Disclaimer: As ever, I don't own Supernatural! Sorry about the wait; my brain decided it wanted to start writing scenes from season 8/9. Which, in case you were wondering, I am hoping to get to.

Also, if you're interested, I now have a Supernatural themed blog (room for one moore . tumblr . com), which will have updates etc.


It took at least a week for the high of saving Lucas's life to wear off.

Admittedly, the fact that they hadn't been able to save his grandfather was disheartening, but as Sam had said – they couldn't save everyone.

Besides, with no body, Dean admitted to Jess that there was nothing they could have done to stop Peter, other than give him what he wanted.

Now the high was wearing off, though, the nightmares were starting to return.

Sam's, Jess knew, had never really stopped, so she didn't complain – at least she got a night or two in between of uninterrupted rest.

Last night had been one of the latter, much to Jess's relief, and she stretched lazily as consciousness began to creep over her.

A second later, she jolted awake fully as the door to the motel room opened. In the next bed, Dean jerked awake as well, his hand sliding under his pillow for the weapon she knew was stashed there.

"Morning!" Sam greeted cheerfully, kicking the door shut behind him. The scent of coffee followed him in, and Jess sat up to take one.

"What time is it?" Dean muttered, relaxing again.

"About five forty-five." Sam answered, handing Jess a Danish pastry as well.

"In the morning?!" Dean asked.

"Yep." Sam confirmed, looking vaguely amused.

While it was somewhat early, it was no earlier than Jess used to wake up at college in order to go running every morning, and she couldn't help but share Sam's amusement.

"Where does the day go?" Dean grumbled, sitting up. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours."

"Liar." Dean said matter-of-factly, grabbing his own coffee. "Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman informercial."

"Hey, what can I say?" Sam asked innocently. "It's riveting TV."

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Jess asked softly.

"I don't know." Sam admitted. "A while, I guess. It's not a big deal."

"Yeah it is." Dean disagreed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, I appreciate your concern …"

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you." Dean said dismissively. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp."

Jess turned away to hide the fond smile that threatened to spread across her features. She was beginning to understand the dynamics of the brothers' relationship now, and the more she learned, the more oddly endearing it became.

"Are you still having nightmares about what happened to Mom?" She asked gently.

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "But it's not just that. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job … it gets to you."

Jess nodded understandingly. The image of Constance Welch trying to rip her boyfriend's heart out was more or less seared into her mind now, along with her mother burning on the ceiling and Sheriff Devins being dragged to a watery grave.

"You can't let it." Dean advised. "You can't bring it home like that."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "So … all of this never keeps you up at night?"

Dean shook his head.

"Never?" Jess asked. "You're never afraid?"

Taking a gulp of coffee, Dean shrugged. "No, not really."

Sam and Jess exchanged a disbelieving glance, and the latter leaned over to pull a large hunting knife from under Dean's pillow.

"That's not fear." Dean said, grinning. "That's precaution."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "What's the grin for?"

"You're handling the knife right." Sam explained. "It's about as close as you'll get to 'I'm proud of you'."

"What?" Dean asked. "Took you a couple months to hold a knife properly."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I was a kid."

Dean's phone rang just then, forestalling a possible argument. He glanced at the screen and frowned questioningly. "Hello? Oh, right, yeah! Up in … Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing." He looked worried suddenly. "It's not back, is it?"

Sam and Jess watched, puzzled, as Dean relaxed again.

"What is it?" He listened intently for a second, then nodded. "We'll be there. We've got a job." He concluded, when he'd hung up.

"In Pennsylvania?" Jess guessed. "What is it?"

"No idea." Dean admitted. "Jerry says he wants to see us in person. Dad and I got rid of a poltergeist for him couple of years ago, so he knows what to look for."

Sam nodded. "Alright, I'll pack the car."


Maybe it was because it was one of her first hunts, but Jess didn't think that was why she was confused – it was clear from Sam and Dean's behaviour that they were as lost as she was.

As they left the late George Phelps' home, she let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay, so we have a plane that crashed, seven survivors, an EVP recording that claims 'no survivors', and a supposedly normal passenger pulling the emergency exit door open mid-flight. I mean … does any of this make sense?"

