Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

E/O Challenge: Pilot. 3 x 100-word drabbles. #1: There's a sign of something otherworldly going on. #2: Dean may regret his willingness to help. #3: It's not all plane sailing.


Please Fasten Your Safety Belt, There May Be Some Turbulence Ahead


A/N: There's a sign of something otherworldly going on. SuperWho weirdness. Inspired by smalld1171's "I'm Sorry".

Secret Santa

"What's with all the creepy Santas?" asked Dean, staring at the rows of identically masked men playing carols on the street corner.

Before Sam could answer, a young man with old eyes turned to them and gave them an appraising look.

"They're alien killer robots"

"Cool," laughed Dean, "Kinda crazy, but cool."

"No really, they're pilot fish... precursors to invasion."

"Aliens? There ain't no such thing."

"I used to say the same thing about demons," retorted the man, slapping a book into Dean's chest.

Dean took it and read the gold-leaf title from the blue textured cover.

"The Winchester Gospels."


A/N: Dean may regret his willingness to help.

Anything, Anywhere, Anytime, Professionally

"Sam said you guys might be able to help me?"

Jack, the man seated across from Dean, seemed level-headed, but from his stammering speech it was obvious something had him spooked.

Dean nodded. He caught the eye of his brother still queuing for coffees and frowned at the weird smirk Sam gave in response. Sighing, Dean turned his attention back to Jack.

"Sam mentioned customers disappearing at your work?"

Jack frowned, but agreed.

"We'll go in undercover and see what we can find. So, what is it you do exactly?"

"Sam didn't tell you?" Jack seemed surprised. "I'm a pilot."


A/N: It's not all plane sailing. Third-person PoV. Winchesters are there in the background.


"The plane's going to Chicago. The pilot's going to New York. The passengers are going to pieces!" – Airplane

Ted was concentrating on guiding the aircraft through the unexpected electrical storm.

He could hear passengers screaming and wondered if that was why his co-pilot hadn't come back.

Wait, was that Latin?

Elaine, the senior flight attendant stepped into the cockpit. "Everything okay here? Yes? Christo," she called. She peered into Ted's eyes, seeming satisfied with whatever she saw.

"What the devil's going on back there?" Ted shouted.

"Yeah, he is," Elaine muttered.

"Collect all the salt sachets you can find," Ted heard Elaine call to the other attendants as she returned to the cabin.

Baffled, Ted focused on flying.