Dean Winchester hated flying.
Absolutely despised it.
And what happened the first time he tried to fly? Demons.
Mother. Fucking. Demons.
Not that Dean was entirely afraid of Demons. Actually he wasn't afraid of "flying" at all. He was afraid of falling. Because, seriously, who in their right mind would willing board one those million pound floating death traps. No one.
Even just driving by airports was enough to give him chills.
Especially with Sam always complaining about how long driving took.
"It's cheaper this way, Sam."
"Dean."
"Hmm?" Dean kept his eyes glued to the road.
"Fake credit cards."
Dean kept his eyes glued to the road.
"Dean?"
"Shut up, Sam."
Dean liked to be in his Baby, anyway. She was trustworthy, always there for the Winchester boys. Dean can't recall one time she'd ever let them down. He couldn't just leave her behind and fly away. There's something special between a man and his car. Hell, even Cas went out and got himself a crappy—excuse me—a nice, reliable car when he lost his wings. Sometimes Dean wondered if Cas missed flying. He wondered if Cas liked driving; rolling along with the windows down, wind playing with his hair. He wondered if Cas would like being on an airplane. It probably wouldn't be the same using a machine's wings in place of his own.
Dean wondered a lot of things about Cas.
But he knew he preferred Cas on the ground.
Dean was glad he was never an angel, his feet belonged on Earth with zero possibility of plummeting at ungodly speeds toward solid rock.
Dean could face literally everything and anything else in the world. He could control the outcome of monster fights and car crashes. He had some ounce of power in these situations. And if he got hurt, well then it was his own damn fault. But falling? You just keep going, picking up momentum. You can't stop, you can't grab hold of anything. You're fate is sealed and you can see how things are going to end. Dean couldn't deal with that certain uncertainty.
Now it's 3 A.M. in some shifty motel the boys crashed at and Dean is sound asleep on the bed that's currently holding the world record for "Sharpest, Most Uncomfortable Springs." He's dreaming, but tonight is different. Cas is always in his dreams. He likes to check up on the Winchester world when he's away. But this time it's just Dean waiting on the dock by himself.
Suddenly he's jolted awake by Sam's hands.
Dean is listening through half-asleep ears, but he catches the most important parts: Cas and help.
"What about Cas?"
"Dean, he's been calling and texting for the past hour and a half. And then he just stopped. He needs us. He managed to send me his location, he's all the way at the other end of the country. So I figure if he start driving now we'll get there around—"
"No, Sam," He's very awake now. He imagines the angel—lets face it—his angel tied up, tortured, bitten, held captive by whatever has a hold of him. Dean remembers everything that's ever happened to him and Sam and now he feels like he's going to vomit.
Cas needs their help. Tonight. And damn it, he's going to save him.
"I've got a better plan."
The "Buckle Up" lights flash on, and the stewardess announces something about exits.
Suddenly, Dean isn't as afraid of falling.