Okay, just a few notes before we get started. New York is an hour ahead of Kansas, so hopefully the timestamps make sense. I also know next to nothing about place crashes, so apologies for any mistakes, they're all mine. That's it, thanks for reading!

I own a few seasons of Supernatural on DVD but not the show itself, bummer.

Lebanon, Kansas 6:30pm

"How many types of pasta did you get?" Sam asked as he pulled out the third, he was pretty sure it was the third, box of dried macaroni out of the bag that Cas had brought back to the bunker.

"A few. The list just said 'pasta', it wasn't very specific. But from my understanding, it is a relatively easy food to prepare, so I got plenty," Cas explained simply with a slight head tilt, and put some of the items in the fridge.

"I can see," Sam smirked and pulled out a fourth box, only mildly relieved that there wasn't a fifth hiding somewhere. He slowly made his way over to the cupboard and reached up to put them away with a slight wince.

There was a beat before the question Sam knew was coming. "How are you, Sam?" the angel asked.

Sam finished putting the pasta away before he turned back and shrugged a little. "Been better…been worse. You know the drill."

Cas nodded slowly, as if he were carefully deciding if Sam was lying or not. "I am familiar with it, yes. I only wish that I could help more."

Sam gingerly leaned up against the counter and shook his head. There was a time when Cas could heal any wound with just the touch of his finger. And while it'd be nice now, he wasn't sure how much Cas could do, and he definitely didn't want to drain the angel. It wasn't his fault. "Just you being here and grabbing food is enough, Cas. It's all that Dean and I could ask for," he smiled assuringly.

"Do you know if he is on the plane yet?" Cas asked curiously, the notes in Sam's voice seeming to hint that he had talked to his brother.

"Not quite yet. They had some sort of…storm engine delay thing," Sam shrugged.

"And Dean is enjoying waiting I'm sure," Cas added sarcastically.

"Oh yeah. But, it's common stuff, he'll be over there in no time. He said he'd text when he got up, so I'll keep my phone on." Both men nodded and lapsed into a silence for a moment before Sam drummed his fingers on the counter. "Seeing as we have a ton of pasta now, how about some of that and some Netflix?" the hunter suggested. Normally he'd be researching another hunt, but it was getting late and he was already tired. With Dean gone, he'd have to send it over to someone else anyways.

Cas nodded in accordance with the idea. "That sounds like a good plan. I doubt it will be as good as the burgers Dean makes-"

"You heard about that?" Sam asked quickly with a smirk on his face.

"Dean is quite proud of his cooking abilities when he gets to talking," Cas affirmed, with a bit of a smile too.

"He's got a reason to be, which you will never repeat back to him," Sam said, half serious, and half joking.

"Of course," Cas assured, and turned back to get out a box of pasta. Sam waited for a few more moments before he let go of the counter to see if he could help, or at least supervise. Because how many meals did angels tend to make? Sam could guess that it wasn't many.

New York 8:25pm

The plane had been descending for a solid few minutes before the flight attendants started advising everyone to get their life vest gear on. Well, descending and advising were more like euphemisms in Dean's mind.

What little he could see from outside the plane was made up of rain and darkness, along with the feeling of falling much too fast. And the attendants were yelling, calmly yelling if that was a thing, for everyone to get their gear on because apparently, the announcement system had failed. Or something. Which was all one big heaping pile of wonderful.

Dean was too busy reaching under his seat to fiddle with the life jacket to remember to text Sam. The phone went into his pocket, and the jacket went over his head and clipped together. He had actually paid attention to the emergency video thing at the beginning. He just wanted to be prepared in case something should happen, because in his line of work, things did happen.

The man and woman next to him were speaking quickly to each other in hushed tones and the whole plane had been reduced to some sort of almost silent murmuring amongst each other.

Dean blew out a breath and leaned his head back in the seat. Everything was shaking as the plane kept dropping. But the crew knew how to handle stuff like this, right? That was their job, that was what they trained for, everything would be fine-

He turned his gaze back towards the window just in time to see what looked like a ball of orange light erupt and then simmer down again. Coinciding with that, the plane jarred violently and he was thrown against his seatbelt. The plane began to dip down to the left and Dean got substantially closer to the ground as it did so.

"What was that?" the woman said, a bit less hushed as she looked around panicked.

"Don't quote me, but I think the engine. Or an engine, but I hope not," Dean replied, and looked to her before he looked back to the window. But sure enough, what little he could see of the engine was licked in flames that were only somewhat being dampened by the wind and rain.

The second engine went only mere seconds later, sending another shockwave through the plane, even bigger than the first. After that, the whole mechanical beast tipped and went into sort of a dead fall, or at least that was what it felt like.

Dean was gripping the armrests so hard he would have been afraid they'd break if he hadn't been more scared of everything else first. And scared wasn't a word that he used lightly. But when the only thing going through his head was oh crap, we just lost both of our engines on one side, rational thinking tended to give way a bit. Where was Chuck when you needed him?

It would have been better if he could at least see what was going on beyond the window, but it was too dark and stormy to see anything. They were just falling at a fairly severe angle while tipped to one side during a storm, that was all, he'd been through worse, it would be fine, it always was…it was like a mantra he repeated in his head.

He was repeating it so much, in fact, that it took him a few moments to realize that the attendants were giving orders again, the word 'brace!' over and over and over. How close were they to the water?

