VIRGINIA, UNITED STATES

The large absence of new dawn kept the motel in fabricated light. With the 5am hour barely through, Allie slept pleasantly at Dean's side. Well, as pleasantly as one could. Tension spread in her bones, even in slumber. They'd been on the road for months. Time clicked with each road sign, truck stop, and bar dive that they passed through. No communication from John, no added insight towards their cat and mouse chase. She rustled a bit in her sleep, a subconscious noting of Dean's waking beside her.

Credit card fraud had cons. The pros vastly outweighed them, of course, but one presented itself as glaringly obvious. Motel rooms. Generally the Winchesters didn't opt for anything too bad. A 4.5 star here, a 3 there. They tried not to dip below the two star rated ones. 2 and a half, really. Though, anything above a 3.7 was considered good for them. Nicotine walls and wrinkled sheets were common. Not that it mattered anyway, the maids never got to clean things when the trio booked up the 'home's' away from home.

Another con? Two beds. Opting for separate rooms meant double the cash. Bearing in mind they were living as… well… basically homeless, going for gold didn't exactly make a lot of sense.

All things considered, sharing a bed wasn't too bad. Originally the idea frightened her a bit. Most people think such a thing in fear of snoring too loud, or being judged for leaving their socks on at night, or the position that ultimate relaxation found them in. Twisted spines and whatnot. God, women even feared pissing in the same residence where they slept with someone!

If only those were the reasons. Dime a dozen, throw the cash idea up and she would put it on the table without reservations. It wasn't about the chance of farting in her sleep, or mumbling something stupid, maybe getting a little too handsy and regretting it the next day - those were all solid reasons for a 'normal' person.

Her fears delved into more insidious scenarios. Night terrors, sleep paralysis, seeing HIM until the sheets turned a disgusting shade of yellow-beige from her sweat. Most of the time she crawled into bed after both boys were asleep. If one had a weighted spell of insomnia, she would as well. The fear of witness to prior sins was far worse than any Wendigo or urban legend. She knew that now. In fact, they paled in comparison to the unraveling of her own self-worth and need to be free. A need that forced her into no longer being 'good'. Instead, tainted. Criminally betrayed by her own choices.

They spoke low while Sam took a knife out from below Dean's pillow, putting emphasis over their lack of sleep. Both of them had issues, that much was for sure. He didn't necessarily feel the need to dive further into his long nights and early mornings. Coffee fueled his whole being, as of late. Sam hadn't felt so uncomfortable in his enormous form since high school.

The pressures of the job, the nagging of his own perception, the fight to find John. Study marathons at Stanford couldn't hold a pin to the engorged tumor of fatigue that sat in him. Exhaustion barely covered it. Best to shove it under the metaphorical rug. Too much to do and the last thing he wanted was to stay up all night, every night about it - only to talk about it all day long.

ENTER JERRY PANOWSKI.

The name rang a bell after a few seconds as Dean's mind re-entered reality. He took a short turn back while speaking to the civilian he and his father had helped some time ago. Pennsylvania, yeah. Shocker that the moment was remembered considering the amount of poltergeists he'd seen, but foggy memories resurfaced.

Blonde hair was sprawled out over the right side pillow. Jerry spoke of planes crashing in strange circumstances. "Yeah, we can be there in… 6 hours, give or take," Virginia, not too bad of a drive. Could probably hit it in 5.5, if he were honest - and his backseat drivers didn't pull fits. His eyes remained on Allie while Jerry spoke over the phone, thanking them profusely for their acceptance. Too much talking, too little coffee to listen to it. "What's the address?" A few seconds later Dean hung up the phone, turning back to Sam while he ran a barely woken hand through his bed head.

"Wake her up after I take a shower. Give'er some time." He stood, knees making slight popping sounds before he headed over to the shoddy bathroom of the joint.

"And Sam?"

"What?"

"You gotta sleep, dude."

The bathroom door closing initiated the end of their quick conversation, bringing the room to a silence. Other than Allie's breathing.

Sam watched for a moment. She'd been up last night at 3:00am while he watched infomercials. Both of them were… quiet. At one point Dean woke up. Sam couldn't really recall much after that. He hadn't slept, just phased out and stared at the ceiling for a while. She must have fallen asleep around then, because she definitely didn't beforehand. That would put the night at approximately three hours for her, at most. Zero for him. Five for Dean, who took a bathroom break, then fell back asleep.

As a unit they were running on equal to one average civilian. Wonderful.

