Get It While You Can
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural. All I got to my name is Jayne and Lynn.
Rating: T
AN: Thanks to Winchesters Gurl, wurd-god, Nelle07, .Will, and TheWinchesterAngel for the reviews!
"Phantom Traveler"
Chapter 9: Phantom Traveler
It was still early morning when Dean's Impala coasted into Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The town wasn't much of a drive from the dive motel room Dean and Sam had stayed in the night before, and since they'd left the motel before seven a.m., and Dean had managed the trip out to Kittanning in less than two hours, it was barely nine in the morning when he pulled his car into a mostly vacant parking lot near the local airfield. The air was cold and the sky was overcast, with stretches of thin, dark gray clouds rolling in over the barely visible, pale morning sunlight. There was an ugly chain-link fence all around the property, and scraggly brush cropping up around the expanse of cracked asphalt where Dean had parked.
He was here because Jerry Panowski, former poltergeist victim, had called him before six am and asked him to drive out and see him about a possible hunt. Jerry worked in the production and repair facility of the local airline. Actually, he was supervisor, which Dean would have never guessed a couple years ago, when he and his dad had saved the Panowski family from a poltergeist that had taken up residence in their home. His facility looked like any other long, boring, tan-colored factory, surrounded by grass and dirt and big sky, with the slope of the tree covered hills in the distance. Dean frowned at the place through the windshield, and then glanced over at his sleeping brother. Sam was slumped against the door in the passenger seat, mouth wide open and face propped up on his fist. The kid had dozed off on the way here, and Dean wouldn't have thought twice about it if he wasn't certain this was the most sleep Sam had gotten in days.
Actually, Dean was starting to really worry about Sam. He wasn't sleeping, and when he did sleep, he was always having some awful dream about his girlfriend. Understandable, Dean supposed… what had happened to Jess was terrible, and for Sam to have witnessed it, well… Dean knew a little something about that. But Sam still needed to sleep. When he'd approached Sam about it, though, his brother had given him some bullshit about how it was just the job getting to him.
The job could get to you. Dean knew that. But when he considered that Sam's sucky sleep schedule had taken a turn for the worst just a few weeks ago, following their trip to Hannigan's Pub... well, he had to acknowledge this wasn't just about the job. This was about something else.
Sighing, Dean smacked his brother in the arm. "Sam! Wake up!"
His brother jolted up out of sleep, blinking blearily around the car, and then Sam groaned, slowly sinking back against the seat. "Are we here already?"
"Yeah, we're here. Get out."
Sam laughed sleepily as the two of them climbed out of the Impala. "Man, I can't believe I fell asleep."
"I can," Dean retorted. "You haven't slept in forever. Only a matter of time before your body made you."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. So this Jerry Panowski guy? You know him?"
Dean nodded. "Like I said, Dad and I got him out of a tight spot with a poltergeist. He knows our work," he said with his usual cheesy smirk, hoping to provoke a smile out of his little brother, but Sam only rolled his eyes again.
"So what did he say this was about?" Sam asked. "Something at the factory or something to do with a plane…?"
Dean shrugged. "Don't know. He didn't want to talk about it over the phone."
"Strange."
"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged again. "We're used to strange."
The man in question was waiting for them outside the building, beside the plane-sized, steel garage doors. He waved. Dean squinted at him, trying to dredge up the memories from the job he'd worked with his dad. He supposed the guy looked the same as he had a couple years ago: short, balding, and a little tacky, wearing a checked, short-sleeve button-down and a maroon tie. Dean smiled at him when he reached the doors.
"Good to see you again, Dean," Jerry said with a short smile and a firm handshake.
"You too," Dean replied. "Uh… this is my little brother, Sam. Sam, Jerry Panowski."
"Nice to meet you," Sam smiled, shaking Jerry's hand too.
Jerry nodded. "You too." He hesitated briefly, glancing around nervously at the open garage doors and his busy employees. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk about this in private. Follow me to my office?"
They nodded in agreement, and followed Jerry inside. The hanger was dim, but loud and crowded, machines whirring and drills going, sparks flying in the background and people shouting at each other. Jerry led them around damaged and half-finished planes, towards a wall of frosted glass in the back of the building. "Thanks for making the trip so quick," Jerry said as they walked. "I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around." He turned to Sam. "Dean and your Dad really helped me out."
"Yeah, he told me," Sam replied. "It was a poltergeist?"
"Poltergeist?" one of the staff called out as he walked past them. "Man, I love that movie!"
"Hey, nobody's talking to you!" Jerry snapped at his employee. "Keep walking!" Once they'd put some distance between themselves and the employee, Jerry continued with, "Damn right it was a poltergeist. It practically tore our house apart. I'll tell you something, if it weren't for you and your Dad, I probably wouldn't be alive."
Dean smirked at his brother. Before Sam had time to roll his eyes, Jerry asked, "Your Dad said you were off at college, that right?"
"Yeah, I was," Sam said. "I'm taking some time off."
"Well, he was real proud of you, I could tell," Jerry went on. "He talked about you all the time."
Dean looked at his brother, trying to gauge how Sam would react to that revelation. Sam looked pretty surprised. "He did?"
"You bet he did." Suddenly, Jerry turned to Dean. "Hey, I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?"
Dean looked away uncomfortably. "He's, uh, wrapped up in a job right now."
"Well, we're missing the old man, we get Sam. Even trade, right?"
Sam laughed a little. "Not by a long shot."
"I got something I want you guys to hear," Jerry said, changing the subject and leading them into his office.
Dean ducked into the glorified cubicle behind Sam and Jerry. It was a small thing behind a blurred glass door, with a wall of windows at the back, mostly hidden by clutter. Jerry took a seat behind his desk, and both Sam and Dean plopped down in chairs across from him, watching as he slid a CD into the drive on his work computer.
"When I listened to this," Jerry explained. "Well, it sounded like it was up your alley." He clicked on something on the computer screen and fiddled with the dial on the speakers. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485." He got serious then, looking Dean in the eye across the desk. "It was one of ours."
The recording began to play, and Dean struggled to hear the pilot's voice over the radio static. "Mayday, mayday," the voice requested help, but it was a chore to pick out what was being said. Dean caught "2485" and "Mechanical failure," and then Dean heard something else in the background – something that shouldn't be there. It was a loud, roaring sort of sound, but then it turned into something high and metallic and screeching. The noise drowned out the pilot's requests for help, and then the recording ended abruptly in a sudden explosion of static.
It was the sort of recording Dean heard a lot in their line of work, and he was willing to bet it had EVP on it. He was already sold on the case.
"It took off from here," Jerry said, turning off the recording. "Crashed about 200 miles south. 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 was 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 inferred.
"No," Jerry replied. "I don't."
Sam nodded, and started ticking off a list on his fingers. "Jerry, we're going to need passenger manifests, a list of survivors…"
"Right," Dean interrupted. "And um, is there any way we could take a look at the wreckage?"
"The other stuff is no problem," Jerry returned. "But the wreckage? Fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance."
The announcement was a bit of a blow to the investigation, but Dean was good at improvising. He nodded at Jerry, attempting a weak smile. "No problem."
Jerry really didn't need to know what he was planning next.
Lynn stepped out of the cheap fast food restaurant connected to the old, rundown gas station off the highway, into the sunlight and the chilly morning air. The sky was a cloudless blue, even though everything smelled like gasoline and exhaust, and the sounds of cars whizzing past and semi cabs blaring their horns echoed in her ears as she marched across the asphalt. The truck was parked beside the pump closest to the building, and Jayne was leaning on the side of the pickup as she waited for the gas tank to fill.
She smiled at Jayne when she reached the pump and handed her a coffee and a fruit and yogurt cup. Jayne frowned at it like it might bite her, and then she frowned at Lynn.
"If I eat one more donut or greasy egg sandwich, I am going to barf," Lynn replied. "Just eat it and shut up."
