AN: Well, it's not hurt!Dean, but there is definite peril and Sam to the rescue. Happy Birthday Woodburner!
Disclaimer: It's probably best for the health of both boys if authors like me DIDN'T own them, so yeah, they're still Kripke's.
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"Dude, don't take this out on me- You're the one who crashed." The spirit chuckled before disappearing, leaving Dean alone.
In a small, rapidly descending plane.
At 10,000 feet.
No amount of Metallica could make this ok.
Dean forced back the rare, gut clenching terror, determined not to hyperventilate.
"I think I've found the flight manual." Sam's steady voice crackled over the radio.
"You think?!" Dean inquired, his tone surprisingly falsetto. The plane lurched, sinking through cloud cover fast enough to make his stomach churn.
"I did find the manual," Sam amended, trying to reassure his panicky brother.
"Then tell me what buttons to push, Sammy. Turn me into Top Gun- Cruise has nothing on me. Taller, better hair…" His bravado sounded shaky even to his own ears.
A shared memory surfaced.
6- year- old Sammy. A sycamore tree. Implicit trust in his older brother.
Sam now promised the same thing.
"I'll get you down."