eternal thanks to Cas for pushing me into writing this and actually continuing writing instead of giving up at the very first chapter because I have a tendency to do that
and to Paola for helping me defeat my two best enemies; summaries and titles
This whole idea is nuts.
Dean isn't even sure why the freaking hell he had agreed to this because this is the last thing on earth he ever wished for.
It probably has more to do with Sam's goddamn puppy eyes than anything else. He has never been able to resist those big, begging eyes and look at what that has gotten him into.
A frigging trip to some far away summer resort in god knows where!
As if that isn't bad enough, it also means that he has to fly. In an airplane. In the air. It is a fucking suicide machine! To add up to all the horrible things in his life, he has to, due to his own stubbornness and some minor (read: major) arguments, take a flight the day afterthe rest of them. No Sam to bicker with, no Bobby to discuss cars with, no Ellen to nag at him, no Jo to be inconsiderately bothering. In other words; he is travelling alone.
This is a one-way ticket straight to hell and he knows it.
.
Dean sits in one of the restaurants at the airport, mindlessly picking at his nearly untouched food. He's afraid he might throw up if he puts that wanna-be steak in his mouth and for a very brief moment he considers if it is worth it, but decides against it. The situation sucks enough already.
Around him, people are chatting and eating, the sound of voices, clinking glasses and bottles, clanging cutlery against plates filling the air. He watches them, eyes roaming over the cramped place in lack of better things to do. Observing a person here and there a little longer, anything to keep his mind of the inevitable 8 hour long flight that dreadfully lays ahead of him. He catches the eye of a pretty blonde across the room, laughing at something one of her friends just told her. Dean lets his gaze linger on her and thinks to himself, that if this had been a bar and it had been a late evening, he might've gone home with her tonight. Unfortunately, it isn't, and all Dean will be going with tonight is a fucking flying deathtrap.
As if Dean's nerves isn't highly-strung enough already, an older man to his left starts to tell an anecdote about this one time, when he was flying -one of his first flights as a pilot, as he proudly announces- and suddenly the plane started to uncontrollably shake and how he, despite his lack of experience, had managed to make an emergency landing at a field and gotten out all the passengers before the plane caught fire and exploded.
Wow, just what Dean feels he needed to head. Awesome.
He leaves the table quickly after, mindlessly walking around at the airport.
.
Time passes the way it always does when waiting - barely at all. One can check the clock one second, then read a few pages in their book or go surfing on the free wifi for a while and still only a minute or two has passed when they check the the clock again. It's like the world has decided to let the suffering people suffer for a longer time because the world is a bitch and goddammit why did Dean ever agree to this?
He is freaking out now, completely freaking out because oh god he'll die on that plane, they'll crash and he'll die and he'll never get to see Sammy again and this is the end of it and fucking hell-
"Ouch!" Dean exclaims as he tumbles to the black and white chequered floor, wincing when his lower back hits the floor.
"Oh goodness, I'm so sorry!" comes a man's voice from beside him and Dean glances up just in time to see a man with piercing blue eyes and ruffled dark hair drag himself up on his feet, rubbing the side of his left leg with a pained expression. For a brief second Dean is captivated by the mesmerizing brightness of his eyes, but then the moment is over and Dean scowls as he struggles to stand again, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He gathers the things that had fallen out of his bag and quickly scrambles them down, his hands shaking ever so little.
"Watch where the hell you walk", Dean sneers before the man has a chance to say anything more, and there's a surprised and hurt look on his face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you", the guy says again but Dean has already marched away.
If Dean feels bad about his rude behaviour, he instinctively ignores the feeling and continues to dwell in his panic. Goddamn airplanes, goddamn airports, goddamn fucking vacations. Why did he ever agree to this?
A hand on his shoulder makes him snap out of his thoughts and jerk around, seeing the same guy he collided with a few minutes ago.
"What?" He says, ruder than he intended to but he just wants to be left the fuck alone and mindlessly walk around so he doesn't have to think of how much he's trying not to freak out.
"You forgot this", the man says and holds out a bunch of keys. Dean's eyes widens and he quickly roams his hands over his pockets only to realise that his keys aren't where they should be. Reaching out, he takes the keys and scans them, confirming that, yes, these are his keys.
Well fuck. Isn't this awkward.
"Oh, uh.. Thanks", he mumbles and feels a hotness creep over his cheeks.
"Don't strain yourself." The guy turns and walks away, leaving Dean to feel like a total douche and idiot.
He glances around, noticing people quickly turning away their heads and some even staring at him with distaste, but he doesn't really care. He rather comes off as a rude ass than letting anyone see how terrified he actually is. It's not like he means to, god, that guy was just trying to be nice, it's just that it's so much easier to act tough when he feels weak.
