A/N- Friendly reminder that I do not own Sam, Dean, or most of their dialogue- I want to keep it as true to the show as possible, so a good chunk of their dialogue comes directly from transcripts of the show (thank you, !)

And work we did. We took out a Wendigo in Colorado and a vengeful spirit in Wisconsin, and had finally crashed in a motel along Route 43. I woke up to the sound of the motel door opening and quickly sat up to look at Dean, who motioned for me to stay quiet as he slid his hand under his pillow to grab his knife. Once the door had fully opened, he turned to look, and relaxed once he saw it was Sam. He was carrying three coffees and a bag of pastries, looking wide awake despite the time.

"Morning, sunshines!" Sam said, closing the door behind him by kicking it with his heel. Dean groaned and rubbed his eyes, flopping back onto his stomach on the bed, while Sam put our breakfast down on the small table. I pushed my bangs out of my face and looked up at Sam wearily.

"Sam, what time is it?"

"Uh, it's about 5:45," Sam answered, before sitting down at the table and grabbing one of the coffees.

"In the morning?" Dean asked grumpily, trying to smooth his hair down. Once he noticed that it wasn't going anywhere, he gave up, rolled over and sat up, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a death threat.

"Ugh. Do you have a death wish?" I asked sarcastically before I got out of bed and walked over to the table, grabbing my iced coffee and a Danish. I sat down at the table with Sam, who looked at me and laughed.

"Nice hair, Ella," he said, before returning to his coffee.

"Yep. You so have a death wish," I sighed, trying to fix my ponytail.

"Did you get any sleep last night, Sammy?" Dean asked, finally getting out of bed to grab his coffee.

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," he answered, obviously lying.

"Liar. 'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial," Dean smirked, grabbing two donuts. Sam smirked and took a sip of his coffee before he spoke.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV," he retorted, rolling his eyes at me. I smiled back at him before returning my attention to my breakfast. Dean shook his head and looked at Sam.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" he asked, trying again to smooth down his hair.

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

"Yeah, sure. We both know that when you don't get your sleep you get cranky," I said, shoving the rest of my Danish in my mouth and getting up to grab my clothes.

"I'm gonna take a shower, okay?" I said, ruffling Dean's hair as I made my way to the bathroom. He tried to smack my hand away, but I was too quick for him, and as I closed the bathroom door I could hear him muttering "one of these days, I swear…"

I quickly showered, and was debating whether to wash my hair or not when I heard Dean's muffled voice through the door, saying something about Jess.

"Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?"

I tried to grab my shampoo and listen at the same time, but promptly dropped the bottle on my foot. I swore loudly, and I could hear Sam and Dean laughing at me. Rolling my eyes, I started scrubbing my scalp while I continued to eavesdrop.

"Yeah, but it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you," Sam said, and I could tell he meant it.

"You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that," Dean told him.

"So, what? All this, it never keeps you up at night?" Sam asked, and I had to choke down my laughter. Apparently Sam had never seen the knife under Dean's pillow. I put conditioner in my hair and rinsed for a few seconds before shutting the shower off and wrapping a towel around my body. The rest of their conversation was cut off by the sound of my hairdryer as I attempted to at least dry my hair enough that water wouldn't be dripping down my back for an hour. I gave up after about 10 minutes and threw some clothes on, leaving my hair down. Just as I had finished getting dressed, I heard a knock on the door, and opened it to see Dean holding his phone up.

"Hey, we got a case," he said, looking pleased.

"Yeah, what's up?" I said, going back to the mirror to put on some eyeliner and mascara. He looked at me for a second and was about to say something before he noticed me glaring at him, daring him to make a comment, and decided to stay quiet. He shook his head at me before continuing to tell me about the case.

"Hey, you remember that Jerry Panowski guy?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar. Wasn't he the guy who had the poltergeist problem in in Kittanning?" I asked, putting the stuff back in my bag and moving past him to put it in my backpack.