Jayne shrugged, obviously not too bothered, and balanced the food on the side of the truck bed as she took a gulp of her coffee. Lynn walked away and clambered up into the truck cab. Once she got the door closed, she sat her coffee in the cupholder and tried to get comfortable on the ratty, worn-out bench seat. Then she took a bite of her breakfast.
"Ew," she squeaked, grimacing as she shoved the yogurt cup into the cupholder too. "Ugh, gas station yogurt. Mistake. Very big mistake."
She sighed, slumping in her seat and shutting her eyes. It had been weeks since they'd pulled out of Stamping Ground, and there hadn't been anything remotely resembling a lead on Steve since. Trev still called to check in on a regular basis, but so far there had been no freak electrical storms to investigate. They'd taken a few jobs here and there: routine salt and burn ghost hunts, a couple run-of-the-mill creatures and the like, but mostly they'd been researching.
The hunts served as distractions, but when they were over, she'd still lay awake at night, playing with her mother's necklace and staring at the ceiling in whatever crappy motel room they'd taken refuge in for the night, and she'd worry about Steve. With every day that passed, she felt him slipping farther and farther away, and she was starting to feel as though he were lost to them forever.
She heard the clunk outside as the pump shut off and Jayne pulled the nozzle from the tank. Her phone started to buzz then, and Lynn answered it without looking at the screen. "Hello?"
"Where are you right now?" Trev's voice greeted her.
It was a rude way to start a conversation, but Lynn wasn't remotely offended. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she swallowed too hard, trying to squash her sudden hope before she got too excited, and inevitable disappointment sent her crashing. "Trev?" she asked breathlessly. "What's going on?"
"Freak electrical storm in Kittanning, Pennsylvania," Trev replied. "Happened early this morning, and I can't find any weather system that would have led up to it."
Lynn took a deep, steadying breath. The cab door swung open then, and Jayne clambered up into the truck. Lynn ignored her. "Ok," she said into the phone. "Was it anything like what you found in Stamping Ground?"
After they'd pulled out of Stamping Ground, Trev had gone over the weather reports for the place, and found several small thunderstorms had cropped up in the area on the same night Steve had rolled into town. It wasn't anything like the huge electrical storms leading up to the fire that had destroyed their house all those years ago, but it was something. Lynn had to believe there was a pattern.
"Really small," Trev confirmed. "Not a lot of press. Not a lot of damage. Popped up and gone. Barely qualifies as an electrical storm. You're lucky I caught it."
Lynn wasn't so sure. If the disturbance had been that small, could it really qualify as demonic activity? But she kept her doubts to herself. "Ok. Thanks, Trev, we'll check it out. Can you…"
"Hack into some area traffic cams?" Trev interrupted. "You know, one day I am going to ask you for danger pay. Or any kind of pay. But, yes, I am already on it."
Lynn smiled into the phone. "Thanks, Trev."
"You got it. I'll keep an eye out. Be safe!"
"Back at you."
Lynn ended the call and turned to Jayne, who was sitting beside her now, key in the ignition but engine off, and staring at her expectantly. "Kittanning, Pennsylvania," she said. "Trev says there was a little bitty baby electrical storm this morning that seemingly cropped up out of nowhere."
Jayne started the truck. "Got it."
Janis pulled away from the pump, tires rolling loudly over the asphalt, and Lynn took another deep, steadying breath, twisting her fingers in her necklace as Jayne wheeled the truck back onto the highway. She knew getting her hopes up would prove to be a mistake; she knew she'd be smarter to keep her expectations low. Trev's warnings from a few weeks ago kept replaying in her head on a loop, reminding her that electrical storms were all too often perfectly natural events that had nothing to do with demons.
But this was the first lead they'd had on Stephen in weeks, and Lynn's hopes skyrocketed anyway.
Sam yawned from where he leaned against the side of the Impala, parked along the curb on Main Street. He glared at the local Kopy Jack, which was basically just an off-brand Kinkos. The sun had finally poked out around the clouds, and there were people bustling along the sidewalk in front of him. Traffic whizzed past behind him as he shuffled against the door, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets.
He was bored. He was sick of staring at the same five cheesy photos on the storefront windows. Mostly, he was tired. That hour long nap in the car was nowhere near enough to make up for yet another sleepless night. But Sam couldn't say any of that out loud, because Dean was clearly worried enough, even if he tried to play it off like one big joke.
When he did sleep, the nightmares woke him. Most of the time, he simply lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, incapable of shutting off his brain, shutting off his emotions, and afraid to sleep. That was the bottom line: ever since the bad dream about Lynn Juarez confirmed that his nightmares about Jess did mean something, he was afraid to go to sleep. He was afraid that instead of reliving the old nightmares all over again, he'd have new ones and they'd be like the dreams from before Jess died, and before Lynn got caught in the barn explosion. They'd be… visions, or something, and he'd be racing the clock again, trying to stop someone else he knew from dying.
Eventually, Dean appeared in the doorway, stepping out onto the sidewalk and almost colliding with a young blonde woman as she entered the store. Sam rolled his eyes when he caught Dean checking her out. Then his brother headed for the car. "You've been in there forever," Sam snapped.
Dean was unbothered by his tone, holding up two freshly made fake IDs. "Can't rush perfection," he smirked.
"Homeland Security?" Sam asked incredulously, even as his hand closed around the badge with his face on it. "That's pretty illegal, even for us."
"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, heading around to the driver's side door. "It's something new. You know, people haven't seen it a thousand times."
Sam wasn't convinced, but he knew from experience it wouldn't do him any good to argue. They both got back in the car, and Sam grabbed his laptop. "All right, so what do you got?" Dean prompted.
Jerry Panowski had been better than good on his word, and before they'd left his office, he'd handed over Sam's requested passenger manifest and list of survivors, as well as a copy of the cockpit voice recording. Sam had been sorting through the information and playing around with the recording the entire time Dean had been in the Kopy Jack. "Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam replied.
"Yeah?"
"Listen."
Sam hit the play button. He'd isolated the strange noise on his laptop, and now, over the warped, muffled sound of the pilot's voice, the whiny, raspy background noise could be heard clear as day.
"No survivors," the strange, eerie voice echoed through the car.
Sam paused the recording and looked significantly at Dean. His brother frowned. "No survivors?" Dean echoed. "What is that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors."
"You got me."
They were quiet a moment. "So…" Dean said. "What are we thinking? A haunted flight?"
Sam shrugged. "There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships… like phantom travelers? Or, uh, remember Flight 401?"
"Right," Dean nodded. "The one that crashed, and the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes… and then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights."
"Maybe we got a similar deal."
"All right, so… survivors," Dean said, taking up the passenger manifest. "Which one do you want to talk to first?"
"Third on the list: Max Jaffey."
"Why him?"
"Well, for one, he's from around here," Sam explained. "And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, I spoke to his mother," Sam replied. "And she told me where to find him."
His brother looked at him expectantly, and Sam couldn't help smirking a little. "The Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital," he announced.
Dean smirked back, and put the Impala in gear. "Sounds like he saw something weird to me," he agreed. "Let's go."
Jayne parked Janis in a diagonal space along a main road, directly in front of a crappy motel. She squinted at the old, brown, rundown building. It sat practically right on the curb, and it looked like a good strong wind would blow it right over. A tall hill sloped up behind it, covered in trees, and behind her, on the main road, Jayne could hear cars and trucks whizzing past, occasionally blaring their horns. She tamped down the urge to groan. It had been a long trip to Kittanning, and so far, Jayne was not impressed. They hadn't seen much yet, but on the outskirts it seemed like a small, dirty, almost city, and she doubted there was much in it of interest. Beside her, Lynn shot off a text on her phone, most likely to Trev, and then sighed heavily. "Way to pick the crappiest hotel you could find," she snarked.
"It was the cheapest one in town," Jayne returned, lifting one shoulder and refusing to take the bait.
Lynn sighed again. "We better go get a room," she said wearily.
