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underground-secret · 7 months

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The Hunter and the Witch: Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: When Dean gets a call from a friend the boys and Y/N go to investigate a plane that crashed under mysterious circumstances.

Warnings: cannon violence, talk of plane crashes, demons, exorcism, reference to sexual themes (but nothing sexual happens at all like not even a little bit), comfort, aerophobia, one bed trope 🤨

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @okayiamkassandra, @fablesrose

Word count: 7,792

Authors note: I am so so sorry this took forever to get out, and i’m not even that happy with the turn out at least for some parts of this chapter. I will be working harder to make it better, please let me know what you guys think: criticism is welcome

The Phantom Traveler

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

The sound of the door opening along with movement beside me wakes me from my sleep. My eyes flicker open slowly only to be met with Dean prompt on one arm practically leaning over me with his hand underneath his pillow.

“Morning, Sunshine!” I hear Sam’s voice call out.

I rub my eyes, turning my head towards Sam’s voice who’s standing in the doorway with a tray of drinks and a baggy of something.

“Hi Sammy” I responded lightly, still adorned with sleep.

“What time is it?” Dean asks him. Which reminds me of the fact that we slept in the same bed the night before, there was only one room left and we were all too tired to go looking for another motel so Dean suggested I bunk with him. And it’s not like we hadn’t slept together growing up, whether on purpose or during a movie.

“Uh, it’s about five forty-five.” Sam answers, kicking his shoes off.

“In the morning?” Dean asks again.

“Yep” Sam answers simply.

“It’s too early” I grumble, sinking further into the hoodie I had worn to bed.

Dean huffs a laugh, “Where does the day go?” He sits up leaning on the headboard, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I grabbed a couple of hours.” Sam responds.

“Liar. 'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial.” Dean confronts.

“Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV.” Sam reasons.

“Lying again!” I add, still lying down.

Dean looks down at me before looking back at Sam, “When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?”

“I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal.” Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, it is.” Dean answers and I nod my head in agreement, well the best I can nod lying down.

“Look, I appreciate your concern—“ Sam started getting cut off by Dean, “Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp.” Dean lies, he is most definitely worried.

But Sam just shrugs. So Dean pushes further, “Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?”

Sam crosses the room, sitting on the other bed, handing Dean two drinks. I sit up quickly taking my drink from Dean as Sam responds, “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. You can't bring it home like that.” Dean tells him, taking a sip of his drink that is most definitely coffee.

“So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

Dean shakes his head.

“Y/N?” Sam asks.

“Yeah…It does. I mean you can try to not let it bother you but it’s not so simple, not healthy either” I take a deep breath, “Man, we need therapy”, looking down at my cup instead of confronting the boys directly. I take a careful sip from my drink, hot chocolate, making a mental note to thank Sammy for it.

“Exactly. So Dean, really you’re never afraid? Never?”

“No, not really.” Dean replies the same answer.

Sam gives him a look reaching under Dean's pillow, pulling out a large hunting knife holding it up as evidence.

I almost spit out my drink, “When did you put that there!”

Dean takes the knife back, looking between Sam and I as he spoke, “That's not fear. That is precaution. And also when you went to change in the bathroom”

“All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue.” Sam answers, leaning back on his hand while the other holds his drink (also probably coffee).

“Amen.” I add, focusing on my drink now.

Suddenly Dean’s phone rings, he answers it almost immediately.

“Hello?

…

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

…

What is it?”

The conversation ends quickly and Dean explains that some guy he helped a while back named Jerry Panowski needed our help.

We change and pack up our things, heading out to this Jerry guy.

“Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.” Jerry, a short guy who’s balding, speaks

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asks him, causing a random guy to call back a response, “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

Jerry snapped at the worker, “Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking.” He sighs continuing, “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you 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.” Sam stammered.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.” Jerry answered.

“He did?” Sam asks.

“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 asks.

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now.” Dean responds, coming up with a quick lie.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and, uh, Y/N right? More than an even trade, huh?”

