Where Were You?
Not sure how completely accurate this is, but I did my best.
Also, it was Sam who freaked out on "Phantom Traveler" instead of Dean. I needed it to fit my story.
Dean Winchester threw his cell phone onto the bed, frustrated. He couldn't reach his brother Sam, who had been gone all day long. Dean didn't get it. Every year on this date, Sam would disappear for the first half of the day. He would also get morose and depressed for the whole week or so before and the whole week or so after. It was understandable to be downhearted around this time; it was the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.
However, Sam took it hard. In fact, he seemed different ever since he had come back from Stanford. Sure, the hits had been coming for him a lot lately—what with Yellow-Eyes and Lillith and Ruby and Lucifer—and the apocalypse was in full swing. Sam had a lot of guilt to deal with, but…he always seemed…somewhere else. Like he was always off in his own world. Dean was bound and determined to figure it out at last.
Sam opened the door of the motel room, walking in with a small, miserable glance at Dean. Sam closed the door and plopped down at the table, flipping the television on. Dean walked over to the TV and turned it off, turning towards Sam. Sam frowned and gave him a questioning look.
"What's going on with you?" asked Dean.
"What?" asked Sam.
"What's wrong?" asked Dean.
"What are you talking about?" asked Sam.
"Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about," said Dean. "You always get like this at this time of the year."
"Yeah, well, what would you do if you set Lucifer loose?" asked Sam.
"It's more than that, and you know it," said Dean. He walked over and sat down at the table, sighing. "Was…was someone you know in the World Trade Center…or on one of the flights?"
Sam frowned, staring at Dean in shock.
"Oh, come on, give me some credit, man," said Dean. "I can be deductive. You get all mopey and emo around the 9/11 anniversary, you disappear for the better part of the day, and you come back drunk. And it's not Lucifer or Ruby or Yellow-Eyes. It's not even about Jessica's death. I noticed it while we were hunting the Woman in White."
"That doesn't mean it has to do with 9/11," said Sam softly.
"You flipped out on Flight 424," Dean pointed out.
Sam looked down at his hands, moping.
"What happened to you that day, Sammy?" asked Dean.
Sam sighed, looking up at Dean. "I had just started college that fall. I was looking into prospective law schools, so one Sunday night, I flew up to Boston to check out Harvard."
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September 10, 2001
Sam walked into the motel room around six o'clock. He'd had a good meeting with a representative of Harvard Law School and was now headed to get some sleep. He needed to be at Logan International Airport at six o'clock tomorrow morning to catch his flight back to Los Angeles, where he would hop a bus to get back to Palo Alto in time for his night classes tomorrow.
Sam brushed his teeth, changed and climbed into bed, trying his best to go to sleep this early.
The next morning, Sam woke up around five o'clock and showered, getting ready and packing his bag before grabbing a taxi to the airport. He checked in at the front desk at the terminal, showing his passport and heading through security. He then walked into the departure lounge at Gate B32 to wait for his flight to be called.
He grabbed his book from his backpack carry-on: "The Dead Zone" by Stephen King. Even though Sam was sick of the hunting life and all things supernatural, he still loved the Stephen King books. He had always been Sam's favorite author, so Sam continued to read them.
At 7:00, the call came over the loudspeaker.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to American Airlines Flight 11 bound for Los Angeles. We are now boarding first-class passengers, people with small children and those otherwise needing assistance. Once first-class is seated, we'll begin boarding by section. Please have your boarding cards ready."
Sam set his book down, checking his ticket. He was Coach Seat 17A. He put his ticket away and grabbed his book again. About 7:15, the call came again.
"We are now boarding all rows of American Flight 11 to Los Angeles."
Sam stuffed his book into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the gate as he pulled his boarding pass out of his jacket. After ten minutes or so, Sam got to the desk and presented his pass. The attendant put it through the machine and gave it back to him.
"Enjoy your flight," she said as Sam grabbed the ticket.
"Thank you," said Sam, heading towards the gate.
He walked down the hall towards the door of the plane, turning a couple corners before heading into the plane.
A flight attendant whose nametag read Betty smiled at him. "Good morning, sir. Welcome to American Airlines Flight 11. Do you know where your seat is?"
Sam smiled and handed over his boarding pass. Betty took a look at it and handed it back.
"Seat 17A," said Betty. She pointed down the aisle towards the back of the plane. "Pass through three curtains, and it'll be the first row on the right."
"Thank you," said Sam, nodding at her.
