Sunlight glinted off the rims of car wheels and gasoline fumed the air.

"I told you we should've taken the 101, Dean. If I miss my flight-"

"Then, what, you'll have to wait an hour for the next one? And anyways," Dean's fingers drummed along his steering wheel to the opening lines of Thunderstruck, "your flight doesn't leave for another four hours and you live half an hour from the airport. This traffic may be bad, Sammy, but it sure as hell ain't that bad."

"I made reservations for when I land. And, anyways, I'm pretty sure that's not how missed flights work, not that you'd know."

Dean ignored his brother and shook his head in disbelief, "FOUR HOURS. Who the hell needs to be anywhere that far in advance?"

"The general rule is to arrive at the airport three hours early for international flights." Sam pulled out his phone, glaring unhappily as the Rerouting... message continued to pulse unsuccessfully above the map on his screen. There had been an accident a couple miles up the road and traffic was progressing at a five mile per hour crawl. "At this speed I'll be lucky if I even clear TSA before they begin boarding."

"And that's why I drive." Dean fondly patted the sun-warmed dashboard of his Impala, "My baby would never take off to Kansas without me just because I slept in."

"Ugh. Shut up, Dean. That's not anywhere NEAR the same situation and you know it. It's not like I'm flying within the United States. I'd like to see you try and drive to London." Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his palms against them. "It's not like I even asked you to take me to the airport; there's this thing nowadays called 'public transportation'." Sam had, in fact, booked an airport shuttle a week in advance, but Dean was still in the habit of stopping by unannounced and when he found out Sam was planning on paying someone fifty bucks to drive him and his luggage to the airport, his older brother had taken it personally.

An older brother who was, at that moment, watching an impromptu strip-show from a brunette in a nearby Yaris. She had been peeling off layers since she first rolled down her windows two minutes earlier and was now down to a fitted spaghetti strap. "You know, Sammy, I might never be able to forgive you for giving in to San Francisco's granola crunching ways, but you'll sure as hell never hear me complain about whatever hippie god it was that convinced Hot Brunette over there to forego AC when it's a-hundred degrees out." He finally tore his eyes away and looked over at Sam when it was clear that the girl had decided to suffer through her remaining layers.

"And what about the fact that you're not using the AC either?" Sam grumbled. He wasn't looking forward to boarding an airplane after he had been sweating in the heat trap that was Dean's black car.

Dean rolled his eyes as the youngest Winchester proceeded to jab angrily at the touch screen on his phone. "Alright, Samantha, I'll get you to the airport with your three hours to spare and maybe even with a little extra time so you can run to the bathroom and untwist your panties before takeoff." Dean twisted the volume knob on his dash to drown out Sam's response as he maneuvered to the furthest right lane and then onto the shoulder of the road.

Sam reached across the car to turn on the flashers and turn down the music. "Dude, I'm pretty sure this is all sorts of illegal. And getting pulled over by the highway patrol would only make me even more late.."

"Dude," Dean repeated, blowing kisses at several angry drivers that were honking their horns as the Impala flew by, "I'm not a fucking idiot," he pulled off at the first exit they came to, "and don't touch my controls," before switching off the flashing hazard lights and twisting the volume up to just above what he had come to learn was the Sam-approved-maximum-decibel-level-for-moving-vehicles.

The tension slowly eased from the floppy haired Winchester's shoulders as his gps finally managed to establish a new route. "Whatever... jerk."

Dean grinned openly at the road ahead.

"Bitch."

_

The two reached San Francisco's international airport three hours and, Dean smugly noted, seventeen minutes before Sam's flight was set to depart. The international terminal was large and spacious with rows of check-in counters organized by airline. Sam stood at the entrance, pausing a moment to take in his surroundings with obvious excitement.

"Dean," Sam whispered with a nudge, "I think those people over there are Russian. From, like, Russia."

A look of feigned shock decorated Dean's face as he responded loudly, "What? Russians from... Russia? Well, C-3PO, I'm glad you're here to tell us these things."

"You know what I mean. They're..." Sam waved his hands in a meaningless gesture, "not just ethnically Russian, they're probably actual Russian nationals." He picked up the suitcase Jess had lent to him from where it had, top heavy and unbalanced, toppled over.

Dean picked up the remaining carry-on duffel and placed it on top of the upright suitcase. "Yeah, okay. Because San Francisco is sooooo lacking in foreign tourists that your bright-eyes and bushy-tail are definitely justified."

"This is my first time traveling abroad," Sam fired back as he made his way to an array of screens listing international departures by city, "I think I'm allowed to be a little excited."

"No," Dean said, stepping aside as a golf cart rattled past, "I'm pretty sure I took you to Tijuana for spring break that one time." His gaze joined Sam's on the screens ahead of them, trying to decipher the flight status symbols flicking across the screen and only belatedly realizing he had been looking at Korean characters as the words flicked to Spanish and then English.

