The first ten minutes, you felt lousy. Lousy, and also scared stiff. Why shouldn't you be? This plane was going to take the plunge in a little over a half and hour, and these people had no idea, save you and the Winchesters. And even they didn't really know the extent of it. They probably thought they could exorcise the demon before much happened.
"Just try to relax."
"Just try to shut up."
The engines whirred, shaking the plane as it lifted itself into the air.
The plane was dreadfully quiet. There were some murmurs here and there throughout the plane, but you tuned into the conversation to your left. Dean was fidgeting in his seat, humming Metallica. “I hate freaking airplanes.”
You couldn’t agree with him more.
You had roughly thirty minutes until this plane began the skydive, and there wasn't much to do but wait. Wait for the Winchesters to fumble around and finally find the demon.
You actually knew the latin pretty well—the 'Rituale Romanum'. You had practiced it back in your younger years, being superstitious and all. It was a phase where you carried salt in your bag and whispered Christo to passersby. As cringeworthy as the phase was, it was coming in handy now. Now that demons actually existed outside of your dreams.
As time extended, you became uncomfortable. A ball of pain in your stomach like a little knot, which was slowly tightening. Then, you realised: you were on your damn period. Of all freaking places. You squirmed in your seat, wondering if you could sneak those pads from out of your travel bag.
"Hey, I'm sorry, miss. You just look very uncomfortable. Is something wrong?"
You stiffened, just barely turning enough to see a kind, concerned lady behind Dean Winchester.
Hearing the question, Dean managed to suck in a breath and peer over at you, curious as well.
Nosy Winchesters.
You clenched and unclenched your fist, a nervous habit of yours. You needed to throw him off from looking at you anymore. He had too good a view of your face for your comfort, and you became self conscious of your disguise.
So, you told her the truth. "Just, uh, you know, feminine issues."
Dean looked away quickly.
You weren’t surprised. Sure, it could have partially been him realizing he was wrong to eavesdrop (no, who were you kidding), but this was 26 year-old Dean Winchester, who avoided chick flick moments better than he avoided monsters, and was very protective of his masculinity.
It was a good strategy: make him uncomfortable, and he was less likely to pay you any notice. Like how most people skipped over kissing couples in almost every spy movie ever. PDA worked to make most people overlook you, and so did periods.
This was probably the only moment in your life you could ever say bless freaking periods.
The lady made a little 'o' with her mouth and turned down the volume of her voice. "Oh, do you need something?" When you nodded, she kindly offered some supplies.
You thanked her and headed over to the bathroom, feeling relieved to finally escape that little space. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and you needed to calm the frick down before you had a demon cramming itself down your throat.
Brightside was that the Winchesters didn't know it was you. That felt good, at least. Your disguise wasn't anything that significant, but it was working nonetheless. You kind of felt like Clark Kent, in that way.
And Dean is Batman.
You snickered to yourself, feeling a bit better. The hilarity of it all was helping.
Yeah, you thought, Dean is Batman.
///
The Winchesters were finally starting to ask the right questions. Who was it possessing?
You knew fully well, having watched the entire show, that the 'chink the armor' thing was a bunch of BS. Unless this demon just had its own rules versus other demons in the future. Or maybe it was just... weaker?
Or maybe this universe just bent with the rules of the show—it didn't matter whether its rules in the supernatural were a constant or not.
The Winchesters started focusing on Amanda, which wasn't a terrible guess. It was her first flight since the crash, after all.
Of course, you knew that it wasn’t her, so the entire time you felt like rolling your eyes as you eavesdropped. Dean brought out the holy water and you nearly snorted. It was crazy to believe they, the Winchesters, were ever once amateurs.
Sam tells Dean to use 'Christo', and sends him to the back to speak with Amanda.
In the meantime, you tried to recite the exorcism in your head.
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas... omnis incursio infernalis adversarii… omnis... legio, omnis... congregatio et secta diabolica.
That was the easiest part. You paused, concentrating. Was it argo or ergo? You couldn’t quite remember. ...omnis legio diabolica… something something decipere humanas creaturas.
So… you were a little rusty.
You glanced over, wishing you could just get your hands on that exorcism. Alas, that might look a little suspicious to Sam Winchester, sitting not two feet from the book on Dean’s seat.
You didn’t have to wake long for Dean to return. "Alright, well she has gotta be the most well-adjusted person on the planet."
You hide the small smile that comes along your face. You really missed Season 1 Dean Winchester.
Sam is talking with him in murmurs as you try to compose yourself and your love for these boys. Despite the fact that they’re pretty keen on gutting you the next time you show your face.
Some turbulence rattles the plane and Dean tenses. "Come on, that can't be normal!" you hear, then there are some angry hushes between them.
But you know what they’re saying to each other: "You are wide open to demonic possession."
With that, Dean takes a few exaggerated, deep breaths. It’s not very convincing, but the demon didn’t take him on, so. Yeah.
It was sort of comical that none of the other passengers heard their conversations. Like, Sam Winchester was literally talking about exorcism, and the rest of the plane was in La La Land.
Despite having a lower voice, you could hear them both pretty clearly. Rituale Romanum, two parts, blah blah, expels demon—manifest—more powerful. Second part sends it back to hell. You were pretty sure they used a shorter exorcism later in the show… but whatever.
Dean brings out his signature EMF meter he’d built out of a walkman. Man, you loved that thing.
And soon enough, he was trying to covertly scan the plane. Of course, he was terrible at hiding it. Any hunter could see what it was, and any passenger was more than agitated by the weird sweeps of Dean’s hands.