Dean laughs and I nod my head in conformation on the name bit.

“Well anyways I got something I want you guys to hear.” He leads us into his office nearby.

“I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley.” Jerry explains putting a CD into a drive.

“Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.” He presses play

“Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britania 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure…” The recording ends with a loud whooshing sound.

“Took off from here, 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.” Jerry explains further.

“You don't think it was?” Sam asks him.

“No, I don't.” He answers simply.

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors.” Sam informs him.

“And would it be possible for us to take a look at the wreckage” I add on asking.

“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.” Jerry tells us, and despite not being able to see the wreckage he’s extremely helpful. What a kind man.

“No problem.” Dean frowns.

Sam and I wait outside a Copy Jack for Dean, already having waited for maybe forty-five mins. Dean finally exits.

“You've been in there forever.” Sam complains and I nod in agreement.

“You can't rush perfection.” Dean smiles holding up three ID’s, fake ones at that.

Dean hands us our respected ID’s with a fake name, fake information but actual photos of us.

“Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us.” Sam comments, looking at his ID badge.

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times.” Dean reasons, rounding the car to get in.

“It’s not like you haven’t been FBI Agents” I remarked as I got into the car.

“I get it. We’re criminals.” Sam responded monotone.

“Yeah we are!” I celebrate.

Sam huffs a laugh, an almost disappointing laugh.

“All right, so, what do you got?” Dean asks, changing the subject.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder.” Sam answers.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“Listen.” Sam plays the tape, which he had edited to pull out a scratchy voice, “No survivors!”

“"No survivors"? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.” Dean questions.

“Maybe there wasn’t meant to be any survivors and it could be going back to, you know, uh, take care of them” I suggest.

“Maybe.” Sam adds. The car went quiet as if the boys were going over the possibilities in their heads.

Dean breaks the silence, “Are you thinking a haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers. Remember flight 401?” Sam informs.

“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 answers.

“Right. So maybe we got a similar deal.” Sam adds.

“All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?” Dean asks.

“Third on the list: Max Jaffey.”

“Why him?”

“Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did.” Sam lists out.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I spoke to his mother. And she told me where to find him.”

Max walks with a cane slightly in front of us, having joined him in the garden of the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security.” He tells us.

“Well, some new information came up. So we’d just like to ask you a couple of questions.” I answer softly.

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?” Sam adds jumping right into the questions.

“Like what?” He asks.

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices.” Dean lists out.

“No, nothing.” Max answers, though not very convincingly.

“Mr. Joffey—“ Dean began getting cut off,

“Jaffey.” Max corrects.

“Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?” Dean asks and Max nods.

“Can I ask why?” Dean pushes.

“I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash.” Max answered simply.

“Uh huh. And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?” Dean presses further.

“I...I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Max stammers. But Dean keeps pressing, “See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what.”

“No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things.” Max answers, eyes wide.

“It's okay. Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please.” Sam offers, going the much nicer way.

“There was...this—man. And, uh, he had these...eyes—these, uh...black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...

He opened the emergency exit. But that's...that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.” Max explains, tripping over his words.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asks.

“What are you, nuts?” Says the guy who believes he was delusional and needed to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.

“He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

Our questions ended soon after we got the name of the passenger in front of Max.

The Impala pulls up in front of his house.

“Here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C.” Sam announces.

“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 a flight.” Dean announces as we get out of the car.

“Opening the door while the plane is at an altitude of 10,000 or more, is impossible. I mean that’s an added 24,000 pounds of pressure, to a door that’s already on average 34 pounds, as a result of air pressure.” I inform, reciting something I had read.

Both boys turn to me with a questioning look, “I like fun facts” I shrug.

“Well that would be possible if you weren’t human. So maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.” Sam suggested.

Dean deadpans, looking at Sam, “Does that look like a creature's lair to you?”

Sam looks at the house, an ordinary white paneled home,and then back at Dean shrugging.

