"Alright, so, what'd you find out from Max?" Smiling at the waitress as she refilled his coffee, Sam turned his attention to Skye, trying to keep his thoughts off his face. What had he seen back at there? He'd gone over it and over it in his mind but couldn't figure it out. That she had done something, he had no doubt, but he couldn't think of what. It wasn't normal, that was for damn sure. Was Skye really who and what she claimed to be? Was she really a scared, broken kid developing falling for for his brother...or was she something else? It wouldn't be completely out of the question to consider that she might be someone else. Something else. After all, what did they really know about her? Not much. Abusive home, lived in Oklahoma and Louisiana, was committed twice. Learned new skills almost creepily fast. An impressive sense of situational awareness. Was it possible she was something else masquerading as a person? Certainly wouldn't be unheard of, though what could she possibly have to gain?

"Well, I learned he needs to learn the word 'boundaries'." Taking a drink of her iced tea, she leaned back in the booth, looking at the men sitting on the other side, "He also for sure saw somethin'. Said the guy in the seat in front of him had black eyes and that he got out of his seat and opened the emergency door. A not impossible but highly improbable thing for someone to be able to do mid-flight."

Finishing off his third cup of coffee, Dean set the empty mug at the edge of the table for a refill and leaned forward, elbows on the table, "So who was sitting in front of him?"

Reaching for his bag tucked by his legs under the table, Sam started to get it out to find the passenger manifest when Skye supplied the answer from memory, "George Phelps, 20C. 718 north Rogers Ave."

"How do you remember that?" Dean gave her a funny look, flicking a balled up piece of napkin at her, "Exactly how much do you have stored in that head of yours?"

"How do you not remember that? You just looked at it two hours ago." Shrugging, she flicked an empty salt packet at him in retaliation, "Umm. A lot. Did you know tardigrades are thought to be able to survive a global mass extinction and can go more than thirty years without food and water?"

"I've been assaulted." Looking faux-offended, he reached over to Skye's plate and stole a french fry as reparations for the vicious attack, a puzzled look on his face, "What the hell is a tardigrade?"

"Guess I'll fry for it." Haha. Ha. Lame, "A tardigrade is a micro-animal, also a called a water bear. They're kinda adorable and real fuckin' resilient. My favorite animal."

Turning part way in his seat, Sam wondered why the hell his brother couldn't share the other seat with Skye. They could be touching for hours in the car but sharing a diner booth was too intimate? Like he hadn't seen them holding hands all the way here? Seriously? Though at this point he wasn't sure he wanted his brother involved with her at all, even if they were pretty damn good together. Too good?

"That's a weird thing to have as your favorite animal." Signaling to the waitress that they were ready for the check, Dean gave up on getting another refill, "Let me guess, you wanted to be like a marine biologist or something as a kid."

"Nope." Grabbing her jacket off the seat beside her, she slid out of the booth and slipped it on as she waited for the slower men, "I wanted to be a criminal psychologist."

"...of course you did." Handing the waitress enough to cover the check plus a tip, Dean headed toward the entrance, holding the door open for her and a too-quiet Sam, "Because you're a freak."

"Let me guess." Ducking under his arm, she paused long enough to smirk up at him, "You wanted to be an astronaut or a dinosaur."

"Cowboy." Unable to stop himself from teasing his brother, Sam managed a convincing smile, "Dean wanted to be a cowboy."

"Don't be tellin' her that shit." Stepping away from the door as Sam was walking through, Dean stepped away and let it shut on his brother, "She doesn't need the ammunition."

"Oh yes I do."

Pulling up to the curb outside the Phelps residence, Dean turned off the car and pocketed his keys before opening the door and holding it for Skye after he got out, "Do you ever admit when you're wrong?"

"I might if I were ever wrong."

Climbing out of the passenger seat, Sam contemplated bashing his head in with the car door. Between his own thoughts and the other two engaging in some kind of weird bitch-flirting verbal foreplay the entire time, he was starting to get a massive headache. Lack of sleep may have played a small factor. Seriously though, the idiot children had spent the entire ride bickering about everything from weapons to cartoons. Currently, they were onto which was better, Beetlejuice or Gargoyles. Sam hadn't even known they'd made an animated Beetlejuice but he sure as hell did now.

"Wait, I got it…" Hands in her pockets, she hopped the curb, the three of them stopping on the sidewalk to take a look at the house set back from the street, "Courage the Cowardly dog trumps all."

"You know what, I'm gonna give you that one. For now. 'Cause that was a damn good show." Looking up at the well-manicured lawn and the fresh gray-green paint job, Dean turned the conversation toward the job, "Man, I don't care how strong you are, even yoked up on PCP or somethin', no way you can open an emergency door during flight."

"Not if you're human." Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Sam thought about that for a minute, forcing himself not to look down at the young woman standing between him and his brother, "Maybe this guy George was something else, some kind of creature in human form."

"I gotta say, that is one really nice evil lair." Tilting her head, Skye took in the pristine flower beds lining the sidewalks and the trees lining either side of the yard, "I always pictured less Martha Stewart, more dank sewer."

"That is usually how it goes, yeah." Waving his hand toward the house, Dean ushered the two of them in front of him, cocking his head as Skye started to sing something under her breath, "What the hell are you singing?"

"...I wanna kiss you but if I do then I might miss you, babe. It's complicated and stupid got my ass squeezed by sexy cupid…" Not even realizing she'd been singing at all until she was called out on it, she felt her skin grow warm when she registered the song running through her head. Not that there was any particular reason for it to be there, no reason at all for her to be embarrassed by it. Uh huh.

