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Phantom Traveler

All at once, I was awake and on high alert. There were footsteps coming up to our motel room door, and I tensed, moving away from Dean slightly and causing his arm to tighten around my waist. I shook his side harshly, trying to wake him up, but only succeeded in making him moan in protest. My hand slipped under the mattress and wrapped around the hilt of the small throwing knife that I'd hidden there.

"Dean," There must have been something in the way I hissed his name that told him something was wrong, for his eyes opened, locking with mine. "There's someone coming," I whispered, looking up at him from where my head was laying on his chest. We'd been so tired that we hadn't bothered with the covers or blanket and just crashed on the bed. We both closed our eyes when the door creaked open, and I felt Dean's other arm slowly sliding up to the pillow where he kept a blade stowed just in case. Whoever it was wasn't the quietest person, and the heavy footsteps stopped a few feet away from the foot of our bed. I turned, half pulling out the knife before I registered that the person standing there was Sammy and not some psycho or thief.

"Morning, sunshines," He greeted too cheerfully, and I rolled my eyes, sinking back into Dean's chest as he relaxed as well. Why did we have to start so early? I mean for once couldn't we just start at eleven.

"What time is it?" Dean got out groggily.

"It's about five forty-five," Sam answered, glancing at the clock. For a moment, I debated giving him a glare but decided it required too much effort.

"In the morning?" I complained, eliciting a small laugh from Sam.

"Yep," Sam confirmed, and I raised my head to look at him, squinting as the sunlight bled through the curtains. He held three cups of coffee and had a ready look on his face that made me think he probably stayed up all night.

"Where does the day go?" Dean asked rhetorically, turning so he could slip his other arm around my waist as well.

"Tell me you got some sleep," I practically begged Sammy, tired of constantly worrying about him.

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," Sam lied, glancing down at the coffee cups in his hands.

"Liar," Dean called him out as I reluctantly pulling myself out of bed and the comfort of Dean's arms as he groaned in tired protest. "Cause I was up at three and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial," I threw Dean his pants as he sat up, looking at Sam.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV," Sam tried to play down his sleepless nights.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" I heard Dean ask from the bathroom, where I changed, brushed my teeth and hair, and did my makeup.

"A little while, I guess. It's not a big deal," Sam tried to brush it off again.

"Yeah, it is," Dean told him worriedly.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam started.

"I'm not concerned," Dean interrupted him, using a different tactic at forcing Sam to start taking better care of himself. "It's your job to keep Mel's ass and my ass alive, so I need you sharp. Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" I heard footsteps for a moment before Sam answered him.

"Yeah, but it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job - man, it gets to you," I paused from where I was finishing my mascara to listen more intently to Sammy. My heart sunk as he talked, and I wanted to just shield him from all of it. I shook my head to rid myself of that useless wishful thinking and continued with the mascara.

"You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that," Dean tried to cover his concern.

"That's easy for you to say," I raised an eyebrow at Sammy's words, putting down the mascara and giving my hair another couple of brushes before reaching for the door. My hand froze at Sammy's next words. "You have Mel,"

"Yeah," I could hear the smile in Dean's voice, and it warmth bubble inside of me as much as I tried to push it down. He quickly cleared his throat and continued, "But even so, you have to just let it go,"

"You're really saying that all this - it never keeps you up at night?" Sam asked, and I knew the answer to that regardless of what Dean decided to answer. It did keep him up at night. It kept me up too. Dean was better about it than me, but it still wore on him. "Never?" I walked out of the bathroom, and Sammy looked up at me, "What about you, Mel? Ever afraid," I shook my head, trying my best to look unconcerned. "You two are never afraid?" Sammy reiterated, and I met Dean's eyes before he turned back to Sammy.

"No, not really," Dean responded, speaking for both of us as I sat down beside him on the bed. Sammy reached out and slipped Dean's knife from under his pillow and then my smaller one from under the mattress. I kept one on each side just in case.

"That's not fear," I told Sammy, reaching out to take back my throwing knife and slipping it back under the bed. "That's just being careful,"

"All right, whatever, I'm too tired to argue," Sammy conceded, and I frowned in concern. Before I could say anything, Dean's phone rang, and he picked it up off the nightstand, looking at it with cautious curiosity before flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked.

Dean, it's Jerry Panowski. Jerry Panowski? The poltergeist guy? What was he doing calling us? Dean was looking at me in a tight, disbelieving confusion. You and your dad helped me out a few years back. His face cleared.

"Oh, right, yeah, up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The poltergeist thing," Dean recalled. "It's not back, is it?"

No, no thank god, no. But it's something else, and, uh, well, I think it could be a lot worse.

"What is it?" Dean questioned.

Can we talk in person? Jerry sounded scared, and I stood, knowing we had a trip ahead of us, which meant packing.

"We can make it in three hours," It was really closer to three hours and a half even with Dean's driving, for packing took longer than expected. I sat in the front, and, truthfully, I'd been hoping Sammy would get some sleep in the backseat, which he didn't. I was starting to really get worried the kid who'd been a little brother to me my whole life. We stopped outside of a warehouse, which, surprisingly and breaking tradition, didn't look abandoned.

"Thanks for making the trip so quick," Jerry told us as we walked behind him. "I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean, Melody, and your dad really helped me out," He directed the last part at Sammy, glancing at him.

"Yeah, they told me," Sammy replied. We'd filled him in on the hunt that had involved Jerry a few years ago. "A poltergeist?"

"Poltergeist?" A worker called from where he was fixing an engine with a wrench. "Man, I love that movie,"

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep working," Jerry castigated the worker, making me smile slightly. He turned back to Sam as he started again, "Damn right it was a poltergeist - practically tore our house apart. Tell you something," He redirected his attention back to Dean and me, "If it wasn't for you two and John, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off to college, that right?" He changed the subject, glancing at Sam.

"Yeah, I was," Sam replied, choosing his words carefully. "I'm… taking some time off," We exited the warehouse and made it to the outdoor hangar.

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell," I smiled slightly, risking a peek at Sammy from the corner of my eye to see the hidden grin on his face. "He talked about you all the time,"

"He did?" Sam asked in surprise. It was no secret how little Sam thought he meant to John, but it was also no secret how much he did mean.