Sam rings the doorbell, a woman with shoulder length brown hair invites us in.

“This is your late husband?” Sam asks Mrs. Phelps, picking up a frame photo of a brunette man.

“Yes, that was my George.” She answers sniffling.

“And you said he was a...dentist?” Dean confirms

“Mm-hm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…” Mrs.Phelps admits.

“How long were you married for?” I ask.

“Thirteen years.” She smiles sadly.

“In all that time, did you ever notice anything...strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?” Sam adds.

“Well...uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.” She answers maybe a little too truthfully, and I have to stop myself from laughing.

We come down the front steps, having no helpful information.

“I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense.” Sam announces.

“A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage.” Dean suggests.

“Okay. But if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part.” Sam adds with a smirk.

My face breaks out into a smile, “Cue the montage!”

My new heels click loudly on the pavement, catching the eyes of onlookers.

I had wandered off to find a clothing store for women that would have more professional clothing that I was looking for, while the boys were at some store called “MORT’S for style”.

I retrace my steps back to where I had left the brothers, seeing them standing outside the store fixing their suit jackets. Even though I only saw some of them from where I was walking from I had to say they cleaned up nice.

“What the hells taking Y/N so long?” I hear Dean complain his back towards me as he fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves.

I approached closer only stopping about four feet behind Dean.

Sam’s eyes caught mine as he looked behind his brother’s shoulder, his eyes widening.

“Sorry, Dean.” I say looking up through my eyelashes, even though his back was towards me still.

He turned towards me, his lips ready to form words that never left his mouth, whatever he was going to say died on his tongue the second he had seen me.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before turning to a more lidded stance, accompanied by a devilish smirk as his eyes ran up and down my figure. I hadn’t thought there was anything special about wearing a white button up and a black pencil skirt that ended near my mid thigh, but the way he’s looking has me questioning my knowledge on such things.

I feel my cheeks turn hot and I suddenly feel exposed by the way he’s looking at me. I tug on the hem of my skirt, pulling it down slightly, seemingly pulling Dean out of whatever odd trance he had been in.

He clears his throat and yet his voice still comes out a little tight, “We should go”.

I hum in agreement, only now realizing that Sam was already ahead of us and getting into the car.

We enter the warehouse, my heels still noticeably clicking, showing our “homeland security badges” to the security guard who nods and lets us in.

The warehouse is huge and yet still cluttered with plane wreckage.

Dean pulls out an odd device, plaguing the attached earbuds in his ears.

“What is that?” Sam asks the question we’re both thinking.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.” Dean informs, holding up a rackity device.

“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?” Sam questions further, eyebrows scrunched.

“'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade.” Dean grins, shaking it a little.

“Okay D.I.Y King.” I laugh, nudging his arm.

“I’m just going to accept that” Dean nods, going off to move his creation around for EMF readings.

“Check out the emergency door handle.” Dean calls out revealing a yellow dust like thing on the handle.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asks, scratching at the odd yellow substance.

“Why would you touch it?” I ask him, he looks at me and shrugs.

“Well there’s one way to find out what it is.” Sam scrapes some of the yellow dust off with a pen putting both into a little clear baggy.

He puts the bag in his pocket when suddenly the door we entered slams open, several security guards with guns enter. We all share a panic look before swiftly sneaking out of the room.

With our backs pressed to the walls tightly we found a way outside. We peer around a corner seeing no one in sight, giving us the go to start walking towards the gated exit. Then suddenly a loud alarm blared, turning our “causal” walking into a run.

My heels hit the ground hard with every stride I took, hoping they wouldn’t break. But with each careful movement I knew my heels were slowing me down. I stopped a brief moment kicking them up before carrying them in one hand as I continued after the men in front of me.

Reaching the gate Dean took his suit jacket off, his muscles flexing under the white button shirt he wore. He threw his jacket over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, Sam already climbing the gate.

