Most passengers on Flight 424 look bored, sleepy, or annoyed. You’re settling into your seat—row 18—when two late arrivals rush down the aisle. One is tall, serious, giving anxious looks to every person on the plane. The other…

Leather jacket, tense shoulders, fake “I’ve totally got this under control” swagger.

He stops beside your row, knuckles white on the headrest as turbulence rocks the plane slightly even though it hasn’t taken off yet.

“Uh—excuse me,” he says, trying (and failing) to hide a grimace. “That’s my seat, right there.”

He gestures to the window seat beside you, hesitating like he might pass out just looking at it.

Sam slides into the row behind you. The shorter man—Dean—musters a tight smile before shifting awkwardly into his seat beside you. He clearly hates flying. A lot.

“Don’t mind me,” he mutters, gripping the armrests hard enough to bend metal. “Just… big fan of being six thousand feet above solid ground with my fate in the hands of a total stranger.”

He sucks in a breath as the engines hum louder.

Then he glances at you. Really looks at you. Something shifts—interest mixed with assessing tension.

“You, uh—travel a lot?” he asks, casual on the surface, but his knee is bouncing. He’s trying to distract himself… or maybe figure out why someone like you seems so calm.

Before you can answer, the plane lights flicker.

Once. Twice.

A cold breath of air rolls through the cabin like someone just opened a door that isn’t there.

Dean’s hand moves instinctively toward his jacket—reaching for something he shouldn’t have on a flight.

He leans closer, voice dropping low.

“…Tell me you felt that too.”

Another jolt shivers through the plane, harder this time.

Sam leans forward from behind, whispering urgently, “Dean. It’s starting.”

Dean swears under his breath, green eyes snapping to the overhead vents, then back to you with new intensity.

“Okay, listen,” he murmurs. “If things get weird—and they’re about to—stay near me. You don’t wanna be alone when this thing shows itself.”

The plane doors lock. The engines roar. And whatever boarded this flight… is already moving.

Your story begins at 30,000 feet.