Sam headed through a curtain into the first-class seats and then walked through a curtain into the business-class seats. He excused himself as he walked around a few passengers in the aisle before walking through the curtain into coach seating. 17A and B were just beyond the curtain and vacant. Sam took his backpack off and put it in the aisle seat, plopping down in the window seat.
He took his book out of his bag and propped it open, starting to read it.
At about 7:30, the flight attendants began going through the safety information and everything—the usual routine. Around 7:40, the lights dimmed slightly as the loudspeaker pinged overhead.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," said a flight attendant's voice. "I'm Amy Sweeney. On behalf of Captain Ogonowski and the entire crew, I'd like to welcome you aboard American Flight 11, destination Los Angeles. At this time, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will be departing the gate at 7:45 A.M."
Sam set his book down and grabbed the seatbelt, fastening it and picking his book back up.
At 7:46, the loudspeaker pinged again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking. We have received clearance to depart and head to the runway. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened and seats in their upright and locked position until the fasten seatbelt sign has been turned off. Thank you and welcome aboard."
The 767 began to push back from the gate. About four minutes later, they began taxiing towards the runway, where they lined up with the pavement. The engines began to whine as the cabin trembled, the plane accelerating down the runway. As the cabin shook a little, the ground receded in the window, and they took to the air.
Sam glanced at his watch to see that it was 8:00. That meant he would get back to Los Angeles around 1:30—given the time zones, it would be 10:30. He could catch his bus at 11:00 and be back on campus in time for his 6:00 class. He went back to his book, starting to feel the drowsiness of waking up early.
Just as Sam was beginning to drift off around 8:15 or so, shouts were heard from the front of the cabin.
"Sit down!" a man yelled in a thick accent that sounded Afghan or Iraqi. "Sit down and shut up!"
Sam jolted in his seat, leaning forward to push the curtain aside to see what the commotion was. As he pulled the curtain open slightly, he saw five men of Middle Eastern lineage waving knives at the other passengers. They were all wearing red sashes around their heads, and one of them had what looked like a bomb strapped to his chest.
Terrorists… Sam realized.
"Be quiet!" another terrorist yelled. "Be still! Sit down! Be still!"
Sam looked down to see that two flight attendants and a passenger lay on the floor in the aisle, blood staining the carpet under them.
Sam's eyes widened as he looked up at the terrorists. We're being hijacked…
"What's going on?" someone behind him asked.
Sam turned his head to see several passengers in the aisle next to him. "We got a problem."
"What is it?" asked the passenger.
Sam turned to look through the curtain again, watching as two of the terrorists began to head towards the cockpit. One of the flight attendants looked up at a terrorist, who opened his jacket to show her the bomb. The other terrorists began spraying mace into the business class. The flight attendant began evacuating the passengers into coach as all of the terrorists barricaded themselves in the cockpit. All of the passengers headed towards the back of the cabin, trying to get away from the mace in business class.
A few minutes later, the plane ascended a little higher before turning slightly north.
"What did you see, man?" asked the guy next to him.
"Three people have been stabbed," said Sam. "I saw guys with knives and a bomb. I think we're being hijacked."
The man's eyes widened in alarm. "Hijacked?"
Sam glanced around the cabin, starting to really freak out. "This cannot be good…"
He looked out the window next to him, watching the ground below.
"Okay, my name is Betty Ong."
Sam looked over to see the flight attendant Betty on an Airfone.
"I'm Number Three on Flight 11," said Betty. She listened for a moment. "And the cockpit is not answering their phone, and there's somebody stabbed in business class, and there's—we can't breathe in business class; somebody's got mace or something."
Sam looked over at one of the back coach seats to see another flight attendant picking up an Airfone.
"Please listen very carefully," she said. "This is Amy Sweeney on Flight 11. We've been hijacked. Two attendants have been stabbed. We're off course and—" She paused. "Hello?" She brought the phone away from her ear and back. "Hello?"
Amy put the phone back into the receiver and picked it up again, dialing. "Listen and listen to me very carefully. I'm on Flight 11. The airplane has been hijacked." She listened for a moment. "No…People in coach think it's a routine emergency. We've asked for a doctor, but none's onboard. They still think it's a heart attack." She listened for a moment. "Yes. They have knives and mace. They say they have a bomb. They were in…" she consulted the passenger manifest in her hands, "seats 8D, 8G, 10B, 2B, 2A."