Dean makes eye contact with me, and without words he gets down on one knee offering me his cupped hands to lift me up the gate. I accepted it and with one hand carrying my heels I hurried up the fence, swinging my leg over the jacket covered bar wire, and despite the shorts I wore underneath the skirt I still hoped I wasn’t flashing him.

I feel Dean following closely behind me as I land, stumbling slightly, on the hard concrete my feet aching from the drop without shoes.

“Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.” Dean says, having grabbed the jacket on his way over the fence. He takes a half a look back and takes off running, Sam follows closely behind being able to catch up with his long legs as I hurry after the boys.

Jerry looks at the yellow stuff through a microscope, hunched over. We watch the screen that's projecting what the microscope sees.

“Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur.” Jerry announces.

“You're sure?” Sam asks.

“Take a look for yourself.” Jerry offers but before anyone could move there’s sounds of banging coming from outside the office as well as a voice cursing out, “You effin' piece of crap…”

“If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.” Jerry huffs, teeth clenched.

As Jerry leaves Dean wanders over to the microscope looking into it.

“Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” Dean mumbles.

“Demonic possession?” Sam asks.

“Oh, that would definitely explain how a regular dude would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch.” I answer.

“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?” Dean stated.

“You ever heard of something like this before?” Sam asks him.

“Never.” He replies

“That’s comforting” I remark.

We were in full research mode, the motel room walls taped with article clippings and images. Papers strewn access the beds and tables. Sam’s on his bed researching on his computer, while Deans reading a book on demon mythology sitting on his bed.

I’m sitting at the small table in the room with a notepad and two open books in front of me, with titles I'm not entirely sure of.

“So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it.” Sam speaks out.

“Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this.” Dean adds.

“Well, that's not exactly true. You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease.” Sam informs

Dean gets up,“And this one causes plane crashes?

All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?”

“I guess there isn’t really a way of knowing just how many planes it’s brought down before this one.” I answered

Dean snorts, turning away.

“Hey” I whine thinking he’s poking fun at what I said, my eyebrows scrunching.

“I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.” Dean announces, my face relaxing at the clarification.

“Yeah. Me too.” Sam hums, looking back down at his computer just as Dean’s phone rings.

He answers,

“Hello?

…

Oh, hey, Jerry.

…

Wha—Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?

….

Where'd this happen?

….

I'll try to ignore the irony in that.”

Me and Sam throw each other a questioning look.

Dean’s conversation continues,

“Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

As he hangs up Sam asks him, “Another crash?”

“Yeah. Let's go.” Dean confirms.

“Where too?” I ask, closing the books and my laptop.

“Nazareth.” He answers.

Jerry is again looking through his microscope.

“Sulfur?” I ask, wanting to confirm. Jerry nods, simply.

“Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.” Dean announces.

“With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news.” Sam adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What's the bad news?” Dean asks him, turning in his direction.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485.” Sam answers, my eyes widening at the realization.

“Forty minutes? What does that mean?” Jerry questions, looking between the three of us.

“The number typically symbolizes a period of trial or testing, like in Noah’s Ark it rained for forty days and forty nights.” I recall, speaking with my hands.

“Along with death” Dean joins in.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in.” Sam informs.

“Any survivors?” Dean asks him.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP Said?” Sam adds.

“ ‘No survivors’… Y/N you were right, it’s going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.” Dean recalls.

Darkness surrounds the car, our only source of light being the headlights as we drive through the night.

Sam’s on the phone contacting the survivors.

“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.” Sam says, sounding peachy as he lies to the woman on the phone.

He hangs up, “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker.” Dean acknowledges, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job.” Sam adds.

“You know I can’t decide if that’s really brave or stupid of her.” I say

“Either way, that’s just our luck” Dean grumbles.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel.” Sam replies.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass.” Dean offers.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.

God, we're never gonna make it.” Sam sighs.

“We'll make it.” Dean answers, pressing down on the gas pedal.

We rush through the airport, stopping only to look up at the Departure board.