The cracking of John's journal softly weaved through the room and Sam held it between his knees, one hand taking large sips of his coffee. He was acutely aware of the splattering noises that came from the shower. Once they calmed and things went silent, he looked up from the page on Witches.

Long legs stood and in just two steps, he was at the side of the other bed. "Alls, time to get up." Sam's voice cooed in a much lighter tone compared to how he had entered the room. When she didn't respond, he instinctively climbed a bit over the bed and bent down to wake her. "Sorry, Al. You gotta get up. We're hitting the ro-"

Blue eyes tore in sprints behind her eyelids, racing from side to side as the chase down the stairs began. He was there. Staring back at her and pushing forward as if no distance could keep them apart. Athletic legs stormed forward, grabbing her arm with fingertips that burned into her flesh and practically sizzled it down to the bone.

"Honey, stop. I have to get an oil change. It's alright. I'll come right back." and really, the Jeep was the only thing keeping her under lock. The drives gave her freedom, though only temporary. How could he deny that, right? Had to take care of the car. No more parties, no more study sessions with her friends. Just drives. The last, shining part of her prior personality and pride that came with it. Long drives with the windows down and hair blowing around her face, Pussycat Dolls playing on the stereo and fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror in true comedic fashion.

Brown irises seared into her while his hold intensified. "You can go tomorrow." But the voice came out distorted, raging white noise crackled at the tips of the words and soon his face was gone, replaced with nothing. Nothing but black and two chocolate eyes staring back at her. The stairs faded, the linoleum tile sank at her feet until it was just two gazes connected. One in fear, one in hate.

Her lips went to move, only for a slight shrug to awake her in a squeaking yelp. Allie instantly tore herself away in a panic from Sam, pupils blown wide before the sight of the ancient wallpaper brought her back into its grasps. Delicate features turned upward to look at him and Allie blinked tiredly.

"I - Sam? What time is it?" She sighed and sat up a bit, hoping that he would continue their sudden conversation, rather than dive into her reaction.

"It's 6:3…7" Sam replied with a bit of concern while glancing down at his watch. "You… okay? Bad dream?" He pressed, though carefully, before sitting down on Dean's side of the bed.

"Something like that. I'm just a… heavy sleeper. Was right in REM, I guess." Allie turned to look at anything but him, keeping her tone fragmented and separate from their interaction in hopes of shoving any need for connection away.

Heavy sleeper his ass. Sam peaked an eyebrow at the words, but stood up. Unfortunately, there was no time to dive deeper and they already had a hell of a time dealing with his insomnia. He understood not wanting to talk about it. Birds of a feather flock together, as some would say. "I got coffee. 1 cream, 1 milk, 2 sugars - right?" He pulled the to-go cup off of the nightstand and presented it to her.

1 cream, 1 milk, 2 sugars. That was right. Allie took the offering in hand and looked at it for a moment. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." She was a bit bewildered by it. Sure they spent a few months together, but he had memorized her coffee order? He heard it a lot. That was the reason. He just heard it a lot and it was unique. Who asked for 1 cream and 1 milk? Specific as hell, she knew it. He remembered because she asked for it all the time and it was just an abnormal order.

The liquid warmed her tongue and soothed her throat, bringing agency back into her body and allowing her mindset to dart away from the brown grip that invaded her nightmares.

PENNSYLVANIA, UNITED STATES.

Dean's fingers tugged incessantly at the white collar surrounding his neck. The tie was too tight. Anxious pads pulled it down in a forceful tug while the three of them clambered into Baby. "Hate this. I feel like I'm at a middle school graduation." The cheapest suit in the joint lined his body. Black and white, nothing notable or expressive. The getups combined with the fake homeland security ID's would give them a bit of an edge. Still, he looked like a fucking monkey. His own reflection in the rearview mirror gave him a shudder.

"You never went to your middle school graduation." Sam pointed out while shuffling a few newspaper clippings in regards to the recent plane crash. Some said spirits could localize on individuals, holidays, gatherings. Planes would be a first, but they enjoyed chaos. Airport, maybe? Still, the answer felt incorrect in all the worst ways.

The cheap suits were really like any other byproduct of the job. They were sort of like method actors, after all. The material gave no bother to him and Sam assumed that Dean just had an issue with being perceived, rather than the actual act of wearing a suit.

