Supernatural: Phantom Traveler
A/N: Hello! I know that it's been a while since I last updated, but I have been busy with both school and work, plus there are times when I can't get the stupid internet to work either. Sigh, such is life. Enough about that, on with the story!
Read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural. I just own any and all characters that I just happen create.
CHAPTER ONE: "NO SURVIVORS"
UNITED BRITANNIA AIRLINES
AIRPORT…
George Phelps didn't like flying. Never had, and yet, here he was, sitting in the middle of an airport, about to board a plane, of all things. He must be crazy, maybe even suicidal.
Eventually, his gaze was drawn to a sign for the restrooms, so, wiping his hands nervously on his pants, he stood and headed inside. The moment he reached the sink, he was turning it on, dipping his hands under the cold water, splashing it over his face and breathing hard. A man stepped out of a stall and approached the sink to wash his hands.
"Nervous flyer?" he asked George, noticing his pale face.
George nervously chuckled. "It's that obvious, huh?"
"You know, what are the odds of dyin' in a plane crash?" the man asked, bemused. "I mean, what… twenty thousand to one?" He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, and left.
"Wow. That's, uh, really reassuring. Thank you," George called after him sarcastically, and he continued to splash water on his face. While he was doing so, a black mist came out of the air vent in the bathroom with an eerie whispering sound; it swirled around George, and his attention, and entered his body through his eyes before he could even react. And then, there was nothing.
The passengers were busy boarding the plane, and the pilot, Chuck Lambert, turned to talk to one of the flight attendants, Amanda Walker. "Amanda, how are you today?" he asked.
"I'm doing just fine, Chuck.," Amanda answered and turned when a passenger came aboard and handed over his ticket. "Welcome aboard. 15C, towards the back of the plane, on the right." The man nodded and walked to his seat. The next passenger came aboard and began walking to his seat. "Have a nice flight, sir," she called after him, and he turned to face her. Amanda gasped; his eyes were coal-black, but that was impossible, right?
"Oh, I'm countin' on it," 'George' assured her with a confident grin, and he walked to his seat. Amanda was shocked and confused by what she'd seen, starting when another passenger came on the plane.
"Uh, 11F… that's the middle of the plane, on…" Amanda stammered, and the woman walked away before she could finish "the left."
Almost an hour later, the plane was in the air and the flight was going smoothly. Normal-looking 'George' calmly turned to speak to a female passenger next to him. "Excuse me. Do you know how long we've been up?" he asked politely.
The woman checked her watch. "Oh, uh, about forty minutes."
"Wow. Time really does fly, huh?" 'George' joked and the woman nodded. He then got up and said, "Excuse me. I've got to stretch my legs."
"Okay," said the woman and she stood up so he could get through; he walked to the back of the plane. Another passenger, Max Jaffey, turned to see what he was doing, and he became worried when 'George' walked to the emergency exit and grabbed the handle.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Max asked.
Keeping a grip on the handle, 'George' turned to Max, and his eyes were completely black. Max was shocked, and then 'George' opened the emergency exit; he and the door flew out of the plane, which began to crash at an uncontrollable speed. Everybody was frantic and screaming as papers and other objects were flying everywhere. Amanda was struggling to get to a seat as the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling; finally getting into a seat, she and the passengers grabbed the masks and put them over their mouths as the plane continued to dive towards the ground, despite the best efforts of both Chuck and his co-pilot, who were also wearing their masks.
Both Dean and Liz were fast asleep on the same bed, when the door to the room creaked as Sam opened it. Dean, one hand under his pillow, opened his eyes slightly; the door slammed shut, and both he and Liz woke up, startled.
Sam smirked at them, carrying coffee and donuts. "Mornin'."
"What time is it?" Dean asked sleepily and Liz just yawned, not fully awake yet.
"It's about 5:45," Sam informed them.
"In the morning?" Dean asked, surprised that Sam was up so early, while Liz just groaned and flopped back into the bed, covering her face with a pillow.
Sam nodded. "Yep."
"Where does the day go?" Dean wondered, sitting up in the bed and got a protesting grunt from Liz when he swiped her pillow. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked Sam.
Sam nodded, holding up the bag of doughnuts. "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours."
"Liar," said Dean seriously. "'Cause I was up at three, and you were watchin' the George Foreman infomercial."
"Hey, what can I say?" Sam protested. "It's riveting TV."
Liz sighed, sitting up again. "Sam…"
"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Dean asked, concerned.
"I don't know," Sam admitted. "A little while, I guess. It's not a big deal."
"Yeah, it is," said both Dean and Liz.
Sam sighed. "Look, I appreciate your concern —" he began.
"Oh, I'm not concerned about you," Dean interrupted. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp." And sighed when Sam shrugged. "Seriously, are you still havin' nightmares about Jess?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted and sat down on the bed across from Dean and Liz, and handed them both a cup of coffee. "But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job man, it gets to you."