"You bet he did. Oh, hey, I tried to get ahold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doin' anyway?" I met Dean's eyes as Jerry asked the touchy question.

"He's, uh, wrapped up in a job right now," Dean danced around lying to Jerry. I looked at the huge plane that was to our right and frowned at the weird feeling in my stomach but shook it off.

"Well, we're missing the old man. We get Sam," I grinned at Jerry's words and glanced at Sam. "Even trade, huh?" Dean laughed, looking at Sam, who looked away.

"No, not by a long shot," Sam's voice held an almost bitter note to it.

"I got something I want you guys to hear," We gathered around the CD player as he pressed the eject button. "All right, listen to this. Well, it sounded like it was up your alley," He set the disc in and pressed the button again. "Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours," Jerry sat down, and Sam, Dean, and I pulled up chairs and followed suit.

"Mayday. I repeat, mayday," The panicked, male voice cut through the static. "Repeat, flight britannia 2485. Requesting immediate help," There was an alarm blaring in the background, and I had to concentrate to make out the words. "Flight britannia 2485, we seem to be experiencing some mechanical failure," There was a click, a moment of silence, and then there was an inhuman monstrous growl that was clear as day even with the static. The audio cut off with a snap.

"Took off from here, crashed about 200 miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. The cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over 100 people on board. Only seven got out alive," Jerry filled us in on the details. "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,"

"But you don't think it was?" I questioned, already knowing the answer. That thing that growled on the tape. Well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it wasn't human, especially knowing what Jerry knows.

"No, I don't," He confirmed, looking seriously at me.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests," Sammy told him.

"And a list of survivors," I added. A lot of the time a monster will attempt to kill everybody, and if that fails, it will target the survivors.

"Right, and any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked, even thought I was pretty sure all three of us knew the answer to that.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage - fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance," I glanced at Dean, who quirked his eyebrow at me while his lip twitched up into a brief mischievous grin. I turned back to Jerry with a smile on my face.

"No problem," I told him, still smiling. "But we are going to need the other stuff as soon as possible." The first stop was the first copy place we could find that would make us IDs, which happened to be someplace called Copy Jacks. Dean and I went in while Sam waited by the car, and they took a couple of minutes before handing Dean our cards. Dean handed me my card before throwing his arm over my shoulder as we walked out to the car.

"You've been in there forever," Sam whined as a greeting, and I offered him a short smile as Dean held up the cards with his free hand and I held up mine. I'd tried to convince him to stick to local police, but he'd insisted on Homeland. I mean, it was different, at least, but I just… I don't know. Something in me didn't like the idea too much.

"You can't rush perfection," He told his brother, who studied the cards with a frown.

"Homeland security?" Sam made a face. "That's pretty illegal, even for us," I shrugged as I got into the passengers side, making Sam's frown widen.

"Yeah, well, it's something new, y'know?" Sam looked at me questioningly.

"Don't look at me, Sammy, I tried to talk him out of it," I paused for a moment, thinking it over. "But he does have a point. People haven't seen this a thousand times like the FBI," Sammy got into the back with a huff of frustration, and I slammed the door behind me.

"All right, so what do you got?" Dean asked, and I grinned back at Sammy, who laid the papers on the seat next to him.

"Well, there's definitely E.V.P. on the cockpit voice recorder," He began, clicking the button for the recorder, "Listen," There was static for a moment, and then there was a evil, hissing sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "No survivors,"

"No survivors?" Dean repeated, "What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors,"

"Maybe there weren't supposed to be," I suggested, and the two boys looked to me, mulling it over for a moment.

"Right," Dean agreed, "So, what are you two thinking? Haunted flight?"

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers, or, uh, remember flight 401?" I'd forgotten about that. That could be it.

"Right, the one that crashed. The airline salvaged some of it's parts, put it in other planes. Then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights," Dean recalled while I nodded, turning in my seat and holding out my hand for the list of survivors, which Sammy gave me. I flipped through the seven people, trying to get a vibe from one of them. Nothing came to me.

"Maybe we got a similar deal," Sam offered, shrugging as my eyes finally caught something that was interesting.

"All right, so," Dean looked at me, and when I looked up, I saw he was grinning slightly, I returned my gaze to the papers, fighting a smile, "Survivors," Dean spoke quickly, clearing his throat, "Which one do you want to talk to first?" I handed him the list with the names on it.

"Third,"Sam told him before I could get a word in. "Max Jaffey,"

"Why him?" Dean questioned, his eyes flicking to the rearview to look at Sam.

"For one, he's from around here," Sam spoke up, beating me to it again.

"And two," I cut in, "If anyone saw something strange, it was him," Dean looked at me sharply.

"What makes you say that?" He asked, and I showed him the address that was listed under Max Jaffey. Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital. The drive there took about an hour, and Sammy spent most of it studying the files while I sifted through them trying to pick up a vibe. It was getting harder and harder to hide all of this from Sam, and I was fairly certain he was starting to get suspicious. I'd hidden things from Sam in the past, but the last big thing was in high school. Dean and I hadn't told Sam we were dating until two months after we started. Well, we didn't exactly tell him, he found out. It didn't go over well. That and the fact that when I finally admitted everything that had been going on to Dean, he had acted weird for almost a year. I didn't feel like going through that again.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as Dean pulled in to a parking space right in front of the hospital. We walked up to the front desk, flashing our badges briefly before she led us in to the facility and straight to Max Jaffey.

"I don't understand," He answered when Dean told him we were Homeland. "I already spoke to homeland security,"

"We know," I covered us, " But some new information has surfaced, and we need to double check the information. If you don't mind, that is. It's only a couple of questions," He leaned heavily on his cane as he walked between Dean and I and Sam.

"Just before the plane went down," Sam started, not waiting for a nod of consent. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Like what?" Max asked, but I could see on his face he already knew what.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe… voices," Dean listed, and Max shook his head.

"No, nothing," We reached a wooden table and I took a seat across from Max and between Sam and Dean.

"Listen, Mr. Jeffrey," Dean started.

"Jaffey," Max corrected, looking increasingly uncomfortable as he sat.

"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" Max gave a shaky nod. "Can I ask why?"

"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash," His voice was laced with sass as he became defensive.

"Uh-huh, and that's what terrified you?" Dean double checked. "I mean, that's what you were afraid of?"