"Yeah, that's the guy. Anyway, he said he had another problem, but wouldn't discuss it on the phone. We're heading out in a few- you ready?" he said, grabbing his jacket from the bedside table.

"Yeah, I'm ready. You're showering, right?" Dean looked at me with a puzzled look on his face, and I sighed and gave him a pointed look.

"Sure. How about you and Sammy go load up the car- I'll be out in a few," he said before going into the bathroom and closing the door. I looked at Sam and he nodded at me, and I slung my backpack over my shoulder before heading out to the car, grabbing a pillow from the bed. Sam looked at me with one eyebrow raised, and I shrugged at him.

"Dude, the sun's barely up. Besides, who knows when I'll have the chance to sleep on a clean pillow again, and Dean got blood all over my favorite one," I said, throwing my stuff in the backseat. Sam grinned and hopped into the passenger seat, and we sat for a few minutes before Dean came out, hair dripping everywhere. He opened the backseat door, stuck his head in and shook like a wet dog, spraying both me and Sam with water. I yelled at him and smacked him with my pillow, and Sam just rolled his eyes and told him to get in the car. He jumped in and we drove off, blasting Survivor.

We pulled up to the hangar a couple hours later and Sam jumped out of the car to stretch his legs while I grabbed my backpack and Dean pulled the key from the ignition. A balding man walked toward us, and as he got closer, I recognized him- Jerry, the guy Dean, John, and I had helped with the poltergeist. He reached out to shake Sam and Dean's hands before turning to me with a huge grin on his face.

"I almost didn't recognize you, Ella!" he said, reaching out to pull me into a hug.

"It's only been a few years, Jerry- I haven't changed that much," I laughed, smirking at him.

"Anyway, thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Ella, Dean, and your dad really helped me out," Jerry said, motioning for us to follow him. Sam looked at him, surprised.

"Wait, Ella was actually on the hunt? I thought you and Dad just brought her along because you didn't want to leave her alone?" he asked, and Dean shook his head.

"Nope, she worked the hunt. She was actually pretty damn good at it too- saved my ass from that poltergeist," Dean responded, slinging his arm over my shoulders and looking down at me proudly.

"Yeah, the thing practically tore our house apart. Tell you something- if it wasn't for you two and John, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college- is that right?" Jerry said, leading us past a rack of spare parts.

"Yeah, I was. I'm… taking some time off," Sam responded, looking down.

"Well, he was real proud of you- I could tell. He talked about you all the time," Jerry said, as we got closer to his office door. Sam looked at him in confusion.

"He did?"

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

"He's, uh, wrapped up in a job right now," Dean responded carefully.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry said, grinning at all of us and opening his office door.

"No, not by a long shot," Sam said, looking down at his feet with a shy grin.

Jerry ushered us all in and we all gathered around his desk. There were only two chairs, and, looking at Sam, both Dean and I rushed to sit before he could. When Sam realized what had just happened, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What are you guys, 5?" He said, pretending to be annoyed, but that didn't last long before he gave up and broke into a grin. Jerry looked at us fondly.

"Well, at least some things never change," he said, before sitting down at his desk and getting back to business. "I got something I want you guys to hear. Sounded like it was up your alley."

He pulled out a CD and put it into the machine and Sam, Dean, and I leaned closer to the desk.

"Normally I wouldn't have access to this- it's the cockpit voice recorder for United Brittania flight 2485. It was one of ours," Jerry said as he pressed play.

We listened to what sounded to be the last moments before the plane crashed, and Jerry told us that the plane had taken off from the airport and ended up about 200 miles south. Everyone thought it had been a mechanical failure- the cabin had somehow managed to depressurize during the flight, killing everyone on board except for seven people. One of them was the pilot, Chuck Lambert- a good friend of Jerry's. He was apparently pretty broken up about it and thought it was his fault, but Jerry disagreed. Once Jerry had finished talking, Sam leaned forward.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors…" Sam said, and Jerry nodded in agreement.