Jayne nodded mutely. Lynn opened the truck door and stepped out into the street. Jayne followed suit, lifting her eyes up to the sky overhead, cast in varying shades of gray, gray and more gray. Her stepsister paused the moment she hit the asphalt, hanging on the open truck door as she squinted across the busy street. "Huh," she observed. "There's an airport."
"What?" Jayne asked, shutting the door with a bang and coming around Janis's front bumper.
"Across the street. There's an airport. We're staying at an airport motel."
Jayne arched an eyebrow at that, glancing across the street. Up the road, separated from them by hundreds of feet of dirt, grass and cement, was a long, imposing steel structure, all glass in the front, with a chain link fence all around it. A nonstop train of cars kept pulling into its lot and coasting up to the front doors. Obviously, Lynn was right; it was an airport. Even as she stood there watching, she heard the all too close roar of plane engines, and she grimaced, shooting the dumpy little motel a skeptical look over her shoulder. Proximity to the airport aside, she doubted that the small, cheap, worn down motel with its aging brown siding was the airport's top choice when it came to putting up delayed passengers.
"Great," Lynn grumbled, rolling her eyes and blowing hair out of her face. "So not only did you find the cheapest and crappiest motel in town… you also found the loudest."
Again, Jayne refused to take the bait. Why Lynn was looking for a fight today was beyond her, but she was not going to give the woman what she wanted. "Let's grab that room," she said out loud. "Do a little digging into the area, check for anything weird over the past couple days. Maybe make some calls."
Lynn looked a little sour, but she nodded and followed Jayne through the shabby motel's front door. Inside, the lobby was a long, narrow dark thing, cramped as hell, with deep dark wood paneling and ancient maroon carpet. The ceiling was too low, and Jayne felt like she should stoop over when she walked through the door to avoid banging her head. At the far end of the lobby was the check-in desk, and a bored looking desk clerk behind it, with her sneakers propped up in front of her. She barely looked out of high school, with a ghoul-white complexion and dark hair cut angled and jagged around her pointed chin, streaked with electric blue.
When they approached the desk, the clerk barely looked up from her book. "Can I help you?" she asked in a monotone, blinking at them sluggishly.
"We need a room," Lynn informed her, businesslike, as she slid a credit card across the counter. "Two beds."
Jayne watched the clerk type the request into her Stone Age era computer, moving at what could only be called the speed of molasses. She rested her hip against the desk, quietly annoyed as the young woman took her sweet time. Beside her, Lynn impatiently drummed her finger on the desktop and blew a sigh up into her bangs. Finally, the woman handed over their room keys, saying flatly, "103. Enjoy your stay."
"Thanks so much," Lynn returned with a tight smile, taking the key cards.
"I like your hardware," the girl said, gesturing at Jayne's nose ring.
Jayne jerked her chin at her. "Thanks," she grunted, and then the two of them left the lobby and headed towards their room.
"Ok, so I've got Trev hacking into area traffic cams," Lynn announced as they walked. "Meanwhile, we should check hospitals, hotels, garages… and like you suggested, we should look into the obits and scan newspapers for any local weird."
"All right," Jayne agreed.
Lynn sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I feel like this is the literal definition of searching for a needle in a haystack."
Jayne felt like Lynn was one hundred percent right, but figured it wouldn't do much good to say it out loud. Instead, she said nothing, lifting one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, and then led the way down the long, dark, dingy hall and up to their door. She unlocked it, pushed it open, and stepped into the room. It was a small, dingy thing, with more maroon carpet and dark paneling, and two lumpy, narrow beds pushed up against the far wall. Jayne wrinkled her nose, ignored Lynn's disapproving noise from behind her, and then marched all the way inside, dumping her crap on the bed closest to the door.
Lynn shut the door heavily, and slid the chain and deadbolt into place. Her crap landed on the other bed, and then she wrestled her laptop out of her purple bag and set it up on the small round table just inside the door, on the side of the tiny bathroom. The machine whirred and beeped to life, and Lynn flopped down heavily in the lone chair at the table. Jayne watched with a raised eyebrow as her sister heaved another huge, deep sigh and started playing with her ponytail.
"You all right?" Jayne asked.
"Fine," Lynn replied. "I don't know. I guess I'm just feeling the road."
Jayne didn't really believe that. When they'd started the trip, Lynn had been excited. Actually, she'd been a hyperactive mess for the entire ride to Kittanning, constantly fidgeting in her seat, texting and calling Trev nonstop, fiddling with her necklace and her hair. But now it was like all the energy had just drained right out of her, leaving behind a tired, sulky lump. Lynn wasn't feeling the road; she was feeling the endless, always fruitless search for their brother, and all the helplessness, hopelessness and exhaustion that came with it. Jayne was feeling it too, but she kept it to herself.
"All right," she said out loud, shrugging yet again as she snatched her key card off the table. "I'm going to go grab some local newspapers."
Lynn nodded, made a noncommittal noise in response, and directed a lazy half wave at her as she headed for the door. Jayne rolled her eyes and stepped out into the gross, badly lit hallway, shutting the door gently behind her. She shut her eyes, breathed in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly as she sagged against the door. She was tired. The search for their brother weighed on her too, and the whispering, hissing, panicking words find-him-find-him-hurry-hurry played on an endless loop in her head, keeping her up at night and on edge during the day. She understood where Lynn was coming from, but she couldn't say it out loud. She had to power on through, keep the game face on for her sister... maybe she had to keep the game face on for herself, too.
She had a job to do, and it was too important for her to buckle under the weight and waste her time sulking in the hallway.
She swallowed, squared her shoulders, and then she marched determinedly towards the lobby.
Dean stepped out onto the sidewalk, squinting against the bright sun as he fussed with the starched, uncomfortable collar of his new white shirt. He glared at the men's shop behind him as he moved towards the curb, where he'd left the Impala. Sam was just behind him, wearing a brand new black suit that was almost identical to Dean's, and tying his matching black tie. Dean made a face. "Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers," he complained.
"No, you don't," Sam retorted. "You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance."
Dean glared at him. Sam smirked. "I hate this thing," Dean said.
"Hey, do you want into that warehouse, or not?"
Dean made another face and grumbled under his breath as he climbed behind the wheel of his car, but he didn't have much to say in response. He just turned the engine over and pulled away from the curb, speeding down the busy street towards the highway, headed for the NTSB warehouse in the next town over.
Fact was, he knew Sam had a point, and getting into that warehouse was even more important now than it had been before. All their digging around so far had come to nothing. After Sam had isolated the EVP on the cockpit voice recorder from the doomed Flight 2485, they'd gone to the Riverfront Psychiatry Hospital and talked to survivor Max Jaffey, who'd directed them to the passenger in the seat in front of him, which had led them to the passenger's widow... and then they'd hit a wall.
They'd cornered Max Jaffey on the quiet, green grounds of the psychiatric hospital, as he limped around the green space with a cane. He hadn't wanted to talk to them at all, was convinced they'd think he was crazy... and who could blame him? He was staying in a mental institution. He also insisted he'd already spoken to Homeland Security.
"Right," Dean had agreed. "But some new information has come up, so if you could just answer a couple questions?"
"Just before the plane went down," Sam cut in smoothly. "Did you notice anything unusual?"
Max Jaffey shook his head and limped towards a patio table and chairs. "Like what?"
"Strange lights," Dean suggested. "Uh… weird noises, maybe. Voices?"
"No, nothing."
They all sat down around the small table in the hospital's courtyard. Dean honestly didn't believe a word coming out of the guy's mouth. "Hmm. Mr. Joffey…"
"Jaffey," the other man promptly corrected Dean, clearly irritated.
"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?"
He nodded.
"Can I ask why?"
Jaffey looked at Dean like he was an idiot. "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?"
"I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"See, I think maybe you did see something up there," Dean pushed on. "We need to know what."
"No. No, I was delusional. Seeing things."
Dean snorted. "He was seeing things."
"It's ok," Sam intervened. "Just tell us what you thought you saw. Please."