"I-I-I don't want to talk about this anymore," Max stammered, glaring at us now.

"See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what," Dean spoke with a hard edge to his voice, scaring the patient even more.

"No," Max told us flatly. "No, I was delusional - seeing things," Dean turned to us with a can-you-believe-him look.

"He was seeing things," Dean repeated for us, and my mouth twitched slightly as I fought a smile when Dean rolled his eyes. I turned back to Max, thinking I'd give it a try seeing as Dean failed.

"Max, we need to know what you saw up there," He studied me for a moment with furrowed brows. "It's okay," He finally gave in, taking a deep breath and looking away from me, down at the table with a pained expression.

"There was… this… man," He began hesitantly. "And, uh, he had these eyes… these, uh, black eyes, and I saw him… I thought I saw him…" He trailed off as though it was too horrifying to say.

"What?" Dean prompted, and I shot him a look at his unfeeling tone.

"He opened the emergency exit," My eyebrows rose and my eyes widened in surprise. "But that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door," His eyes never left mine as he spoke, and I could see the fear in them. As much as he wanted to believe he was crazy, and none of that really happened, he didn't. He believed what he told us.

"This man - did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It-it would look something like a mirage," Way to be discreet, Sammy. Max turned to look at Sammy as though he'd grown a second head.

"What are you nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me," Well, that was useful. I stood along with Sam and Dean.

"Well, thank you for your time. We really should get going," I told him, and we left quickly, not waiting for what I'm sure would've been a heartwarming goodbye from Max. Sam read out the address for the man that was sitting in front of us, and, luckily, his house was only half an hour away.

"Here we are - George Phelps, seat 20C," I turned to sit upright, taking my legs off of the seats they had been laying across, and looked out the window at the house. Seemed normal enough.

"Man, I don't care how strong you are," I got out of the car with Sam and Dean. "Even yoked up on PCP or something. No way you can open up an emergency door during a flight,"

"Not if you're human," I pointed out, glancing at Sammy before turning to face Dean and leaning on the car.

"Right, maybe this guy George was something else- some kind of creature, maybe, in human form," Sam ran through possibilities.

"Does that look like a creatures lair to you?" Dean asked, pointing up at the two story house. I turned back to the house, studying it briefly before shrugging. We walked up the steps to the picturesque house and knocked on the door. We barely even had to show the woman our badges before she let us in. I sat next to Dean on one of the small couches and Sammy sat next to us on an armchair while the grieving woman sat across from us.

"This," Sammy picked up a framed picture. "Is your late husband?"

"Yes, that was my George," She replied as calmly as she could.

"And you said, he was a… dentist?" She nodded again.

"He was headed to a convention in Denver," Her voice was thick with emotion as she talked. "Do you know that he was petrified to fly?" My eyes, which had been roaming around the room, snapped to her as she spoke those words. Unstable emotions. "For him to go like that…"

"How long were you married?" Sam asked softly.

"Thirteen years," She answered, one hand toying with the ring on her finger as she smiled sadly.

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him. Anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked her, and she frowned, thinking for a moment.

"Uh, well, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean," She offered, and there was a bit of an awkward pause.

"Um, I think, what our consultant was trying to say was: did he ever behave strangely?" She shook her head at my question without even having to think about it.

"No, no, never," Sam thanked her for her time, and we rose.

"It goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense," Sam spoke up from behind us as we descended the steps.

"Yeah, a middle aged dentist with an ulcers not exactly evil personified," We reached the bottom of the steps and made our way to the car. "You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage," I nodded, turning to look at both boys.

"Okay, but if we're going to do that, we need to look the part," I told them, not being able to hide the smile that slowly overtook my face. How long had it been since I'd gone shopping?

Two hours later I was sitting with my legs crossed, holding a magazine, flipping through it and looking for good styles. I was wearing a white button down shirt with a black blazer, but instead of wearing slacks, which I really didn't like, I was wearing fancy, dark skinny jeans with knee-high black boots. I looked professional, but still me. I could definitely get used to this whole Homeland Security thing. Dean walked out first, and I bit back a laugh as he turned to look in the mirror, not seeing me. I tossed the magazine back into the pile as I stood, grabbing one of the black ties that hung on the rack and walking over to him. He ran a hand through his hair, frowning at his reflection, and I couldn't help but laugh this time. His eyes caught mine in the mirror, and he smirked, turning and wiggling his eyebrows. I hooked the tie around his neck, flipping up his collar so I could tie it. I flipped down his collar, but instead of dropping my arms, I straightened them so my elbows rested on either side of his neck. I looked up, and instantly I was held captive by his green eyes.

"Would you like to go to prom with me, Melody Scott?" I laughed softly, which probably came out as more of a giggle, and pressed my lips to his briefly, feeling him smile into it, his hands coming to rest on my waist.

"I'd love to, Dean Winchester," He grinned, one of the rare, genuine grins that Dean reserved just for me and Sammy. He lowered his soft lips to mine, his hands slipping around my waist, and pressing me closer as my arms encircled his neck. He deepened the kiss, and my tongue explored the inside of his mouth, loving the taste and loving the feel of his lips on mine. It had been a month, and I still couldn't get over how much I loved being with him.

"I would tell you two to get a room," Sammy's voice made us break apart and Dean sigh in annoyance. "But yours was right next to mine," My eyes widened in surprise as he turned and walked to the cash register, leaving us in a stunned silence. I turned to Dean with a hand hovering in front of my mouth in shock.

"You don't think he…" Dean just uttered a half laugh, shaking his head at the kid before slipping an arm around my shoulders as we followed him to check out. A short five minutes later, Dean was pulling at the tie and collar of his suit in discomfort.

"Man, I look like one of the blues brothers," He complained as Sammy and I grinned, watching him. Sammy straightened his own tie, still smiling.

"No, you don't," I grinned at how uncomfortable he looked in the apparently itchy suit.

"Yeah," Sammy agreed, "You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance," I laughed, turning it into an unconvincing cough as Dean glared at me. Sam laughed as Dean looked back and forth between us, wanting nothing more than to rip the thing off.

"I hate this thing," He told us shortly, turning to head back to the car.