Sam looked around at all the passengers with him in the cabin. No one knew what was really going on. All Sam knew was that there were terrorists onboard with knives and a bomb, who had just taken over the cockpit.
Suddenly, the plane banked sharply to the left. The passengers screamed as they grabbed onto the seats. Sam braced himself on the seat in front of him as the plane turned. After a moment, the plane straightened out, and Sam looked down at the landscape and the angle of the sun, trying to suss out where they were heading now.
Sam looked at the guy next to him. "We're headed south."
"No, we're on Flight 11 right now," said Betty into the Airfone. "This is Flight 11." She listened for a moment. "Boston to Los Angeles." She listened another moment. "Our Number One has been stabbed, and our Number Five has been stabbed."
Another flight attendant walked in Betty's direction from business class, a linen napkin over her mouth and nose.
Betty pulled the phone away from her ear a little. "Can anybody get up to the cockpit? Can anybody get up to the cockpit?"
The flight attendant shook her head, lowering the napkin. "No, we can't."
Betty put the phone to her ear. "Okay, we can't even get to the cockpit. We don't know who's up there."
Sam got up from his seat, heading up to his bag at the front of coach. As he grabbed it from the floor, he quickly retreated from the curtain separating business and coach. The mace was very strong in there, and he went back to the rear of the cabin. Sam sat down in the seat and searched through his bag quickly, finally finding his cell phone. He flipped through his phonebook, looking for Dean's number.
He hit send and put the phone to his ear, waiting. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to tell Dean about all this. After a moment, the phone beeped without even ringing.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
Sam frowned, listening in confusion.
"Please hang up and try again."
The line went dead, and Sam looked at the phone.
Why would Dean's number be inactive? Sam thought. Would he really get rid of that number 'cause he was mad I left?
Sam quickly shook his head. That went against every big brother fiber that was Dean. Even if Dean was mad, he would want Sam to have a way to contact him in case he was in trouble. He would not get rid of that number because he would want his little brother to have someone to turn to. Dean's phone must have been destroyed in a hunt or something. Once Dean had a new phone, he would call Sam to give him the new number.
But I won't be there to take that call… Sam thought.
That thought hit Sam so hard that tears began to form in his eyes. He began to realize that these hijackers were not just taking their plane for ransom. They planned to do something horrible. There was a very real chance that Sam would not make it off of this flight. He would never see his brother or father again.
Sam dialed John's number, but he didn't answer.
"This is John Winchester. Leave a message."
The phone beeped.
Sam took a deep breath. "Dad…" His voice began to crack.
He suddenly wasn't so sure of this. He and his father hadn't left things very positively. He wasn't sure what he should say.
"Listen, uh…" Sam began. "I know we haven't talked in a few months…I just wanted to say…"
His heart jumped up into his throat, making it impossible to speak.
Sam took another deep, calming breath. "Just, uh…I shouldn't have left things the way I did…I wanted you to know that…" His voice grew strained. "Tell Dean…I'm sorry…"
He couldn't believe that he was talking to his father for the last time…and it was just a voicemail.
"Listen, take care of yourselves," said Sam. "I, uh…"
Even now, Sam just couldn't bring himself to say "I love you." It had never been the Winchester way. They knew they loved each other; they didn't have to say it.
"Goodbye, Dad," said Sam, hanging up.
He looked down at the phone in his hand, staring at it in shock. He'd just said goodbye to his family…forever. Tears began to well in his eyes as he came to the realization that this was the end.
The plane banked towards the right, and the passengers yelled in alarm. They were beginning to realize that something was wrong.
"Okay, the aircraft is erratic again," said Betty into the phone. "Flying very erratically."
The plane's engines whined as the nose tilted downward steeply. Everyone was thrown against the seats in front of them.
"We're in rapid descent!" said Amy into her phone. "Something is wrong!"
Sam began hyperventilating as the plane dived. He closed his eyes in fear. The plane leveled out after a moment, and Sam looked out his window. The ground was way too close. Sam hadn't flown much in his lifetime, but he could tell the plane was not supposed to be that low.
They're gonna crash the plane… Sam thought suddenly.
That seemed to be the only logical conclusion. Why else would they be rapidly descending like this?
He glanced at his watch to see that it was 8:41…almost an hour since the plane departed the gate in Boston. He looked back out the window to see that it was New York that was growing closer by the second. They were headed into the city.
Sam gripped the armrests of the seat, his head against the back of the seat, and stared straight ahead.
