distracted by the bartender still.

Starla gagged, covering her mouth, then looked up with a grin. I just stared at her dubiously.

"Sorry. Just trying to keep my liquor down," she laughed.

"Yeah! Good job!" Dean grinned, laughing along. "Hey. Good news. She's got a sister."

He leaned back into Starla again, both of them grinning suggestively.

⁘

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupted. "Hold on a minute."

"What?" Sam snapped.

"Come on, dude, that's not how it happened."

"No? So you never drank a purple nurple?"

There was a beat as Dean thought for a moment, tilting his head.

"Yeah, maybe that, but I don't say things like 'feisty little wildcat'. And her name wasn't Starla."

"Then what was it?" I challenged him.

He looked at me, thinking hard, and I raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.

"I don't know," he finally admitted defeat, turning to face Bobby. "But she was a classy chick. She was a grad student, anthropology and folklore. We were talking about local ghost stories."

I rolled my eyes, getting ready to hear the story from Dean's perspective this time.