It was a known fact that Dean Winchester did not like airplanes. Sammy knew of course, as didCas, Bobby, various demons, and the odd monster here and there. But this fact did not mean that Dean wouldn't fly, just that he would really, really prefer not to. He'd gotten into an airplane for previous jobs, so really there wasn't anything stopping him for this one.

There had been several deaths and hospitalisations, apparently from 'food poisoning', in people who flew with Air America.

"They aren't just any old food poisoning symptoms, Dean." Sam had stated impatiently, gifting Dean with the classic bitch face glare. "They're accompanied by seizures, insanity and gangrene, and each of the planes happened to have flown through 'abnormally heavy grey cloud hanging low over Iowa state'."

The team had come to the conclusion that this definitely sounded like a job.

However, that was before Sam just happened to take a tumble down the stairs of their motel, breaking several bones in his foot and toes.

So that, of course, left Dean and Cas to figure out what was causing the deaths, and according to Sam, what better way than to see what was happening first hand? And that was how Dean ended up sitting on a six hour flight from New York to LA with Mr Social himself.

They hadn't even taken off, yet Dean was shaking in his seat, and Cas wasn't being very comforting either. Not that Dean needed to be comforted, but still. The angel was just as apathetic and matter-of-fact as ever.

"Cas," Dean began, his voice strained already, "Tell me again why Sam thought it was necessary to com-"

"Dean."

The man was surprised by the amount of force in Cas's voice.

"Uh, yeah?

"Look at me."

Dean turned to face the angel, his green eyes seeking the piercing blue that - were he to be honest with himself - were quite unmistakably those that always saved him from his dreams at night. Whether he was seeing hell, Lucifer, his dad, an injured Sammy, no matter what it was, those eyes were always there: a beacon leading him to safety. The instant the pair's gazes met, Dean felt something within him change - he calmed down, his breathing became steady and his heartbeat returned to a normal pace.

"Dude, what on earth was that? Some of your angel voodoo or something?"

Cas stared back at him, his face laced with gently perplexed amusement. "Dean, have I not told you many times before that my connection with heaven is weak? I did not do anything to you."

"C'mon, man, spill. Why am I so calm all of a sudden?"

Cas simply smirked, and turned his head to the front. Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, pretending not to see the angel's small smile, before returning his gaze to the seat in front of him with a huff of annoyance.

He was moving down a deserted street. Old, desolate cars were parked along the side of the street, with various run-down shops lining the edge of the road. Even though he was moving along, he couldn't hear or feel his footsteps on the road. Looking down at his feet, Dean discovered that he wasn't, in fact, walking, instead he was floating easily along. Suddenly, the ground began shaking, and the shops and buildings joined in the rattling. He felt his feet suddenly collide with the rocky street beneath him, his knees and elbows following soon afterwards. He couldn't keep his balance, and collapsed heavily on the pebbles beneath him.

Cas watched as Dean's eyes moved restlessly beneath his eyelids as the plane shuddered through turbulence. His shoulders and arms twitched as his lips let out a strained whimper. Seeing his hunter so anxious physically hurt Castiel, and the fact he could do nothing about it hurt even more. He had to do something, whether the unconscious hunter liked it or not. Cas was scared that Dean would push him away, or snap at him about personal space again, just like he did every other time he merely tried to provide comfort. Maybe this time would be different.

Taking in a deep breath, Cas built his courage. He moved his hand towards Dean's tightly fisted one, and with a quick yet gentle movement he laid it atop the hunter's. Glancing quickly at Dean's closed eyes, Cas noticed that the sleeping man hadn't seemed to have reacted. This gave him the courage he needed to slide his arm behind Dean's neck and over his shoulders, resting it on the man's tense arm. Cas felt Dean stiffen beneath his touch, and quickly went to move his arm away.

"Stop."

The words came from Dean's direction, but Cas wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"P-pardon Dean?" the angel stammered with uncharacteristic timidity.

"Hell Cas, I said stop." Dean growled, with a somewhat resigned sigh.

Cas watched as Dean slowly opened his eyes, revealing the brilliant summer green irises, flecked with the gold of an autumn past. Their gazes met, and Dean slowly smiled at the shocked angel.

"Don't move Cas, please." Dean muttered to the angel, eyes flittering shut again as he gently leaned into the arm that laid warmly on his shoulders.

Cas tightened his hold on the man, and carefully laid his head atop the dirty blond scruff that was Dean's hair. He smiled softly to himself as he heard the hunter's heart rate slow gradually, before settling to a solid and steady rhythm. He felt Dean, warm and relaxed in his embrace, and softly smiled to himself. He well remembered the words the man's mother had once uttered to a sleeping child: "Angels are watching over you."

She was right. Castiel, angel of The Lord, would always watch over his hunter.