"Hey, you want into that warehouse or not?" Sam questioned him. Dean just looked unhappily at me and Sam before going around to the drivers seat. Sam and I exchanged a grin before I got into the passenger's seat, and he was stuck with the back. We arrived at the warehouse in an hour and a half, and we got out of the Impala, walking towards the building. Dean and I flashed our badges, but Sam kept his hidden in his pocket. We had made one for Sam in case we needed to be two places at once or something of the sort. The officer buzzed us in without questioning us. Dean pulled out the EMF as we walked around the wreckage, scanning everything.

"What is that?" Sam asked, and I glanced at him in temporary surprise before seeing his disgusted look and realizing why he asked.

"It's an E.M.F. meter," Dean explained to him as he put the piece in his ear. I didn't need the earphone, I could hear it from where I was standing next to him. "It reads electromagnetic frequencies," Dean finished unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Sam started, sounding annoyed. "I know what an E.M.F reader is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?" Dean turn to look at him with a note of pride.

"'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade," He told Sammy, who shifted.

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam replied snidely, causing me to fix him with a look before turning my attention back to the room around us. My eyes caught something, and a familiar feeling rose in my stomach.

"What's that?" I caught Dean's arm and led him over to the metal handle. The E.M.F. spiked.

"Check out the emergency door handle," Dean called to Sammy, who came over to us. I reached up to rub my finger over the whitish powder that was coating it. "What is this stuff?"

"One way to find out," Sam told us, flipping open his knife and scraping some of the substance off. I brought my fingers to my nose hesitantly before jerking it away quickly as the smell of rotting eggs filled my nose.

"Whatever it is, it smells awful," I muttered, coughing briefly. I heard heavy footsteps outside, and I was instantly on high alert, my eyes snapping to the door. "We need to go," Sam looked confused while I met Dean's eyes. He got the message. I hurried to the back door of the warehouse, and we slipped out just as the door banged open. We walked quickly, me smoothing down my shirt and blazer as we approached the gate. The alarm started blaring, forcing us to speed up. I looked at the gate and then down at my boots. Crap. Dean threw his jacket over the stretch of sharp wire at the top of the fence. The boys had no problem climbing over, and I was up the first side easily before swinging down and landing roughly, stumbling. Dean's arm was around my waist, steadying me before I could fall. He made sure I was standing stably before snatching his jacket off the top of the gate and turning to go.

"These monkey suits do come in handy," Was all he said before grinning and running off towards the car with me following as fast as I could. After our little adventure, we went back to Jerry to check the sample Sam had picked up from the handle.

"Huh," Jerry mused as he looked through the microscope. "The stuff is covered in sulfur,"

"You're sure?" Sam checked.

"Take a look for yourself," There was an angry banging from outside, and my eyes flicked to the worker in annoyance, trying to block out the deafening yells that were probably just mild background noise to everyone else. "Now, if you fellas will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire," I grinned as Jerry walked around us. I circled around the desk to take a look through the microscope, briefly flashing back to high school. I glanced up, nodding to Dean; it was definitely sulfur.

"Not too many things leave behind a sulfuric residue," Dean told us, and we both knew what he was getting at.

"Demonic possession?" Sam voiced the thought.

"It would explain the super strength," I added, glancing back down at the sulfur.

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible," Sam conceded, giving us a small shrug.

"Yeah, but this goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?" He had a point.

"You two ever hear of something like this before?" Sam asked, and I shook my head.

"Never," Dean answered for both of us.

It had been three hours of solid research since we had paid for our hotel room. Pictures hung up on the walls of different plane crashes over the years, but so far we hadn't dug up much. Sam was typing away on his computer the same way he had been for three hours while I was sitting on the bed, flipping through a big book on Japanese demonic mythology and Dean was sitting on the other bed, leaning over the books that covered the bed I was sitting on and drinking a beer.

"So," Sam finally started, "Every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean, christian, native american, hindu - you name it,"

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this," Dean pointed out dejectedly.

"That's not exactly true," I told the two boys, flipping back to where I dogeared a few pages. "According to these Japanese beliefs, there are demons for every disaster, natural and man-made. So, there's an earthquake demon, a disease demon, and so on," I glanced up at Dean and then to Sam.

"And this one causes plane crashes?" Dean asked incredulously. "So, we have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?"

"Yeah," Sam returned to his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys. "You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?" Dean glanced from Sammy to me before smirking slightly, shaking his head and turning away.

"What?" Sammy questioned before I could get the word out.

"I don't know. This isn't our normal gig," He explained, turning to face us again. "I mean, demons, they don't want anything - just death and destruction for it's own sake. I mean, this is big," He glanced at me then, and I saw a deep sadness in his eyes tinged with excitement at the prospect of the hunt. "I wish Dad was here," He looked down, scratching the back of his head. I glanced to Sam, seeing his face tighten just like it did whenever his dad was mentioned.

"Yeah," He agreed, "Me too," He glanced at me, and I gave him a half smile. Just then, the phone rang, and my stomach dropped. Not good news. Someone else was dead.

"Hello?" Dean answered, and Sam went back to his computer.

Dean, it's Jerry. I didn't even have to strain my ears anymore to pick up Jerry's voice on the other line.

"Oh, hey, Jerry," Dean sounded almost bored as he talked into the phone.

My pilot friend… Chuck Lambert is dead. Dean's head came up, his eyes widening in surprise, and he looked much more interested.

"Wha - Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?" Sam turned his head in mild curiosity.

He and his buddy went up in a small twin. About an hour ago. The plane went down. I could hear the deep grief in his voice, and my heart went out to him.

"Where'd this happen?" Dean questioned, and I winced slightly at his insensitivity. I would really have to work on that.

About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth. He answered, his voice still thick.

"Well, I'll try to ignore the irony in that," I shot him a look, and he cleared his throat.

I'm sorry? Jerry asked in confusion.

"Nothing," He recovered. "Hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon," Dean promised, flipping down the phone and shoving it in his pocket.

"Another crash?" Sammy questioned.

"Yeah, let's go," Dean replied.

"Where?" I asked, knowing I should be curious because I didn't hear the conversation.

"Nazareth," Dean answered, fixing me with a look before glancing at Sam. We checked out the crime scene in record time; it took us about two minutes to get in, get a sample of the white substance that was stuck to the steering wheel, and get out. We came straight to Jerry's after that so he could double check what all of us already knew.