Max Jaffey blinked again, and frowned, and then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There… there was this… man," Jaffey began hesitantly. "And… he had these eyes, these black eyes… and I saw him… or, I thought I saw him…"
Jaffey trailed off. "What?" Dean prompted him.
"He opened the emergency exit," Jaffey finally said. "But that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door."
"This man… did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly?" Sam asked. "It would look something like a mirage?"
"What, are you nuts?" Jaffey retorted. "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me."
The thing was, Dean reflected back as he drove down the highway, at the time it seemed like Jaffey had given them a good lead. But when they followed up, nothing made any sense. Sam had tracked down the man's name using the passenger manifest, and then they'd headed off for the address listed. But when Dean had pulled the Impala up in front of a good-sized, nice looking, two-story house with a manicured lawn and neatly trimmed rosebushes, he was understandably confused. "So here we are," Sam had announced, sounding a little thrown himself. "George Phelps, seat 20C."
"Man, I don't care how strong you are," Dean retorted. "Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open an emergency door during a flight."
"Not if you're human. But maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form?"
Dean eyed the house skeptically. "Does that look like a creature's lair to you?"
It hadn't looked like a creature's lair. At all. Dean had known Sam was thinking the same thing; the kid just didn't want to admit it. But they'd gone inside the home anyway, flashed their homemade badges at George Phelps' widow, and it wasn't long before they'd found themselves sitting across from her in the Phelps living room, with a coffee table and a silver bowl full of fake white apples between them.
Sam drummed his fingers on his thigh nervously, glancing at Dean, and then he turned his eyes to the coffee table. He picked up a picture of a balding, middle aged man. "This was your late husband?"
"Yes," the woman said quietly, with a sad smile. "That was my George."
"And you said he was… a dentist?" Dean asked.
She nodded. "He was headed to a convention in Denver." She paused, tears welling up in her eyes. "Did you know that he was petrified to fly?" she asked suddenly. "For him to go like that…"
She trailed off. After a moment of silence, Sam asked gently, "How long were you married?"
"Thirteen years," she replied.
"And in all that time," he said, as carefully as possible. "Did you ever notice anything… strange about him? Anything out of the ordinary?"
The widow thought for a moment. "Well," she murmured. "Uh… he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."
That, of course, hadn't been what they meant at all. Once they'd left the house, they had agreed that nothing they'd learned from Max Jaffey or George's widow made any sense. A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer wasn't exactly evil personified. Their only option now was to get inside the NTSB warehouse and take a look at the wreckage from Flight 2485. And that was how Dean found himself stepping out of Mort's For Style, a mere hour later, wearing the hated black suit and tie. But as much as Dean hated his new suit, he had to admit Sam's plan wasn't the worst. Half an hour later, they were standing at the security desk outside the NTSB warehouse, flashing their homemade badges at the guard, and being granted immediate access to the wreckage of Britannia 2485.
The warehouse was dark and dirty, metallic and industrial with a high, high ceiling, and the wreckage from the crash was scattered and jumbled all throughout the storage area. Dean winced as he took in the remains of Flight 2485. There was nothing left that even resembled an airplane; everything was charred and twisted, reduced to nothing but shards of metal and plastic, littered with disconnected wires. It was impressive that even seven people had survived the crash; it looked like the sort of wreck that no one should have walked away from. Dean pulled his EMF reader from inside his suit jacket, and then put on his headphones.
"What is that?" Sam demanded as Dean tucked an earbud around his ear.
"It's an EMF meter," Dean explained. "Reads electic-magnetic frequencies."
"Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is. But why does that one look like a busted up walkman?"
"Because that's what I made it out of," he returned, smirking proudly. "It's homemade."
Sam stared at him a beat. "Yeah," he said sarcastically. "I can see that."
Dean made a face at him and turned away to scan the wreckage. The first few minutes were fruitless; not even a blip registered on the reader. But Dean was finally rewarded when they reached the remains of the emergency door, and his EMF meter whirred and lit-up like a child's toy. "Check out the emergency door handle," he ordered Sam, frowning at the powder caked onto the unnaturally twisted black handle. He picked at the powder, flaking some of it off and then frowning at the residue left on his finger. "What is this stuff?"
"One way to find out," Sam replied, and then he scraped off the yellowish-gray, mostly burnt and ashy residue clinging to the door handle and collected it in a small plastic bag. "We should probably get out of here fast, though," Sam went on as he scraped. "Eventually someone's going to catch on to the fact that we're not really from Homeland Security."
Dean nodded his agreement, and the two of them hurried towards the back of the warehouse, dodging around the piles of plane debris and then sneaking out the rear exit, onto the tarmac and into the bright sunlight. They shuffled furtively along the back of the tall, white metal building and rounded the corner cautiously. As they neared the security gate, a loud alarm bell went off, undoubtedly to alert the staff that two idiots impersonating Homeland Security officials were on the loose in the warehouse. Dean winced, cursing under his breath, and then he started walking faster, Sam on his heels. They broke into a run for the gate, and Sam took a running leap, landing half way up the fence and then heaving himself over the top. Miraculously, he hit the ground on the other side and managed to stay on his feet. Dean shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it at the top of the gate, and then used it as a guard for his hands, vaulting over the perimeter right behind Sam. He landed with a smirk, snagging the jacket off the top of the gate. "Well, these monkey suits do come in handy," Dean quipped, before racing towards where they'd left the car.
Sam blinked at his back, and then ran after him. They'd scrambled into the Impala amid the blaring sirens and running footsteps and general chaos of the NTSB facility, and Dean started her up, threw her into gear, and burned rubber whipping his car out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. He drove with the pedal against the floor for several blocks, eyes on the rear view mirror, scanning for cops. But no one seemed to be following them, and as they got farther and farther from the warehouse, further along the highway, and closer to Kittanning and Jerry's shop, Dean began to relax, breathing out a sigh of relief through pursed lips and easing off on the gas.
His brother heaved a relieved sigh of his own. "We should take this stuff to Jerry," Sam said. "I bet he has a way to analyze it at the hanger. Maybe he can tell us what it is."
Dean nodded his agreement and continued driving in the direction of the hanger. They were quiet for a long time as Dean drove back into Kittanning, and along the main road. They were less than a mile away from the hanger when he saw it: a little gray pickup parked in the slanted spaces along the road, across the street from the small Kittanning airport and directly in front of an old, shabby motel, painted dark brown and featuring a super classy flashing sign. Dean frowned at the truck, and then he frowned at Sam. Sam wasn't paying attention, however; his head was bent over something or other… the samples they'd taken from the NTSB warehouse, the passenger manifest, the survivor list, possibly Sam's own notes. Dean made a split-second decision and whipped the Impala into a slanted parking space directly beside the rusty old truck.
Sam finally looked up, frowning at the motel. "I thought we were taking this stuff to Jerry," he said slowly, sounding irritated. "We decided he might have equipment that would help analyze it?"
"Change of plans," Dean returned. He jerked his head towards the truck. "That seem weird to you?"
Sam followed the jerk of his head and took a look at the truck through the window. He seemed a little taken aback. "Oh, wow," he said.
"Right?"
"A crappy gray truck," Sam continued sarcastically.
Dean rolled his eyes. Clearly, Sam didn't get it. "Yeah, and who do we know that drives a crappy gray truck?"
Sam sighed, still apparently not getting it. "Seriously? You know, Dean… there's probably a lot of crappy gray trucks out there. There is no way to know for sure that this one belongs to Jayne and Lynn."
Dean tilted his head again, grudgingly acknowledging Sam's point… but he didn't really buy it. By now, he'd know that rusted POS anywhere, and he was positive he was looking at Jayne Gibson's truck. So that really only left him with one question: what the hell was she doing here?
"Well, let's get a room," he said out loud, and climbed out of the car.
"Wait, what about Jerry?" Sam demanded. "We need to analyze this stuff we found, Dean."
Dean made a show of jerking on the stiff, scratchy collar of his white button down shirt. "We will. I want to get out of this thing first."
He heard Sam make a scoffing sound, but Dean ignored him and headed for the entrance. The sound of the car door opening and closing rang out from behind him, and he heard Sam following him.