The meter swept at your head and you looked up at him and tried to send him a convincing ‘wtf’ look. All the while, your brain was saying ‘scanny scanny’.
Your body was in a confusing state of boredom and anxiety, and you didn’t know how else to deal with it other than fidgeting in your seat.
Sam scared Dean by grabbing his shoulders, and you realize shit is about to go down pretty soon.
"Anything?"
"No, nothing. How much time we got?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"Maybe we missed somebody."
By cue, the EMF meter lights up red. Of course, you can’t hear it, but you swear you could feel the ‘whrhhrrhe whwehrrhhw’ sound of it in your bones.
The flight attendant comes out in sync, and the Winchesters freeze.
You couldn’t help it: you mouthed "Christo" just as Dean says it, and the flight attendant's eyes flash black.
///
There is twelve minutes left. Twelve minutes until the plane plummets and hopefully you don’t crash.
Frick. You weren’t ready for this.
You decide that focusing on what’s happening is the best way to focus, so you watch as the Winchesters go in the back to talk with Amanda. Who then are swallowed into the curtains, leaving you with the civilians.
You curse to yourself. Sam took the book with him. Of course, he did. Duh.
There are two knots in your chest now: one from your physical period, and the other from your anxiety, which weave together into one tangle. Suddenly, it's a little harder to breathe on the stuffy airplane.
Your heart rate spiked and you jumped a little as Amanda came out to go and fetch the flight attendant. Your minutes were dwindling.
The flight attendant passed by and you weren’t sure what to do anymore. Should you go help? That would certainly defeat the purpose of a disguise.
Watching the show, you’d always thought this part was so much louder. After all, the commotion was only covered by some thin curtains. You had always wondered why the civilians weren’t more concerned.
In that way, you were partially correct. The fight in the back certainly alarmed most passengers, but Amanda nervously guarded the doorway.
And then, the book was thrown into the aisle. You snatched it, bracing yourself.
Your stomach dropped, and screams erupted from all around the plane.
I’m falling I’m falling I’m falling.
You had a death grip on the seats around you as you tried to focus on the shaking words in your hands.
“Terribilis!” you shouted above the screaming. Oh my God, I’m falling. “Deus de... sanctuario suo! Deus... Israhel ipse truderit virtutem! Et fortitudinem plebi... Suae. Benedictus deus!” You barely kept your balance, bellowing the last words: “Gloria patri!”
Thunder shook the plane out and soon it was coasting normally again. If planes even coasted.
Everyone was shaken. The Winchesters lined their eyes up with you, glancing from the book to your face. You don’t see hatred, however, so they didn’t recognize you.
///
You were really hoping to leave the area without the Winchesters tagging behind. You did everything you could to disappear, but to no avail, they caught up with you.
Dean was at your side, just walking for about ten seconds before he said anything. There was no way the strategy they were using to corner you wasn’t creepy. At least you knew they didn’t really mean it like that.
The vibes you were getting from them wasn’t all that friendly, though. They were suspicious and rightly so. A hunter just happened to be on the same flight as them? Coincidences were never coincidences, and you couldn’t agree more.
“So, how long have you been hunting?” Dean asked carefully. Not how, not why, just when. You could respect that kind censorship: respecting boundaries and avoiding triggers. The boys both knew how to charm people—that was for sure.
You sighed, blowing up your cheeks a little, “Oh… about a month.”
You could see their dad’s journal peeking out from Dean’s pocket.
Both of their eyebrows raised, rocking back on their heels a little. “And you could recite an exorcism? There was no way you could read that thing. I could hardly read the exit sign.”
You thought about your lonely ass watching Supernatural, trying to say the chantations as the Winchesters did. “You could say I’ve had some practice.” Hell, you learned it from them. “Anyway, there was only a little left to recite.”
You nudged Dean, knocking the journal from his pocket and into your trench coat. “You guys did most of the work.”
You were despicable.
They look impressed. “You’ve hunted demons?”
That was a bit of a funny question, coming from the Winchesters. And also an unexpected one. In response, you got flustered. “Oh—no,” you said quickly.
Sam's eyes wandered, settling on your bag. First, his eyebrows twitched in recognition, and then he went rigid, bringing his eyes to meet yours in realization.
You felt your blood rush. "You know… I should probably get going." With that you turned tail and fled for your life. Again.
Why does it always go like this? Like, shit, c’mon already. This isn’t Tom and Jerry.
"Dean! She—!" Sam yelled and took off. "The bag!"
"What?!" Dean shouted in confusion. He was distant but loud.
"The bag! It's her bag!"
"Her—" Dean trailed off, panting as they both chased you. He knew, then. He recognized it, too.
You rounded a corner, then slammed into the chest of a man. You gasped, nearly falling on your rear, yet his hand got your arm and there was a distorted flutter.
You made out a blur of a beige trench coat just at your eye level, and you knew who it was. Dean was not kidding when he said angel travel sucked.
You curled into yourself, cradling your head. That had seriously messed with your ears, and now you just felt dizzy. You choked on a little bile, but you weren’t nauseous enough to actually vomit. You just really wanted to.
A stoic voice said, “I have transported you to your car.” Before you could respond he was gone.
he could control the world around him with no problem. elements would bend to his will, make flowers grow at the speed of light, illuminate a whole city in the blink of an eye. but the one thing that he couldn’t control was the storm that raged within him. the voices that whispered to him late at night and in the brightest of daylight. he could control everything except the thing that mattered the most. his mind.
