A/N: This story grew out of a conversation with a good friend about being on the last plane out of an airport in front of a tropical storm. I would like to thank JazzyIrish for her thoughtful suggestions, I think this story reads more smoothly because of them. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing—your reviews keep me writing!
Last Plane Out
Chapter One
Promises
The TV in the bar was tuned to the weather channel, not really great viewing, Dean thought as he drank his beer, but the crowd was watching the oncoming tropical depression. It was pretty much what everyone had been talking about for the last couple of days and now it looked like it was actually headed towards Houston.
Fun town, Houston. He'd ended up there after a call from a friend of a friend of their father's—she'd had a problem with a ghost and Dean had headed out to help. He was on his own for a change, the first time in a long time without Sam. He missed him, they'd been traveling together for so long it felt weird that his brother wasn't there, but he was kind of enjoying the break, too.
A couple of weeks before, he and Sam had stopped in Las Vegas. His brother had college friends there and Sam had called them to get together while he and Dean were in town. Dean had figured out pretty fast that he was cramping Sam's style. Or more to the point, Sam wanted to be college-Sam and having Dean around was a constant reminder that he wasn't that person anymore. Things had gotten increasingly strained and once or twice some angry words had passed between them.
Dean had started avoiding Sam and his friends, instead heading to the casinos and carefully working a small stake into enough money to keep them going for several months, even factoring in emergencies—always a possibility with them. Sam's friends had explained to him, in tones he was pretty sure most people reserved for idiots and dogs, nobody actually ended up winning, but a life of hustling pool and playing cards had made Dean a cautious gambler. He walked out of the casinos every night a little richer than he had walked in. Never winning enough at any time to draw attention to himself, but still gathering quite a stash by the end of the week.
The call from a friend of their father's had come at a good time. Dean had been trying to figure a way out of town without really offending his brother, and had been drawing a blank. The call gave him the excuse to leave, and since it looked like a simple salt and burn he thought Sam might be ok with him going on alone. And surprisingly Sam had agreed, almost too quickly. So Dean had given him the cash for a plane ticket and headed to Houston.
Since it hadn't really seemed like an emergency he took the drive in easy steps. He was trying out a new theory—that the name indicated how hot a girl would be. He was currently working his way through Heathers. So far, Heathers seemed universally hot—blonde, brunette, redhead—and at any age. He wouldn't have added the age into the mix until he met particularly interesting Heather in Tucumcari, New Mexico, who claimed she was an innocent 24 and turned out to be a worldly 42. That had been an interesting evening, very interesting.
Houston had proved to be Heather-less. He had hoped he could find at least one while he was there, to continue testing the theory, but so far the Heather hunt was turning up nothing. Luckily the other hunt, the one he had actually come for, had proved more successful and now he was just killing time until Sam flew in. Another three days to continue the Heather hunt.
The waitress brought him another beer, she was not a Heather, but then again she was only charging him for every other drink, so the hunt might have to be put on hold for a night or two. She'd invited him to a "Storm Party" that evening and he was more than willing to go, and more than willing to hang around watching her for a few hours until she was off shift at 5.
His phone ringing pulled him away from his musings. He looked at the number—he didn't recognize it, but it looked like a Vegas area code. "Yeah?"
"Dean! I remembered the number," his brother's voice came over the line. "It's the right number." That sounded like he was talking to someone else.
"Sam? What's wrong?" The alarm bells were going off.
"I couldn't remember the number, they said I should just try dialing, my fingers might remember even if my brain couldn't," Sam sounded confused.
"Sammy? What's going on?"
"The doctor wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't remember the number." Where the hell are his friends, why didn't they call?
"Sam!" The alarm bells had given way to alarm sirens.
"The doctor, he wants to talk to you Dean, it's my brother, Dean," Sam said.
"Mr. Richards?" Another voice on the phone.
"Yes?" Dean said.
"My name is Dr. Larson. I am a physician at Las Vegas General…"
"What's going on?" Dean said, trying to stay calm. Breathe slowly, in and out.
"You brother has been in a car accident. We have been trying to reach you for almost twenty-four hours, but after he regained consciousness he couldn't remember your phone number," he said.
"How bad is it?" Keep calm, keep it together.
"He is conscious, which is good."
"But?" Dean heard a really big "but" in that statement.
"There is continued confusion and loss of memory. His mental state is not entirely stable. We are continuing to monitor his condition. There are other serious injuries as well. He might need surgery. We need permission to operate if necessary. He is in no condition to approve treatment of any kind." At least he broke it to me gently.