Inside, the motel lobby was dark, cramped and depressing, but not nearly as depressing as the clerk at the check in counter. She was pale and dressed in black, with electric blue streaked through her dark hair, and she glared at them both as they approached the desk. Dean gave her his best winning smile.
"One room, two twins," he greeted her.
She didn't even bother replying, just dropped her Converse-clad feet off the desk and onto the floor before dragging her rolling chair to the computer. Dean handed her the newest credit card in his arsenal and the clerk started registering him, making no comment about the name on the card.
"Hey, that truck outside," he said conversationally as she typed. "You know, gray, rusted out Nissan? Probably about fifteen years old? Man, that thing reminds me of my friend's truck."
The clerk actually rolled her eyes and continued to give him the silent treatment. Dean wasn't deterred. "Yeah, haven't seen her in a long time. Tall, blonde… nose ring… hey, I don't suppose you could tell me who drove it in here?"
"No," she said shortly.
Dean blinked, his smile getting strained. He knew the clerk wouldn't cave and tell him anything at first go around; he'd been prepared for the 'sorry, we can't give out that kind of information,' spiel. He still hadn't expected such a rude, blatant shutdown. Beside him, Sam rolled his eyes and fished his billfold out of his suit. "How about now?" he asked the clerk, sliding a twenty across the counter.
She took it, studied it blankly, and then tucked it into her cleavage. Dean made a face. "Room 103," she said, fingers flying over the keyboard on the ancient computer. Then she handed Dean his credit card and two room keys. "You're in 158."
Then she grabbed her book again, flopped her feet back up on the counter, and went back to reading. They were officially dismissed. Dean smirked at her, not that she paid him any attention, and then he led the way out of the lobby and down a dark, shadowy hallway, following the placards on the yellowed wall that pointed him towards the 101-110 wing.
"I still don't understand why this is bothering you so much," Sam announced, even as he followed him to Room 103.
"Really, Sam?" Dean retorted. "After everything that's gone down since the first time we stumbled into those two, you're not the least bit suspicious about this latest run-in?"
"Well, yeah… I mean, I guess," Sam replied, without any real concern. "But… I'm sorry, what's the big deal? Maybe they saw the news report about the plane crash, heard about Max Jaffey or the EVP…"
Dean scoffed. "Yeah, then how come we're only here because Jerry called us?"
"Well, they've got Trev," Sam reasoned. "Maybe he clued them in."
Dean grimaced a little, but didn't clap back… mostly because he didn't really have a counterargument. As much as he hated it, Sam was making some good points. He simply walked faster down the hall, his shoes padding softly on the ugly, maroon carpet.
"Seriously," Sam pressed, keeping pace. "I mean, I know we don't know them very well…"
"Try at all, Sam."
"But we're all on the same side here," Sam finished, ignoring the sidebar. "And after what happened at Hannigan's Pub, I thought you would have moved past this… this suspicion and antagonism, Dean. What's the point?"
"Look, I get that we look like we should be on the same side," Dean retorted, pausing in the hallway to look Sam in the eye. His brother was visibly exasperated, but he kept quiet and let Dean say his piece. "And I get that despite massive invasions of our privacy…"
"Honestly, Dean, I don't see the big deal," Sam interrupted. "If we had a Trev, I'm sure we would have done the same thing."
Sam wasn't wrong, but Dean wasn't going to tell him that. "I get that despite massive invasions of our privacy," he said again. "In the end, they came clean and shared information and basically seemed on the up and up."
"Exactly."
"But that doesn't mean we can trust them," Dean replied. "And it doesn't mean I'm a-ok with them showing up again, on another one of our hunts, out of the blue, and you shouldn't be either. I'm getting to the bottom of this."
Then he turned on his heel and marched down the hall again. Sam sighed loudly from behind him, but he followed anyway. Dean didn't allow himself a moment to enjoy the victory; he had more pressing issues at hand. He had to track down Jayne Gibson and Lynn Juarez and demand an explanation for why they were in Kittanning and what the hell kind of game they were playing, anyway. None of Sam's reasoning or benefit of the doubt giving was going to change his mind on this.
This was weird, and he was getting an explanation.
The hours had been long since they'd settled into their motel room, passing by excruciatingly slow, and Jayne was more tired now than she'd been before. Her eyes itched and burned, and she rubbed them as she finished up the call she was making - an inquiry at the last local hospital on her list, checking for patients matching her brother's description. Just like every other inquiry she'd made at every other area hospital, this one proved pointless too.
Jayne said a quick goodbye and hung up her cell. She yawned. Lynn, who was sitting on her bed, was still cradling her cell phone to her ear and talking to a mechanic at the last of the local garages. Jayne eyed her for a moment, suppressed another yawn, and then turned to the newspapers she'd spread out all across the table. She pulled one closer to her, flipped to the obits, and started reading. Mere moments later, Lynn ended her call and practically threw her phone down on the bed. "Surprise, surprise," she announced with a heavy sigh. "There is no record of a Superbird being worked on in any garage in the county."
"No one matching Steve's description was found in any of the nearby hospitals," Jayne replied. "And so far, no mention in the obits. I suppose that's a good thing."
Lynn made a noncommittal noise and Jayne lowered her eyes back to the paper. The scene in the motel room was giving her massive deja-vu. It felt like the early days of Steve's disappearance, when they'd follow the GPS signal to the latest town he'd visited, and call endless lists of hospitals and garages, only to end the futile search with failure and disappointment. Once again, all their attempts to find Steve were proving useless, and it was a struggle not to give into her frustration.
The sudden knock on the door rang out through the motel room like a gunshot.
Jayne looked up from her sister's laptop with a jolt, darting a suspicious look at the door, and then glancing at Lynn, who dropped the newspaper in her hand and sat up straighter on the bed. She got to her feet, gesturing at Lynn to stay put, and then pulled her gun. Lynn's hand moved towards her Glock, lying on the nightstand, as Jayne moved towards the door and looked through the peephole.
She rolled her eyes and slid back the chain, throwing open the door. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, leveling her pistol in Dean Winchester's face.
Both Winchesters were standing on the other side of the threshold, dressed in black suits and ties, and she saw Sam's eyes go wide behind his brother's back as he took in her pistol. Dean, on the other hand, barely reacted to the gun. He just smirked meanly at her with those ridiculous pouty lips. "I was going to ask you the same question, Goldilocks."
"Ok, let's settle down," Lynn spoke up from behind her, and Jayne heard the creak of bedsprings as her stepsister got to her feet and crossed the motel room. "I think we can all agree that we've moved beyond the whole 'holding each other at gunpoint' stage in our acquaintanceship, right?"
Jayne made no comment, and no move to lower her weapon, and then she heard Lynn's exasperated sigh directly in her ear as her stepsister reached out and gently pushed her gun down. "Seriously," Lynn insisted, and Jayne found herself darting a glance towards Lynn and suddenly unable to ignore her half frustrated, half pleading eyes. She sighed too, rolling her eyes, and tucked her gun back in her jeans as she abruptly turned away from the door. It was childish, maybe, to stomp away and jerk her chair violently back from the table, but she did it anyway, taking her seat again and folding her arms petulantly over her chest.
Lynn ignored her and mustered up a bright, albeit strained smile for the brothers. "So… what brings you two to Pennsylvania… and our motel room?"
"And why are you dressed like insurance salesmen?" Jayne asked dryly, narrowing her eyes at both of them.
Dean made a face at her. It was maybe the most immature face she'd seen anyone make, ever. Sam rolled his eyes and Jayne wasn't entirely sure if it was aimed at her or his brother. Both of them, probably. "We're here on a hunt," Sam explained. "Someone Dean and my Dad helped a while ago. A pilot friend of his was involved in a plane crash, and he wanted us to listen to the cockpit voice recorder. There was EVP on it."