"Sulfur?" Dean prompted as Jerry looked up. He nodded in confirmation. "Well, that's just great. All right," Dean turned to where Sam and I were sitting, researching on the computer. "That's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him,"

"With all due respect to Chuck," Sam began cautiously. "If that's the case, that would be the good news,"

"What's the bad news," Sam and I exchanged a glance at Dean's question.

"Chuck's plane crashed exactly forty minutes after take off, and so did flight 2485," I explained, glancing between Dean and Jerry.

"40 minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked, lost.

"It's biblical numerology. Y'know, Noah's arc, it rained for 40 days. The number means death," Dean explained to him.

"We went back," Sam clicked on the back button on the computer to reveal all the plane crashes within the last decade. "And there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly 40 minutes in,"

"Any survivors?" We both shook our heads at Dean's question.

"No, or not until now, at least - not until flight 2485, for some reason," I bit my lip, mulling over the information. "On the cockpit voice recorder. Remember what the E.V.P. said?"

"No survivors," Dean recalled as it all clicked.

"It's targeting all the survivors," I realized, frowning slightly.

"It's trying to finish the job," Dean drove while Sam and I called all of the remaining survivors under various pretenses, trying to see if they were planning on flying in the near future.

"Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at united britannia airlines. Thanks," Sammy finished, hanging up the phone, and crossing off two names. "That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon,"

"I already talked to Peter Simmons," I leaned up, resting my elbows on the front seat and pointing at the name under Dennis Holloway. Sam crossed that one out to with his red pen.

"Okay, so, our only wild card is the flight attendant Amanda Walker," Dean gathered. I had talked to her sister earlier, and we were currently on our way to the airport.

"Her sister, Karen, said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight o'clock. It's her first night back on the job," Sammy filled Dean in on what we already knew.

"That sounds like just our luck," Dean grumbled..

"Dean," I began, frowning uncertainly. "It's a five hour drive, even with your crazy speeding,"

"We'll make it," Dean answered firmly, and I trusted him one hundred percent that we would.

"All right," I turned to Sam, "Call Amanda, see if you can get her to change her flight," Sam scratched the back of his head in annoyance.

"I already left her three voice messages. She must've turned her cellphone off," Sammy was getting agitated, "God, we're never gonna make it,"

"Oh, we'll make it," There was the same dangerous note in Dean's voice that he used whenever he was dead set on something. He slammed on the gas, and I quickly pressed myself back into the leather seats. We made it to the airport in four hours and fifteen minutes give or take. We sprinted inside after Dean parked sloppily right in front, and we stopped at the arrival and departure screens.

"Right there," Sam pointed, and I followed his finger to the flight. "They're boarding in thirty minutes,"

"Okay," Dean panted slightly, "We still have some cards to play," I looked around us searchingly.

"We need to find a phone," I told them, spotting one and heading over quickly, picking it up.

"Airport services," The robotic voice came over the line.

"Hi, gate 13 please," The boys gathered around me as I spoke to the woman.

"Who are you calling, ma'am?" The woman asked.

"I'm trying to reach Amanda Walker," I waited for a moment before continuing when the woman didn't answer. "She should be a flight attendant on flight…" I glanced at Sammy who mouthed '424'. "424," I repeated to her.

"Please hold," There was silence on the line, and I tapped the wall with my hand impatiently, waiting for her to pick up.

"What's happening?" Dean asked, equally impatient, and Sam's face echoed his question. I opened my mouth to answer when there was a new voice on the line.

"This is Amanda Walker," I had honestly not thought about what I would say once she picked up - if she picked up - so I just said the first thing that popped into my head.

"Ms. Walker, this is Dr. Kelly Masters from St. Francis Memorial Hospital," I talked in a grave voice, looking away from the boys as they watched me. "We have a Ms. Karen Walker here,"

"Karen? What-" She sounded startled.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious," I cut her off before she could begin to freak out, knowing I didn't have much time to stop her. "Just a minor car accident, but she will be needing surgery, so -"

"Wait, wait, wait, that's impossible," My face dropped as well as my heart when she said that. "I just got off the phone with her," My mouth worked but no sound came out.

"Um, what?" I asked dumbly, mentally kicking myself for the stupid response.

"Five minutes ago, she's at her house, cramming for a final," She began to grow more and more suspicious as she talked. "Who is this?"

"Um," I looked up at Dean and then Sam. "Well, there must be some mistake because-"

"And how would you even know I was here?" She interrupted me again. "Oh my god. Is this Vince's friend's girlfriend? He's getting his friend's girlfriend to call me now?"

"Yeah," I admitted, seeing no way out. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to, but you know Vince," The boys' expressions were of absolute confusion.

"Wow. This is unbelievable," I immediately knew from her tone that he was her ex. "You tell him to mind his own business, and stay out of my life, okay?"

"Right, except, look," I wracked my brain to think of something to say, and I let the lie flow out of me. "He really needs to see you tonight, okay?"

"No, I'm sorry, it's too late," She told me with an air of finality.

"Look, I don't usually do this, okay?" I tried to play the friends card. "Call up my boyfriend's friend's ex, but you should see him. I mean, the guys a mess, really. It's pathetic. I felt bad for him, all right? He really needs to see you tonight,"

"Really?" Her voice had softened considerably.

"Yeah, he needs to see you," I repeated, hoping she'd relent.

"Look, I've got to go. Tell him to call me when I land," Amanda told me.

"No, no, hey, wait," I tried, but I heard the deafening click of her hanging up. "Amanda? Amanda," I took the phone away from my ear, and sighed in frustration before shaking my head at the boys and hanging up.

"Damn it," Dean snapped, and I knew part of the reason he was so aggravated. He was terrified of planes. "So close," I looked down, knowing what was coming.

"All right, time for plan 'B'. We're getting on that plane," Sam told us, looking determined.

"Now, just hold on a second," Dean stammered.

"Dean, that plane's leaving with over 100 passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash," Sam went through the facts, trying to convince a wide-eyed Dean that getting on was the best plan.

"Sam's right," I spoke up, and Dean turned to me with desperation in his eyes, "We need get on that plane, so we can the demon, and exorcize it,"

"Right," Sam agreed eagerly. "Look, I'll get the tickets. You two just go, get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever'll make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes," Dean's face had gone five shades paler in the time it took Sam to say those words, and Sam frowned at his older brother, glancing at me for an explanation before looking back. "Are you okay?" Dean shrugged, looking away before looking from me to Sam.