"Of course, do I need to sign something?" He asked wondering where he could find a fax machine if he needed to.
"We really need you here, Mr. Richards."
"It's that bad?" Dean whispered. No.
"It's serious. We like a family member present. How soon can you be here?"
"I'm in Houston, I'll be there as soon as possible. Can I talk to my brother again?"
"Of course."
"Dean?" Sam said.
"Sammy, I'm on my way. I'll be there before you know it."
"I don't like hospitals Dean," Sam said. He sounded so young, lost.
"I'm coming, I'll be there Sam."
"Promise, Dean?"
"I promise, Sammy." He was still holding the phone to his ear several minutes after he had heard the connection break. I should never have left him. I need to get to him.
He made record time back to the motel. He was pretty sure he hadn't run anyone down or gone through too many red lights, but he couldn't remember. Fortunately the streets were mostly empty, everyone was already heading in to avoid the approaching storm.
When he got to the room he threw his stuff into a bag and threw the bag into the Impala. Back in the car he pulled out his road atlas. Houston to Vegas was 1471 miles. He pulled out of the parking lot and found the freeway entrance. Once on the freeway he put the pedal down. Ok, 1471 miles, if I drive 80 the whole way that puts me into Vegas in about eighteen hours. And that's assuming I don't get slowed down by the storm. Eighteen hours. Too long.
A sign went by in a blur. Oh, god. As the next one came up he pulled into the exit lane. Taking a deep breath he pulled off the freeway and followed the signs to the airport.
His heart was already pounding as he pulled into long-term parking. He grabbed some clothes and made sure his bag had nothing even a little suspicious in it. He found an ID with the name "Richards" on it and stuffed it into his wallet. Walking into the terminal he located a departure board. Most of the flights had "canceled" after them, there was one left still heading to Vegas—it looked like it left in about 40 minutes. He headed over to the counter for the airline. The line wasn't long, most people seemed more intent on getting out of the airport.
"I need to get to Las Vegas," he said to the woman at the ticketing counter.
"Sir, you do understand there is a storm approaching?"
"I have to get there, my brother's been in an accident."
"I do have a seat, the flight has been moved up, you only have about ten minutes to get the gate."
"I don't care, sooner is better," he said handing over the cash to pay for the ticket.
"I hope everything is ok," she said with a sympathetic smile when she handed him his ticket.
He grabbed it out of her hand, and sprinted towards the gates. The lack of passengers made the security check go by quickly and he ran down the long concourse to his assigned gate. He stopped when he got there. Do I really want to do this?
While he was standing there, ticket in hand, his phone rang. "Hello?"
"Dean?"
"Hey, you remembered the number again."
"Yeah, Dean, they gave me a shot. It's making me sleepy," Sam said, sounding confused, frightened, not really like Sam.
"It's ok, Sam." Actually it's not ok at all.
"But what if I go to sleep and don't wake up, Dean?"
Dean closed his eyes. He remembered Sam's first hospitalization, he'd been nine and had to have his tonsils out. Right before they had taken him to the operating room he had taken Dean's hand and asked him the same question "What if I don't wake up?" Dean wondered if Sam was somehow back there in that room all those years ago.
"It's ok, Sammy. You'll wake up fine. I'll be there when you wake up."
"Scared Dean," he did sound about nine when he said that.
"I know, Sammy. Tell you what, I'll bring you something from the gift shop. How's that?" Dean said remembering how he had bribed his brother with little gifts.
"Promise?"
"I promise, Sam. I have to go for a minute, but it's ok. I'll give you a call in just a sec." he hoped the number Sam had called from was a direct line. Dean looked up, it looked like they were getting ready to close the gate. He handed them his ticket and walked down the ramp to the plane. I'm coming Sammy.
The plane was surprisingly crowded. As he walked up the aisle he heard someone saying it was the last plane out ahead of the storm. That's comforting. He found his seat—he had managed to get on an aisle, and sat down. The woman in the next seat looked up. Hot, definitely hot. Nice. That might make this a little better.
"Is it still ok to use my phone?" He asked her.
"Yes, until we take off. You don't fly much?" She had a nice voice too.
"No." That's the understatement of the year. He called Sam's number back.
"Hello?" Sam was sounding really out of it.
"Hey, Sammy. How're doing?"
"Still scared. Where are you?"
"I'm on my way. I'll be there before you know it." Assuming my heart doesn't give out on this plane.