.
Dean spends a good ten minutes, which feels like ten hours, with strolling down the airport, glancing into the windows of all kinds of shops. He's jittery, restless and constantly on the edge. As much as he hates admitting it to anyone, he is terrified and he's very bad at handling it. He handles it as he handles any other emotion that he doesn't want to show; by pushing it as far down he possibly can and leaving it to rot in the pile of unwanted things and never looking at it again. If no one can see it, then there's nothing to worry about. That's plain logic.
After another ten minutes, Dean decides to call Sam. If he's going to die sometime in the coming hours, he might as well have said his farewells.
"Dean", his brother answers after several tones.
"Heya Sammy", Dean says, finding it soothing to speak to Sam. "What's up?"
"Uh, we've just settled in at the hotel and are gonna go out to grab a bite soon. There's a bar by the lobby and I'm pretty sure you'd appreciate the women who works here."
"That's s'cool, s'cool", Dean says, not really paying attention as he glances around, cursing at himself for being so stubborn, else he could've been with them already instead of this fucking shitplace. If Sam notices how distracted he sounds, he doesn't mention it.
"Do they have flower skirts?"
"Dean."
"Dude, it's Hawaii. They gotta have flower skirts else I've been fooled my whole life."
There's a rustle, like Sam is moving and then a swishing sound.
"Uh.. I think there's people with flower skirts down at the pool, but it's hard to tell since I'm on the ninth floor."
"Are they hot?
Sam just groans and Dean can swear his rolling his eyes. He bites his lip and wonders what the hell is wrong with him, because not even the thought of hot ladies can distract him enough from the gnawing anxiety.
"How's the trip going?"
"Ah, yeah, the trip. It's good, just good. Fine, really. I'm in Chicago and I'm-... I've got a few hours. Just chilling and stuff, y'know."
There's a slight pause, where Dean has time to first straighten out his shirt and crumple it as he tugs his free hand down his pocket. When Sam replies, his voice is a fine line between worry and amusement and if he was here now, Dean would punch his arm.
"Are you freaking out right now?"
"Freaking ou- Oh please, Sammy, I'm not freaking out", Dean says, but the tone he says it in speaks of the direct opposite. "Why would I be freaking out?"
"You sure? Because you sound like you've done every time the past week and a half when someone as much as mentioned flying." Yeah, that bitch definitely sounds amused now. Fucking little shit.
"Don't be ridiculous. It's not like I'm afraid of flying", Dean grunts.
"Oh yeah?" Sam scoffs. "I can clearly recall this one time when Dad took us flying and you peed your-"
"We don't talk about that", Dean cuts him off, a bit too loudly, he realises and throws embarrassed and angry glances around him. "Yeah, so, maybe I'm a bit freaked out", he admits in a lower tone, glaring at a stuffed bear in a storefront as if this whole thing was its fault. "But I got legit reason to! Those things are worse than suicide!" He holds out his free hand to magnify his point, even though he knows Sam can't see it.
"Dean, we've talked about this. In about twenty eight years, only a little more than three thousand Americans have died in airline-related accidents, which means that flying is by far the safest way to travel. You're more likely to die in your precious impala than on that airplane."
"Wow, thanks Sammy, you've really mastered the art of calming my nerves", Dean shots out sarcastically. "I swear to god, I'll be one of those, what, zero point zero zero zero one percent who dies."
"You'll be fine."
"I bet."
"Stop being a sissy, Dean."
"Stop being a bitch."
"I'm gonna hang up on you now."
"You can't if I do it first."
"God, Dean, you're such a child. I can't believe you're actually older than me."
"That's 'cause you're too stupid", Dean snorts and hangs up, a small grin tracing his lips as he tugs his phone down in the jeans pocket. So maybe this won't be as bad after all. He just gotta endure eight more hours and he'll finally be able to punch Sam. Just eight hours on an airplane. Eight hours on a flying death machine, thousands and thousands of meters above the safe ground.
He can do this.
.
About seventy three minutes later he isn't so convinced anymore. His seat is cramped and his heart is racing and he can swear he saw the flight attendant smile evilly at him when he boarded. The whole lot of them are probably demons out to get his and the other passengers' souls and drag them to hell where they will rot in all eternity! He can bet Sam never included that possibility in his calculations!
Shifting in his seat, Dean idly wonders whether it would be worse to sit by the window where he can see the land moving far, far beneath him and make sure they keep the same altitude or if it's worse to sit where he is, by the aisle, where he can't see shit and which of the seats would be safest if they would crash. Not that he's got much choice but to sit where he sits, though.
They haven't left ground yet, but any minute now the pilots will start the engines and they'll set off towards a certain death. Dean can feel the excitement rush through him.