"Hey," said the guy next to him.
Sam looked over at him.
"You think we'll make it out of here?" asked the guy, the worry all over his face.
Sam clenched his jaw and looked back towards the front of the plane. "I don't know…"
The guy nodded and looked down at the floor. "Yeah…But, hey…" he smiled sadly, "at least I just bought life insurance." He chuckled a little, trying but failing to ease the gloomy atmosphere.
Sam smiled bracingly. "Yeah…"
He glanced out the window, watching at the city buildings and skyscrapers grew closer. They were so low that you could actually see the streets now.
"Oh, God…" Sam whispered.
The nose of the plane tilted lower and lower, the engines whining.
"We are in rapid descent," said Amy. "We are all over the place." She looked out the window of the starboard side. "Oh, my God! We are too low!"
The engines screamed as they gained power, accelerating very rapidly. The plane leveled out, and Sam could now see that they seemed to be just barely skimming the rooftops of the buildings.
Oh, my God… Sam thought, gripping his seat tightly. Oh, my God…
"I see water," said Amy into her phone, glancing out her window. "I see buildings." She paused, her eyes widening. "I see buildings! We are flying low."
Sam looked out his window, putting his head against the frame to see in front of them as much as he could.
"We are flying very, very low," Amy went on.
Sam watched skyscrapers tearing past, and he looked towards the front of the plane. He could just barely see what was coming.
"We are flying way too low," Amy continued. "Oh, my God, we are flying way too low."
Sam narrowed his eyes, watching as something in front of them swarmed straight for them at high speed…a building.
"Oh, my God!" Amy cried, spotting the same thing.
Sam gasped as the building seemed to fill the entire window, closing his eyes for impact.
The ground thudded under his feet, and he opened his eyes to see that he was standing outside in a square between two buildings. He looked up to see that he was at the foot of the World Trade Center Twin Towers. And just as his eyes registered that fact, he watched as a Boeing 767 plowed into the northern façade of the North Tower.
Sam flung his arms over his head as fire exploded from the top of the building where the plane struck, raining glass, steel and concrete down onto the street. Sam took cover in the doorway of the South Tower, waiting for the debris to stop raining from the sky. After about a minute or so, Sam walked out of the building and craned his head to look up at the North Tower. Smoke billowed from the giant holes on the sides of the building, flowing up into the sky, as screams filled the streets.
What the hell… Sam thought.
He'd been on that flight…he'd been on it! How was he suddenly safe on the ground? What could have done something like that? A demon, maybe? That was the only thing he could think of that could just teleport someone like that.
"Was it a bomb?" someone yelled, looking up at the tower as he stood next to him.
Sam glanced at him. "A plane…It was a plane…"
"A plane?" asked the guy, looking at him. "You saw a plane hit it?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah…I saw it…"
"What, someone lost control?" asked the guy, looking back up at the tower.
Sam looked off into the distance. "Something like that…" He looked back up at the tower as papers rained down from the offices that were just hit.
People were running out of the towers as policemen, firemen and rescue workers ran in to help those inside.
Sam slowly made his way over to a bench in the square, dropping onto the seat in shock. The terrorists had hijacked the plane…to crash it into the World Trade Center…
The area around the Twin Towers was chaos, much like Sam imagined the '93 bombings had been. Civilians ran about, trying to escape the disaster happening above their heads. Authorities and rescue workers ran towards the scene of the attack, trying to help the injured and evacuate the building. Sam just stared straight ahead, still completely stunned by his morning's turn of events.
Several minutes went by as the building was being evacuated. Several people stopped by Sam to try to get him to move, but Sam didn't respond to them. Since there was no immediate danger where he was, they moved on without him. It was a little while after nine o'clock when Sam heard the unmistakable sound of jet engines overhead.
Sam's head shot up, looking into the sky in fear. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he looked southwest to see a commercial airliner flying low and fast towards the Twin Towers.
"Oh, my God…" Sam whispered, slowly climbing to his feet in horror. "Not again…"
Shouts began to fill the square as people around him spotted the plane also. The plane banked on its side and barreled into the southern face of the South Tower. A giant fireball—twice the size of the North Tower's—exploded from the middle of the tower where the plane hit. Screams sounded all around as glass, steel and concrete showered the ground.
Sam crouched down behind the bench, pulling his jacket up to protect himself and throwing his arms over his head. Debris hit his back for half a minute or so before silence—relative silence—filled the air. Sam stood up, looking up at the South Tower as it billowed smoke into the air. People ran in fear and panic away from the towers as more rescuers ran for the buildings.
