A/N: Another week, another one-shot. Thanks to celinenaville and NightReader22 for reviewing the last one, and to all of you who read it and didn't review. So this one's based on episode 4, Phantom Traveller. I just find it so interesting that Dean's afraid of flying, what with the Winchester men having that beautiful Impala at their disposal and therefore probably didn't have much occasion to fly. So I was trying to come up with a circumstance that would scare Dean enough to be afraid of flying without having him actually step foot on the plane. Hope you guys like it!
Disclaimer: All Hail Creator Kripke, and everyone over at the CW for bringing season 12 on! Woohoo! So excited! But yeah, still not mine.
The Flip Side of Freedom
In the Winchester World of Hunting, money was a luxury not often easy to come by. Credit card fraud was a risky business, hustling even more so depending on what you value more, your freedom or your life. Diners, dives, and fast food chains were staples in their particular way of life because they were cheap, easy, and accessible. When John Winchester bought his truck, it was more for convenience sake than anything else because his boys were too big to share the backseat when there were no more motels in sight, and splitting up for hunts ensured that double the amount of people would be saved per week. Bullets were handmade when time allowed for it, guns were often well taken care of hand-me-downs from other hunters who could spare them, motels were chosen for cost, not cleanliness.
Planes did not fit in to the Winchester Economic Savings Plan. Back when Mary was alive, they had taken Dean on one plane trip to Washington State for the funeral of one of John's old Marine buddies. Surprisingly, Dean had been quiet on the flight, especially considering he was only two at the time. On the flight back, they had hit some turbulence, and Dean had cried until the plane touched ground again. But he had never really shown any aversion to flying since.
When Sam got into Stanford, they had been working a case in Maine. A couple of werewolves, and there was evidence of a poltergeist haunting a nearby apartment complex, so Dad had rented some run-down house out in the middle of nowhere. Dad had basically just disowned his youngest son, but they were still thousands of miles away from Stanford, and a bus ticket would cost nearly as much as a plane ticket, so Uncle Bobby wired Sammy the cash to buy a one-way ticket to California. So the responsibility to keep Sam safe for as long as possible landed on, of course, Dean.
The drive to the local airport was short and silent. Not even the soft growl of the Impala's engine could break the growing tension between the two boys.
Sam wanted to explain. It wasn't about getting away from Dean; he would rather stay in this drawn-out suicide attempt of a lifestyle than be separated from one of the only people who ever gave a damn about what he wanted. If he could—if he thought it would make any difference, or had half a snowball's chance in Hell of working—he would ask Dean to come with him. He needed Dean to understand, to approve of what he was doing. He needed Dean's permission to leave, even if that permission didn't come in so many words.
The sign directing them to the Bangor International Airport came into view. The desperation rose in his throat as he blinked back tears. He didn't want to leave without clearing the air with Dean. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen! He had hoped that his father would grudgingly accept Sam's leaving for college before ordering Dean to take Sam to California. A road trip with his brother would clear the air, and they could get some kicks in before going their separate ways. Then Sam would meet up with them for Thanksgiving, then again at Christmas, then Spring Break. He'd spend his summer with them, researching the hunts they were going on because, even though he hated hunting, he hated the idea of his brother and father going out there unprepared even more.
It was never supposed to be permanent.
But his words caught in his throat. Dean was staring stoically out the windshield as he navigated the twisting roads towards the proper terminal. What with his no chick-flick rule, and the stony look on his face, Sam didn't know what to say to make it all better. That had always been Dean's territory, anyway. Dean was never really one for words, but when he used them, he always knew the exact right thing to say. Sam could do that with strangers, witnesses, grieving family members, but when it came to his big brother, it seemed like he always put his foot in his mouth.
Dean parked in the red zone outside of the terminal. Sam shuffled out of the car and grabbed his duffle bag out of the backseat. The two brothers stood facing each other on the cement outside of the airport. Just as Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything, Dean coughed to clear his throat.