"And, uh, anyway we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked, looking at me. I nodded and looked at Jerry to see him frowning and shaking his head.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage… the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance."

Dean turned to look at me, frowning,and was about to speak up before I smirked at him and cut him off.

"No problem."

We went to the nearest copy store so Dean could put together the IDs we needed. After a while, we saw him walking towards the door with a smug grin on his face. As he exited, a woman was entering, and they greeted each other- I could see them checking each other out. I looked at Sam and rolled my eyes, and Sam sighed before stepping away from where he had been leaning against the side of the car.

"You've been in there forever."

Dean grinned and held up three IDs before tossing one to me and one to Sam, who looked up at him in surprise.

"Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Yeah, well, it's something new, you know? People haven't seen it a thousand times," Dean retorted before getting in the driver's seat.

"Which makes them more likely to remember us, dumbass!" I pointed out, smacking him on the shoulder. He turned around and was about to make what was most likely a smartass response before his face fell and he shrugged.

"Yeah, good point. Too late now," he said, as he turned to look at Sam, who had been messing with the tape from the plane.

"So, what do you got?"

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam said before pressing play. It sounded like mostly static, but then we heard it- a scratchy voice, proclaiming 'no survivors'. I turned to Sam, confused.

"What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors, right?"

Sam nodded, but seemed just as confused as I was.

"Got me."

Dean looked at him thoughtfully. "So, what are you thinking? A haunted flight?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, there's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers…

"Wait, like flight 401?" I interjected, and Sam and Dean looked back at me, nodding.

"Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put them in other planes, then the spirits of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights," Dean said, and Sam nodded at him.

"Maybe we got a similar deal."

Dean agreed before turning so he could see me better. "All right, so, survivors. Which one should we talk to first?"

I shrugged, but Sam had already made his decision.

"Third on the list- Max Jaffey."

"Why him?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did," Sam said, and I looked at him, not understanding what he meant.

"Why him?" I asked, leaning forward to look at Sam.

"Remember the phone call I made while we were waiting for Dean? That was Max's mother, and she told me where to find him- Riverfront Psychiatric hospital."

I froze, and Dean spun to look at me with worry in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but I shot him a pleading look and motioned silently to Sam. He stayed silent, but kept watching me, waiting for my response. Sam looked at both of us with a puzzled look on his face, and I sighed before looking Dean in the eyes and nodding silently.

"Let's go."

We drove in silence, Dean looking back at me every so often through the rearview mirror with worry shining in his eyes. I managed a weak smile, but as we got closer to the hospital, it became harder to pretend that nothing was bothering me. We pulled into the parking lot and into a free spot by the entry, and once he had stopped the car, Dean turned to look at me.

"El, you don't have to do this… You can stay in the car if you want," He said quietly, but I shook my head.

"No, Dean, it's fine," I said, trying to hide how bad my hands were shaking. Sam looked at Dean quizzically before turning to me,not knowing what we were talking about. I shook my head at him and mouthed that I would tell him later, and got out of the car. He turned to Dean and looked like he was about to ask him what was going on, but Dean shook his head and I could hear him say "Not now, Sam. It's not for me to tell."

We made our way to the front desk, flashed our IDs, and the nurse showed us to the garden, where we found Max sitting on a bench with a cane tucked between his knees. Sam and Dean approached him with me trailing slightly behind- I looked too young to be working with Homeland Security, so I was introduced as their trainee. Besides, I was way too shaky to play the part of a full-fledged agent- my nervous energy fit the part of the wide-eyed newbie much better. I could hear them talking quietly, but my mind was elsewhere. I stared off into the distance for what seemed like hours, but must have only been a few minutes, when Dean approached me and put a hand on my shoulder. I jumped slightly and spun around to face him, but as soon as I saw it was him, I calmed down slightly.

"Hey, we're done here. You okay?" he asked, bending down so he could look me in the eyes.

"Not really, but I'll feel better once we get out of here," I answered shakily, and he nodded as we made our way to the car.