“There! They’re boarding in thirty minutes.” I point at the screen above us, trying to catch my breath.

“Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone.” Dean adds, turning in a circle until he spots a courtesy phone.

He picks up the phone while Sam and I wait on standby, “Hi. Gate thirteen.

I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um…” He trails off.

Sam quickly pulls out a marker writing numbers on his hand before holding it up for Dean to read, “flight 4-2-4.”

Dean taps his finger on the phone as he waits,

“Come on.

…….

Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here.

….

Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—“

Dean pauses and I know something got messed up, “You what?

…..

Uh, well...there must be some mistake.”

Sam looks at me with confused eyes and I shrug not knowing either, he gets closer to Dean trying to listen in as best as he can almost right on top of him.

Dean laughs, uncomfortably, “Guilty as charged.

….

He's really sorry.

….

Yes, but...he really needs to see you tonight, so—

……

Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic.

….

Oh, yeah.”

I have never been more confused about a conversation before.

Dean suddenly calls out, “No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda! Damn it! So close.” He puts the phone back on the hook with a defeated sigh.

“All right, it's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane.” Sam says quickly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” Dean holds out his hand in defense, eyes wide.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash.” Sam reasons.

“I know.” Dean mumbles.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You guys get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet me back here in five minutes.” Sam explains and I nod along with him.

But Dean remains quiet looking between us anxious. I place my hand on his upper arm, “Are you okay, Dean?”

“No, not really.” He answers truthfully, which I wasn’t quite expecting.

“Oh…what’s wrong?” I ask, concerned.

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh…” He starts getting cut off by his brother, “Flying?”

“It's never really been an issue until now.” Dean explains his body tense.

“You're joking, right?” Sam smiles, and I hit his arm lightly.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” Dean whisper-shouts.

“How come you never told either of us?” I ask him, bringing my arm back to my side.

“Well I don’t exactly make it a point to tell people, it’s embarrassing.” He explains, becoming quieter as he finishes.

“Hey we all have our fears” I say, giving his upper arm a little pat, trying to comfort him though I’m not sure if it was helping.

“Ok, uh, Y/N and I will go then.” Sam comes up with.

“What?” Dean asks, looking between us as if we had grown another head each.

“Me and Y/N can do it on our own.” Sam states.

“Yeah! It’s no biggie! And it will mean no plane time for you.” I add on.

“What are you guys, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.” Dean exclaimed.

“Dean, we can do it all three of us, or me and Y/N can do this one together. I'm not seeing a third option, here.” Sam proposed.

“Come on! Really? Man…” Dean complained.

The intercom rings out, “Flight attendants, please cross-check doors before departure.”

I sat snuggly between Sam and Dean, the later being in the aisle seat anxiously reading the safety card.

“Just try to relax.” Sam tells him.

“Just try to shut up.” Dean snaps back. I roll my eyes at their banter with a huffed laugh.

The plane takes off, Dean jumping at every little rumble the vehicle makes. He clutches his armrests tightly, the knuckles of his hands turning white from the grip, I place my hand on top of his. The hand I was touching quickly released its death grip on the armrest, now having a firm grip on my hand instead. His body was visibly tense as he leaned back, strigidly, humming a song to himself.

Sam leans forward to see Dean, “You're humming Metallica?”

“Calms me down.” Dean answers through clenched teeth.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right?” Sam sympathized, “But you got to stay focused.”

“Okay.” Dean replies simply.

“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.” Sam explains.

“Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy.” Dean exclaims.

“Just take it one step at a time, all right?” Sam reassures, “Now, who is it possessing?”

Realizing what Sam’s trying to do I keep quiet and let him work.

“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 some sort of emotional distress.” Dean answers.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up.” Sam adds.

“Mm-hm.” Dean hums, turning to a brunette flight attendant who passed by, “Excuse me. Are you Amanda?”

“No, I'm not”,she answered, looking at him just a little bit strangely.