Dean smirked a bit, delighted by the revelation and how it brought him back to his distinct youth. "Yeah, too busy fuckin' off and playin' Mortal Kombat." He remembered it fondly. Everyone else had to sit in a stank-ass gym, while he made his way down to the local arcade with a few dollars in his pocket. Sam was in the 4th grade at the time. For a short period they had to go to separate schools, depending on the town. He'd ditch a little earlier and walk to the elementary to pickup Sam, rather than have him wait for a bit outside. Back then it took longer to understand directions. He'd weave through paths between residential streets in an effort to get there faster. Sometimes it worked and they could save a few minutes on the track to the motel; a few minutes where they could stop and do whatever they wanted, without their dad's anger, or missing a call to confirm they were home.

"You didn't go to your middle-school grad?" Allie piped up from the back. Unlike them, her outfit was razor sharp. A blouse that left two buttons open, teasing at cleavage while also being discrete. A black pencil skirt stopped at her lower thigh, shadowed by dark pantyhose and an ever so slight kitten heel. Anything else would leave them at the mercy of regular interpretation. Sexuality, however, played an important role. She would slink in alongside them, put on a bit of a show! Rarely, if ever, did it not work. The gloss that swept across her lips took the cake. Not too much; a nude shade. But flirtatious in the way where fantasizing men could pretend, just for a moment, that more could be on the horizon.

"Nah I -" Dean's eyes flashed back to the rearview, this time focused on her and how the sun that streamed in hit her curls. Her tongue was darting out, glazing over her shined up lips. Shit, the buttons of her top hit exactly at that spot right where the valley begins. He hadn't paid any attention to it outside, or in the store - mainly due to his own distaste for the carbon copy outfits they were wearing. "You're wearing that?" There was a pause and Dean rubbed at his lip. "We can get you a suit."

Allie sat back, shoulders slumping against the bench seat. "I've been wearing this the whole time?" She questioned in a small bout of confusion. "Why would I change? I'm not wearing one of those." Her index finger gestured to them in a wand-like sweep. "We'll look like the three musketeers."

Sam gave a short laugh, noticing the dip in conversation and what his brother was probably attempting to do, even if he didn't know it. They'd both grown a tad protective. After all, Allie was the least experienced out of the three of them - and she had a knack for getting in trouble, going her own way, doing what she wanted. The idea of Dean being able to control her at all was laughable. "She's right, Dean. If we go in, in three of the exact same suit, we're going to look like morons. She's... adding spark. Some spice to the game."

Dean groaned out. "Spark? Spice? Common, Sam." His thumb ticked at the steering wheel while he took the whole scenario in, thinking of how to best describe himself. "Al, you're gonna get gawked at if you wear that. We need to be inconspicuous."

"Gawked at?" Her forehead fell, eyebrows raised in theatrical fashion. "When did you turn 50? It's a blouse and a skirt, Dean!" The blonde defended. "And says you! Your tie is basically down to your beer gut right now, not professional!"

"Beer gut?! What the fuck are you talking about, Allie!? I don't have a beer gut!" The older Winchester turned around, eyes blazing at her as he practically jumped out of his seat.

"I'm prepping you for thirty years from now, hot shot!" Alice barked out, unable to contain her laughter as he got immediately heated over the call out. "What do you think happens when you drink all day? YOU. GET. A. BEER. GUT."

He nearly climbed over the front bench at that one. "Stop saying beer gut!"

Sam placed a hand between them. It was like crowding children to a play area. They gassed each other up all the time, hit the pedal all the way down until one of them was roaring into a heightened emotion. Sometimes it was funny to watch them go back and forth, but they had a job to do. "Dean, stop." Rather than chastise Allie, he simply gave her a look and she seemed to calm down somewhat, slinking further into the bench and turning away.

Dean's eyes narrowed but he eventually turned back to the steering wheel, hands forced on it tensely while his jaw ticked. "She's rude sometimes!" He shot out before quieting down a bit, only to slowly do up his tie without thinking. The black adornment slid up to his collar bones. Still loose, but not too much so. With one last huff, they headed out to the storage unit where the debris from the crash was being held.

Demonic possession. Certain demons would bring on biblical disasters. Things that could seem natural, or completely random occurrences. Something new and unforeseen, Sam could see the tension rolling off of Dean in static waves. Goosebumps rose over his skin while he hummed Metallica to keep himself centered. Sam perched himself up in his seat a bit to look back at Allie. Row 32, nearly in the back of the plane. She got the worst of the lot. They couldn't get three seats together, and so, Allie was forced to take the single seat left - by herself on a plane with an active demon.

