A middle aged man was sitting on a bench in the airport. The man ran his hand over his pale and sweaty face before he opened the top button of his white dress shirt so he could breathe better. He leaned back and took a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but he was too nervous. 'I need some air,' he thought and got up, but then he remembered that he couldn't. He let out a heavy sigh before he decided that splashing some cold water on his face would do him just as well.

He grabbed his suitcase and got up. He checked the inside of his suit jacket to make sure he had his boarding pass before he went to search for a restroom. When he finally found one, he walked right into it and headed to the sink. He turned on the water and splashed some cold water in his face.

A middle aged man with dark hair came out of one of the stalls and grabbed a paper towel. "Nervous flyer?" He asked.

"It's that obvious, huh?" The grey haired man asked and opened another button of his dress shirt.

"You know, what are the odds of dying in a plane crash? I mean, what - 20,000 to one? Ha," he laughed and walked out.

"Wow. That's, uh, really reassuring. Thank you," the man thanked him sarcastically. 'He didn't even wash his hands,' he thought before be leaned over the sink again and began to splash some more cold water in his face. From behind him, black mist started to come out of the vents, but he didn't see it.

The man took a deep breath before he wiped the water out of his face and looked into the mirror. That's when he noticed the black mist. He turned around to see what it was, but as soon as he did, the mist went right into his eyes. His eyes turned completely black before they went back to their normal color. "Let's get this show started," he said with a laugh and walked out of the bathroom.

...

The pilots in the plane were going over everything to make sure they knew where they were going and if everything was working. "Amanda, how are you today?" The pilot with short black hair asked the blonde stewardess.

"I'm doing just fine, Chuck," Amanda told him smiling before she turned her attention to the passengers coming onto the plane. "Welcome aboard," she greeted a passenger and looked at his boarding pass to see where he sat. "15C - towards the back of the plane, on the right," she told him.

"Thank you," he thanked her and walked to his seat. The nervous man who had previously been in the bathroom entered the plane and walked right passed Amanda.

"Have a nice flight, sir," she wished him smiling.

"Oh, I'm counting on it," he said and turned around. As soon as he did, Amanda's bright smile fell. His eyes were completely black.

'What the Hell?' She thought and then closed her eyes and shook her head when the man turned around and walked to his seat. 'I'm imagining things,' she said, but couldn't help but look at the man again.

"Could you help me?" A woman asked her.

"Um..." Amanda shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind as she looked at the boarding pass. "Uh, 11F - that's the middle on the plane, on the left," she told her.

"Thank you," the woman thanked her and walked to her seat. Amanda looked up again and watched the man, who was still walking to his seat. She shook her head once more and helped the rest of the passengers to their seats. When the plane was in the air, the stewardess was more relaxed and had completely forgotten about the man with the black eyes.

...

"Excuse me, do you know how long we've been up?" The grey haired man asked the woman sitting next to him.

"Oh, uh... About forty minutes," the woman answered, looking at her watch.

"Wow, time really does fly, huh?" He asked with a smile. The woman nodded her head and forced a smile at his bad joke. "Excuse me, I've got to stretch my legs," he said and got up. The blonde woman next to him pressed herself against the seat, so that it was easier for the man to get up. As soon as he was in the aisle of the plane, he turned around and began to slowly walk to the end of the plane. He walked over to the emergency door and looked out of the window. A man with short black hair turned his head to watch him, but then turned his attention back to the front of he plane, figuring that the man just wanted to have a better look at how high they were.

The man furrowed his eyebrow in confusion. 'Why wouldn't he just look out of his window?' He wondered and looked back at the man, who was also looking at him. He turned his attention to the door before he grabbed the handle. "Hey! What the Hell are you doing?!" The passenger yelled panicked. Everyone one the plane turned to the man in the seat, before they looked at the man attempting to open the emergency door. The man turned around, his eyes black, before he turned back to the door and opened it. Seconds after he managed to open the door, he and the door were sucked out of the plane and into the sky.

The wing on the right side on the plane tore off, causing the plane to tilt to the right. Everyone on the plane began to panic and scream. An alarm began to go off shortly before the air masks fell down. People immediately grabbed them and pulled them over their faces. The pilots desperately tried to even out the plane, but it had begun to fall nose first. Chuck and his co-pilot pulled the yoke as close to them as it would allow, but it didn't help. The earth was getting closer and closer, and several seconds later, they crashed.