“Oh, my mistake.”

“Mm-hm.”

Dean stretches his neck to the back of the plane, still trying to look for Amanda, “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.

“What if she's already possessed?” Sam asks him.

“There's ways to test that.” He answers, going into his bag and diving out a flask looking bottle with the Virgin Mary on it. “I brought holy water.”

“No” Sam snatches the bottle tucking it inside his hoodie, almost hitting me in the face as he took it. “I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God.”

“Oh. Nice.” Dean turns to go, letting go of my hand in the process.

“Hey.” Sam calls out, stopping his brother in his tracks.

“What?” Dean asks

“Say it in Latin.” Sam reminds.

“I know.” Dean leaves again, only making it a few steps before Sam calls out again, “Okay. Hey!”

“What?!” Dean almost shouts, annoyed.

“Uh, in Latin, it's ‘Christo’” Sam answers.

“Dude, I know! I'm not an idiot!” Dean snaps back, this time being able to walk away without restriction.

I turn my head to Sam, “I feel like I should be going with him.”

“Yeah…probably” He answers.

With a nod I unbuckle myself getting up to follow after Dean.

“Dean!” I call out touching his arm as I catch up to him.

“What are you doing here?” He asks me.

“I’m here for moral support!” I say smiling as we enter the back portion of the plane seeing a blond woman fussing with a cart of drinks and napkins.

“Hi.” Dean greets her awkwardly.

“Hi. Can I help you with something?” She asks us, her eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, wait, are you guys trying to join the Mile High Club?” She adds looking uncomfortable now.

“What’s tha-“ I try to ask, getting cut off by a frantic Dean.

“No! no, no, no. I, uh, I'm just a bit of an uneasy flier. It makes me feel better to walk around a little bit, and she’s here for moral support.” He stammers out, eyes wide.

“Oh, I'm so sorry for the confusion. But flight anxiety happens to the best of us.” She offers, meanwhile I'm still confused on what this club is.

“Of course, you being a stewardess, I guess flying comes easy to you.” Dean replies, getting back on track.

She laughs, “You'd be surprised.”

“Really? You’re a nervous flier?” I ask her, even though I know anyone would be after experiencing what she had.

“Yeah, maybe, little bit.” She answers.

“How is it that, being a stewardess, you're scared to fly?” Dean chimes in, scratching his chin.

“Kind of a long story.” She responds.

“Right. I'm sorry for asking.” Dean apologized.

I have to say this is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever witnessed Dean be in, especially when it came to women as much as I hate to say it.

“It's okay.” She says.

“You ever consider other employment?” Dean asks her, and I'm starting to wonder if she thinks this random guy talking to her is strange.

“No. Look, everybody's scared of something. I just, uh...I'm not gonna let it hold me back.” She answered confidently, shaking her head.

“Huh.” Dean hums.

“So…” She trails off, probably wanting this awkward encounter to stop.

“Christo.” Dean mumbles quietly under his breath.

“I'm sorry. Did you say something?” Amanda asks him, looking between us.

Dean hesitates, “Christo?”

“I—I didn't, I didn't…” She stutters, clearly lost. If she hadn’t found him strange before she definitely did now.

“Yeah, nothing. Never mind.” Dean answers, turning around swiftly, grabbing my hand in the process as he leads us back to our seats.

“All right, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet.” Dean informs, sitting back down.

“That was the most awkward conversation I have ever been a part of. I mean seriously what is this ‘Mile High Club’ and why would we be joining it?” I ask no one in particular.

Both boys are quiet, oddly quiet so I turn my head first towards Sam seeing his eyes wide as he holds back a laugh between tightly closed lips. I give him a weird, questioning look before turning towards Dean who also has widened eyes as he makes a throat cut gesture towards his younger brother. He spots me looking at him strangely and immediately drops the motion, smiling at me instead.