Lynn nodded slowly. "Our friend Trev has been tracking freak electrical storms for us. Sometimes they double as demonic omens. We thought… well, maybe if we could track the demons chasing our brother…"
"Then maybe you could track him down too," Sam finished for her, and Lynn nodded again.
"Freak electrical storm?" Dean asked suspiciously.
"Early this morning," Lynn replied. "Small, but it popped up on Trev's radar. Could be nothing, could be something."
There was a long silence then, and Jayne leaned back in her chair, balancing the heel of her boot on the edge of the seat. She glared at the Winchesters, not sure where the distrust and suspicion came from, but unable to talk herself out of it. Deep down, she knew she was being unfair and needlessly hostile, but the unexpected return of the brothers sent off an alarm bell in her head, warranted or not.
"So… did you two come here just to question our motives or… was there something else you needed?" Lynn asked, and Jayne was glad her stepsister seemed a little annoyed about the intrusion as well, despite her gently teasing smirk.
Dean narrowed his eyes at her, and Jayne kind of couldn't wait to see what sort of bullshit he was going to come up with in response. Sam didn't give him a chance to be a dick. "Um… yeah, I guess that was it," Sam said a little sheepishly. "Dean? We should go see Jerry now."
His brother didn't seem at all interested in doing that. Lynn, to Jayne's irritation, tilted her head and lifted her brows, giving Sam an inquisitive, politely interested look. "Jerry?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah, he's the one who called us," Sam explained, a little reluctantly if anyone asked Jayne. "His friend was the pilot who was in the crash. He actually works plane maintenance for the airport across the street."
"Oh," Lynn replied, still looking interested and polite, and now Jayne was starting to get suspicious of her stepsister too. What was that woman about to rope the two of them into, anyway? "So… did you find something?"
Sam was clearly taken aback by Lynn's interest. "Yeah, actually," he replied, despite seeming thrown by the question. "We checked out the wreckage from the accident."
"Your friend got you clearance?"
Both Winchesters looked away, ducking their heads. "Not exactly," Sam admitted.
"Impersonating federal officials?" Jayne suggested wryly. "Well, at least that explains the cheap suits."
Lynn shot her a warning look and started talking again before Dean could snap back at her – judging by the look on his face, he was definitely about to snap back at her. "EMF?" she suggested.
"Uh, yeah," Sam agreed. "And we found this weird powder all over the wreckage…"
"Mysterious powder?" Lynn asked, cutting him off. "Yellowish? Like sulfur, maybe?"
"Maybe," Sam allowed. "It's hard to tell. It's burnt from the crash, and there's other stuff mixed in from the wreckage. We were going to have Jerry look at it in his shop, see if he could tell us for sure."
"Why don't we come with you?" Lynn suggested brightly. "Because, you know… if it is sulfur…"
"What, do you think we're hunting a plane crash demon?" Dean asked rudely.
Lynn's benignly interested smile got scarily tight. "I just think," she said in a strained, unnaturally patient voice. "That if you found sulfur, and Trev spotted an electrical storm, that those are both associated with demons and we should look into it, because it might all be connected."
Sam looked surprised by the suggestion, but not wholly against it. Dean glared at Lynn, clearly very against it. Jayne, for her part, couldn't help side-eyeing her stepsister, partly due to what she was suggesting and mostly because she didn't trust the other woman's motives. She supposed she couldn't really blame Lynn for grabbing at the chance for a hunt; after all, if Jayne was being honest, she'd been itching for one too. A hunt always took her mind off things, no matter what kind of shit she was facing. It always acted like an outlet for frustration or worry; maybe not a very healthy outlet, but an outlet all the same.
But part of Jayne – the uncharitable, bitter part of her that always saw the worst in everything – was convinced that Lynn's suggestion didn't have all that much to do with finding Steve or checking out possible connections between their search and the Winchester's hunt, and instead had a lot to do with cute, floppy, hang-dog looking Sam Winchester.
Sam was frowning a little now, head tilted as he stared pensively at Lynn. "So… just so we're clear… when you say electrical storms and demonic omens…"
"I really don't think we're dealing with the demon you're looking for – well, that we're all looking for," Lynn replied. "The scale of those storms was on a completely different level, and there were a lot more of them. But Trev looked into the weather around Stamping Ground when Steve was there, and there were a couple small storms, like the one that popped up in Kittanning this morning. So, there could be a demon here, and if we're lucky, Steve could be here too. It's a long shot, but… well, we're kind of low on options when it comes to finding our brother."
Jayne didn't offer any comment on the subject, letting Lynn do all the talking the way she usually did. Honestly, Jayne had nothing to say on the subject, and certainly not to the Winchesters. Finding Steve was their business and only theirs. She knew they were looking at impossible odds, but that wasn't anyone's problem but hers and Lynn's. And she wasn't interested in helping the Winchesters with their freaky plane crash hunt either. As far as she was concerned, the brothers could leave now and never show their faces again.
But she was not going to get her wish, not if Lynn had anything to say about it.
"Well, that's a great theory," Dean said sarcastically, and Jayne thought maybe she'd get her wish after all; as much as she hated being on the same page as the oldest Winchester brother, she couldn't deny that when it came to working together, they were riding the same wavelength. "But we don't even know what we're dealing with here yet, so…"
"I know," Lynn interrupted. "Really, and if it's not a demon and you don't want our help, we will back off, but if it is a demon…"
"You want in," Sam finished for her, nodding. "Right. I get that. Uh… we were just going to change and then head across the street. Give us ten minutes and meet you in the lobby?"
Lynn smiled bright and wide for him, and Jayne considered gagging. "Sounds like a plan."
Dean looked annoyed, but he didn't argue; he just ducked out into the hall and stomped away. Sam forced a smile, nodded again, and then stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. Jayne waited until their footsteps had faded from earshot before rounding on her stepsister. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snapped.
Call her paranoid, but there was no way Jayne was going to trust those boys, not in this more than shady situation. And it both concerned and irritated her that Lynn seemed to be getting more and more involved with them.
Lynn rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by her annoyance, and it pissed Jayne off a little. "Well, let's see. I just finished scanning obits, calling hospitals and auto repair shops, and having Trev hack into various area traffic cams, and you know what? I've got squat to show for it. And I'm going to assume your search turned up similar results."
She didn't want to validate anything Lynn said, but Lynn was still right and she still had nothing to offer in response except petulant silence. Lynn knew it too, and she pushed on with, "Now, I'm not really sure what else we can do to look for Steve. But I am sure that there's a hunt here, possibly about a demon, which means it's possibly connected to Steve, and even if all that's not true, we still have a chance to save some innocent people… so, I say let's do it."
Jayne sighed harshly, looking up at the ceiling as she stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. "I just don't understand why every time we run into those two boys, we end up working together," she grumbled. "Can't we just say hi and carry on with our day one time?"
"Uh… no," Lynn returned. "At least not now we can't, not when Steve is still missing, and apparently there are demons all over the place, and the thing that killed your mom is back and doing the same stuff again… look, we can't afford to turn away friends right now, whether you like it or not."
Jayne sighed again, but she got to her feet and grabbed her coat. "Fine." Lynn smirked triumphantly as Jayne shrugged on her jacket, but if Lynn thought she was done, she better think again. "But for the record, I think it's weird that they're here at all. I know they don't look so shady anymore, but I'm still not a hundred percent sure we should trust them. And I am going to watch them both like a hawk."
"Then I guess it's a good thing we're working with them," Lynn countered. "What is it they say again? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"
"Ugh," Jayne practically growled back at her in disgust, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Let's just go."
She could feel Lynn's self-satisfied smile at her back, even without turning around to see it. "Look, I get what you're saying," she said as they stepped out into the hallway. "And of course it's odd, I know that. But what better way to get to the bottom of all this than to keep them close and see what they're about?"
Jayne made another disgusted noise under her breath. "I'm not buying that shit," she grumbled. "You like the tall, sheepdog-looking one, and that's what this is really about. Don't even try lying to me about it."
Her sister huffed indignantly. "Um, no. I mean... look, I'm not going to lie to you about it. I do like Sam Winchester. He seems like a good guy."