"Is dad with you?"
"What?" It's worse than I thought. How could he forget?
"Is dad with you?"
"No, Sammy, he's not. But I'm on my way," he said trying to keep his voice calm. The problem was his nerves were starting to get the better of him, now that he was actually sitting on the plane. I think I'm starting to hyperventilate.
"When will you be here, Dean?" Sam sounded like he might be crying.
"Really soon, Sammy. You get some sleep. I bet I'm there before you even wake up." He was talking to Sam like he was a child, but it seemed to calm his brother down.
"And you'll bring me something from the gift shop?" Sam said, sounding exactly as he had when he was nine.
"Yeah, Sam. I promise. I have to go, but I'll be there really soon." He could hear the engines starting up, he knew he needed to get off the phone before Sam heard him freak out, because that wouldn't help his brother at all. He hung up his phone and turned it off. The plane lurched into motion and his stomach lurched with it. Oh, this is not going to be fun
"Nervous flyer?" Hot girl asked.
"Something beyond nervous," he tried to smile. "I don't fly. At all." Because if the plane doesn't crash, I'll die of heart failure, anyway.
"And you're on the last plane out in a tropical storm? You know this is going to be a rough flight?"
"Have to be," he said swallowing. How can I need to swallow and have dry mouth at the same time?
"Why?" She said, sounding sympathetic, Dean wondered if she were nervous, too and just needed to talk to someone.
"My brother's been hurt, I need to get there. No choice." He was starting to get dizzy. The plane was rumbling down the tarmac. As far as he was concerned the cabin was slowly revolving. And I actually ate this afternoon, great. Once clear of the terminal the winds hit the plane—it felt like it was sliding back and forth on the runway. Count to ten slowly, one, two, three, four, oh, god I'm going to die.
"That's sweet. My brother wouldn't get on any plane for me," Hot girl said.
"Yeah," One, two, three, four, five, six, why is the plane spinning or is it just me?
"Is it serious?"
"I don't know. The doctor said I needed to be there as soon as possible." Am I hyperventilating? How hard can my heart actually pound before someone else can hear it?
"I'm so sorry," she smiled at him. "My name's Heather, by the way."
Universally hot, all Heathers, apparently a law of nature. "Dean," he said, swallowing again.
"Would you like a mint? It sometimes helps with the dry mouth," she said offering him a tin.
"Thanks, I'll try anything at this point," and when I lose my lunch it will have a nice minty aftertaste.
"I don't like to fly that much either, I've just gotten used to it with my job—I go to a lot of conferences."
"I travel a lot, too, but I drive."
"They say flying is safer than driving. What's wrong?" Apparently Heathers were perceptive, too.
"My brother—he was in a car wreck," Stay down, food, hear me?
"I'm so sorry, that was rude of me."
"You didn't know." His arms and legs were beginning to tingle. Breathe slowly, one, two, in, out. "What did they just say?" He had heard something on the cabin speaker, but hadn't paid attention.
"We're next in line on the runway, he said it would be a bumpy take-off."
"It's bumpy just sitting here, how much worse will it get?" I'm going to die.
"I don't know, I've never been on a plane in weather like this."
"Yeah," was all he could manage. Oh, god. My heart is exploding, I can't breathe, I can't feel my feet anymore. Did the plane just flip over? Why is it spinning like that?Breathe in and out, slowly, concentrate.
"Are you ok?" She said laying a hand on his arm.
"Yeah, fine great," except I'm dying. Pretty sure I'm dying, pins and needles, great, what's next?
"You must care about your brother to be on this plane," she said with a smile.
"Promised him." What's that noise? Did a wing fall off? I think I just felt a blood vessel explode. Stay down, food, I mean it.
"I heard you on the phone, that was sweet."
"No, I promised him a long time ago," he said with his jaw clenched. "When he was fourteen. I promised I would never leave him alone in a hospital ever again." And why am I telling her this?
"Really?"
"Yeah," he paused as a particularly hard gust of wind buffeted the airplane. I'm going to die. He kept talking to distract himself. "He broke his arm at school and it was a bad break. They called our dad, but he was out of town and didn't check his messages until about six hours after it happened." The engines started revving up for take-off. Oh, no. "Dad called me and I headed right to the hospital, they were prepping Sam for surgery and he was scared. I don't blame him. He'd been there for six hours, in pain, no one there for him. I promised him I wouldn't leave and he would never have to be in a hospital alone again." The engines were beginning to whine. He was getting dizzier by the minute. Dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes. Well, at least if I pass out I won't have to be awake for take-off.