Sam stared in shock at the two gaping holes in both of the towers. It's a nationwide attack…
He looked closely at the towers, trying to see the damage.
They're not gonna last long… Sam thought. With those fires raging…
The jet fuel would be a raging inferno up there. The scorching fire would be heating up the infrastructure, causing it to weaken and bend. And above the fires…tons and tons of steel and concrete bearing down on the damaged floors. A collapse was unavoidable.
Sam made a quick decision and darted into the South Tower, running through the lobby towards the escalator and taking it two steps at a time. He ran towards a staircase, shouting to anyone in the vicinity.
"Get out!" Sam shouted. "Everyone, get out!"
He ran up the stairs, making it to the twentieth floor. He was starting to breathe a little heavier, but thanks to his father's training, he was just warming up. He ushered people down the stairwell as he climbed higher and higher. When he got up to the fortieth floor, he glanced at his watch. It was 9:23. The building had been burning for twenty minutes.
Sam stood on the landing between the fortieth and forty-first floors, uncertain of what to do. He wanted to go on up and help people, but it would take another twenty minutes to get down and away from the building. Who knew how long the building would last?
Sam began darting down the stairs, helping injured people to get out. Finally, Sam made it to the lobby.
"This way!" Sam shouted, leading everyone the way to the ground floor lobby and out of the building. "Come on! This way out!"
Sam glanced at his watch as he ushered people out of the building: 9:48. He followed a woman out, glancing down at the blood flowing down her leg.
"Here," said Sam, offering his arm out to her.
"Thank you," said the woman, grasping tightly onto him.
"Come on," said Sam, lifting her into his arms and running away from the building.
He glanced up at the towers and spotted something strange. He came to a slow stop, narrowing his eyes and trying to figure out what was going on.
Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, my God…"
The woman glanced up at the towers. "Oh, my God!" She hid her face in Sam's chest.
Sam watched in horror as people hung out of the edges of the gaping holes and other windows close to the impact site. People began falling and jumping from the building, unable to escape the searing fire and suffocating heat.
Sam tore his eyes away from the towers and ran towards a building across the street, hoping that the far corner of the building would offer some shelter if the buildings fell down.
"In here!" an officer shouted from the doorway, ushering Sam inside.
EMTs swarmed the injured woman as Sam set her down on a sofa.
"Where does it hurt?" asked one of the medical guys.
"Are you hurt?" the cop asked Sam.
Sam shook his head. "No. I'm fine."
As the EMTs treated the woman, Sam went over to the windows, looking up at the towers. They continued to billow smoke as people fell to their deaths.
"Oh, my God…" said a cop from the other side of the room, a portable radio sitting on the counter next to him.
Sam turned his head to look at him. "What is it?"
The cop looked at him. "They hit the Pentagon."
Sam's eyes widened. "The Pentagon?"
"Yeah, a plane hit the west wing of the Pentagon about twenty minutes ago," said the cop. "That's the third hijacked plane, and they say there's maybe one or two more up there."
Sam shook his head as he looked down at his watch: 9:58. He looked back up at the towers, thinking of all the chaos and tragedy happening today. His eyes widened as he stared in shock.
"Holy crap…" Sam whispered.
The cops ran over to look, and they watched as the top portion of the South Tower tilted and began collapsing in on itself.
"Get back!" the cops yelled, grabbing Sam's arm and yanking him away from the window.
Everyone ran to the opposite side of the room, an EMT carrying the woman. They all crouched against the wall as a giant cloud of smoke and steel hit the ground, pancaking out in all directions. The sound was unbelievable. It was like an earthquake as pieces of the South Tower struck the building they were in. The glass windows shattered and blew in, letting the concrete smoke flood into the room.
Sam pulled his jacket up, covering his face. After about five minutes, the cops deemed it okay to get up. They peered through the thick dust, coughing. Sam made his way towards the windows, trying to see the aftermath of the collapse. It took another full five minutes or so for the smoke to begin to clear. Sam gazed up at the towers, shocked when he could only see the North Tower, still burning. Next to it stood nothing…just an empty space where everyone knew the South Tower should be. Next to the base of the North Tower…was a pile of debris…nothing but twisted steel and crumbled concrete.
Sam looked up at the North Tower, wondering how much longer that one would last. He darted out into the streets to help people get to safety. He watched as firefighters and policemen and rescue workers and EMTs and even guys with cameras ran about in the streets, doing what they could do.