-.-

Dean was sleeping on his stomach with both his arms under the pillow. He was trying to fall back asleep, when he heard the door unlock. His eyes snapped open when he heard footsteps. He slowly began to reach for something under his pillow, and as soon as he heard the door close, he lifted his head and was about to turn around to attack the intruder, when he heard Sam speak.

"Morning, sunshine," he greeted his older brother.

Dean groaned and relaxed his hand. "What time is it?" He asked.

"Uh, it's about 5:45," he answered.

"In the morning?" He whined annoyed and let his head fall on the motel pillow.

"Yep," Sam answered.

"Where does the day go?" Dean asked and turned around. "Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked.

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," the youngest Winchester said.

"Liar," his brother said and sat up. "'Cause I was up at three and you were watching a George Foreman informercial," he told him.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV," he said and held up both of his hands in an attempt to change the subject. In one hand, he had two coffees stacked on top of one another, and in the other hand, he was carrying a box of doughnuts.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" He asked his brother.

"I don't know. A little while ago, I guess. It's not a big deal," he said dismissively.

"Yeah it is," Dean argued, making Sam laugh.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-"

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you," Dean cut him off. "It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp," he told him.

"Isn't that Mill's job?" He asked with a smile.

"It is, but when she's not here, it's your job," he said. "Do you see her here now?" He asked.

Sam looked around the room. "No?" He answered, although it came out as a question.

"Exactly, so get some rest," he said. Sam looked down at the ground. "Are you still having nightmares about Jess?" He asked a little softer. Sam took a deep breath and walked over to his own bed and sat down.

"Yeah," he said quietly and handed his brother a coffee. "But it's not just her, it's everything," he said and took another deep breath. "I just forgot, you know. This job - man, it gets to you," he told him and shook his head.

"Well, you can't let it. You can't bring it home like that," Dean said and took a sip of his coffee.

"So what? All this - it never keeps you up at night?" Dean frowned as he thought about that before he shook his head. "Never? You're never afraid?" Sam asked, not believing his older brother.

"No, not really," he said and shook his head, making his brother let out an airy laugh. He leaned forward and reached underneath his brother's pillow and pulled out a Bowie knife and held it up with burst lips.

Dean looked at it for a few seconds before he took it from his brother. "That's not fear. That is precaution," he told him.

"Alright, whatever. I'm too tired to argue," Sam said. Dean opened his mouth to tell his brother that he should sleep, when his phone rang. He looked at the unknown called ID before he looked at his brother and answered the call.

"Hello?" He answered.

"Dean, it's Jerry Panowski," the man on the other end of the line said. "You, your sister and your dad helped me out a couple years back?" He said, though it came out as a question.

"Oh yeah, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The Poltergeist thing," he remembered before he furrowed his brows. "It's not back, is it?" He asked.

"No, no. Thank God, no, but it's something else, and, well, I think it could be a lot worse," he told him.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Can we talk in person?" Jerry asked.

"Yeah, just tell me where you are," he said. Jerry gave Dean his location. "We'll be there soon," he said and hung up.

"Who was it?" Sam asked.

"Jerry. He has a case," he said.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. He wouldn't say," Dean answered and pressed his phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?" He asked.

"Mill. Letting her know we have a case," he told him.

"I don't think she's u-"

"Millie, hey," he greeted his sister, cutting his brother off in the process.

Mill sighed annoyed. "What do you want?" She asked.

"Don't you just sound lovely," Dean said sarcastically.

"What do you want, Dean?" She repeated herself.

"I didn't mean to wake you, but-"

"You didn't wake me," Mill cut him off.

"You've been up?" Dean asked her shocked.

"I don't sleep much," she answered, though Dean already knew that. "Now, what do you want? You haven't even started yet and you're already boring me," she told him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Lovely as usual," he said sarcastically. He didn't need to see his sister to know that she was glaring at him. "I got a case," he said.

"Care to elaborate?" She asked bored.

"Don't know what it is," he told her. "But Jerry said we have a case and I said we'd check into it," he told her.

"Who's Jerry?" She asked.

"Jerry Panowski," he told her.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" She asked.