"None." Sam said grimly.

"A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified." Dean agreed, frowning. "You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage."

"Okay." Sam agreed. "But if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part."

A few hours later, the three strode into the warehouse, flashing their badges at the bored-looking security guard, who gave them a cursory glance and let them through into the main room.

As the door closed behind them, Jess shook her head, tucking her badge back into her jacket. "Awful, isn't it?"

"Terrible." Sam murmured, his gaze travelling over the burnt and twisted pieces of metal. They had been laid out in such a way that it was obvious what parts of the plane they had once been, but were it not for that helpful hint, she would never have known.

"What are we looking for?" Jess asked, as they began to wander through the wreckage.

"Anything out of the ordinary." Sam answered.

Jess rolled her eyes. "Thanks, because that narrows it down."

"You'll know when you see it." Dean said, donning a pair of headphones.

"What is that?" Sam asked, staring at the device in his brother's hands.

"It's an EMF meter." Dean answered. "Reads electromagnetic frequencies."

"Yeah, I know that's what an EMF meter is." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "But why does that one look like a busted up Walkman?"

"Cause that's what I made it out of." Dean said with a grin. "It's homemade."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam muttered, causing his brother's grin to fall.

"How?" Jess asked, eyeing it.

"Well, I …" Dean began, before cutting himself off. "I'll tell you later. We've got work to do."

Jess nodded understandingly, and went back to examining the wreckage.

The device in Dean's hand, which had been buzzing with static, suddenly began making a strange high-pitched squeal.

"Is that the emergency door handle?" Jess asked in a whisper.

"Yeah, and it's covered in …" Dean frowned, rubbing a finger against the strange yellow residue. "Whatever this is."

"If you don't know what it is, you probably shouldn't have touched it." Jess pointed out. "How do we figure out what it is?"

"By taking it with us." Sam said, flipping open his pocket knife. Carefully, he scraped some of the residue into small bag and sealed it methodically, before tucking it inside his jacket.

A sudden crash somewhere behind the wreckage made Jess jump, and Sam suddenly covered her mouth with his hand.

"Stay calm." He murmured. "I think the real Homeland Security just showed up."

Dean jerked his head towards the back of the warehouse, and Sam and Jess followed him, Jess's heart thudding in her chest. She guessed the boys were used to potentially getting arrested, but she wasn't.

Dean and Sam led her around the back of the wreckage and back towards the door they had entered through.

Dean peered around the corner of the wreckage, nodded once, and gestured for the other two to follow his lead.

Calmly, as though they had every right to be there, they walked out into the lobby and out of the warehouse.

The second the door opened, an alarm began blaring, and Sam grabbed Jess's hand as they began sprinting towards the gate, Dean shedding his jacket as they ran.

When they reached the locked gate, he threw the jacket over the barbed wire and jumped up to swing himself over the fence.

Sam gave Jess a boost, and she followed suit, feeling a sort of satisfaction when Dean kept a close eye on her descent, but made no move to catch her, having faith that she could handle herself.

As soon as Sam landed beside Jess, Dean grabbed his jacket, and they took off towards the place they had hidden the Impala so its plates wouldn't be associated with them.

Dean grinned at them. "Guess the monkey suits do come in handy."


"I could have told you that was a bad idea." Jess said with a sigh, as Dean hung up the phone.

Dean scowled. "Why's that?"

"Because it's first flight Amanda's taking after she nearly died in a plane crash." Jess pointed out fairly. "You don't think she's going to talk to her sister?"

Once the strange yellow substance had been identified as sulphur, Dean and Sam had instantly announced they were dealing with demonic possession.

Unfortunately, neither of them had dealt with demons before, which made Jess very nervous.

When the pilot of the original plane had been killed in a second plane crash and Sam had noted that both planes had crashed after exactly forty minutes, finding six other flights that could well have also been targets, she had become even more nervous.

Because Flight 2485 had been the first flight to leave survivors, and one of those survivors had now also died, suggesting that the demon was planning on finishing the job.

The five surviving passengers had all sworn never to fly again for a very long time, if ever, and the only wildcard was Amanda Walker, the flight attendant, who was about to set sail, so to speak, once more.