About half an hour later, Sam was helping a woman with a broken arm get towards where everyone was ushering the injured when the ground began trembling. He froze and glanced back at the North Tower, watching as the top of the building dropped. The building began to collapse, creating a giant cloud of debris.
"Run!" Sam yelled.
He and the woman ran towards a nearby building, taking shelter on the side farthest away from the World Trade Center. A hurricane of sound exploded around them as the North Tower collapsed to the ground.
Sam glanced up as the minutes wore on. He looked down at the woman next to him.
"Are you okay?" asked Sam.
The woman nodded. "Yeah." She glanced over at the broken windows. "Is it over?"
Sam followed her gaze to the windows, watching the floating smoke outside and thinking of all those probably trapped inside the debris piles and the coming months and years to deal with the aftermath. "No…far from it…"
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Present
Dean stared at Sam, shocked beyond belief. He couldn't believe Sam had just told him that story…that his little brother had been on one of the hijacked planes on September 11th.
Dean nodded sadly. "I remember that voicemail. Dad freaked out and called me. We met up, and I listened to the message…started freaking out, too. By then, we had both learned what had happened that day. Then we called you, and you said you left that message 'cause of the way we left things…that we were getting worked up over nothing…" He shook his head, staring at Sam. "We were right, weren't we?"
Sam nodded.
"You were right, you know," said Dean.
Sam looked up at him. "What?"
"You couldn't reach me 'cause my phone was broken," said Dean. "I'd been fighting a ghost the night before by the docks. It knocked me against the railing, dumping me into the bay. Phone must have floated out of my pocket during the swim to shore. That thing was long gone. I had to go get a new phone and call you so you could get my new number."
Sam nodded, figuring something like that had happened, but relieved to hear it nonetheless. And now that he had shared this with Dean…he felt so much better…like a weight had been lifted. He hadn't felt this free in years.
"Wait, so you…you were on the plane, and then…you were zapped out of it?" asked Dean.
Sam nodded. "Yeah…I never really knew what it was. Demon…angel…"
"Well, either would make sense," said Dean.
"Yellow-Eyes wanting me alive…or Lucifer wanting me alive," shrugged Sam.
"Or maybe just the angels," said Dean. "I mean, they need Lucifer to have a vessel for Michael to fight, right? They would need to keep you alive to house Lucifer."
"That is correct."
Sam and Dean looked up to see Castiel standing by the door.
"Cas?" asked Dean.
"The angels were indeed the ones that saved you from that plane," said Castiel.
"They did?" asked Sam.
"Yes," said Castiel.
"Do you know who?" asked Dean.
Castiel hesitated for a moment before glancing away from the both of them. "Yes."
"Who?" asked Sam.
Castiel avoided their eyes for a moment before looking at Sam. "It was I who rescued you from that plane, Sam."
Sam frowned. "Wait a minute…You were the one who zapped me off of Flight 11?"
Castiel nodded slightly. "Yes."
Sam stared at Castiel reverently. "Thank you…so much…"
"You are welcome," said Castiel.
Dean frowned and grabbed Sam's laptop, flipping it open.
"What are you doing?" asked Sam.
Dean didn't speak, but just typed on the laptop for a moment. His eyes scanned the screen and then stopped. He sat back on the chair, stunned. "I don't believe it…"
"What?" asked Sam.
Dean looked at him. "You ever take a look at the list of people who died on 9/11?"
Sam shook his head, walking over behind Dean. "No."
"Well, on the passenger list of Flight 11…" said Dean, "guess who's second from the bottom?"
Sam looked closely at the screen, which showed a memorial site for those who died on September 11th. The names were in alphabetical order, and just above Christopher Zarba, Jr….was Sam Winchester.
Sam huffed in amazement. "I'll be damned…It makes sense. I was on the passenger list, and, of course, everyone assumed that the passengers of the plane wouldn't survive. Huh…I guess that means I'm on the memorial wall at the site of the Twin Towers."
Dean looked up at Sam and smiled. "Oh, we gotta see that."
Sam smiled back at him. "Yeah…maybe…"
Dean shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe you are one of the survivors of 9/11." He looked up at Sam. "You actually darted into that building to get people out?"
Sam nodded. "I did." He stared at the screen and shook his head sadly. "You know, it's amazing how one day can start so pure and innocent…and quickly mutate into something so dark and disturbing."