"Well, you can't let it," Dean stated. "You can't bring it home like that."
"So, what? All this it never keeps you up at night?" Sam asked, skeptical as Dean shook his head and Liz sighed, rolling her eyes skyward. "Never? You're never afraid?"
"Unlike my dumb twin," said Liz, whacking the back of Dean's head, "we all get afraid, Sam, but we don't let it control us."
Dean winced at the whack but he couldn't help boasting just a little. "No, not really." Sam raised his eyebrows, reached under Dean's pillow, and pulled out a knife, which Dean promptly took from him. "That's not fear. That is precaution," he added seriously.
"All right, whatever," Sam sighed, and Liz honestly thought she'd never seen the kid look this bad. "I'm too tired to argue."
"And that's why you should get more sleep, Sam," she told him softly, "of even just talk about it —"
Just then, Dean's cell phone rang, and he answered it. "Hello?"
`"Dean, it's Jerry Panowski,"` said the man on the phone. `"You, your sister, and your dad helped me out a couple years back."`
"Oh, right, yeah, up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing," Dean said, remembering the trouble with that particular poltergeist. "It's not back, is it?" he asked.
`"No, no. Thank God, no,"` Jerry assured him, laughing slightly. `"But it's something else, and, well, I think it could be a lot worse."`
Now he was worried. "What is it?" Dean asked, getting the attention of both Sam and Liz.
`"Can we talk in person?"` Jerry asked hopefully.
Several airplanes were being constructed around the building where Jerry worked, and the thin, balding man was talking with Sam, Liz, and Dean as they walked to his office. "Thanks for makin' the trip so quick," he said gratefully. "I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around." He looked at Sam. "Dean, Liz, and your dad really helped me out."
"Yeah, he told me," Sam said. "It was a poltergeist?"
A passing employee overheard them. "'Poltergeist'? Man, I loved that movie!"
"Hey, nobody's talkin' to you. Keep walkin'," Jerry snapped and then looked back at Sam. "Damn right, it was a poltergeist practically tore our house apart," Jerry complained and then looked at Dean and Liz. "I'll tell you somethin' if it wasn't for you two and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive." He then looked back at Sam. "Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" he asked.
Sam reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, I was. I'm… takin' some time off."
Jerry nodded not pressing for details as it wasn't his business. "Well, he was real proud of you," he commented. "I could tell. He talked about you all the time."
"He did?" Sam asked, surprised, and both Dean and Liz flushed slightly when he shot them a look.
"Yeah, you bet he did," said Jerry proudly, missing the death glares. "Oh, hey, you know, I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" he asked.
"He's, um… he's wrapped up in a job right now," Dean stammered.
"Well, we're missin' the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry remarked, and they all laughed.
"No, not by a long shot," Sam admitted quietly. Truthfully, he had always felt like he'd had to measure up to John and always came up wanting. It didn't help that he had taken that two-year hiatus to try and be normal.
Jerry didn't seem to hear what Sam said as he led them into his office. "I've got somethin' I want you guys to hear," he told them, voice going serious.
He sat down at his desk and placed a CD into a player. "I listened to this. Well, it sounded like it was up your alley," he explained. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia Flight 2485. It was one of ours." And he played the CD; at first, there was a lot of static and indistinct talking as the plane began to descend. Moments later, there was the sound of a demonic hiss, and the CD ended. Sam. Liz, and Dean exchanged confused looks, unsure of what that last bit was exactly only that it definitely wasn't human.
"Took off from here crashed about two hundred miles south," Jerry continued. "Now, they're saying mechanical failure. The cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board only seven got out alive. The pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it like it was his fault."
"You don't think it was?" Sam asked.
Jerry shook his head, obvious concern on his face. "No, I don't."
Sam nodded, already making a mental of list of what they would need. "Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, a list of survivors…"
"Right. And any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked.
"If we can, then we might find a clue as to what did this," Liz added.
"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage, fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse," Jerry explained. "No way I've got that kind of clearance."
Dean shrugged. "No problem."
Sam and Liz were waiting by the car for Dean, who came out of a Copy-Jack store and held the door open for a lady before joining them.
"You've been in there forever," Sam complained.
Dean held up three fake IDs. "You can't rush perfection," he proclaimed and Liz rolled her eyes.
"You were flirting with someone in there, weren't you?" she asked and Dean shot her an annoyed look.
Sam read them and frowned. "Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us," he remarked.
"Yeah, well, it's somethin' new, you know? People haven't seen it a thousand times," said Dean lightly as they got in the car. "All right, so, what do you got?"
"Well, there's definitely an EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam confirmed.
"And we were able to clean it up enough to hear what it was saying," Liz added, leaning over the back of their seats.