"Whatever."
"But I'm not interested, if that's what you're implying, and even if I was, I highly doubt I'd stand a chance, considering the recently murdered girlfriend thing... and anyway, I do think this could tie in with Steve. Even if it doesn't, there's definitely a demon here. That you can't argue with me about."
Jayne heaved a sigh and stopped her march towards the lobby. She turned around, narrowing her eyes, and graced Lynn with a reluctant shrug. "Fine," she allowed. "Their job gives off a demon vibe. No argument here."
Lynn smiled at her. "Look, I know this is all pretty weird. I know it could be dangerous – they could be dangerous. But honestly, Jayne? I just don't think they are." Jayne scoffed loudly, and Lynn hurried to finish her piece. "Do not scoff at me! Sam pulled me out of a burning building! Dean saved you from Danny..."
"Helped," Jayne corrected her automatically. "Dean helped me."
"Ugh," Lynn echoed Jayne's earlier growl of disgust. "You are the worst. Fine, Dean helped. My point is that they were the opposite of dangerous back at the Pub, and right now they seem every bit as suspicious of us as we are of them! That doesn't scream super shady secret serial killers to me, Jaynie."
"So then what's your explanation for all this, huh?" Jayne retorted. "What, you think it's just one big happy coincidence? I don't buy it."
"I don't either," Lynn returned without hesitation. "I don't think it's a coincidence. But I don't think the Winchesters are behind this. You know, whatever 'this' is. Look, Steve's the one who very literally pointed us in their direction. Whatever hot mess he's in right now, somehow it's tied up with what happened to Ana, and to Jessica Moore and Mary Winchester, and all these demons that are suddenly popping up all over the place. I get that you don't like what's happening, and I even get that maybe you don't like them. But this isn't their fault. They're not up to anything. Ok?"
Deep down, Jayne knew she was right, but that didn't make it easy to swallow. "We'll see," she muttered, shifting her weight as she studied the motel's ugly carpeting. Lynn rolled her eyes, looking exasperated, but Jayne was done with the conversation, even though she could tell Lynn had more to say. "Let's just work the job."
Lynn swallowed noticeably, her jaw tensing as she straightened her spine. But she didn't press the issue; she just nodded tightly and then pushed past her sister. Jayne turned and watched her storm determinedly towards the lobby, and then she followed behind her with a sigh. She knew Lynn was right, she did, but... trusting had never come easy to her, and she wasn't ready to trust either Winchester brother, no matter how much they'd helped them at the Pub, no matter what they had in common, no matter if they really were on the same side.
She just wasn't there yet.
Dean practically tore off his black necktie, struggling with it like he was wrestling an alligator. Then he threw the tie down on the lumpy bed in the dark, cramped, ugly motel room, practically a mirror image of the room the stepsisters were sharing, all deep brown wood paneling and ugly burgundy carpet. Sam rolled his eyes, removing his own tie much more calmly and with far better, more efficient results. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and dug out a tee shirt from his duffel, which was lying open on the other lumpy bed in the room.
"Are you nuts?" Dean snapped at him, and Sam rolled his eyes again as he started unbuttoning his dress shirt. "You actually agreed to work with them on this? What the hell's the matter with you, Sam?"
"Well, we can always use the extra hands," Sam said mildly.
Dean looked downright murderous, but Sam was still tempted to laugh at him. "We don't need help, Sam. We know how to do this job. There's nothing they can bring to the table that we haven't already got."
Sam rolled his eyes for the third time since they'd started this conversation. "Listen, Dean. They're looking for demons, and we've got a mysterious plane crash that so far doesn't look like a haunting, or a creature. I get that you don't like this, but last I checked, we were all on the same side here. You were the one that wanted to track them down after you spotted the truck, anyway..."
"Yeah," Dean interrupted, annoyed. "Because its weird that we're all here together again, and I wanted to know why."
"And now we know why they're here," Sam countered. "And it's as good an explanation as any, and I really think we need to work together on this. I get this has been weird. But I don't know, Dean… I mean, trust me. Dad disappearing, Jessica dying, and now this? It feels wrong, I know. Off, somehow. But... they don't. The situation is off, but they aren't. Hell, they were as surprised and suspicious to see us as we were to see them!"
Dean snorted. "Yeah, surprised they got caught."
Sam took a deep breath, and fell quiet as he finished changing. Dean was grumbling as he shrugged back into his jeans and button-down, but Sam ignored him. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, running his hand through his hair in vain hopes of straightening it. Then he blew a short, exasperated puff of air through his nostrils and looked back at his older brother. "Dean, to be honest with you, after what happened in Stamping Ground, I'd really hoped you'd be better about this."
Dean tensed up a little, and for a moment Sam fully expected to get yelled at. But Dean didn't yell. Sam watched him sigh instead, deflating, and then his brother gave him a hard look. "You believe them, don't you? You think Lynn's telling the truth. That she was just following a lead, looking for a demon, and she didn't expect to find us here anymore than we expected to find her and her stepsister."
"Yeah," Sam said. "I do."
Dean nodded once. He shrugged into his battered leather jacket. "Right," he said, brushing past Sam and stepping out into the hallway. "I think she's hot, too."
Sam rolled his eyes, scoffing loudly in exasperation. Dean smirked at him over his shoulder, striding off down the hall and leaving Sam to shut and lock their door. "Dean, that's not what this is about!"
"I'm sure it's about that a little."
Sam jogged after him, following him through the maze of dark, dirty hallways back towards the lobby. "No, it's not."
"Oh, come on, Sam, the woman's built like Kim Kardashian."
"Shut up," Sam muttered irritably, smacking him on the shoulder. They'd reached the lobby now, and both Lynn and Jayne were waiting for them by the front doors, and the last thing Sam needed was for them to hear his brother talking like that. Dean snickered as he followed his brother's gaze. Sam would have commented on the 180 Dean seemed to have pulled during the short walk from the motel room to the lobby, but he honestly didn't buy the change in mood at all. Dean was still suspicious and annoyed, and he was just sitting on it, waiting for the moment it all hit the fan and he could crow 'I told you so.'
Sam was honestly so done with his crap today.
Lynn greeted them with one of her too bright smiles as they crossed the lobby, but Jayne barely looked at them, clearly pissed off about working together. She and Dean could both be surly about all this if they wanted to be, Sam decided, but their bad attitudes were the least of his concerns at the moment, and he refused to be sucked into their bull. Sam ignored her sulky expression and smiled back at Lynn.
"Ready?" Lynn asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
He stepped around her and opened the lobby door. She followed him through, coming to stand at his side as he held it open for the other two. "So, what do you got so far?" she asked him. "Tell me about the recording."
Sam let the door swing shut. "It was the pilot, radioing for help," he replied. "And then, well… his voice cut out, and we heard this… this kind of roaring sound, and a high screech?"
"Right," Lynn nodded thoughtfully. "Definitely not supposed to be there."
"I isolated the noise," Sam went on. "It was a voice. No survivors."
"And you think it's a spirit or something? Haunted flight?"
"We're not sure yet," Sam returned. "We talked to one of the survivors, and he saw a man open the emergency door. That's how the cabin depressurized, which is what caused the crash."
"But the witness didn't describe a ghost," Dean cut in. "He said it was the passenger in front of him."
"Which is impossible," Lynn concluded. "There's no way your average guy could open an emergency door in flight."
"Exactly," Sam agreed. "So we looked up the passenger in question, found out where his widow lived and went to see if there was anything strange about him. Maybe he was some of kind of creature, or..."
"Didn't pan out?" Lynn guessed, interrupting him, and Sam grit his teeth a little at the impatient butt-in.
"No," he said slowly, trying to smile. "It didn't. He was just a dentist."
"So, demonic possession," Lynn said. "Demon drops down into the average dentist guy and..."
"And what?" Dean interrupted her, needlessly rude and hostile. "It uses him to bring down a plane full of people? Why?"