"...nothin'." Ducking her head, she took the steps up to the small front porch two at a time, "Just a random song."

"Are...are you blushing?" Following her up the steps, Dean leaned down to get a closer look at her face before chuckling and straightening, "You're blushing."

"I am doin' no such thing." Resolutely refusing to look at either of them, she motioned for them to get on with it, "Focus, people."

"I'd be blushing too if I were caught singing that." Raising a hand to knock, Sam couldn't help letting on that he knew exactly what she'd been singing, "I wonder why you've got it on the brain, Shortstack."

"Shut the fuck up, big mouth." Kicking him in the back of the leg, her 'I will shank you' expression turning into a smile as a woman answered the door.

"Sam, you had better t-" Cutting himself off as the door opened, Dean made a mental note to badger his brother about it later. Removing his ID from his jacket pocket, he smiled, "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, we're with the Department of Homeland Security. We're looking into the 2485 tragedy and we were hoping to ask you some questions about your husband."

Holding up their own IDs, Sam and Skye waited for the woman to examine all three of them before putting them away as Mrs. Phelps opened the door wider, inviting them inside. Closing the door behind them, Skye coming in last, the woman gave her a closer look, "Aren't you a little young to be Homeland Security?"

"I get that a lot, ma'am. Just good genes." Following her and the boys into the sitting room, Skye smiled while throwing a purely internal temper tantrum, "But thank you for the compliment."

Swearing to herself to keep a tally every time someone said that to her, she envisioned ripping it up when she was done, setting it on fire and dancing on the ashes. Taking the chairs, the boys left Skye to either stand or take a seat next to their unenthusiastic hostess. Great. Dicks. Sitting next to the grieving woman, she let the guys take over this one, still rattled from their last interview, though she didn't show it. Sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees, Sam asked the most obvious question, "Ma'am, what did Mr. Phelps do for a living?"

"He was a dentist, a good one too." Smiling, the middle-aged brunette was obviously proud of her late husband's accomplishments, "Even won a Golden Apple award last year for excellent customer satisfaction."

Who knew they had awards in dentistry? Picking up a framed picture of the very ordinary looking couple, Sam looked at Mrs. Phelps, "This is your late husband?"

"Yes." Nodding, eyes bright with unshed tears, the woman's voice grew thick, "That was my George."

"And he was a ...dentist." That made sense. So many rogue dentists running around these days. Dean simply couldn't picture the man in the photograph doing any such thing.

"Mmhmm. He was headed to a conference in Denver." Sniffing, Mrs. Phelps gave Skye a smile of thanks when the young woman leaned forward and grabbed the box of tissues off the table for her, "Do you know, he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..."

Isn't it ironic, dontcha think? Kinda like rain on your wedding day…

"How long were you married?" Trying to keep his expression neutral, Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, ignoring a questioning look from Skye when she noticed.

"Thirteen years."

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him?" Sitting on the edge of his chair, Dean tried to get to the point of the visit, "Anything out of the ordinary?"

Thinking about it for a long moment, a bewildered look on her face, Mrs. Phelps shook her head, "He had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."

"Well." Skipping the stairs, Skye hopped off the porch and looked back at the boys trailing behind her, "That was informative."

"Yeah." Agreeing with the sarcasm in her tone and not the words themselves, Sam rubbed his temple, "It just doesn't make sense."

Too many things didn't make sense.

"Yup." Running a hand through his thick hair, Dean sighed before hooking his thumbs into his jacket pockets, "A middle-aged man with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified."

"Ooo, 'personified'. That's a long word, Winchester." Teasing, Skye stopped on the sidewalk, giving the others a chance to catch up, "That word of the day toilet paper is really comin' in handy."

Swatting at her, he missed when she danced out of the way, quicker than she had any damn right to be, "Brat."

"Dick."

Rolling his eyes, Sam prayed for patience. Audibly. Flipping him off, Dean said what they were all thinking, "We're gonna need to get into that NTSB warehouse and check out the wreckage."

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, Sam agreed, pushing all other wayward thoughts to the back of his mind, "If we're going to go that route, we're going to need to look the part."

Grinning gleefully, Skye bounced up onto her toes, "Oh, this should be fun."

Walking around to the driver's door, Dean held it open for her, an exaggerated sigh on his smiling lips, "I think we're a bad influence on you, kid."

"Who's this 'we', Dean? This is all you," Opening the back door, Sam stuck his head in the backseat for a second before moving to his place up front, glancing over at his brother as he got in the car, "You're corrupting the child."

"...not yet." Flashing the kind of wicked grin that made Skye's stomach flip, he started the car and eased into traffic, "But give me time."

"Mmhmm, in the meantime..." Popping open the CD player, Sam put the disc he'd smuggled out of the backseat into it and hit play on the 10th track. Should he be encouraging this? Probably not, but this wasn't just something he could pass up. It was just too good, "Here's some music for the occasion."

"Oh fuck you, you didn't." Grabbing for the Discman, she was thwarted by the squirrelly behemoth in the passenger seat.

"Oh, I did." Laughing, Sam turned the volume up.

"...Let's have some fun, this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick…"

"You know what, whatever." Crossing her arms, she kept a bland expression firmly in place, betrayed only by the tips of her ears turning red, "It's just a song. You read too much into shit….you are such an asshole."