"You got your plane ticket?" he asked. Sam patted his pocket, feeling the paper wrinkle within it, before nodding. Dean nodded, looking at some point in the distance on Sam's left. He seemed to shake himself before pulling out his wallet, opening it, and pulling out a wad of twenty dollar bills. "Here," he grunted, grasping Sam's hand and placing what had to be over $500 in it.
"Dean, I—"
"Shaddup and take it." A small smirk pulled at the corners of Dean's mouth as he finally looked his kid brother in the eyes. The duo considered each other for a long moment. Sam tried to work up the courage to say what was on his mind: that he would miss Dean, that he was so God damn thankful for everything Dean had ever done for him, that he hoped they would keep in touch despite his falling out with Dad, that he wasn't sure that he would be able to do this without his rock and hero by his side, that he was scared, that he didn't want to go without Dean.
Dean's rough voice cut through Sam's unsettling thoughts like they cut through his every nightmare. "Make me a promise, Sam?" A deadly glint flickered in his eyes. At Sam's nod, he continued. "Lay the salt lines. Don't roll your eyes at me, kid! I know you're going off to college to become some Joe Normal, but you won't get the chance if you're dead. Just do it. Who the hell cares if your roommate thinks you're a superstitious hillbilly? You'll be saving his hide as much as your own…Sam?" Sam nodded again, unable to deny his brother this last request. "Good."
Dean pulled Sam into a gruff hug, slapping him on the back a few times. Sam gripped the lapels of Dean's worn leather jacket, terror sinking in at the thought that he would be on his own for the first time ever. Even in Flagstaff he had known that Dean would come for him eventually.
"Thanks De'," he choked out, blinking back tears. He had seen this scene play out in a dozen different movies on TV, but, God, if he had known that his normal would be this painful, he would have definitely found another way.
"Don't go bein' a bitch now, Sammy. Go show those Ivy League eggheads just how smart you are." Dean smiled brightly at him, but Sam was just as adept at reading Dean as Dean was at reading Sam. Dean was struggling with his words. Dean wanted to tell him something. Sam waited, half-hoping that maybe Dean would ask him to stay, half-thinking that, if he did, Sam would say yes. "Now get going." Dean's voice never wavered, but Sam could see dangerous thoughts swimming like sharks in the green sea of his brother's eyes.
Sam sighed internally before hoisting his duffle onto his shoulder and turning away from his brother, a chill running through him as he did. Who knew when they would see each other again? Dean had been hunting for 12 years, and had about as many near-death experiences. Who would patch him up when he got hurt? Who would fight with Dad to try and get him to give Dean a break between missions? Would the next time he heard from Dad be a message saying that his brother had gotten himself killed because nobody had been watching his back?
"Sammy?" The soft voice had him whirling around, nearly clocking an old woman in the head with his duffle as she passed by. Dean was standing beside the Impala, hands dug deep into his pockets. He seemed to fight with himself for a moment before sagging in defeat. "Just…give me a call when you land, alright?"
Sam nodded morosely, turning his back once more on his brother. He straightened his back and held his head up high as he strode through the double doors into the airport, not once looking back at his elder brother.
"Flight 886 from Bangor International Airport to San Francisco International Airport went down over Lake Michigan today due to engine failure. So far eight passengers have been reported dead at the scene, while another 42 passengers have been rushed to Northern Michigan Hospital for treatment. No word yet as to how this tragic accident occurred—" Dean wrenched the steering wheel to the side as the Impala skidded over to the shoulder of the road. He was barely able to scramble out the passenger side door before losing his lunch into the gravel at his feet. He held onto the guardrail as the force of it nearly knocked him to his feet.
As soon as he felt like he wasn't going to spew all over the upholstery, he collapsed back into the car and fumbled for his phone, legs hanging out the passenger door. With shaky fingers, he typed Sam's number in, having to restart a few times because his fingers weren't cooperating with him.