Oh, wait, that was dread.
Dean groans quietly and checks that his seatbelt is firmly secured for the tenth time since he secured it not more than six minutes ago. The stewardess has instructed and demonstrated about the safety on board and Dean sucked in every word she said like it was vital nourishment and he was a dying man -which, he figured, he practically is. If he doesn't die from the flight itself, he'll surely get himself killed in some other way. He'll probably be stabbed or shot or brutally murdered in one way or another the very moment he leaves the airplane, just for the irony of it.
There's an old man in the seat beside him who is already snoring loudly and Dean wishes it could be that easy, to just close his eyes and lean back and have a free pass to sleepy-land. The only free pass Dean has is to anxiety town in terrified-land where he'll be spending the whole flight. He's really starting to regret ever stepping aboard this plane.
A rumble is heard and a the airplane starts vibrating only so little, but it is enough for Dean to go rigid and grip onto the armrests until his knuckles turn white. He's trembling, forcing himself to take deep, calm breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. In through his nose and out through his mouth. In and out, in and out, just keep breathing, keep breathing and everything will be alright, keep breathing and he'll survive it all.
In and out.
Breathe.
His eyes are squeezed shut and maybe if he pretends he's not on a plane but in his impala, not rising up in the sky in a death machine but on a steady and secure road, then maybe, maybe he will survive this.
A warm hand gently touches his hand and he startles, snapping his eyes open with a wild and terrified look, only to realize that it's one of the stewardess. Elisabeth, Dean reads on her name tag.
"We're up in the air now, sir", she says. "Would you like something to drink or snack on?" Her lips are formed in a small smile, as if she finds the sight rather endearing. Dean can feel heat rising to his face and he coughs and shifts in his seat, straightening up. Goddammit, how long was he sitting there like some kind of freak? He glances around, but everyone seems occupied with their own business. If he's lucky, no one saw him sitting like a fucking stick and he can be spared the embarrassment. It doesn't seem to be his lucky day today, though.
"Uh, yeah, do you have something strong?" he spurts out, offering a strained smile at her. He could really do with a drink.
"We do", Elisabeth answers, adding on, "against a small fee, we got some brands to choose between."
Right now, Dean would sell his soul for some alcohol in his blood.
.
If he's not going to die in a plane crash or get his soul dragged to hell or get brutally murdered at the airport, Dean is certain that he will die from the horrid food served at the plane. It's like they're trying to make every passenger throw up. Now, Dean isn't normally picky with food, but even he has standards and lines he do not ever cross. Ever. This… hella poor example of something supposed be food has crossed all lines food should never cross.
Dean scoots the plate further away on the tray, grimacing. He's not hungry anyway. If he eats, he's afraid he will throw up for real. Flying does unpleasant things with his nerves.
"Are you gonna eat that?" comes a thick-accented voice from the seat beside him. The old man is smiling warmly, gesturing at the barely touched food. Dean shakes his head.
"Nah, go ahead."
"Thank you, young man", he man says and pulls the plate over to his tray, digging in immediately. "I'm Eddie McMillan." He holds out his hand and Dean shakes it, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.
"Dean Winchester."
"Pleasure to meet you, Dean", Eddie smiles and pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. "You get used to this food eventually, you know, and then it isn't all that bad."
Dean must've looked very sceptical, because Eddie chuckles and pats his arm.
"I've been flying forth and back across the whole world more times than I can count, and it's better to eat while you can than to go hungry."
"I think I'd rather go hungry."
"You say that now, but wait until you've been sitting here for four hours and your stomach growls. Then you'll wish you had eaten this while you had the chance", Eddie says and laughs a little, demonstrating by scooping in another fork of food. "I've had my fair share of flying. Used to fly a lot back in the days", he tells Dean, in the way that elderly people tells youngsters about their lives, with a hint of nostalgia and a smile on their lips. Dean listens, partly there's nothing better to do, but mostly because it is a distraction and he needs it.
"I was a businessman, you see. Flew across the ocean and back every other month for meetings and dinners and god knows what. I've been everywhere, still all I have ever seen of the world are the insides of skyscrapers and taxis." Eddie chuckles, like he doesn't mind not having discovered the world outside the offices. Like he's satisfied with where he is now.
"My youngest daughter, Eleanor, lives in Honolulu with her husband and their children. He's from there, you see. Eleanor loves the place so they decided to settle down there about seven years ago, just after their first daughter was born. It warms a parent's heart, seeing your children do so well in life and create their own happiness.