"Time for Plan B, I guess." Sam said. "We're getting on that plane."

"Whoa, whoa," Dean shook his head. "Just hold on a second."

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board." Sam said firmly. "And if we're right, that plan is gonna crash."

"I know." Dean admitted quietly.

"Okay. So we're getting on that plane." Sam concluded. "We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets; you two grab whatever you can from the trunk – whatever will make it through security," he added hastily. "Meet me back here in five minutes."

Jess nodded, but Dean looked pale.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"Not really." Dean admitted.

"What?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Well, I kind of have this problem with, er …"

"Flying?" Jess finished.

"It's never been an issue until now!" Dean said defensively.

"You're joking, right?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"Do I look like I'm joking?!" Dean hissed. "Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?"

Sam sighed. "Alright. I'll go."

"We'll go." Jess corrected sternly.

"What?!" Dean demanded.

"You stay." Jess said. "We'll do this one on our own."

"Are you both nuts?!" Dean snapped. "That plane's gonna crash!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we can all go, or Jess and I can go by ourselves. I'm not seeing a third option."

Dean groaned. "Dammit!"

"Are you humming Metallica?"

"It calms me down." Dean muttered tensely.

Sam sighed. "Look, man, I know you're nervous, alright? But you've got to stay focused. We've got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, and perform a full-on exorcism …"

"In a crowded plane." Dean added. "That's gonna be easy."

Beside the window, Jess shook her head and squeezed Sam's hand. "Give us a minute?" She murmured.

Sam glanced at her, and nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked.

"Bathroom." Sam answered, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't realise I needed permission."

Dean scowled, muttering something under his breath, and Sam squeezed past him, clapping his shoulder as he did.

As soon as Sam was out of earshot, Jess unbuckled her own seatbelt and shifted across into Sam's seat. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Dean said shortly.

"It's okay to be scared, you know." Jess said, her voice low and calm. "Everyone has a phobia of something."

"We don't." Dean snapped, before snapping his mouth shut and looking away from her.

"By we, do you mean hunters or Winchesters?" Jess asked knowingly. She was beginning to understand the dynamic between the boys and their father, and it wasn't one she was particularly enthusiastic about. "It makes sense, you know."

"How?!" Dean hissed, apparently in spite of himself. "I am a hunter, I have …"

"I know that." Jess interrupted, before he could say anything to potentially terrify the passengers in front of or behind them. She wasn't sure, but hearing a fellow passenger admit to killing things was likely to trouble even the most confident flier. "I know, Dean, but you have control in those situations. You can do something. If something happens in the air, you can't do anything."

"Great, thanks Dr Phil." Dean growled. "Any idea how to stop it?!"

Jess took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Why does Metallica calm you down?"

"I don't know!" Dean's pulse was racing; she could feel it pressed against her own wrist.

"Think." Jess said softly. "Do you associate it with anything?"

Dean was quiet for a second. "Mom used to play it." He whispered.

"Okay, good." Jess murmured. She knew very little about Mary Winchester, as Sam couldn't remember her at all, and she knew that Dean never spoke about her, so she'd have to tread carefully with this one. "What was she like, your mother?"

"She was … She …" Dean seemed to struggle with himself, and she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, gently prompting him to continue. "She was amazing. Sweet. Funny. She made the best cherry pie. Used to play Metallica and Zeppelin and AC/DC while she cooked."

A smile spread across Jess's face as she listened. She wondered if Sam knew that was why Dean was so taken with heavy metal, then decided almost immediately that he didn't.

"She was an amazing cook." Dean continued, his pulse calming a little as he spoke. "We had these amazing pot roasts every Sunday … made me tomato-rice soup when I was sick, because that's what her mom used to make her. She used to sing Hey Jude instead of a lullaby, because it was her favourite Beatles song."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That's my favourite too." She didn't get a response, but started humming it under her breath.

Hey Jude,

Don't make it bad,

"I know what you're trying to do." Dean said, with no heat in his voice.

Take a sad song,

And make it better …

"Is it working?"

Find a way to let her into your heart

"No."

Then you can start to make it better.

