Chapter 13: No Survivors

Dean was asleep on his stomach and George was snoring on the other bed. Sam would even claim she was snoring and George would retort by threatening to snap his neck.

The door opened and Dean awoke and slips a hand under his pillow for a weapon. As he turned to look, he saw Sam entering, carrying coffee and pastries.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam greeted. He noticed George sleeping and shouted, "Good morning George!"

George woke up, "You know it's rude to wake up someone who only had a half hour of sleep."

Sam smiled and Dean looked at him, "What time is it?"

"Uh, it's about five forty-five."

"In the morning?" George groaned.

"Yep," Sam replied.

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

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours."

"Liar. 'Cause I up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial," Dean accused.

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

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

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

"Yeah, it is," Dean joined in.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam started

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep our asses alive, so we need you sharp." Sam shrugged.

"Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" George asked. Sam crossed the room. He sat down on the other bed, next to George and handed a coffee to Dean, then to George.

"Yeah. But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you."

"You can't let it," George said, "You can't bring it home like that."

"So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?"

Dean shook his head.

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

"No, not really." Sam reached under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife and held it up as evidence. Dean took the knife back. "That's not fear. That is precaution."

"Dean, don't be afraid to admit it," George took a knife out from under her pillow, "Fear keeps you alive." Dean stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

"All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue."

Dean's phone rang and he answered it. "Hello?"

"Dean, it's, uh, it's Jerry Panowski. You, your friend, and your dad helped me out a couple years back."

"Oh, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It's not back, is it?" Dean asked.

"No. No. Thank god, no. But it's something else, and...uh, I think it could be a lot worse," Jerry said.

"What is it?"

"Can we talk in person?" Jerry asked.

Dean eyed Sam and George. They both eyed back.

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. These two and your dad really helped me out." Jerry said.

"Yeah, Dean told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asked.

"Poltergeist?" A man said, "Man, I loved that movie."

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking," Jerry ordered, "Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for Dean, George and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?"

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

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time."

"He did?" Sam asked surprisedly.

"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" Jerry asked.

"He's, um..." Dean trailed off.

"Wrapped up in a job right now." George finished.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?"

Dean laughed and George cracked a smile.

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

"I got something I want you guys to hear."

"I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley." Jerry put a CD in a drive. "I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours."

"Mayday! Mayday!" the recording spoke, "Repeat! This is United Britania 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure..." There was a loud whooshing sound.

"Took off from here," Jerry said, "crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. 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."

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

"No, I don't," Jerry replied.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors," George said.

"All right," Jerry complied.

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked.

"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."

Dean frowned. "No problems."

Sam and George were waiting by the car outside a Copy Jack. As Dean exited, a rather fine-looking woman entered.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hi," Dean responded.

"You've been in there forever," Sam pointed out.

Dean held up three IDs. "You can't rush perfection."

"Homeland Security?" Sam took one of the IDs. "That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Come on, Sammy," George smiled, "We impersonated the FBI recently!"

"She's right, it's also something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." They all went into their usual seats in the Impala. "All right, so, what do you got?"

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam told them.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Listen." He played the tape, which had been edited to pull out a scratchy voice.

"No survivors!" The voice on the tape spoke.

"'No survivors?' What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors."

"Was hoping you'd know," George sighed.

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

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers."

"Mm-hmm," Dean hummed.

"Or remember flight 401?" George questioned.

"Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights." Dean remembered.

"Right," Sam said.

"Yep."

"Maybe we got a similar deal," Sam replied.

"All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?"

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey."

"Why him?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, he's from around here," Sam listed, "And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did."

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked.

"Well, I spoke to his mother."

So, what did you think? I'm going to try and update regularly now, but no promises. I always accept CC, so please review!