"I'm sure he doesn't hold you to that promise anymore."
"Maybe he doesn't, but I do." Are we moving, are we taking-off? I can't feel my feet. My hands are shaking, I think I might have broken a tooth. Why is the plane still spinning? I'm going to die.
The plane began rolling down the runway, gaining speed for take-off, it was being hit pretty hard by the wind, Dean could feel it skidding back and forth. It's probably not as bad as I think. I'm exaggerating, I'm sure I'm exaggerating. The plane lifted off, suddenly the back wheels slammed back onto the tarmac before lifting off again. Dean heard someone screaming. Oh, please don't let that be me screaming like that.
"That was a little scarier than usual," Heather said.
"Yep, sure." The plane was rocking violently as it climbed up through the storm system. Dean looked up the aisle. The overhead racks at the front of the plane were twisting left, the ones back by where he sat were twisting right. He could hear the metal of the plane straining against the pressure of the winds. Oh this is so much worse than last time. That was only a homicidal demon, I understand demons, this is crazy. Why am I here again? Sam. I need to get to Sam, that's what matters. What was that noise?
"A lot scarier than usu…" She broke off when the plane suddenly shot up through the air. Dean could feel his stomach protesting the climb. It was like going up in a roller coaster at about a million miles an hour. Oh, no, oh please, oh stop. Just as quickly as it went up the plane slammed down—and down and down and down. Heather grabbed his hand and held on with a vise like grip. Oh, no, no, no, no, I'm going to dieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie. Stay down food, please stay down. The pilot managed to pull the plane out of the dive and they began climbing up through the storm again.
"That was fun," Heather said with a nervous laugh.
"Fun. Yeah. Fun." If you are a complete nut case.
The plane continued its climb. Lightning flashed around them. The engines were making a strange noise. Someone up at the front of the plane was vomiting. The couple across the aisle from Dean were holding each other and crying. He could hear someone praying. At least I am not alone in my terror.
Abruptly the shaking stopped, the lightning was gone and the noise of the wind hitting the plane was silent. They had made it up through the storm. After the ascent this felt like nothing. Except for the sound of the engines it was hardly like being on a plane at all, more like a bus. Except if I try and get out I will fall about 20,000 feet.
Heather laughed and let go of his hand with a little squeeze. "Thanks."
"Yeah," I mean it food, you stayed down through that, you just stay there now.
"Are you still nervous?"
"Are we still on a plane?" He tried to slowly relax his left hand. He was holding on to the seat arm with a death grip. As he let go he could feel the blood rushing back into his hand. Nice. He leaned back, trying to calm his breathing—everyone else seemed ok. And here I am, heart's still about to explode. And the dizziness is a nice added bonus. Fun. He sat, focusing on his breathing and humming his way through his music collection. I wonder if I can get all the way through without a repeat before the plane lands.
"What did they say?" He realized that someone had said something on the cabin speaker.
"The beverage cart is coming through, we can get up and the in-flight phones are available," Heather said.
"In-flight phone? Where?"
"Right here," she pulled the phone out of the seat in front of him. "They're really expensive to use—you need a credit card."
"Yeah, right," he said pulling out his wallet and flipping on his cell phone long enough to get the number of Sam's room. The phone rang seven times before Sam answered.
"Hello?"
"Sam, how are you doing?"
"Dean, where are you? I tried calling. I couldn't get through." He sounded really shaken up.
"Sorry, phone was off, what's wrong?"
"My stomach hurts, really bad. So does my head. The doctor was back in here a few minutes ago. He said something about surgery. I don't want surgery, Dean." The fear and confusion in his voice worried Dean. The worst part was Sam sounded so young, lost. So unlike his brother. I wonder if that is part of the head injury? I wonder if he's going to be ok? Maybe it's the drugs they're giving him. Why, exactly, did I leave him all alone?
"It'll be ok, Sam. I'm nearly there. I'll be there before they take you to surgery, ok?"
"Yeah, Dean," His brother paused. "How can you get here so fast? Aren't you in Texas?" That sounded more like Sam.
"I'll be there, ok?" Assuming the damn plane doesn't crash and my heart doesn't explode and my legs actually work when this is over.
"Before surgery?" The confused voice was back.
"Yeah, Sammy before surgery."
"Promise?"
