AN: Yes, I'm sure every fic writer on the planet is writing this scene. But I just had to.

6x04 Spoilers. Don't read it till you've seen it. Seriously.

Edit: Fixed Sam's car name. Thanks, CeCe Away!

Dean can do this

He faced monsters. He just killed a Lamia, for fuckssake, and he still doesn't really know what the fuck a Lamia is. Some kind of Greek-monster-whatever. He killed it. He saved Sam's ass, a first since his return to hunting. By the way, ha!, little brother, ha!. Yeah, you're fine hunting alone. Super. Totally would not get maimed by knight of the zodiac there.

Anyway, he faced monsters. He killed monsters. He shot werewolves, beheaded vampires, gutted demons, killed freaking angels.

He is Dean Friggin' Winchester, vessel of Heaven's most fierce Archangel. Who, by the way, said no to Heaven's most fierce Archangel. Nope, Mikey, sorry, no can do.

He faced on Heaven's most fierce Archangel and the literally goddamned Devil himself, with pretty much nothing more than the shirt on his back. No weapons, no plan, just his sheer badassery.

He is Dean Winchester. Baddass. Fearless. *Fearless*. Okay?

He can fucking do this.

He is not afraid. He can do this.

It's just a freaking airplane. What the fuck is he, five? A girl? A five-year-old girl?

He says an annoyed 'no' to Sam's offer to take this on his own. Yeah, so what if Sam has been hunting alone for the past year, if he is Hunter Almighty now, if he most certainly can take care of a simple salt and burn on his own. Oh, wait minute, didn't Mr I-Can-Do-This-On-My-Own just had his ass handed to him by a monster with the easiest way of killing they ever saw ever? Ok-ay. Dean is coming.

Dean is not afraid.

Dean-is-not-afraid.

He gets his new credit card and just uses up the limit on it. Two tickets, executive class. If he's going on an airplane for nine freaking hours, he's not going to save his fraudulent money. He's going to have a sit that reclines, because he's thirty-fucking-two and too old for this shit. And if he has to board a plane naked, he's sure as hell getting some actual metal silverware on his dinner. He justifies it to Sam with some bullshit on how the airplane folks probably annoy rich executive class people less so they can worry less about their fake passports and, oh yeah, the fact that they are presumed-dead-fugitives traveling abroad. Sam doesn't buy it for a second, but the guy that bought a frigging Dodge Charger after 20-plus years of bitching about how the Impala drew "too much attention, Deeeeaaaan" knows when to keep his frigging mouth shut.

He can do this.

Oh, fucking hell, they're on the air for half a fucking hour and another one of these bumps? Dean is going to the pilot and driving the damned thing himself. Once he can move.

He feels something heavy bouncing across his chest and starts. Sam's iPod. Little bitch. He's in a frigging airplane, he has a steady girlfriend, a surrogate kid, he's-in-a-frigging-airplane, but he is NOT listening to a frigging iPod. A man gotta know when to draw the line. Sam seems to read his mind, for once. He has the nerve to roll his eyes before speaking.

"Dude, Mettalica."

And, oh.

Oh.

Okay. Mettalica.

"What…", he starts, but Sam cuts him.

"Full discography."

Huh. Full discography. More than enough for the next eight and a half hours.

Ok.

Dean can do this.

But he better be torching Crowley when he gets there.