"We helped him with a Poltergeist a couple years back with Dad in Pennsylvania," he told her.

"Right, right. The Poltergeist. That was fun," she said. Dean could tell from her voice that she was smiling one of her, what he thought, crazed smiles. The Poltergeist was far from fun. It had broken two of their dad's rips, dislocated Dean's shoulder, and had given Mill a pretty good concussion before it was destroyed.

"Time of our lives," Dean replied with a roll of his green eyes.

"So, where is it?" She asked.

"Catasauqua, Pennsylvania," he answered.

"Dean, I'm in Tulsa right now. It'll take me a day at most to get there," she told him.

"Well, me and Sammy are in Wisconsin right now," he told her.

"That's closer than where I'm at," she told him.

"Well, you better hurry up then," he said. He didn't need to see her face to know that she was giving him a death glare. "I'll race ya," he said and hung up.

"So?" Sam asked.

"She's coming. She's in Tulsa right now, so it'll take her a day," he said.

"Oklahoma?" Sam asked.

"Do you know any other Tulsa's?" Dean asked, making his younger brother roll his hazel colored eyes

"So, what now?" Sam asked.

"Well, first we eat," he said as he stuffed a doughnut ball into his mouth. "And then we go."

-.-

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around," a short man said. He was wearing a light colored plaid dress shirt with a black tie, black pants and black shoes, and an ID that he carried around his neck. "Dean, your sister and your dad really helped me out," he said.

"Yeah, he told me. It was a Poltergeist?" Sam asked.

"Damn right it was a Poltergeist - this thing practically tore our house apart," he said. "Tell ya something: if it wasn't for you, your sister and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive," he told Dean.

"No problem, man," Dean said and shrugged.

"No really, I owe you," Jerry insisted.

"It's the job," he said shrugging.

"Some job," Jerry said with a laugh. "So where's your sister? Her name's Millie, right?" He asked.

"Just Mill," a female voice corrected him. All three men stopped walking and turned around.

"When'd you get here?" Dean asked.

"Ten minutes ago. I would've come in earlier, but I was eating a double cheeseburger and a large fry in my car," she said and let out a very loud and unladylike burp. "And a coke," she added. Dean laughed loudly and punched her shoulder playfully while Sam looked annoyed.

"Right, well, let's keep going," Jerry suggested and kept walking.

"How long were you on the road for? I thought Tulsa was a day away?" Sam asked as they followed Jerry.

"19 hours, actually, but I made it in 14," she said. "A couple speeding tickets, a couple snaps with a red light camera. Nothing Miss Pat Benatar can't pay for," she said and pulled out a fake credit card.

"Pat Benatar? I thought you hated her?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Why do you think she's paying?" She asked with a laugh.

"So," Jerry began. All three Winchester's turned their attention to the balding man in front of them. "Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" He asked.

"Yeah, I was. I'm... taking some time off," Sam answered.

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell," he told him. Sam gave him a small half smile, not believing him. "You know, he talked about you all the time," he said.

"He did?" He asked surprised and looked over at his older siblings, but neither one of them were looking at him.

"Yeah, you bet he did," he said before he turned to Dean. "Oh, hey, I tried to get ahold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" He asked.

"He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now," Dean answered and pulled his lips into a thin line.

"Well, we're missing the old man, we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" He asked with a laugh. Mill narrowed her hazel eyes at the man while Dean laughed it off. Sam was a good hunter. They all were. John had trained them after all, but none of them even came close to the hunter that he was. After all, the man had over 20 years of experience over their heads.

"No, not by a long shot," Sam answered.

"Well, I got something I want you guys to hear," he said and walked into a small room that looked like an office. "I listened to this, and well, it sounded like it was up your alley," he said and put a disc into a CD player. "Normally I wouldn't have access to this," he told them. "It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia Flight 2485. It was one of ours," he explained and hit play.

"Mayday, mayday... United Britannia Flight 2485... We need help," the voice of a man, presumably the pilot, was heard, although barely. Loud alarms and crackling noises made it impossible to hear anything but a few words. All three Winchester leaned forward in their seats with a look of concentration on their face as they listened to what was being said.

"Britannia Flight 2485... We copy your mission," another voice said.