"Promise. I need to go for a little while, next time we talk I'll be there, ok?"
"And you'll bring me something?"
Dean had to laugh a little at that. Laugh or cry and I probably should avoid cry right now, although don't hot girls like it when you cry? "Yeah, I'll bring you something."
"Promise?"
"I promise Sam. See you soon. Ok?"
"Ok, Dean. Hurry. Bye." He hung up the phone.
Dean placed the phone back in its cradle and put his head in his hands. I will never leave him alone again. At least not eighteen hours driving time away. Never again. If I had been there this shouldn't have happened. And where the hell are his friends? Why is he alone?
"Hey, are you ok?" Heather asked.
"I was just wondering where my brother's friends are. They wanted him all to themselves, made it pretty clear I wasn't welcome, but why aren't they there now?"
"Maybe they are, you don't know."
"He sounds so scared and alone." And why again am I talking to her about this?
"Maybe for him there is a big difference between his friends and you." It was a simple statement. Dean looked at her, she was smiling at him. Heathers are also apparently wise. I might need to study them a little further.
"Yeah, maybe you're right. How long till we land?"
"About forty-five minutes."
Dean picked up the phone again and called information—they connected him with the hospital and he spoke with Sam's doctor. Dean told him when the plane would land and then he would take a cab directly to the hospital. Could they hold the surgery that long? The doctor hesitated for several seconds. They were sending Sam for more tests, and that would probably take up the hour before Dean arrived. They thought Sam was bleeding into his abdomen, and if so would need surgery to fix the bleed. Dean hung up the phone again. Let me get there in time, please, let me get there in time.
The remainder of the flight seemed to take forever. Not because he was nervous—the continual pounding of his heart and constant dry mouth were now familiar, almost like they had always been there. No, every second was another that Sam was alone in the hospital. Never again.
"You should talk to the flight attendant, tell them what's happening and see if they will let you off the plane first," Heather said, laying her hand on his.
"Thanks, great idea," Dean said and flagged down the attendant. He explained what was going on and she said that as soon as they were on the ground and it was safe for him to get up she would come get him so he could be off the plane as soon as possible. "Thanks again," he said turning back to Heather.
"Here's my number, will you call and let me know how he is?"
"Sure," Hot Heathers still give me their number. Nice. This flight wasn't all bad I guess. Stay down, food. I mean it.
Thanks to her suggestion, Dean was sprinting through the airport before anyone else even had their bags out of the overhead racks. He followed the signs to the taxis and offered the guy an extra large tip if he could get him to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes. The driver earned his $50, Dean was there just shy of ten minutes later.
He stopped at the information desk in the entry and then headed to Sam's room. A doctor was standing outside the door. "Dr. Larson?" Dean asked, hoping he guessed right. "I'm Sam's brother."
"We were hoping you'd get here. We are getting ready to take him down. He is bleeding and we need to get it taken care of. We are a little concerned about the anesthesia, what with the head injury and continued confusion, but we don't really have a choice."
"Can I see him?" Not that you have a lot of choice in that, either. I am going in there like it or not.
"Of course. We've given him something to relax him, he was quite upset."
"Thanks," Dean pushed the door open and stopped. Oh, Sammy. His brother was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. There was a large bruise on his face. A bandage covered part of his forehead. How did he get that bruise? How hard did he hit his head? He was so pale. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and walked over to the bed. He put his hand gently on Sam's shoulder. "Sam?"
His brother's eyes opened, they weren't really focused. "Dean? Is that you?"
"Who else is this good looking?"
"You got here before they took me."
"Told you I would, Sammy."
"They said you wouldn't."
"Who said Sam?" The hospital staff knew I was on the way, what were they thinking?
"Lisa and Jason. They said you wouldn't."
"Well they were wrong, Sam." And as soon as you go to down to surgery I am going to find them and kill them for that.
"I told them that, too. You promised."
"Yeah, Sam. They have to take you to surgery now, but I'll be here when you come up, ok?"
"I'm scared, Dean." Sounding confused, so young, still so unlike Sam.
Yeah, me too, Sam. "It'll be fine, you'll be back here before you know it."
"Did you bring me something?"
"You have to wait until you get back for that, Sam."
"Promise, Dean?"
"Of course I promise." The nurses came in to take Sam to the operating room. Dean walked as far as the elevator, his hand on Sam the whole way. He stood in front of the elevator for a long time after the doors closed. Please let him be ok. He turned and headed down the hall in search of the gift shop.
To Be Continued