"No, not really," Dean admitted, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, and looking around for any excuse.

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh…" Dean trailed off.

"Flying," I finished for him, glancing at Sam. "He has a fear of flying,"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a fear," Dean stumbled over the words, looking back and forth between us. Sam's face showed sheer disbelief. "Well, it's never really been an issue until now,"

"You're joking, right?" Sam questioned incredulously.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Dean snapped at him, looking unhappy and uncomfortable. "Why do you think we drive everywhere, Sam?" Sam just stared at him and then at me and then blinked a few times.

"Uh, all right, we'll go," I met Sam's eyes in a brief surprise before nodding. It made sense.

"What?" Dean asked in faint shock.

"Mel and I, we'll do this one on our own," Dean's eyes flicked back and forth between Sam and I disbelievingly.

"What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash," He snapped at us.

"Which is why we have to stop it," I spoke up, feeling as though the conversation had just made a big loop. "Look, it's fine, Sammy and I can do this one. We'll exorcize the demon, and then take a flight back in the morning," I left Dean's side to walk over to Sam, but was stopped by a tight grip on my arm as Dean stopped me.

"Forget it," Dean wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, meeting Sam's gaze. Sammy looked smug, like he had known this was gonna happen. "Really?" Dean whined as he finally came to the conclusion he had no other option. Sam just turned and started walking towards the check-in desk. Dean looked down at me hopefully as if I would tell him that this was just a joke.

"Sorry, babe," I offered him, planting a brief kiss on his jawline before turning to face him, smiling slightly. "We're going to be fine, okay?" Dean gazed into my eyes searchingly for a moment before nodding.

"All right," He replied.

-30 minutes later-

I was sitting in between Sam and Dean while the latter pretended to be intrigued by an inflight magazine. I turned to find a smug looking Sammy trying not to laugh at how obviously scared Dean was. I shot him a look, and he gave a halfhearted shrug of apology before glancing back at Dean.

"Just try to relax," Sammy advised.

"Just try to shut up," Dean responded snappishly. Sam just turned away to hide a grin as the plane started picking up speed, and Dean put away the inflight magazine. Without looking at me, Dean grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together and holding it tightly. I squeezed his hand back, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay. The plane lifted off the ground smoothly, and his hand loosened fractionally before there was a mechanical sound and he tightened his hold again.

"It's just the wheels. It's normal," I spoke softly and calmly to him, making his hold loosen slightly. He looked at me, but his eyes slid past me to fix on Sammy, a pissed look overtook his face, but he didn't say anything. Dean started humming Metallica, but I barely noticed. He's had a habit of doing that since before I could remember; it calms him down and over the years, it's started to calm me down too.

"You're humming Metallica?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Calms me down," Dean answered, and Sam scoffed.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused," Sam told him calmly, glancing at his watch. "I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down - or whoever it's possessing, anyway - and perform a full on exorcism,"

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy," Dean snapped back sarcastically.

"Listen, take it one step at a time, all right?" I cut in, knowing Dean needed to refocus. "Right now, we have to find who it's possessing,"

"Well, it's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness. You know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through, somebody with an addiction or emotional distress," Dean was slowly starting to switch back into hunter mode.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the accident. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up," Sam pointed out as a flight attendant walked by.

"Excuse me," Dean stopped her. "Are you Amanda?" She just smiled and shook her head.

"No, I'm not," She told us.

"Oh, my mistake," Dean apologized as she continued down the aisle. "All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so we'll go talk to her, and, uh, we'll get a read on her mental state," Dean spoke to Sam, glancing at me.

"What if she's already possessed?" Sam questioned.

"There's ways to test that," Dean told him, letting go of my hand and opening his bag. He held up a plastic container. "We brought holy water," I took the water from Dean and stuffed it back in the bag, zipping it.

"No, we have to go more subtle than that," I told them both. "If she is possessed then she'll flinch at God's name," Dean pointed to me.

"Nice," He unbuckled and got up, and I followed him, leading him down the aisle.

"Mel," Sam stopped us using my name, and we turned back to face him.

"Say it in latin," He advised.

"Yeah, we know," I told him, getting annoyed. We'd been doing this longer than he had. We started walking again when Dean grabbed my hand, stopping me as Sam called us back.

"What?" Dean hissed in exasperation as Sam just looked at us.

"Uh, in latin, it's 'Cristo'," Dean and I both glared at Sam as he patronized us.

"Dude, we know, we're not idiots," We made our way towards the back of the plane. Suddenly, the plane bounced slightly and shook, and, before I knew what was happening, Dean had both his arms tightly around my waist, and his forehead pressed into top of my head.

"You're okay," I whispered as the first officer came over the intercom. "Come on," I gently took one of his hands and started walking, and, thankfully, he followed.

"Hi," I greeted the flight attendant as we reached the back where she was prepping a cart.

"Hi," She smiled brightly at us. "Can I help you two with something?" She questioned, confusion laced in her kind voice.

"Oh, no," I offered her a smile. "My boyfriend here is kind of an uneasy flier. Makes him feel better to walk around a bit," Her smile widened as she took in our joint hands.

"It's okay, it happens to the best of us," Amanda told us.

"Of course, you being a stewardess. I guess flying comes easy to you," Dean told her, and she laughed uneasily, raising her eyebrows.

"You'd be surprised," She shook her head, not looking up from where she was fixing the cups.

"Really?" Dean questioned in surprise. "You're a nervous flier?"

"Yeah, maybe - a little bit," She glanced between us, smiling again.

"How are you a stewardess, then? If you're scared to fly?" I asked her, already knowing the answer.

"Kind of a long story," She replied, making it clear she didn't really feel like talking about it.

"Right, sorry for asking," I apologized, but she waved it off.

"It's fine," She looked down at the napkins she was now sorting through with regret filled eyes.

"You ever consider other employment?" Dean broke the awkward pause. She considered the question carefully for a second before raising her eyes to meet ours determinedly.

"No," She answered. "Look, everybody's scared of something. I just, uh… I'm not gonna let it hold me back," This conversation was going nowhere. I seemed to reach that realization at the same time Dean did for he muttered 'Cristo' under his breath. I watched Amanda carefully for any sign of a reaction. She just looked confused. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" She asked us.