His fingers contracted around hers. "But thanks."


"Regina terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino … per caelum, caelum antiquos … glory Patri …"

Jess's heart thudded as the Latin flowed from her lips, her hands gripping John Winchester's journal so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

The original plan had been for Sam to read the invocation while Dean restrained the demon, but the possessed co-pilot was putting up quite a fight, and Sam had thrust the journal at her and dived in to help his brother.

They could only hope that Amanda trusted them and didn't immediately alert the air marshal that was probably on board.

Jess wasn't even sure her pronunciation was correct, but Sam had hastily assured her that it didn't matter too much, and from the increasingly frantic behaviour of the demon it seemed to be working.

Fighting the boys off momentarily, he managed to rip the tape from his mouth, grabbing Sam by the shirt. "I heard what happened! It's your fault you know!" He choked for a second, before black smoke poured out of his mouth and disappeared into one of the air vents.

"What was that?!" Jess demanded

"That was the demon." Sam answered, checking the co-pilot's pulse as the man slumped against him. "Stay here with him. We'll …"

The plane gave an almighty lurch, and they all stumbled as it tilted back towards Earth and picked up speed, the journal tumbling out of Jess's grasp and skidding down the aisle.

"I've got it!" Sam shouted over the screams of terror, darting after it.

Jess sunk to the ground, her stomach heaving with nausea as the speed increased, pinning her against the emergency exit door.

Dean's hand clamped down on her shoulder, pulling her closer, trying to protect those around him even faced with his own greatest fear.

Later, she would wonder if either Winchester had been raised with any sense of self-preservation, or if it was just Dean as the older brother, but right now, she could only squeeze her eyes tight and pray that Sam would get to the book in time.

It had always been her practice to pray to the Lord – the sudden discovery of demons and ghosts and everything else that went bump in the night hadn't dimmed that faith.

After all, there must be something that meant the name of the Lord was practically poison to a demon.

But now, as she clung to Dean, her life, and the life of every other passenger, in Sam's hands, a fiery demise just minutes away, looming ever closer, Jessica found herself praying to someone else – fully aware that 'the Lord works in mysterious ways', there had to be someone up there more invested in their survival.

Mary, please, if you can hear me … if you can do anything … help your son. Help Sam. Please!

Sam's voice rose above the chaos, the plane suddenly jerked upwards, Dean and Jess collapsed as the force pinning them against the metal suddenly disappeared.

"Are you okay?!" Dean demanded. "Jess, are you alright?"

"I think so." Jess gasped, her heart still pounding. "Is it … Is it over?" Sending a silent thank you towards the sky, whether God or Mary Winchester or anyone else who might have been listening had done anything – she didn't care – she accepted Dean's help to her feet, and moved over to the co-pilot, checking his pulse. "He's alive."

"Yeah, it's over." Dean assured her. "It's over." He added, when Amanda stuck her head through the curtain, looking pale.

"Thank you." She whispered. "I'll go and tell the pilot he's been taken ill."

"I'll stay with him." Jess said. "I'm a trained nurse."

"Thank you, but we're all trained first-aiders." Amanda said. "And we need all passengers in their seats for the remainder of the journey."

"I understand." Jess agreed, following Dean and Amanda back through the curtain.

Dean sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. "I need a drink."

"Something tells me they're not bringing the drinks trolley round." Jess muttered, slipping past him to her own seat, falling sideways into Sam, who had tucked the journal away and was waiting for them. "Good timing."

Sam wrapped his arms around her. "Are you alright?"

"I think I just aged about ten years." Jess quipped weakly. "I'm alright, don't worry."

"Thank God." Sam murmured, kissing the side of her head.

"So …" Dean said, his eyes still shut. "Had enough of hunting yet?"

"Are you kidding?" Jess asked, keeping her voice low. "We just saved the lives of over a hundred people; I've got the best job in the world. But …"

"But?" Sam prompted.

Jess grimaced. "Next time, let's try to stop it on the ground, not forty thousand feet in the air."

"I second that." Dean said. "I am never getting on a plane again."

"Yes, you are." Sam told him, smirking. "We've got to get home again."

Dean groaned. "Son of a bitch!"