Chapter 3.

They are on the plane. Shit. On a plane. Dean is going to die. Sam is oblivious, wide eyes covering the new scenes, and hungrily taking in all the new experiences. They shuffle down the narrow aisle between seats and sit where the flight attendant indicated. Dean is more than happy to let Sam have the window seat.

Dean can feel the engines rumbling beneath them, preparing to take off, and as the door shuts and air locks, he can feel his chest getting tighter and tighter. Even though his mind is telling him everything is alright, and that logically they're going to be fine...the rest of his instincts are screaming that he and his little brother are about to die.

His fingers dig into the arms of his chair as the captain announces their take off. Here goes nothing...the worst day of Dean's life. Then they start moving and hell, Dean is terrified. The bouncing, the rising speed building and building and then nothing...

Silence and stillness except for the faint humming of the engines. They are air borne...flying. The ground is drifting away and with every foot they rise the tighter Dean's chest grows as he thinks of all the empty air between him, his little brother, and the ground.

Falling, falling, falling...its all he can think, he chokes on an attempt to breathe, his chest catching painfully every time he tries to get new air...he's hyperventilating, spots already dancing over his vision, roaring in his ears, a terrifying lightness in his head that he can't control.

Then there's two small hands pressed to his chest and he looks up with wide, wet eyes at his little brother. Sam sits with his knees in his seat, surprised eyes on him as he presses his hands to Dean's heaving chest. His mouth shapes one word. Breathe.

Everything else around Dean silences, his entire world focusing on Sammy. His beautiful brave little brother. Fox-like slanted eyes meeting his straight on with confidence, the hands on his chest knowing exactly what he's doing forcing Dean to slow down and feel every single breath he takes under the pressure of Sam's hands.

His mouth is pulling up in a reassuring smile, and showing Dean his inner strength, sharing it with him. Dean's own hands go up to clutch Sam's on his chest, to feel the soft, familiar skin of his brother...the feeling that says yes, I'm here, I'm not leaving...I've got you, you're safe.

The roaring is leaving his ears and soon Sam's voice is filtering in. "It's okay Dean, I'm here with you...remember we talked about this. It's perfectly safe, thousands of people do it every day."

Dean coughs, throat dry and sore from the harsh breaths he'd tried to pull in. He looks around wildly, thinking how lame he was and how pathetic everyone else must think he is. He can feel the anxiety catching in his chest again, meeting eyes with several people looking their way. People watching them and watching Sam while he's completely defenseless, it sends him back into overdrive.

"Hey." Sam says softly, hand on his cheek pulling his face away and back to his familiar eyes. "Ignore them. We both know you could save all their sorry lives..."

Dean covers his face with one hand, and practically buries himself in Sam's skinny shoulder. "We are going to die." He whimpers, his other hand hanging onto Sam's so tight both their skin is turning white.

"No we're not." Sam says calmly, and Dean feels a hand in his hair. "If five vamps, or those twin poltergeists can't take us out then this stupid plane is not going to either."

"Sam..." Dean lets out his uncertainty.

"Dean only..."

"If you're about to give percentages on plane crashes then I don't want to hear it, I swear I will start screaming and I won't stop until the death trap lands correctly or otherwise."

"Okay okay." Sam laughs quietly. "Just think," Sam says, trying to sound optimistic, "At the end of this we'll get to see dad!"

"Oh joy." Dean mutters flatly into the collar of Sam's jacket.

"You'll get to see your baby..." Sam's voice goes low and enticing, breaking in that cute teenager way.

Dean smiles at that...that he was very much looking forward to indeed, if he had to find John another truck himself he would. He missed her, like he would miss his right hand. Missed her rumble, her smell, missed opening up the hood and messing around even if she was running perfectly. A month without Baby was a long time.

The plane trembles with turbulence, shaking Dean from his line of thought and making Sam grimace with the renewed strength of Dean's grip on his wrist.