"Cristo?" I offered, louder so she could hear. She just stared at me in confusion as I gave her an awkward smile, turning away to face Dean instead.

"Nothing. Never mind," Without another word he led me back through the curtain and down the aisle. I slid into my seat with Dean close behind me as Sammy looked at us questioningly. "All right, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,"

"You said Cristo? And?" Sammy prompted, and I shook my head.

"Nothing," I reported. "If there's a demon on this plane, it won't target her unless she has some strange addiction we don't know about," Sammy smiled faintly, but it faded as he refocused on the problem.

"So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone… anywhere," Sammy mused while I nodded, looking around. The plane shook, and Dean's hand tightened around mine.

"Come on! That can't be normal!" He complained.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence," Sam told him calmly. Dean turned a glare on him.

"Sam, this plane is going to crash, so quit treating me like I'm friggin' four," Dean snapped at him while Sam just gazed at Dean, which pissed him off more.

"You need to calm down," Sam stated in the most relaxed voice I think I'd ever heard from Sam.

"Well, I'm sorry, I can't," Dean bit back, irrationally angry.

"Yes, you can," I was beginning to feel squished and awkward in the middle of the brother's argument. Sam was leaning slightly over me to speak to Dean, and Dean was glaring at him from his seat.

"Dude, stow the touchy-feely, self-help, yoga crap. It's not helping," Dean's voice was panicky and angry all at the same time, and I was growing worried for him.

"Stop it," I hissed, pushing Sam back into his seat with a hand on his chest. "Dean, he's right. Right now, you're panicked and open for demonic possession, so you need to calm down," Dean looked at me uncertainly and then glared past me at Sammy.

"I hate it when she agrees with you," I smiled at those words, and Dean turned back to look at me, taking a deep, forced breath. His hand relaxed slightly in mine, but he didn't let go.

"Good, now, I found an exorcism that I think is gonna work - the Ritual Romano," Sam explained, and I leaned over his shoulder to see the page.

"What do we have to do?" Dean asked him.

"It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful,"

"More powerful?" I questioned in disbelief, glancing disturbing picture in the book to Sammy, "How?"

"Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore," Sam explained. "It can just wreak havoc on its own,"

"Oh, and why is that a good thing?" Dean questioned sharply.

"Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all," Sam answered, and I nodded.

"First things first - we got to find it," Dean said, getting the E.M.F. out of the bag, and putting in the earphones, going to the back. I combed the aisle behind Dean, which came up with absolutely jack. There was a sudden hand on my shoulder, and I jumped slightly, turning quickly only to see Sam's grinning face. I shoved him.

"Jerk," I muttered as he laughed. "Don't do that to me,"

"Anything?" He questioned, getting down to business. I shook my head as Dean answered for us.

"No, nothing. How much time we got?"

"15 minutes," Sam told us, glancing down at his watch. "Maybe we missed somebody,"

"Maybe the thing's just not on the plane," Dean suggested hopefully.

"You believe that?" Sam questioned, and Dean glanced back and forth between us.

"Well, I will if you will," I opened my mouth to answer when I heard the E.M.F. go off and turned to face the cockpit to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

"Cristo," I whispered, ignoring Sammy's questions, and watched as the copilot opened the cockpit door before turning, his eyes black as night. "We have to go back and tell Amanda," I was the first one to speak after the door clicked shut.

"Tell her what?" Sam scoffed, not believing that we should.

"Everything," I answered, and, without waiting for their consent, I turned and headed for the back of the plane.

"Everything?" Sam echoed, hurrying after me. "She's never gonna believe that! What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, we have twelve minutes, and we need a place to perform the exorcism," I hissed back, not breaking stride until I got to the back where Amanda was sorting through the things on her trolly.

"Oh, hi, flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope?" She smiled kindly at us while Sam closed the curtain tightly.

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about," Dean began, glancing uncertainly at me, and I nodded. This was the quickest way to get what we needed.

"Uh, okay? What can I do for you?" She asked.

"This is going to sound crazy," I started, shifting my feet. This sounded a lot easier in my head.

"Listen," Dean saved me from having to finish. "We really don't have time for the whole 'the truth is out there' speech right now,"

"Alright, look, we know that you were on flight 2485," Sam took over for him. Amanda's face fell and turned cold and distrusting.

"Who are you guys?" She questioned suspiciously.

"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane, and it wasn't mechanical failure,"

"And we need your help to stop it from happening again. Here. Now," Dean finished urgently, but Amanda shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I'm very busy." She lied, trying to push through the guys, but Dean stopped her easily.

"Wait a second, okay?" I stepped in between the guys to block her exit out. "We're not going to hurt you, I promise. Just listen, the pilot from 2485, Chuck Lambert? - he's dead," Amanda looked stunned for a moment.

"Wait, what? Chuck is dead?" She shook her head, trying to come to grips with what we were telling her.

"He died in a plane crash," Dean informed her harshly. "Now that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?"

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now, maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't, but there's something wrong with this flight, too," Sam told her seriously.

"Amanda, please, you have to believe what we're telling you," I begged her, my eyes hard and unforgiving.

"On…" She put a hand to her head as if the memory were painful. "On 2485, there was this man. He… he had these eyes," Sam's eyes lit up as she spoke.

"Yes," He interrupted her. "That's exactly what we're talking about,"

"Well, I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?" She questioned.

"Get the copilot, we need you to bring him back here," Dean instructed her, and she glanced around like the room would give her the answer.

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?" She asked, sensing the urgency, but not wanting to accept it.

"We really don't have time to explain everything right now, but we need to talk to him," I told her, hoping she'd just go get him.

"But, how am I supposed to go into the cockpit and get the copilot - "

"Do whatever it takes," Sammy interrupted her. We had 10 minutes left. "Tell him there's something broken back here. Whatever will get him out of that cockpit,"

"Do you know that I could loose my job if you - " She started heatedly.

"Okay, well, you're gonna loose a lot more than that if you don't help us out," Dean's words seemed to finally push her over the edge, and she drew a few short breaths before nodding her consent.