Dean tried to shut his mind up, closed his eyes, and went to duck his head behind the seat, keeping his hands firmly on the armrests. His phone was still in his pocket, and for a split second, his eyes snapped open. He had to text Sam, if a signal could still get out. He had to know what was going on and that they'd deal and he'd be okay. He had to let him know-

He wasn't quite sure which part of the plane hit the dark water first. All Dean knew was that it hit on his side of the plane and sent his head towards the window in a literal crack of pain.

He had to…he had to…what did he have to do?

Soon, Dean's vision was as dark as the waters the plane was starting to disappear into.

Lebanon, Kansas 7:32pm

It had, in fact, taken two boxes of pasta in order to get the 'simple' meal done right. The first time, they had gotten to talking and the noodles had turned to mush. The second time, they were both much more careful with them and they turned out just fine. A bit of sauce and drinks later, and they were on their way to Sam's room.

"Dean will never know that we messed up pasta, got it?" Sam asked as he flicked the lights on and left the plate of food on his bedside table.

"He would find it quite hilarious, but it would be at our expense, I understand," Cas nodded, and took the remote as Sam handed it to him.

"Find something on Netflix, just no shows about chicks and prison."

"It was intriguing, although I never did finish it," Cas mentioned with a slight shrug before he turned on the television and sat down in one of the chairs in Sam's room.

"Still a no," Sam said, with a sense of finality, and made his way into the bathroom where he got out the pill bottles from the cabinet.

He could hear the television in the other room on the news channel, which was what Sam had preset it to always come up with. They lived in a bunker, but they didn't live in a bubble.

He turned on the water and downed the few pills he took before eating and grabbed the other two to put with the food. When Sam got out of the bathroom, Cas was still watching the news.

"You forget how to get to Netflix?" Sam asked, looking at the angel for a moment.

Cas simply shook his head. "What was Dean's plane number?"

The question was quiet and there was a knot of worry in his forehead. Sam put the pills on the plate and turned to the television, which was on commercial. "Um…523, I think. Here, it's on a post it," he went over to the desk and grabbed the slip of paper, grateful that Dean had written down the information beforehand. "Should I ask why?"

The silence in the room was getting to him, as was Cas' tone and the fact that the news was on with a flight… "Cas?" It was quiet and Sam was pretty sure the doctor had mentioned staying away from stressful situations so soon after being shot, but his heart was racing.

He slowly sat down on the edge of the bed as the commercials ended and the news came back on with an 'alert' title.

The headline came up next, and Sam half expected to pass out on the spot as his heart seemed to drop into his chest. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be happening, they both said it would be alright…

"We've just gotten word about this developing story in New York. While experiencing some bad weather and engine difficulties, Flight 523, carrying four hundred two people from New York to London, went down about eighty miles off the coast. Ships and rescue planes have been deployed to the area, as the plane's beacon was still working, but given the weather, they're not sure how long the rescue will take."

They showed a few pictures of the area and what the storm looked like but Sam just sat there, half openmouthed, staring at the screen. "Cas, can…can you tell anything?"

It was a profound bond, right? Maybe he could tell if something had happened to Dean?

Cas looked like he tried but he eventually shook his head, eyes fixed on the screen.

"As of right now, there is no way to tell if there are any survivors."

Sam was up and crossing the room before the reporter could say anything else. Dean had to be alive, he had to be. There was no way in hell he would be killed because of a plane crash. It wouldn't happen.

"Sam-" Cas tried, but even his tone showed that it was futile to try and stop the younger brother.

"They'll bring him back to the hospital and they'll need someone to ID him and he'll need help recovering," he said, and got out his boots.

"Sam, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be out of the bunker, or driving, or halfway across the country. Dean said to watch out for you."

"I know, Cas, I know," Sam shook his head, a bit frustrated, but Cas was only doing his best. Where the brothers were concerned, the best wouldn't stop them. "I'm going. I'm not leaving him alone on the East Coast after a plane crash. I won't," he shook his head. But even bending down to grab a pair of jeans out of his drawer sent a throb of pain through his chest. There was no way he could do the almost a full day's drive in one day…

Cas was looking between the television and the other man, as if debating. "I'm going, Cas, you want to watch out for me, then I guess I'm dragging you along too."

It only took another moment for the angel nod. Sam supposed maybe he was used to it by now, the stubbornness of the Winchesters when the other one was in danger. "I'll get some supplies, meet me in the garage," he conceded and got up from the chair, tossing the remote onto the bed as he did so.

Eventually Sam managed to get his jeans, boots, and shirt up onto the bed along with a jacket. He could change later, but for the drive over, he was going in sweat pants.

He cast a glance back at the television, which was still on the same story, but with no new information, and then flipped it back off. Sam ran his hands through his hair and tried to calm down for a moment, which only half worked.

So instead of sitting and thinking about what ifs, he got ready. Medicine, bandages, clothes, and shoes went into a bag, and the plate of food went into the kitchen. He then made his way over to Dean's room, and, trying not to think too much, pulled out clothes for him too. Sweatpants, a black shirt, and that blue flannel he seemed to like when he wasn't quite feeling a hundred percent.

It all went into the bag, and Sam liked to imagine that he would stick his worries down there too.

Was this how Dean felt just a few days ago with their positions swapped?

Sam shook off the thought, turned off the light, and started heading down to the garage probably faster than he should have. Hopefully by the time they got there, the rescuers would have the survivors at one of the hospitals.

Sam had left his brother to fend for himself once when he thought he was dead a few years ago, and he was never making that mistake again. Dean was alive, he had to be.