Sam turned to face Dean, mouth slightly open, eyebrows pinched, and head cocked to the side in disbelief. "Nooo, Dean. That was a TJ themed party at a frat house that you crashed."

"Ohhh yeaaah," a corner of Dean's mouth raised in a smirk, "That was a good night. And to think, you were going to study."

Sam was back to looking at the departure screens. " I had a paper due in two weeks."

"No one actually works on an assignment two weeks before it's due," Dean scoffed. "And sorority girls, man. That's the sort of thing you're SUPPOSED to be doing in college."

"I've got Jess," Sam murmured absentmindedly.

Dean watched as his brother's eyebrows knit together in confusion with each passing second. He was fighting-though admittedly without much commitment to the cause- a losing battle against outright laughing at the expressions on Sam's face. Said Winchester's face was falling into slightly more panic with each successive lookover confirming that, no, Sam's flight UA938 for LHR - Heathrow was definitely not on the screen.

Sam began fumbling for his Folder Full Of Important Documents So Don't Touch It, Dean, Because I'll Know If Shit's Out Of Order. He rifled through the papers and in a voice of growing distress said, "It's not here, Dean."

Instinctively, Dean threw his hand up to chest level, palms facing out and head shaking back and forth slowly. "Dude, I swear I didn't touch your damn folder."

"No, I mean..." Sam let his suitcase once again tip forward and onto the floor before turning to Dean with wide eyes, "my flight's not coming up on the screen. Did you take me to the right airport? We are at SFO, right? You didn't accidentally take me to the Oakland airport? Because I'm not flying out of Oakland, I'm flying out of San Francisco. Oh, shit. What if I accidentally clicked on LAX instead of SFO and I'm actually flying out of Los Angeles? That's a seven hour drive! How am I going to make my flight?"

"Jesus, calm. The fuck. Down." Dean tried to snatch the folder out of his brother's hand, but Sam yanked it out of his reach. The ensuing struggle ended in a flailing of arms and the contents of the folder scattered on the floor around them.

They stood staring angrily at each other, surrounded by Sam's fallen luggage and a group of Chinese tourists donning bright green t-shirts. After a moment of uncomfortable silence and awkward shifting, Sam finally let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so maybe I'm freaking out a little."

"Or maybe a lot." Dean knelt down and began picking up the fallen documents.

Sam grimaced and joined Dean on the floor. "Yeah, okay. It's just...this internship is kind of a big deal. I have the chance to work at the London offices of one of the US's largest law firms and if I screw this up it's going to be because I was incompetent at my job and NOT because I booked the wrong flight."

"I know, Sam." Dean picked up the dropped duffel as Sam reached for the larger suitcase. "I'm sure you're not the first person that's fucked up a flight. They've probably got a whole system in place for Winchester screw-ups. So don't worry, Sammy-"

"You're at the wrong terminal," a deep voice interrupted from behind.

There's a bizarre moment where Dean was half expecting a masked killer, knife-raised high, to be standing behind them. It's not, of course and, after doing what Dean feels is a comically slow turn to face the mystery voice, they see that it's a guy in unsurprisingly normal attire. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue tie and a tan overcoat folded over one arm. A plain black briefcase was tucked under an arm and in one hand was a sheet of paper that looked suspiciously like Sam's flight itinerary.

"Uhmmmm... what?" Sam replied in all his Stanford educated glory. "Is that mine?"

The stranger's head dipped slightly to the right as his eyes flicked back to the paper in hand. "If your name is 'Sam Winchester' then: yes, this is yours." Blue eyes looked steadily at Sam before then moving onto Dean. "It was on the floor."

Sam made no move to recover his document, in favor of staring dumbly. "I dropped it."

The other man, only slightly shorter than Dean, replied after a second's pause,"I picked it up."

Dean watched as his brother's eyebrows scrunched together in thought. Sam opened his mouth a few times, as though he wanted to say something, but eventually just settled on a confused frown. The group of brightly-clad tourists made their way by, smiling politely, to set up camp at a corner full of waiting chairs further down the room. "Ooookaay," Dean slowly looked between the newcomer and his oddly behaving brother, "are we done being creepy as fuck? Because you guys are being creepy as fuck and I know I'm sure as hell done." He held out his hand for the paper, catching Sam in the side with his elbow in the process.

The stranger stared at the point of contact between the brothers with the slightest of frowns on his face. Sam absently rubbed at his ribs as his eyes widened with hard fought recognition, "You're Professor Novak."

.The man who may-or-may-not-have-been-Professor Novak looked up warily at Sam before confirming with a simple "Yes."

Dean watched in confusion as a wide grin broke out across his brother's face. He had a feeling this would be one of those moments that would end in him reflecting on where he had gone wrong as an older brother.

"Oh, man." Sam took a half-step forward, completely ignoring Dean,"You were a guest lecturer in my International Human Rights course and ever since then I've been dying to attend your Treason and Trust lecture series."

The professor frowned as he handed the flight itinerary to Dean, "I would think that dying to attend anything would, ultimately, be counterproductive."