"Okay," She agreed, and I moved in front of Dean to get out of the exit as she walked past us. We watched through the curtain as she walked down the aisle towards the door and knocked. I moved away from the curtain; I could hear them talking from here anyways. I stood out of the way as Sam and Dean positioned themselves on either side of the curtain, ready to tackle him when he came in. Dean tossed me the duct tape, and I drew a piece out as Sam readied himself with the holy water and book.

"Yeah? What's the problem?" The copilot asked, coming through the curtain. Dean punched him straight across the face, making him crash into the emergency door before Dean grabbed his feet, dragging him into the middle of the room. Dean grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him into the ground. I duck taped his mouth shut as Amanda protested behind us.

"You said you were just going to talk to him!"

"We are gonna talk to him," Dean replied as I pinned his arm under my knee, grabbing the holy water from Sam and pouring it all over his chest, wincing as he started burning.

"We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain," Sam ordered her, "Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that?" She was full on freaking out now.

"Amanda," I snapped, earning her full attention. "Just breathe, okay? Everything's going to be fine, but we need you outside that curtain. Make sure no one comes in, all right?" She nodded, blinking rapidly and turning to go exit the curtain. I returned my attention to where Dean was punching the fiend across the face as hard as he could.

"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer I can hold him," I poured the rest of the water on him as Sam started speaking the words in latin. One of the demon's flailing arms hit the water bottle out of my hands, and it skidded across the floor. I scrambled after it, but was slammed into the wall as Dean crashed down on top of me. I wriggled out from under him, and he pushed himself up, grabbing the demon and pinning him again. I snatched the holy water from the floor and hurried back to the demon, pouring more on him. He grunted in pain, and slammed his hands into Dean's chest, sending him sprawling. He grabbed Sam's collar, yanking him closer.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend!" The demon spoke chillingly, and I froze in momentary surprise. "She must've died screaming. Even now she's burn-" He was cut off with a gurgle as I jammed the water bottle into his mouth and emptied the rest of the contents directly down it's throat. Moving quickly, I slapped the duct tape back on before he could scream, and his back arched in agony.

"Sam!" I snapped as Dean straddled the possessed man again. I threw the water bottle into the corner, and focused on pinning his arm under my body weight while Sam finished part one of the exorcism. I grabbed the man's head as he thrashed and Dean and Sam held both of his arms. I could hear the demon giggling with delight at being free. It's giggle sent chills down my spine and made me shiver violently. It slunk away into an air vent, and I turned to Sam.

"Where'd it go?" He questioned. We were out of time. He needed to finish it now.

"He's in the plane," Dean's voice held a note of urgency to it. "Hurry up. We got to finish it," I shot to my feet, starting towards the curtain when the plane dropped sickeningly, throwing me against Dean, who was pressed against the emergency exit. I braced myself against the wall, managing to push myself off of Dean and get to the curtain with Dean following before I was thrown back against him into the emergency exit door. I felt Dean's arms tightly around my waist, and I turned to press my face into his leather jacket. Dean was shaking and screaming, pressing me against him, and I fisted my hands into his shirt, hearing his heart pounding wildly.

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to zone out all the screaming and the yelling and focus solely on Sam. Faintly, I heard him speaking latin, and almost smiled in relief. We were going to be okay. He was finishing it. There was a flash of light, and the plane gave a giant shake before evening out.

"Are you all right?" Dean asked me as he slowly straightened, and I looked up at him. His hands were on my face, his thumbs running over my cheeks, and his eyes searching me intensely to make sure I was okay. In answer to his question, I nodded, and he nodded back, and then we were kissing desperately. I pulled away first, swallowing hard.

"For the record, I'd take your driving any day," I told him, smiling slightly up at him as he gave a laugh of relief. My face suddenly dropped, "Sammy," I hurried to the curtain as his arms fell away from my waist and he followed. Sammy stood in front of us when we opened the curtain to look out at the plane. I let out a breath of relief when I saw him standing there. They were both okay.

About forty minutes later, we were getting off the plane back at Gate 13, for the plane had turned around. Sam, Dean, and I watched Amanda give her statement to the FBI man. 'Thank you' She mouthed to us, and we nodded in return.

"Let's get out of here," Dean told us, and I couldn't have agreed more. I walked between him and Sammy, studying Sammy's face with pity and worry.

"You alright?" I questioned, and he stared at me intently for a moment before turning to face Dean and I.

"Guys, it knew about Jessica," Sam told us.

"Sam, t-these things, they read minds. They lie," Dean explained quickly. "All right? That's all it was. Come on," He started walking away, and I put my hand on Sam's shoulder comfortingly.

"He's right, Sam. That demon would've said anything to get to you in there," I offered him a sad smile before following Dean.

One long car ride later we were back at Jerry's hangar. We'd already packed up all our stuff from the motel and tossed it into the back of the Impala. This was our last stop before we hit the road to find a new evil thing to hunt.

"Nobody knows what you three did, but I do," Jerry told us, nodding. "A lot of people could have been killed. You're dad's gonna be real proud," He spoke the last part to Sam and Dean before smiling brightly at me and shaking Sam's hand.

"We'll see you around, Jerry," Sam smiled as Jerry shook my hand and then Dean's.

"You take good care of her, Dean," Dean just grinned at him, wrapping an arm around my waist. Jerry just smiled and walked back towards the planes. I opened the passenger door, trying to stop smiling as Dean walked around to the drivers.

"Hey, Jerry! I meant to ask you," Dean called him back. "How did you get my cell phone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months,"

"Your dad gave it to me," My heart froze, and my gaze snapped to Jerry's face. Why hadn't he mentioned that before?

"Well, when did you talk to him?" Dean questioned eagerly.

"Well, I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voicemail said to give you a call, or if I couldn't reach you, to call Melody," Me? We drove for about five minutes when Dean pulled over to the side of the road and got out. I got out as well and joined him as he leaned on the hood of the car. Sammy coming to lean next to me.

"This doesn't make any sense," Sam started. "I've called dad's number like 50 times. It's been out of service," I heard it ring for a couple of moments before John's voice came over the line.

This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean - 785-555-0179 or Melody - 785-292-7469. They can help.

The silence stretched on for a moment, and Sam got up first, getting into the back stormily. I followed him, getting into the passenger's seat, and Dean got into the driver's seat, starting the ignition. One thought bounced around with annoying persistence in my mind. If John was telling people to call us, that meant he wasn't working jobs anymore. So what the hell was he doing?