"Come on, Sammy. Pick up, pick up, pick up!" he grumbled. Damn him for not having Sam write down his friggin' flight number before! If the stupid kid had just given him more of a heads up, maybe he wouldn't be imagining the worst right now!
But Dean couldn't blame Sam. He hadn't told Dean because he was afraid that he would react like their father had reacted. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to look directly into John's eyes for a while because of the things he had said about Sam, to Sam. No, Dean could only blame himself. He had known that Sam had gotten into Stanford. He'd found the letter. He'd found the bank receipt showing that Mr. R. Singer had wired Sam a crap load of money. He'd found the letter congratulating Sam on his full ride. He just hadn't had the balls to bring it up. He'd imagined that, if he just ignored it, Sam wouldn't go away. Lot of good that had done…
"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please—" The tinny voice was cut off as Dean snapped his phone shut.
"Dammit!" Dean kicked at the guardrail, pissed that it was just out of his reach.
The kid had been out of his sight for just over 3 hours, and this is what happened. Dean felt a jolt of panic settle into his spine at the thought of the plane going down, Sam all alone in his seat. Dean should have been there with him. He should've fought against Dad, driven Sam all the way to California himself. Sammy should never have gotten onto that plane. He should have been safe with his family, with both feet on the ground.
Dean sat there on the side of the road for what felt like mere minutes, but was around an hour. Every time a plane passed overhead, he flinched. Thousands of lives floating above him, left at the mercy of two dudes and the elements. He would never get on a plane. He needed to be in control: of his own safety, of people's safety, and of Sam's safety. Nobody would ever be able to do the job as well as he could.
His familiar guitar rift ringtone cut through the silence. Dean shakily flipped the phone open and pressed answer. He coughed to clear his throat. "Uh, yeah?"
"Hey Dean, sorry it took so long. We just landed and I was talking to another Stanford student who was on the same flight. Apparently one of the flights from Bangor to San Fran went down over Lake Michigan. I was actually considering getting a ticket for that flight but I went with the arrival in San Jose instead, thank God!" Sam chuckled over the phone, completely unaware that his brother was coming down from a near panic attack on the other end of the conversation.
Dean sighed in relief, pressing the receiver of the phone to his forehead so that Sam couldn't hear his breathing. Hopefully his heartbeat would go back to normal when he turned 50.
"Dean? DEAN!"
"Yeah, sorry about that pal. Dropped the phone accidentally and I'm driving. Thanks for checking in."
"No problem," Dean heard a voice call Sam's name in the background. "Hey Dean? Luis said that they're unloading the luggage, so I'm gonna have to let you go so I can grab my bag."
"Alright, Sammy. You guys have a ride from the airport to the school?"
"Yeah, we're gonna split a taxi. Why Dean? You gonna come all the way out here just to drive us?" Dean couldn't help the grin that graced his features at Sam's teasing tone.
"Nah pal, you know me. Gotta look out for my pain in the ass little brother."
Sam laughed. "Alright Dean, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, alright kid. Give me a call once you're all settled in."
"Will do. And Dean? Thanks. For everything." Dial tone rang through the connection before Dean could respond.
Dean yanked the door of the Impala closed as he resettled himself in the driver's seat. Everything would be okay. Sam was a smart kid; he'd do well in school. Sam could take care of himself, he and Dad had made sure of it. He and Dad would be fine. It would probably be easier to hunt as a duo rather than a trio anyways; neither of them would have one eye on Sam the whole time. But Dean would never step foot on a plane. Of that he was freaking positive.
A/N: So there's that. I know a lot of people write about Sam going to Stanford on a bus, but we all know that the only thing that could scare Dean that badly is something that relates to Sam's safety. Oh, and the title comes from a quote by Marilyn Ferguson, who said that "The other side of every fear is freedom." I figured, why not tie Dean's fears over Sam going to school and leaving him to Dean's fear of flying? I hope it worked out.
Please review!