Sam's eyebrows briefly furrowed in confusion before his attention was drawn to a hard slap on his back and a forced laugh from Dean. "Hilarious! Now let's rewind ten years of my life and get back to that part where you said something about us being at the wrong terminal. Because," Dean shot a glare at Sam, "from what I've been made to understand, my baby brother here's future is hanging in the balance."

Dean didn't bother to hide his smugness as the reality and panic of their current situation trickled back into Sam's awareness. Sam glanced at his watch and groaned, "I've only got two hoursbefore my flight leaves."

Professor Novak narrowed his eyes in confusion and accompanied it with a head tilt to the right. "I highly doubt it will take you two hours to reach the domestic terminals. And in my experience, unless you are traveling with contraband, airport security is not nearly as time-consumingly inconvenient as is popularly portrayed in mass media."

Dean quirked an eyebrow up at the suited man and decided to start off slowly, "Riiiiiiiight. But he's going to London and I'm pretty sure that still counts as an international flight."

"Yes, but according to Sam's itinerary he has a connecting flight in Chicago. Which means this leg of the trip, San Francisco to Chicago, is considered a domestic flight while Chicago to London will actually be international."

There was a beat of silence and Dean wasn't really convinced that the guy had made anything any clearer. But apparently it made a world of difference to Sam, who looked like he was itching to take notes on what was being said and who eventually let out a meek, "I thought Chicago was just a refueling stop or something."

"No. You'll disembark and catch a connecting flight."

Dean almost bent backwards in laughter and Sam punched him in the arm with an embarrassed, "Oh, like you knew any better, Dean. This is my first trip out of the country, how the hell was I supposed to know."

Dean shot his brother a grin that he knew Sam found irritatingly obnoxious. "Wait, wait, wait. So essentially what you're doing here is flying within the United States in order to catch your actual flight to London?" Dean clapped a hand over his heart in mock hurt, " I should've known that damn air shuttle you booked was only the first betrayal."

Sam knew he was being baited, but still couldn't help himself from biting out in annoyance. "Okay, Dean, I get it. You hate airplanes and love your car. But just because you have no ambitions to go abroad doesn't mean I don't."

"You've never been overseas?"

Dean prided himself on the fact that he didn't startle easily, but, and not that the Novak guy had exactly startled Dean, it was easy to forget that he wasn't just some traveling businessman standing a little too close. "If I can't get there in my '67 Chevy Impala," Dean jingled his keys, "then I figure it's not really anywhere worth visiting."

"I don't see how accessibility by a more inefficient vehicle of travel is indicative of the quality of any given destination."

Dean wasn't really sure what to make of the guy. His tone and the way his face conveyed a confused curiosity made it clear that at least he wasn't trying to intentionally be a smart-ass. "It's simple. If traveling is about going somewhere, then I care more about the going than I do about the somewhere."

Dean met the unwavering blue gaze and suddenly found himself inexplicably and uncomfortably self-conscious. It wasn't like he was being particularly forthcoming (Dean's had to defend his roadtripping habit throughout his life) nor was the way he's being stared at overtly changed. But for the eternity of a second- Dean thinks that maybe it's because this Professor Novak person hasn't blinked in the past minute- it feels like all of existence has turned its sight to focus on Dean.

So Dean did what Dean does best: he grabbed a pamphlet laying forgotten on a nearby waiting chair and waved it in Sam's face. "Hey, they've got this 'unaccompanied minors' service where a flight attendant watches you and everything. Maybe we should've signed you up for that."

"I'm not sure your brother would meet the age requirements."

Dean thought that this time the guy was intentionally being a smart-ass and laughed in Sam's face. "The name's Dean."

Green eyes held blue as the other man gripped the offered hand just this side of too-tight. "You may call me Castiel."

Dean tried not to spend any time to dwelling on the way Castiel's expression had tipped from a lot less confused to a lot more curious. Thankfully, Sam was there to combat any awkward tension by flailing forward to clasp his former professor's hand in his own the moment Dean had let go.

Giving a slightly frantic shake of his hand, Sam managed a "Thank you so much Professor Novak. If there's anyway I could pay you back, if you need an assistant or something, please just let me know. You can't imagine how much of a life-saver you are."

"You underestimate my imagination." Castiel murmured before pulling away and breezing off towards the back of the terminal.

Both brothers blinked after Castiel for a moment before Dean finally shook his head and picked up the duffel bag, tossing it at Sam. "Hurry up. I really just need you to get on this damn plane so I can work on pretending my brother didn't just nearly wet himself because he ran into his professor at the airport." He gave Sam a disparaging look ,"No brother of mine should ever be thathappy when meeting someone with the title 'Professor'" As an afterthought he added, "unless it's followed by a singular 'X'."

Sam couldn't quite hide his smile as he muttered, "Shut-up. What're you even going to do with yourself once I'm all the way across the pond?"

Dean snorted, "The same thing I do even when you are around; I'm gonna take my baby and we're gonna ramble on."