"It's a demon," Jayne offered shortly, and Sam whirled around to look at her. She'd been so quiet, he'd almost forgotten she was there. "Why not?"
Dean didn't like her response, Sam could tell, but Sam also knew Jayne had a point. Before anyone could say anything else - Dean clearly wanted to snap back at her, and Lynn looked like she was on the verge of scolding her sister - Jayne jingled her keys and started walking towards her battered gray truck. "Let's go see this Jerry guy about your sulfuric residue," she said, with her back already turned to the rest of them.
Sam frowned after her and flinched a little when she slammed her door shut. Lynn's smile was strained and tight and plastic again as she backed away from them, headed towards the truck. "We'll follow you?" she suggested, her tone apologetic.
He forced a smile back and nodded. "Sounds good."
Lynn nodded too, and then she turned away. The truck's engine turned over and Lynn clambered up into the cab. Both Sam and Dean got into the Impala, and Dean started the car up, wheeling recklessly backwards out of his parking space and onto the main road. Sam grimaced a little - his brother had barely checked for incoming traffic - but as usual, they were fine and Dean gunned it down the road, towards Jerry's nearby mechanical hanger.
"Still think this is a good idea?" Dean asked smartly.
"Yeah, actually, I do."
Dean snorted. "Plane crash demon," he retorted, obviously not sold on Lynn's theory yet... but Sam wasn't on the same page at all, because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the demon theory was the only one that made any sense.
"Could be," was all he said.
Dean gave him an annoyed sideways glare before returning his focus to the road. Sam sent off a quick text to Jerry, giving him a heads up about their visit, and then he glanced in the Impala's side mirror. The mean front end of Jayne's old truck stared back at him in the reflection. He swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat, shifting uneasily in the passenger seat as he thought more about it. A demon. It really was a solid theory, and that made him feel a little sick to his stomach.
Why would a demon be crashing planes in Kittanning, Pennsylvania?
He didn't voice his unease out loud, and his brother was obviously too disgruntled to offer any more conversation. They drove the rest of the short distance to the hanger in silence. Dean turned sharply into the gravel drive that led to Jerry's shop, and parked in the same cracked asphalt lot as before. Jerry was waiting for them at the hanger doors just like the first time they'd come to see him.
No one spoke to each other as they got out of their respective vehicles and approached the short, balding man at the hanger door, but if Jerry picked up on the somewhat strained atmosphere, he didn't let on. He just smiled at them as they approached, and directed a quick, confused glance at the latest additions to their hunting party.
"Hey Jerry," Dean greeted him with a handshake.
"Good to see you boys again. You got something for me?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, handing over his plastic baggie. "We found this when we were checking out the wreckage. It was caked on the emergency door handle."
Jerry took the offering with a smile. "Funny you should mention that. Got a call from a buddy of mine down at the warehouse. Apparently some guys impersonating Homeland Security agents broke in there earlier today. Shook the whole place up."
"You don't say," Dean replied smoothly, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Huh. Weird."
Sam tried to smile, but it came out more like a sheepish grimace. Jerry looked amused, but he didn't pry. Instead he directed a smile and a short nod at Jayne and Lynn, who were hovering quietly in the background. "I don't suppose you want to introduce me to your friends?"
"Uh… yeah..." Dean said awkwardly. "Jerry, this is… a couple of our, uh… associates," Dean fumbled for the right words and ended lamely on what was probably the wrong one. Sam rolled his eyes. "They do what we do, and they happened to be in town, so… figured they could lend us a hand."
"Happy for the help," Jerry returned amiably, extending his hand. "Jerry Panowski."
Lynn shook his hand enthusiastically. "Lynn Juarez," she introduced herself, smiling for him.
Jayne jerked her head at him, staying in the background. "Jayne Gibson."
Jerry nodded at them both, and Sam immediately jumped in, steering the conversation away from introductions and back on track with the job. "Anyway, we were hoping you could tell us what we're looking at," he said, gesturing at the plastic bag.
"Sure thing," Jerry replied, ducking into the open hanger door. "Come on in."
He led them through the maze of his shop again, around half-built planes and ducking past employees. Just like before, Sam could hear the machines running and see sparks flying, and just like before, Jerry led them into the fogged-glass cubicle that served as his office and shut the door behind them. Sam watched with ill-concealed interest as he walked around the other side of his desk, reached underneath it and cracked out an actual, honest to goodness microscope.
"Just give me a sec," Jerry said. Lynn slid into the chair across the desk from him, and Sam leaned on the back of her seat, unconsciously, as he continued to stare at Jerry setting up his slides, flaking off small samples of the powder onto the little glass squares. Dean came up closer too, leaning on the unoccupied chair next to them. Then Jerry slid the first of the samples under the lens.
"Huh," he announced a few moments later as he peered into the microscope. "This stuff is covered in sulfur."
That had been exactly what Sam had not wanted to hear. "Are you sure?" he asked, hoping against hope it wasn't true.
"Take a look for yourself," Jerry replied. Then a loud banging sound was heard outside the office, followed by an employee cussing and hollering. "Now, if you all will excuse me," Jerry continued, walking towards the door. "I have an idiot to fire."
Jerry walked out of the office. "Hey!" they heard him shout. "Einstein!"
Dean pushed himself off the back of the desk chair and headed over to the microscope in Jerry's absence, ducking down so he could look through the lens. Sam frowned at the desktop, working his jaw in small circles as he considered the consequences of Jerry's analysis. "Hmm," Dean said, looking up from the microscope. "You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue."
It was as close to an admission that Lynn had been right about her demon theory as Sam figured they were going to get out of Dean. "Demonic possession," he returned, and he glanced down at Lynn, who looked up at him on cue. "Looks like you were right."
She gave him a slow smile and a flutter of her dark lashes, and Sam found himself averting his eyes and swallowing too hard. He didn't have any business accepting or returning smiles like that, not right now. "I usually am," she said, teasing, and he heard Jayne scoff quietly from behind him. A glance over his shoulder at where she was leaning against the glass wall by the door proved she was rolling her eyes.
"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open an emergency hatch," Dean admitted.
"If the guy was possessed, its possible," Sam agreed.
"Yeah, but this goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup," Dean retorted. "I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane...?"
"You ever heard of something like this before?"
"Never."
Sam looked automatically down at Lynn, who pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Sam quickly pulled his hand off the back of her chair, as though he'd just realized it was there, and he took a step back, out of her personal space. "Neither have I," she announced. "And I don't really know what a demon would stand to gain by doing something like this, but..."
"Get its jollies off," Dean retorted, shrugging, but Sam saw through the lackadaisical act. "That's usually what it's all about for a demon. They've got messed up ideas about fun."
"True," Lynn agreed, not taking offense to the interruption or the unimpressed shrugging. "But now I guess we have to figure out how to find it, so we can keep it from doing something else like this."
"This crash happened weeks ago," Sam pointed out, and suddenly he felt more than a little uneasy, on the breathless side of things, as the truly daunting task of finding the demon responsible presented itself. "What's the odds that the thing stuck around?"
"It might have just been a storm," Lynn returned. "But Trev sent us here because of that electrical disturbance, and that's a red flag to me. The thing might still be here. It might be planning its next move, and if that's the case, we need to track it."
"Well, I guess we better head back to the motel," Sam said. "Maybe stop by the library? Do some research."
Dean made a face but nodded in agreement. There was no argument from Jayne's corner, but she didn't endorse the plan either. Actually, she didn't say anything at all.
"Sounds like a plan," Lynn agreed. "We'll meet up again back there."
They left Jerry's office, bidding the man a quick goodbye, and then made their way out of the machine shop and back towards their cars. Sam was quiet as he followed Dean across the parking lot, thinking about the case and plotting out his next course of action. They'd grab some books from the library, they'd crack out Dad's journal, and if Lynn and Jayne were going to help, then they'd have access to Russ Juarez's notes as well. It was a good thing, he decided, because if they really were dealing with another demon, and this demon really was playing a whole new game, then they were going to need all the help they could get, and all the information they could find.