Dean nodded. "Yeah?"
"Listen," Sam said, and he played the audio on his laptop. After a moment, there was the distinct sound of something saying, `"No survivors."`
""No survivors"?" Dean repeated, confused. "What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors."
Sam shrugged. "Got me."
"So, what are you thinkin'? A haunted flight?"
Sam sighed and shrugged again. "There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers."
Dean nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"Or, remember Flight 401?" Sam asked.
Dean and Liz both grimaced, recalling the incident on the news. "Right the one that crashed, then the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, and then the spirit of the pilot and co-pilot haunted those flights."
Sam nodded. "Right."
"Yep," Dean agreed.
"Maybe we've got a similar deal," Sam remarked.
"Boy, I really hope this isn't one of those," Liz groaned.
Dean held up the list of survivors. "All right, so, survivors which one do you wanna talk to first?" he asked.
Sam pointed to a name. "Third on the list, named Jaffey."
"Why him?" Dean asked.
"Well, for one, he's from around here," Sam answered. "And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did."
Dean and Liz both gave him inquiring looks. "What makes you say that?"
Sam shrugged. "Well, I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him."
After a quick chat with the reception desk at the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital, Dean, Liz, and Sam were outside talking to Max, who was walking with a limp and leaning on a cane.
"I don't understand," he said after seeing the fake ids. "I already spoke with Homeland Security."
"Right. Some new information has come up," Dean said. "So if you could just answer a couple questions…"
"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything unusual?" Sam asked.
"Like what?" Max asked.
"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe… voices?" Dean suggested.
"Or any unusual smells that you normally wouldn't detect on an airplane?" Liz added.
Max shook his head, not recalling anything like that. "No, nothing."
"Hmm. Mr. Joffey…" Dean began.
"Jaffey," Max interrupted.
Dean nodded. "Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" he asked, and Max nodded. "Can I ask why?"
Max sighed. "I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash."
"Uh-huh. And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?" Dean asked, skeptical.
"I-I don't wanna talk about this anymore," Max stammered.
Dean wasn't about to let up, for he was sure that they were on to something now. "See, I think maybe you did see somethin' up there. We need to know what."
"No. No, I was delusional, seeing things," Max insisted.
Dean looked to Liz and Sam. "He was seeing things," he repeated, and Sam shrugged while Liz sighed.
Sam turned his attention to Max. "It's okay," he said reassuringly. "Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please."
Max wasn't sure, but after a moment he finally told them, stammering badly. "There was… this… man. And, uh, he had these… eyes these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him — or I thought I saw him…"
"What?" Dean asked.
"He opened the emergency exit," Max answered, gulping. "But that's… that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's somethin' like two tons of pressure on that door."
"This man did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly?" Sam asked, positive that they were getting somewhere now. "It wouldn't look something like a mirage?"
"What are you, nuts?" Max asked, surprised. "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me."
Startled by this statement, Dean, Liz, and Sam all exchanged a look. A passenger?
Dean, Liz, and Sam pulled up outside a nice-looking house.
"Here we are George Phelps, seat 20C," Sam said, peering through the window.
"Hmm. Man, I don't care how strong you are," Dean said as they got out of the car. "Even yoked up on PCP or somethin', no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight."
"Yeah, you would have to be like Superman or something," Liz added, agreeing with Dean.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "But maybe this guy, George, was somethin' else creature maybe, in human form?" he suggested.
Dean gestured to the house. "That look like a creature's lair to you?" he asked, and with a sigh they all went up to the front door.
Sam, Liz, and Dean were talking to George's wife, and Sam picked up a photo of George.
"This is your late husband?" he asked.
Mrs. Phelps nodded sadly. "Yes, that was my George."
"And you said he was a… dentist?" Dean asked.
Mrs. Phelps nodded again, sniffing. "Mm-hmm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly?" she asked them, and they shook their heads as this was new to them. "For him to go like that…" She trailed off, about to cry.
"How long were you married?" Liz asked.
She smiled. "Thirteen years."
Sam nodded. "In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?"
Mrs. Phelps thought for a moment before she answered. "Well… uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."
And Dean, Liz, and Sam exchanged a glance. Clearly a dead end.
Minutes later, Dean, Liz, and Sam were walking back to the car.
"I mean, it goes without saying," Sam said, confused and frustrated. "It just doesn't make any sense."
"Yeah, a middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified," Dean agreed. "You know, what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage."
"Starting to look like our only option," Liz agreed, wondering if their fake IDs would be good enough to gain access to the warehouse. "'Cause I don't see any other leads before us to use right now."
"Okay," said Sam, reluctantly agreeing with his older siblings. "But if we're gonna go that route, we better look the part."
A/N: Ooh, now what could Sam be up to? R&R everyone!