"The hell Sam?" He sputters, eyes shifting from one end of the plane to the other, as if expecting a crack to appear in the walls or the nose to be torn right off.

Sam sighs. It had worked for a minute, distract Dean and he'd calm down..."Our luck is shit." He complains drily. "It's just turbulence Dean, I promise, read all about it...perfectly normal."

"There is nothing perfect about it." Dean snaps back, breaths speeding up, face going whiter.

"Just calm down." Sam says seriously, hand falling from his hair and around his neck to pat reassuringly on his chest. "Just breathe and concentrate on something better."

"On something better? How about let's concentrate on living? Sam!" He squeezes his eyes shut as the plane shakes again, his grip on his younger brother and the arm rest tightens.

Silence sits between them for a moment, and Dean finds himself panicking about Sam instead. God, he's such a horrible big brother! This was new for Sam too, he was the younger one, he had to right to be scared, not Dean. And now he was having to be strong because Dean was too weak to handle this. It was shameful, so weak, so wrong...Dean's heart beats faster with the damning guilt.

"Dean, you remember that time we were hunting that ghost in Maryland? The one that split my head open?"

Dean stops at that. Of course he remembers, he would never forget...Sam's scream of agony, the blood pouring down his face.

"I remember." He says shakily.

"Remember afterwards, you were stitching me up." Dean opens his mouth to respond but Sam keep going in a steady, even voice. "It was a huge cut right behind my ear, it hurt like hell, I thought I was gonna pass out.

"But you wouldn't let me because of concussions and blood loss, but god it hurt, I couldn't even see straight."

Dean is silent as Sam's familiar voice steers him towards calmer waters.

"Do you remember what you told me to do? You said, sing Sammy, sing something for me, it'll help my hand be steadier. I believed you..."

"You sang Tuesday's Gone by Lynard Skynard." Dean says quietly, and Sam can hear him smiling.

Sam nods, "Yup, and it wasn't until after you were done that I realized what you were doing, singing made me think about something else, made me feel something else than just the pain."

"Dammit Sammy." Dean groans, "When did you get so smart?"

"Sing me something." His little brother demands instead.

So Dean does, he just hums, but it's enough to let him feel the rumble in his chest, to think about the words and the way the lyrics make him feel.

"Metallica? Really?" Sam asks after a bit.

"You didn't specify a song." Dean bitches back.

"Whatever." Sam says, look off out the window hiding the affectionate smile on his lips.

Dean hums on and off the rest of the long flight.


Dean sets foot on ground again and wants to kiss the asphalt. He would have if it was just him and Sam. Instead he and his younger brother stand together off to the side on the landing strip. They silently agree to enjoy the last few moments alone together before they go find their dad. They breathe in the chilly air, watching the clouds of warmth mist in the cold.

The breeze is sharp, cruelly finding all the openings in the boys clothes making them shiver. They're watching the last few rays of the sun slip behind the horizon, they're exhausted and jet lagged...but grateful to have reached the end of their little adventure.

No words, just a look from one brother that says. I'm glad we're still alive. Another look from the other brother that says, drama queen...same Dee, same.

They shoulder their duffles and head off to find their father. He's standing outside the airport on the curb leaning against the impala, looking just the same, looking impatient and like he's got better things to do...just the same as always. He straightens when he sees his sons coming towards him.

"Hey boys." He calls, "Hurry up, we'll get some supper."

"Great, I'm starving." Dean yells back, smirking at Sam who rolls his eyes and scoffs, knowing just a few minutes ago while that plane was landing Dean would have puked even water up.

"How was your flight?" John asks, as they reach him. Sam stalks right past him opens the car door and chucks his bag in, then turns and gives their father an uninterpretable look.

"Dad. We are never ever. Ever. Flying. Again." He states flatly, calmly climbs into the back seat and shuts Baby's door.

John looks to his oldest son in bewilderment, Dean shrugs his shoulders innocently.

...the end.

Thanks so much for reading everyone! Season 13 here we come!