"We're experiencing... Some kind... Mechanical field..." The pilot said before it was cut off my crackling. All three Winchester's furrowed their eyebrows in confusion as they tried to figure out what the people were saying, when a noise that sounded like a mixture of roaring and yelling was heard loud and clear before the audio stopped. The three siblings looked at one another. This was definitely up their alley.

"Took off from here, crashed about 200 miles south," Jerry atold them. "Now, they're saying mechanical failure. The cabin depressurizes somehow, nobody knows why. Over 100 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," he said.

"You don't think it was?" Sam asked.

"No, I don't," he said and shook his head.

"Jerry, were the gonna need passenger manifests, a list of survivors-"

"Right, and, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked, cutting Sam off.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage - guys, the NTSB has it locked down in an Evidence Warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance," he said.

"And you can't connect us to someone who does?" Mill asked.

Jerry shook his head. "Wish I could," he said.

"No problem. Let us take care of it," he said.

"Okay, well, I'll get the passenger manifests and list of survivors. Be right back," he said and got up.

-.-

"So, what were you doing in Tulsa?" Sam asked his sister while they were waiting on Dean to come out of Copy Jack.

"Juggling convention," Mill deadpanned.

"I'm serious," he said and gave her a look.

"So am I. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to become a professional juggler, and as soon as I heard about the convention, well, how could I have passed that up?" She asked. Sam continued to give her a look. "Take a picture, Sammy. It'll last ya longer," she said. Her brother rolled his eyes and turned his head when he heard the door open and Dean come out.

"You've been in there forever," Sam said annoyed.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked his sister.

"PMS is my guess," Mill answered. For the millionth time that day, Sam gave her an annoyed look.

"Well, you can't rush perfection," he said and held up three laminated ID cards.

"Homeland Security?" He asked with a raised eyebrow when Dean handed him and Mill their ID. "That's pretty illegal, even for us," he said.

"Yeah, well, it's something new, you know? People haven't seen it a thousand times," he said as he got into the Impala.

"Still," Sam said as he got in.

"Come on, Sammy, live a little," Mill said as she got into the backseat. Her 1968 Ford Mustang was parked at the motel they were staying at. Her and Dean had argued about which car they would take and had then settled on rock-paper-scissors, which she had lost.

"Alright, so, what you got?" Dean asked.

"Well, there's definitely E.V.P. on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam said as he looked at the papers Jerry had given him.

"Yeah?" Dean asked. Mill leaned forward so that she could see the papers Sam was holding.

"Yeah," he answered and opened his laptop. He opened a file and clicked a few things. "Listen," he told him siblings and hit play. The voice of the pilot speaking was low and deep, but even without the static, it still couldn't be made out what he was saying. The talking went on for a couple seconds before a high pitched voice spoke.

"No survivors," it said.

"'No survivors'?" Dean and Mill repeated confused. "What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors," Dean said.

"Got me," Sam said.

"Maybe it means that there aren't supposed to be any survivors," Mill suggested. Dean turned his head to look at her. "Just a guess," she said shrugging.

"So, what are you thinking? A haunted flight?" He asked.

"Would make sense," she said.

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers, or remember Flight 401?" He asked.

"Right - the one that crashed and the airline savaged its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirits of the pilot and co-pilot haunted those flights,"

"Maybe we have a similar deal," Sam suggested.

"But if it's the same thing, or similar to Flight 401, how will we know what parts come from what plane? And who's doing the haunting?" Mill asked.

"I don't know," Sam said.

"So what now? We go the wreckage and see which parts are haunted, from what flight they came from, and who died?" She asked.

"No, we talk to the survivors first," Dean said and pulled out the list of names of all the survivors on it. "Which one do you want to talk to first?" He asked.

"Third on the list - Max Jaffey," Sam said and pointed at his name.

"Why him?" Dean and Mill asked in unison.

"Well, for one, he's from around here, and two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked.

"He write a book about it or something?" Mill joked.

"No. I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him," he said.

"Stop being a dick and tell us where," Mill said annoyed.

"Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital," he answered.

"An insane asylum?" She asked.

"That term is outdated-"

"Oh, the term is outdated," she said and rolled her eyes. "It's an insane asylum." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a statement either, she just wanted him to say that that is what it was.

"Yes," he said with an annoyed sigh.

"Let's go then," Dean said and started the car.