Title: And It Blew Those Four Walls Down
Characters: Dean, Sam
Category: Gen, Angst, Missing Scene
Warning: Language. Couldn't decide which POV to use. Depressing.
Summary: "This has been a very stressful day." From the plane to the car.
Word Count: 1250
Disclaimer: This is my Father's world, but it's Kripke's playground.
Author's Note: Mmm, new fic inspired by new episode! I missed this.
And It Blew Those Four Walls Down
Dean had figured that it really couldn't get any more nightmarish than being in the room while Lucifer rose from Hell. What could possibly be worse than that? But, then, you know, a minute later he was on a plane that was falling from the sky. One more example of just how much his life sucked.
It was a good thing Dean already had the oxygen mask over his face. If he didn't need it because he was in a plane falling from the sky, he would definitely need it because...well, because he was in a plane falling from the sky.
"Dean!" Sam yelled over the roaring of wind and the shrieking of metal under stress. "Dean, man, you gotta calm down. You're hyperventilating. It's okay, we're gonna be okay!"
Dean didn't seem to hear him.
Words flowed around Dean like a pounding rain, inseparable, nonsensical. He knew the voice though, he knew that voice, it was, it was Sam, Sammy, it was his brother. He should probably try to listen to the words. Sam's words were important, right?
But it wasn't like they were true. It wasn't like they meant anything. It wasn't like he could trust...
No, he couldn't think that. He couldn't, he. He couldn't think that. Not ever.
Dean turned his head and closed his eyes, listening.
"Dean, it's... It's okay, man, the plane's leveling off, it's already over."
"What was that, some kind of laser show?" demanded the shaky voice of another passenger, already snapping off the mask, waving for a flight attendant, looking for something to blame. "Those damn rock shows, they should be more careful."
"Dean, Dean." Sam made his voice low and soothing, cautiously reaching out to touch his brother's shoulder. Dean's eyes were squeezed tightly, painfully shut, and his breath huffed in and out like a bellows.
He swatted Sam's hand away before it touched down, aware that the touch was coming even with his vision cut off and his mind ablaze with panic. And wasn't that just the way it worked for them, Sam thought bitterly.
The cartoon continued to chatter away, bumps and squeaks and slapstick broings and a jokey Looney Tunes score. Sam and Dean used to love those when they were kids. Dean still loved them, whenever he found them on basic cable. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing this one before.
He stared at it sightlessly while his brother shook beside him.
"Sir, do you need anything?"
The voice belonged to a stewardess this time, cool and sweet with professional concern. She sounded hot. Dean silently bet himself that if he opened his eyes, she would be a real looker.
C'mon, he thought. Open your eyes. Win that bet. It'll be worth it.
His eyes stayed shut.
"Don't touch him," Sam murmured, infuriatingly gentle, as if he had any right...
No. Can't think like that.
"Just...give us a minute, okay? He doesn't like flying at the best of times. I'll look after him."
"Of course," the stewardess said, already moving away.
They shouldn't draw attention to themselves. They hadn't exactly gotten onto the plane by conventional means. If someone noticed, realized that they hadn't been there the entire time...
No good. Still couldn't open his eyes.
Dean's shoulders were hunched up, his arms slightly raised as if he was still in that church, futilely defending himself from the light and fury of Lucifer's ascension. Sweat glistened like dew on his forehead and neck. The oxygen had run out but the mask remained on his face, a placebo and a shield. Sam had made no attempt to remove it and wouldn't let a flight attendant try, either.
He just watched him, knew he was staring, unblinking, that Dean would call it creepy if he could see him. His arms felt weighted to his sides, leaden and immovable. Useless.
So fucking useless.
Once again, he had screwed up and Dean was paying for it. The situation was...horrifically familiar.
Rows of white pinprick tarmac lights flowed past the window in an unending line, beads on a string, links on a chain. "Dean, we're landing," he said. Didn't expect a response and didn't get one.
More words from the flight deck, the captain still sounding a little shaken. Sam hoped Dean wasn't listening. Figured he wasn't. Dean hadn't started humming Metallica yet, so it was a good guess that he still hadn't regained control, even tenuously.
The plane quaked with the tooth-rattling thrum of wheels touching down, safe on solid ground again, and Dean finally opened his eyes.
Dean let Sam lead the way through the gates and past the baggage claim. He even let him rent a car instead of doing the sensible thing and hotwiring one. But there was no way in hell he was letting him drive.
"Just...just give me a minute, okay?"
Dean stood by the driver's door, stance aggressive, staking his claim, and Sam spread his hands and backed off, conciliatory.
Everything Sam did was conciliatory. The way he talked, the way he moved, his stupid face and his stupid eyes and his stupid everything. He even pretended that Dean wasn't still shaking a little bit, that his hand didn't tremble on the door handle, that his breath wasn't still too fast and uneven.
The night was clear and deep, though no stars were visible under the harsh lights of the airport parking lot. Dean tipped his head back, let it rest against the roof of the car, and stared up into space. Or maybe he was staring down into space, down into a deep black void that stretched into infinity and never had an ending, because three-dimensional space, right? And Earth was just a ball in the middle of it, hurtling around the sun, floating without strings, and looking up was looking down and nothing was solid out there, just photons and radiation and meteor dust and debris ricocheting off each other and expanding into the abyss, empty, empty, empty. The ground wasn't solid because it was moving too, and Dean couldn't trust his little brother to have his back, to take his side, and...
Dean drew a breath and shut his eyes again. This really wasn't helping. Had to shut up his stupid brain. Couldn't think like that, couldn't think...
And Sam's voice was distant too, far away in space, and they were just planets orbiting each other, like two tennis balls attached to those brackets you hung from the ceiling to make a model of the solar system in third grade, held apart and never touching. And it hurt, it fucking hurt, but there was nothing either of them could do about it.
"Dean," Sam said again, more urgently, and his voice was closer. Another minute and he'd be touching him, grabbing him, and Dean couldn't take that right now. Maybe not for a long time.
So he packed it all away. Shoved it in a box and pushed the lid down, and the lock was straining, the container too full, too unstable, but it held and the lid stayed down.
He straightened. It was all gone, the shaking, the ragged breathing, the damned thinking. They had places to go. They had work to do.
"Let's hit it."
Dean opened the driver's side door and got inside. Sam went around and sat where he belonged, in the passenger seat. And they drove off into the waiting dark.