"I thought that since I'm retired now, I could settle down somewhere near them, else I'm afraid I'd never see her again. It gets lonely, living alone and I never coped well with too much loneliness. Besides, it will be a true joy to see my dear grandchildren grow up. Last time I saw them, they were just small bundles of joy. Martha, Joey and Denise." Eddie speaks with such evident love in his voice, like they truly are the sunshine of his life. If his warm smile if anything to judge by, they must be.
For another hour, Eddie proceeds with telling Dean his life story, showing pictures of his deceased wife and adding on with the story of how the two of them met and fell in love, and of how they saw their lives as adventures meant to be explored and lived to the fullest. He has a bunch of photographs of his two daughters and their children in his wallet, which he also shows. By the time he is done and excuses himself by explaining that he is going to take a nap, Dean feels a lot calmer and his heart must be at least two sizes bigger. It's comforting in a way, to listen to someone else's life, to their ups and downs and not having to spare a thought to his own.
.
Four hours into the flight, Dean has probably read the 'Safety On Board' brochure more than twenty times, memorising every picture clearly in his mind. He knows it by heart and it does make him feel a tiny, tiny bit safer. Nothing will happen, he keeps telling himself, the words having become some sort of a mantra that he recites in his mind, over and over again. Eddie said nothing will happen, he's an experienced flyer, he should know. The calm that had settled in his guts after listening to the old man's story is gone and in its place is an uncomfortable feeling of dread and of being so utterly out of control.
Dean wishes he could call Sam. Just to check on him and see how he's doing. Not because he's still really scared and talking to Sam has this soothing effect that he really needs. He just wants to talk to him, tease him, bicker the way they always end up doing. Familiarity. That's what Dean wants. Some comfort, subtly requested for so that no one would know that he's in need of comfort and that they're comforting him, but likewise it would be comfort.
Checking his wrist watch, Dean counts the hours until he will see his brother. It will either be Sam or Bobby that picks him up at the airport, so it will either be five hours or five and a half. Painfully much.
.
One more hour has passed when the first disturbance makes itself known. It's only a slight rumble at first, a strong vibration throughout the whole plane, barely noticeable.
Dean is almost winning a game of poker against Eddie when the seat-belt sign lights up, indicating for all passengers to buckle up.
"Ladies and gentlemen. the captain has lit the 'Fasten seatbelt' sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts", a woman's voice comes from the speakers.
"It's nothing to worry about, boy", Eddie says when he sees the look on Dean's face. "This happens all the time."
"I'm not worried", Dean retorts, but he quickly fastens his seatbelt and sits up straight, eyes flickering around the interior, the game of cards forgotten.
"It's just some air disturbance. In a minute it will be over."
Dean wishes he could find comfort in that, but his heart is pounding hard in his chest and he tries to tell himself he isn't terrified. Eddie is an experienced flyer and despite having just met him, Dean trusts his judgement.
Only it's hard to calm down when he's an inch from freaking out again. Goddamn fucking airplanes. Dean swears that if he gets out of this alive, he'll never set his foot in an airplane again, if it so means he has to walk -and swim- back to Sioux Falls.
Then there's another rumble, almost deafening, directly followed by a violent jolt, leaving the whole plane shaking. The pilot is saying something through the speakers, his voice calm but in a strained way, a tone too deep to be truly reassuring. Not that Dean hears a word that is being said, anyway. The stewardesses are doing their best to restore the calm and ease away the panic but how could they possibly succeed when people are so frightened, dreading for the lives and wondering if they'll get home to their loved ones safely or if their goodbyes were forever. Another jolt and this time it doesn't stop. Above their heads the oxygen masks comes down and Dean struggles to get on his, but his hands are shaking and everything is shaking. He feels a hand on his shoulder and jerks his head up, meeting Eddie's steady gaze.
"We'll be fine", he says and gives a reassuring nod, before putting on his own mask and Dean nods back, determinedly pulls the mask over his face and taking a deep gasp.
Dean grips the arm rests tightly and does his very best to control his fear, to be strong, but it's hard when every bad dream he's had about flying is becoming reality. He recites Eddie's words over and over again, telling himself that they'll soon go back to normal and then it will only be a few hours more until they reach their destination and he will see Sam and goddammit, to hell with pride and reputation because he'll give his little brother a bone crushing hug and not until then will Dean be able to relax.
Suddenly there's a frightful drop, the plane losing altitude fast by every second, shaking dangerously and even Eddie looks scared now because this just isn't happening, it can't be happening, it isn't fucking supposed to happen, this is not how it should go and Dean can see the ground, the ground closing in with too much speed and at this rate the pilots won't be able to straighten the plane out before it's too late and he feels that tug at his gut like when one is falling quickly and he can hear Eddie pray to his left but he doesn't actually hear it because he's terrified, he so scared he can't move he can't think he can't breathe and he wishes so badly that he had told Sam that he loves him but there's-