"You need to calm down." Sam spoke authoritatively, once again uttering the words that he had only a few minutes prior. T-minus 25 minutes until showdown. "Stand up and check on Amanda." Christo. Amanda, the stewardess, would be their first try. They'd gone over it briefly. The Latin word would make a demon shrivel up, shake at the sound. A cry of God.

Dean shook himself to prepare, gathering his strength in the midst of fear and finally stood. The concealed EMF that moved with his hand over the passengers gave little indication of anything out of the ordinary. They were working with the tools at their disposal, though the tools themselves felt like beginners items at a craft market in comparison to what they actually fucking needed. "You had to ditch us, dad. Really?!" Dean mumbled to himself while growing closer to the back of the plane. "Dying on a fucking plane. I'M gonna be the one to haunt this motherfucker!" The pit suddenly swayed with a small phase of turbulence and Dean smacked his hand down in agitation across the back of someone's seat, only to look down and see an older woman staring up at him.

"Sorry mam, nervous flyer." She looked away and he groaned out. Couldn't have been literally anything else. Anything else in their fathers journal. A boat! fuck it, it could have been sinking yachts! Yet now he was on a goddamn plane with a supposed death wish, and no idea where the fucking demon was - or who! fuck, for fucks sake, fuck it all, fuck everything, fuck Boeing, fuck planes.

When he grew closer to the back, Allie's face came in to view. He was quick to unbutton her seatbelt and pull her out of her seat, checking around their audience before shoving her into the bathroom.

Occupado!

"Aren't you afraid of planes? Why're you tryna' join the mile high club?" She rested her hand on her hip. The room was tiny as could be, surprising two could even fit. She was practically wedged between the wall and the toilet. They'd seen worse, but it still felt pretty fucking gross to be in a well used bathroom with him. Outsiders were most likely gossiping amongst themselves as they spoke.

"What? I, No! We need to talk." He did shake his head though. At any other time it would be funny, but they had roughly 22 minutes until they met their untimely deaths, so. "It wouldn't be big enough in here anyway." They were basically in a closet.

"We could make it work, I'm very bendy." Allie snorted and tried her best to lean against the sink. Turbulence hit again. She smacked her head lightly on the back wall. "Ow, fuck!" Now irritated, she looked up at him while rubbing the back of her head. "What did you want to talk about?"

"...Did you find out who the demon is?" Dean spoke quickly, noting the smack of her head. He replaced her hand and put his own there, acting as a buffer between the wall and her skull. Just something to pad with in case it happened again.

She stared blankly at him. "If I knew who the demon was, don't you think I'd have said something by now? Kind of like - 'guys, let's stop the route down to our caskets and get a move on, please'. Hmm?" Her hand fell limp at her side while he cradled the back of her head. "Is there a bump now?"

His hand felt around for a moment, trying to keep his touch gentle and unpainful for her. There was... something. "There's a small bump, yeah." He replied with a sigh. "So no demon, no EMF, nothing. Maybe there's nothing on the plane?"

"Did you already talk to the stewardess?"

"Well... no."

"So you pulled me into this tiny bathroom, without talking to the stewardess?"

"Let it go, Alls. Not the time."

"I'm leaving."

Allie thrusted the door open, perhaps a bit too much, and looked up. No one seemed to be looking. Instead of making her way back to her seat, she opted to join alongside Sam further to the front. Being afraid was a bit of an understatement, all things considered. Flying never really bothered her before. She'd done it plenty while in high school. Not so much for college, other than the initial trip to Stanford to see the grounds. "What's crackin'?" She spoke while standing above him. "You find anything yet? By my count we have... 20 minutes."

Sam turned upwards to look at her as she approached. Although he was keeping calm, the hourglass that joined alongside them did have him somewhat on edge - on the inside. On the outside his demeanor remained unchanged, rolling with the motion of the ocean. Maybe the demon hadn't possessed anyone yet. What if it took hold of a body right before the time limit was up? "Nothing yet. You?"

Allie sighed. "No, nothing. Dean's going to talk with the stewardess from the other flight." She sank down into the seat beside him and let her head fall back. "He thinks it's not on the plane." And a part of her hoped he was right, despite the danger that they found themselves in. What if it was all just... a coincidence? Nope, that definitely wasn't possible. Maybe it had picked a different plane? God, she hoped it did.

"Do you believe that?" Sam closed the journal and faced her head on. "Because I don't." They'd never been granted such luck before, today had no reason to be any different. "This plane is going to crash, Allie." He whispered conspiratorially, leaning close to ensure their conversation remained private.