Once we had all gotten in, Sam told me what they had learned- Max had checked himself in after the crash because he thought he was seeing things. Specifically, he thought he saw a passenger on the plane open the emergency exit in the back of the plane, which should have been impossible. The man's name was George Phelps, and he was in the seat in front of Max. Sam and Dean had gotten his address from the passenger manifest, and we decided to head there to talk to his wife.

"Man, I don't care how strong you are- even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during the flight," Dean said as we got out of the car.

"Not if you're human," I pointed out.

"Yeah, maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form," Sam said, nodding at me.

"Does that look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean smirked, nodding his head towards the house.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Dean," I said as I started walking up to the door.

George's wife answered the door, and after we showed her our badges, she invited us in, and showed us to the living room. It looked perfectly normal- magazines scattered across the coffee table, family photos on the walls, the whole nine yards. Sam and Dean sat on the couch across from her while I sat down gently in the chair next to her, resisting the urge to flop onto the chair and cross my legs underneath me. Sam grabbed one of the photos from the table next to him, and held it up so she could see.

"This is your late husband?"

"Yes, that was my George," she said, tears filling her eyes.

"And you said he was a… dentist?" Dean chimed in, leaning towards her.

"Yes. He was headed to a convention in Denver… do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…" she trailed off, wiping at her eyes. I reached for her hands and held them in my own, offering some much-needed comfort.

"Mrs. Phelps, how long were you married?" I asked quietly.

"Thirteen years."

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked, and she shook her head before pausing to reconsider.

"Well… uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."

I caught Dean's eye and shook my head almost imperceptibly before turning back to Mrs. Phelps.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am. If you need anything, anything at all, feel free to call us." I handed her one of our fake business cards and stood up to leave, smiling slightly at her as we walked out the door and down the stairs. Once we reached the car, I turned to the two brothers.

"Okay, this makes no sense. George Phelps was a middle-aged dentist with a fear of flying and an ulcer- he doesn't sound like an evil creature to me," I said as I climbed into the backseat.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Sam said, shutting the passenger-side door and turning to look at me. Dean nodded in agreement.

"You know, what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage," Dean pointed out as he started the car.

"Yeah, but we need to make a stop first- no way will we pass for Homeland Security agents looking like this," I interjected, looking pointedly at Sam and Dean's outfits.

Sam nodded. "I saw a store in town that we can go to- it's not far."

"All right, let's go," Dean said, and we pulled away from the curb and set off into town.

About half an hour later, we walked out of the suit rental shop in matching black suits with white shirts, looking like proper agents.

"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers," Dean muttered, pulling at his collar.

"You're complaining? They put me in a freaking skirt!" I hissed, trying to pull the tight black pencil skirt down towards my knees. I had protested when the clerk gave it to me, but Dean gave me a look telling me not to argue, so I put the damn thing on anyway. I had to admit, it didn't look bad- it hugged my curves well and even had a couple-inches-long slit in front of my left leg, but still.

"El, you look fine," Sam insisted, but I could see him trying to hold back his laughter.

"I swear to God, if I have to run in this god damn skirt, I'm going to trip and fall and die!" I yelled, getting strange looks from the people walking by us.

"You'll be fine kid. Now get in the car- I don't like the way that guy's looking at you," Dean said, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Dean, remember the last time some douche-canoe tried to hit on me and you thought I couldn't handle myself?" I said, crossing my arms defiantly and standing up as straight as possible. Dean laughed, knowing exactly what I was talking about.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, looking quizzically at his brother, who was laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes.

"Let's just say if he ever has children in the future, it'll be a medical miracle," I said coyly, and got into the car, somehow managing not to flash the entire street.

Sam looked at Dean, who was wiping tears away from his eyes, and was speechless for a second before he managed to squeeze out a response.

"Did she really do that?"

"Yep. You should have seen that son of a bitch cry," Dean managed to say, finally getting himself under control.

"Huh," Sam said in amazement, before he and Dean got in the car and we pulled away.