“Ok then, weirdos.” I scuffed, “Back on the topic of the hunt there’s definitely no demon in her, Dean did the whole ‘Christo’ thing. And there's no demon getting into her”

Sam clears his throat as if he was getting rid of whatever came over him, “So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere.”

“Exactly, so not very helpful” I add.

The plane suddenly shakes again, “Come on! That can't be normal!” Dean shouts his grip back on the arm rests.

“Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence.” Sam reassured, and I nodded along with him.

“Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm friggin' four.” Dean exclaims.

“You need to calm down.” Sam tells him.

“Well, I'm sorry I can't.” Dean snaps back.

“Yes, you can.” Sam reassures him.

“Yeah, you can take deep breaths, we'll do it with you if that helps” I add.

“Guys, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap, it's not helping.” Dean grumbles

“Sorry” I whisper.

“Listen, if you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down. Right now.” Sam orders, and a little surprisingly, Dean follows, taking a long slow breath in.

“Good. Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.” Sam notifies us, pulling out his Dads journal. “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?” Dean asks him.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

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

“And why would that be a good thing?” I ask, chiming in.

“Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.” Sam finishes.

“First things first, we got to find it.” Dean gets up from his seat walking slowly up the aisle with his DIY EMF meter. Sam and I get up following him, I allow Sam to get in front of me. He claps a hand on Dean's shoulder, making him jump, “Ah! Don't do that.”

“Anything?” Sam asks him.

“No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes” I chime in, calling out from behind the two taller men.

“Maybe we missed somebody.” Sam adds.

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane.” Dean suggests.

Sam gives him a pointed look, “You believe that?”

“Well, I will if you will.” Dean comments, looking down at the EMF as the meter suddenly spikes.

The copilot exits the bathroom, heading towards the cockpit.

“What? What is it?” Sam asks.

“Christo.”

The Copilot turns slowly, facing us. His eyes turning black as he peers behind his shoulder, he turns back around going into the cockpit.

We head to the back of the plane, back to Amanda.

“She's not gonna believe this.” Sam warns.

“Twelve minutes, dude.” Dean points out.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope.” Amanda greets sweetly despite how odd her last conversation with us was.

“Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.” Dean begins, as Sam closes the curtain.

“Um, okay. What can I do for you?” She answers looking at us weirdly again.

“All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole "the truth is out there" speech right now.” Dean explains

“All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485.” Sam adds.

Amanda's smile disappears, “Who are you guys?”

But she does not get the answer she’s looking for as Sam explains, “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We really need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Right now.” I plead.

“I'm sorry, I—I'm very busy. I have to go back—“ She stammers, trying to brush past Dean who stops her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to me, uh...The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead.”

“Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?” She exclaims, eyes wide.

“He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?” Dean asks.

“I—“ Amanda starts getting cut off by Sam, “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.”

“Amanda, you have to believe us.” Dean urged

“On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes.” Amanda tries to explain.

“Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about.” Sam responds.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?” She looks between us.

“Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.” Dean explains.

“Why? What does he have to do with anything?” She asks him.

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?” Dean pushes.

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—“ She tries to ask getting cut off yet again by Sam, “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—“ She tries again this time getting cut off by me, “Please, Amanda your job isn’t going to exist in a couple minutes if you don’t bring him back here.”

I feel bad for having to scare her like this but we don’t have a choice here.

She hesitates and I can see her considering her options in her head, “Okay.”

She leaves us, heading to the cockpit as we get in position. Sam pulls out the holy water and Dean pulls out his Dads journal handing it to Sam who opens it.

“Yeah, what's the problem?” A male voice rings out, the Co-Pilot walking through the curtain.

Dean launches forward, punching him in the face. The man stumbles back, Dean uses that leverage to grab the guy and slam him to the ground. Pinning him down as he puts duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait. What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.” Amanda exclaims.

“We are gonna talk to him.” Dean answers, Sam splashing the holy water on the man’s skin, making it sizzle and bubble at the contact.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” She stammered, backing up.

“Look. We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.” Sam commands.