After some agreement, the two stood up to join Dean at the back of the plane. T-minus 15 minutes. No Christo reaction from the stewardess, or anyone. Time was ticking and if they didn't find the perp? The lot of them would be road rash, burned up, or underneath a blanket of water somewhere. A choice had to be made and quick. So, the brothers decided to try and tell Amanda the truth.

Mere minutes later Allie was standing with her just outside of the back prep area while Dean and Sam duct taped the pilot and began to douse him in holy water. Amanda had come through in a pinch, though she was arguably terrified. The two women stood alongside one another just outside the curtain while the brothers spoke to each other, Latin heavy in their voices. Allie turned, her expression compassionate while they met eyes. "It's okay." She mouthed and offered a small smile. "Don't listen to it,"

The enraged grumbling from the demon grew louder. It's voice carried sinister tones, timbre deep and taunting behind them.

"Amanda, don't listen to it!" Alice spoke out finally.

Suddenly the aircraft took a nosedive - flickering lights and screams filled the cabin while the girls grabbed onto one another, Amanda forced them down towards the bottom of the seats. Dark and light moved in waves, spotting faces before they were unable to be seen again. Her breathing sharpened and Allie joined alongside the civilians, screaming in fear while her fingers gripped into the seat so tight that the nails began to separate from the beds.

"Dean! Sam!" She cried out their names, assuming it may be a last ditch effort. The light came once again, illuminating Dean's body on the other side of the plane. He was forced against a wall panel, terrified with green eyes wide in fear before they darted down to her.

Sam's voice rang through in the screams, Latin chanting continuing, no matter the death that could soon become them. The words were clear as a bell and in mere seconds, an electrical pull seemed to level out the plane - returning it to safety.

"Planes crash! It's a legitimate fear!" Dean defended while slouching down into the passenger seat, sunglasses on instead a blindfold. "You guys saw. It's rational." He gave a bit of attitude on the words while Sam drove. He grinned at the idea that popped into his head, a way to get the heat off of himself and offer a little levity into the situation while they drove to the next oddball shit in the paper.

"Besides, you should see what Sammy's scared of."

"Dean don-" Sam attempted to stop him, but it was too late. The confession, albeit not by his own consent, came out.

"Clowns." Dean continued with a large smile as he wiggled down into a comfortable position. "Hated 'em when we were kids. Even face paint, didn't have to be a full on clown. He wouldn't do it. Once got me to wash off this awesome Batman mask that I got down at the carnival. Creeped 'im out," He clasped his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Ain't that right, Sammy-boy? Those damn jokers give ya' a real run for your money!"

"Jerk." Sam shook his head and took a bit of a hard right, causing Dean to jolt in the passenger seat. "Woops," He grinned.

"Bitch." Dean huffed out, now having to reposition himself once again. "So, blondie. That leaves you. What gets your panties up your ass?"

Allie shrugged. "Aliens." She figured they were being honest. Well, Dean was. Kind of without being told it was okay - but whatever. It would be rude not to offer up her own, right?

Dean laughed for a moment. "Yeah, whatever. Tell us the truth, come on." Aliens. Yeah, they were pretty shitty out of all the monsters. Allie didn't seem like the type, though. He thought she would be more liable to say something like Zombies, or men with bad breath. She always had a way of sneaking in some funny shit, though vaguely men hating. Usually he tried to push past that, though. All for comedy, right? Hell, that was half the reason he liked being around her. She had one of the most unfiltered mouths he had ever met. Well, compared to himself.

"That is the truth." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm scared of aliens." She sighed out, half wondering if the conversation should continue - considering it meant releasing an inner part of herself to them. "They like to put things up peoples asses." The path to honesty won out and without even waiting for their retorts, Allie rolled her eyes. "Haven't you seen the movie? It latches onto his face and bursts out of his chest!" Soon she was up, meeting between them at the bench seat with elbows propped high and hands going every which way to aid in describing herself. "AND they're from space, they probably have shit that WE don't have. Gadgets and stuff! Plus, once they take you - that's it. You're gone."

Her tangent continued in a roar while more movies came to mind. "War of the Worlds! They just SUCK THEM UP, INTO THE SKY! Humanity would unravel, people wouldn't know how to react, there's no mandate for it! We would just be an Alien buffet; all of us running around like little ants while they pick us off."

Sam tried his best not to laugh, that would be mean. Especially while taking his own fear into account. "So no Aliens, got it. We'll drop you off at Bobby's when they come to town."

Dean shot his head to the side at Sam's reply.

"Don't jinx it, Sam."