Before the sky went silent
Jensen Ackles is halfway through a convention weekend when the world suddenly stops turning. One breaking news alert. One flight number. One horrifying realization: the plane Misha was supposed to be on has crashed.
Hundreds feared dead. No survivors confirmed.
And Misha isn’t answering his phone.
Trapped behind convention lights and smiling fans while panic tears him apart from the inside, Jensen spirals through grief, guilt, and the unbearable possibility that the love of his life is gone before he ever got to say goodbye properly.
But somewhere between airport terminals, missed calls, and fate itself, the truth is still fighting its way back to him.
Warnings: mention of plane crash, angst
A/N: Let me know what you think 🫶
The convention center ballroom was deafening.
Music blasted through speakers while hundreds of fans screamed and laughed somewhere beyond the stage lights. Camera flashes burst every few seconds like tiny explosions.
Jensen smiled automatically as another fan stepped up for a photo beside him.
Normally, he loved conventions.
But today, he kept checking the clock.
Misha’s flight was supposed to land in less than an hour.
The thought alone made Jensen smile genuinely for the first time all afternoon.
Three weeks apart had been brutal.
Late-night phone calls that never felt long enough.
Misha had finally caved the night before and bought a last-minute ticket to surprise Jensen in New Jersey after his panel.
Jensen had replayed their last phone call at least twenty times already.
“You miss me that much?” Misha had teased softly over speakerphone.
Jensen had stretched out across the hotel bed, exhausted and smiling into the dark.
Then Misha’s quiet laugh.
The kind that always softened something inside Jensen’s chest.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jens.”
Now Jensen checked his phone again between autographs.
Probably boarding delays.
Something uneasy twisted in his stomach.
By the time Jensen’s gold panel started, rain hammered against the convention center roof hard enough to drown out parts of the crowd.
Thunder rolled somewhere outside.
Jared was in the middle of telling a ridiculous story involving fake FBI badges and a motel manager when Jensen’s phone buzzed silently in his pocket.
He glanced down automatically.
Normally, he’d ignore it.
Something made him answer.
Then a strained female voice.
“Your husband was listed on PacificAir Flight 702, correct?”
His entire body went still.
Jared stopped talking mid-sentence.
The audience noise blurred into meaningless static.
“There’s been an accident,” the woman continued carefully. “The aircraft lost contact approximately seventeen minutes after departure—”
Jensen stood up so abruptly his chair crashed backward onto the stage.
“No, no, you have the wrong person.”
“Sir, we’re contacting immediate family members—”
“That’s not possible.” Jensen’s voice cracked violently. “His flight lands in—”
Silence on the other end.
The kind that instantly destroys people.
Jensen felt all the blood drain from his face.
“What do you mean accident?” he whispered.
The ballroom had gone quiet.
Hundreds of people staring.
Everyone sensing something horrible.
The woman’s voice softened.
“There are no confirmed survivors at this time.”
“No,” he whispered again.
His knees nearly gave out.
Jared caught his arm instantly.
“He was just talking to me.”
Jensen didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt.
He grabbed his phone with shaking hands and hung up immediately.
“Misha, pick up the damn phone,” Jensen choked out shakily.
The ballroom disappeared around him.
All he could hear was blood rushing violently in his ears.
Jensen stumbled off stage before anyone could stop him.
The hallway outside the ballroom felt freezing.
Jensen paced violently while redialing Misha over and over with trembling fingers.
His breathing turned ragged.
He pulled up flight information online so fast he nearly dropped the phone.
Crashed shortly after takeoff due to engine failure.
Images were already flooding social media.
Flashing emergency lights.
Jensen physically recoiled.
His stomach turned so violently he nearly threw up.
Jared’s voice sounded distant behind him.
Jensen couldn’t look at him.
Because if he looked at someone else, it would become real.
“He can’t be dead,” Jensen whispered.
Jared carefully stepped closer.
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“They said there’s no survivors.”
His voice shattered on the last word.
Jared grabbed his shoulders tightly.
“Hey. Listen to me. Until we know for sure—”
“He promised he’d be here.”
That broke Jensen completely.
Tears hit before he could stop them.
Jensen bent forward hard, one hand covering his mouth as panic ripped through him.
Images crashed violently through his mind.
Misha stealing fries off his plate.
Misha asleep against his shoulder during flights.
Misha saying I’ll see you tomorrow.
The last thing Jensen had said was don’t flirt with the flight attendants.
His chest hurt so badly it felt like something was physically tearing apart inside him.
“What if he thought—” Jensen’s breathing hitched violently. “What if the last thing he heard from me was some stupid joke?”
The words came out broken.
Because there was nothing anyone could say.
Jensen pressed trembling hands against his eyes.
Three hours later, the hotel room was dark except for the TV.
Breaking news still played endlessly.
Jensen sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly at his phone.
His eyes burned raw from crying.
His wedding ring felt too tight around his finger.
Every few minutes, someone texted him.
Because what do you say to someone whose entire world just got ripped away?
Jensen looked at the clock.
Misha should’ve been here hours ago.
He imagined him walking through the hotel door with messy curls and that stupid warm smile.
Jensen’s throat closed painfully.
The silence in the room was unbearable.
A knock sounded at the door.
For one impossible second, hope exploded through him so hard it hurt.
Jensen stared at him like he was seeing a ghost.
The overnight bag slipped from Jensen’s hand onto the floor.
Misha frowned immediately.
Arms locking around him so tightly Misha gasped.
“Oh my God,” Jensen choked out.
Misha stumbled into him in shock.
The words kept repeating like Jensen couldn’t process them.
His entire body shook violently.
Misha pulled back just enough to see his face.
And immediately panicked.
“Hey. Hey, what happened?”
Jensen grabbed his face desperately with both hands like he needed physical proof.
Misha’s expression changed instantly.
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I switched flights.” Misha said quickly. “The earlier flight had openings because of the storm delays, so I took it to get here sooner.”
Jensen just stared at him.
Misha’s eyes widened slowly as realization hit him.
A horrible, shaky sound somewhere between relief and complete emotional collapse.
“They called me,” he whispered. “They told me there were no survivors.”
Misha’s face drained of color.
He buried his face against Misha’s shoulder, gripping him so tightly it almost hurt.
“I thought you were dead.”
His voice cracked so hard Misha visibly flinched.
Misha wrapped both arms around him instantly.
Jensen started crying again.
The kind ripped out of someone after hours of terror.
Misha held him through all of it.
One hand buried in Jensen’s hair.
“It’s okay,” he whispered shakily. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Misha pulled back enough to kiss him desperately.
Rainwater still clung to his curls.
His jacket was freezing cold.
Jensen kissed him back like he was trying to prove he existed.
Hands trembling violently against Misha’s face.
“I love you,” Jensen whispered brokenly against his mouth. “Jesus Christ, I love you so much.”
Misha’s eyes filled instantly.
Jensen laughed weakly through tears.
Then Jensen kissed him again.
They stayed wrapped around each other in the doorway for a long time while rain poured outside and the television still whispered tragedy into the dark room behind them.
Eventually Misha murmured softly against Jensen’s temple:
“You know… technically I did get here sooner.”
Jensen pulled back just enough to stare at him in disbelief.
Then barked out the first real laugh he’d managed all day.
And Jensen kissed him again simply because he could.
2087
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