"I'm sorry, I believe that you're in my seat."
Dean looked up and met eyes with a man, staring pointedly at him. He had blazing blue eyes and dark stubble on his chin, along with messy hair and creased clothes. It looked like he had just gotten out of bed or something. A few tourists were standing behind the blue-eyed man, waiting impatiently to get to their seats.
"Yeah, um, sorry," Dean muttered as he moved a seat over. He had been sitting on the asile seat, hoping that somebody didn't already have that ticket. It was bad enough flying without having to look out the window and want to puke from the heights.
"It's no problem," the man said as he shoved an old briefcase into the overhead compartment and settled in the seat. The family of tourists passed, followed by the rest of the passengers.
Dean settled back into the seat and took a deep breath. They hadn't even started moving, but he could already feel the coiling tension in his stomach that always came with airplanes. The smell of jet fuel and the sound of flight attendants helping people find their seats filled him with a dread he couldn't explain. Sam always liked to poke fun at Dean's phobia, but to him it was no laughing matter. It was torture.
Not for the first time, Dean wished that Sam wasn't getting married in California two days from now. If it had been two weeks later, then Dean would have been able to drive there. The Impala had been practically demolished by a garbage truck while Dean had been at the post office a week ago, so he had been forced to choose the last method of transportation left to him: flight.
Sam was definitely going to pay for this, Dean thought as the flight attendants started closing all of the overhead compartments and preparing for the flight to start. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, praying that he would fall asleep before they took off. Maybe then he wouldn't remember any of this.
"Excuse me," the blue-eyed man said softly, facing Dean as well as he could in the confined space. Dean reluctantly opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Were you planning on doing the crossword in your magazine?" he asked earnestly.
"Uh, no, why?"
The man gestured to his magazine, where all of the little boxes were filled out with letters. "Mine's already done." He shrugged.
"Yeah, sure," Dean said, pulling his magazine out of the pocket in front of him and handing it to the other man. "Enjoy."
"Thank you."
Dean only grunted in response, because the plane began to move just then. With a jerk, they began to move backwards, away from the airport. Away from safety. Dean swallowed again and tried to take another deep breath, but it felt like something was stuck in his throat.
There was only one thing that could calm him right now. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone and headphones. It took him a few tries to plug the headphones in, though, because his hands were shaking. The plane had straightened out, now, and they were taxiing toward the line of other planes waiting to take off.
"Nervous flyer?" the man asked, causing Dean to jerk his head around. He hadn't realized that the man had been following his movements with those intense blue eyes.
He tried smiling, but it turned out to be more of a grimace. "It's that obvious?" The aircraft inched forward. Dean couldn't tell how many planes were ahead of his.
"I used to have issues with flying as well," the man said, setting his pen and the magazine down in his lap.
"Yeah, well great for you," Dean muttered as the plane inched forward again. They must be close to takeoff now.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man smile and chuckle softly. "I found that it helped to think of a place I was always comfortable in. If you imagine yourself there, then the thought of being up in the air isn't so bad."
Dean glanced at him quickly, and then away again. He couldn't explain it, but he had a hard time meeting eyes with this strange guy. The intensity in his gaze was almost shocking.
"Uh… thanks."
The man smiled again, and little laugh lines all over his face came into sharp relief. Dean couldn't help but find himself grinning back, and for just a moment the coils of anxiety in his gut lessened. A little voice on the intercom said that the plane was about to take off, and the anxiety came right back again. But this time, it was a bit easier to bear.
"I'm Castiel, by the way," the man said, extending a warm, dry hand. Dean squeezed it and nodded grinning again.
"Dean."
They fell into a comfortable silence, Castiel returning to his crossword and Dean listening to Metallica on his iPhone. Usually, the moment where the wheels left the ground and they began flying was the worst for Dean, but this time he listened to his music, glanced over at the man sitting next to him, and felt more relaxed than he ever had on a plane before.
Maybe for once this flight wouldn't be unbearable.