“Well, I don't underst—I don't know—“ Amanda whispered, fearfully.

“Sam start reading” I order taking over the role of getting Amanda out, “You can’t let anyone in, Amanda please. Can you do that?” I ask her, leading her closer to the curtain.

“Okay. Okay.” She finally agrees, leaving. Meanwhile Sam began his reading kneeling down near the Demon, “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—“

The demon manages to break free, swinging his arm out at Sam causing the holy water to go flying, in that one moment of distraction the demon manages to shove Dean backwards and hit Sam back into the wall.

I launch into movement, pinning his arms to the side of his head. I'm not physically stronger than Dean but I’m not exactly going to wait around either.

Sam leans up, picking up where he left off. Dean kneels by my side holding down the arm of the demon who lashes beneath me. He breaks free again shoving me off, the side of my head hitting into the wall of the plane hard, and backhanding Dean in the face making him stumble back.

He rips the tape off his mouth, grabbing Sam by the collar, “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

Dean recovers much quicker than I, punching the demon and pinning him down once more.

“Sam!” Dean yells.

Sam begins reading again, putting the book down to help Dean pin down the Demon. I pick myself up, ignoring the spinning of my head to hold down the guy's other arm.

The demon lashes again, when finally black smoke leaves the Copilots mouth and disappears.

“Where'd it go?” Sam asks, looking up.

“It's in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it.”

We all stand up, determined to finish this when suddenly the plane dips and heaves violently. The movement successfully threw me to the ground, every time I tried to get up or move the heaving threw me down again like a baby who’s just learning how to walk. Meanwhile Deans splayed against the exit door screaming.

Sam somehow manages to keep moving despite the violent movement, army crackling into the aisle looking for the book.

A sudden bright electrical charge runs through the entire plane, which ends the hectic movement.

I hear chatter and sighs of relief, even though I'm all the way in the back of the plane. I stumble as I stand, walking over to Dean who still remains splayed against the door despite the plane flying as normal. I place a hand on his arm, as to say without words he’s okay, he looks down at me, his eyes wide and full with fear.

He carefully removes himself from the wall to enclose me in a tight hug, his head coming down to rest on my shoulder. I wrap one arm around his back, the other going to hold his head to me, my fingers in his hair, his breath heavy as I feel it fan on my neck.

I don’t mind the fact that I had to stand on my tippy toes for his head to be on my shoulder more comfortably, not when I got to hold him so close and give him a moment of peace.

————————————————————————

Back at the airport all sorts of departments surrounded everyone, FBI, FAA, Paramedics, etc.

We headed for the exit, Sam walking just a bit ahead of us, his body and every movement was tense. Dean looks at me, asking without words if he should say something I nod in confirmation.

“You okay?” he asks, Sam stops and turns.

“It knew about Jessica.” Sam seethes.

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. All right? That's all it was.” Dean explains and I nod along with him.

“Yeah.” Sam breathes out.

“Come on.” Dean slaps a hand on Sam’s back, leading us out of there.

————————————————————————

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed.” Jerry shakes each of our hands, “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

“We'll see you around, Jerry.” Sam said.

We begin to head off when Dean stops short, “You know, Jerry.”

“Yeah.” He answers.

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months.” Dean told him.

“Your dad gave it to me.” Jerry responded.

“What?” Sam and I say almost at the same time.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean asks, looking at Sam and then back to Jerry.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” Jerry explained, “Thanks again, guys” and he left.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service.” Sam exclaims.

Dean pulls out his phone in response, dialing a number and putting it on speaker phone for us to hear too.

“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

We all look at each other, Sam huffs storming off to the car slamming the door behind him. I didn’t know what to say, and I don’t think Dean did either. With no other words we followed getting into the car and with a sigh Dean drove off.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural #john winchester #slow burn #rewrite #romance #friends to lovers #airplane #phantom #witchcraft #witch reader #winchester x reader #the hunter and the witch

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