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‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking. We hope you're enjoying your flight with us today, and that our sir stewards are providing you with everything you need. The captain has turned on the fasten-seatbelt sign as we're approaching some mild turbulence. Please remain in your seats with your seat belts securely fastened until further notice. Thank you.’
“Fucking hell, Jesus, shit, crap, oh God, fuck.”
Dean, who hasn't even considered taking his seatbelt off for a second during the hour in the air so far, grips the arms of his seat and clenches his teeth. There are a great many words in the English language he despises (vampires, demons, lettuce, cats, Crowley, to name a few), and ‘turbulence’ is pretty high up on that list. Next to him, the elderly couple make shocked, disapproving sounds and tut loudly at his language. He can't find it in himself to care, and ends up glaring savagely at them until they disappear behind their newspapers muttering about ‘bad boys’ and ‘never when we were young’.
He has the aisle seat, and is currently unsure whether he made the right choice. He hates flying. With a burning passion. (OK, lets not say the word ‘burning’ when the plane could literally explode at any second and take Dean along with it, that can happen you know?) He had spent a solid ten minutes at check-in debating with the poor girl at the desk about whether he would be safer by the window or by the aisle. His logic was that if he's sitting pinned by the window that he's trapped and can't escape if something were to happen. Her logic, which he hated, was that if something happens he's pretty much trapped regardless, since planes are just long tubes with wings, with nowhere to run to, so he should just pick a seat and settle his nerves. By this point, he's sure she was getting pretty rattled with him. But her final pearl of wisdom was a good one: an aisle seat means he's closer to the flight attendants, and the flight attendants serve snacks and drinks. And alcohol; although she was careful not to mention it he knows she was referring to a stiff drink when she said ‘settle your nerves’. And he’s had three already.
Two air stewards are making their way slowly up the aisles, asking people to put their belts on and removing any rubbish they might have. Dean watches them intently, more to have something to direct his attention on to than anything else. One is tall and well-built with a soft Cajun accent and a nice smile. The other is dark-haired and pensive-looking, his voice rough and gravelly and he looks just a little bit irritated by everyone. Dean huffs out a laugh as the guy approaches, and tries to stop his hands from shaking. Wrong job to choose if you don't like people.
“Any trash?” The guy materialises at Dean’s side a moment later, wearing his almost imperceptible frown, and Dean shakes his head. The elderly couple next to him ignore the air steward completely. He's about to move on when Dean’s hand shoots out of its own accord and touches his elbow. The guy turns back to him with what is clearly a very fake, plastered-on smile.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Uhm.” Upon closer inspection, the air steward actually has really pretty eyes. Sapphire blue, lined with thick lashes and he blinks just a little slower than normal, holding Dean’s gaze evenly. He's momentarily distracted by where he is, and his brain tries to come up with a cheeky line to use on the guy, but suddenly the plane lurches and drops half a foot and Dean lets out a very unmanly squeak of terror. The air steward has gripped the back of his seat to steady himself, and has moved a step closer in doing so. He smells o cinnamon.
“Sir?” He's looking down at Dean still, this time with an expression of consternation on his handsome face. “Are you all right?”
No! Get me out of this flying death trap! “Yes. I'm fine.” A couple of octaves lower, Dean. You haven't been a teenager for years. “Could, uhm, I get a drink? Please?”
“As soon as the turbulence has passed we’ll be coming through the cabin with drinks and snacks. I'm sure it won't be long.” The guy moves as if to leave and Dean, a swell of nervous desperation rising inside him, reaches out to grip his arm. The guy raises an eyebrow but doesn't speak.
“Please. Just really quickly. I really hate flying, and-” The plane lurches again and shudders, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut in reaction. When he opens them again, the guy is looking down at him impassively, waiting to be released. His cheap gold name tag reads ‘Castiel’. Huh. Odd name. “Please.”
“I'll see what I can do.”
Castiel pulls his arm away from Dean’s clenching fingers and moves on to the couple behind, and Dean tries to regulate his breathing and remember some of the meditation crap Sam had been spouting to him. Deep breaths, logical thoughts, distractions, oh God, what if we crash? He slams his eyes shut again as the plane judders and tries to think of good things. Pizza, his Impala, playing pool with Bobby, Netflix and porn… shit, that was a bit lurch. Oh God!
“Sir?”
He manages to prise his eyes open just long enough to see a set of baby-blues looking back at him. The air steward has returned and is crouched next to him, holding a glass of something that looks and smells alcoholic. Dean manages to take it without shaking too badly, although unsticking his fingers from the arm of his seat had been a challenge. The steward smiles, a proper smile, and it transforms his whole face. For a moment, Dean is speechless and just stares.
“There you go! I hope that helps. You just let me know if you need anything else, OK?”
And then he's gone, and Dean twists to watch him walk away. That was weird. He didn't seem half as grouchy this time. Maybe he snuck a shot of whiskey whilst pouring one for Dean, that could explain it. He watches Castiel walk away down the cabin towards the rest area at the back, and can't help but notice how nice his ass is. Damn.
Then the plane grumbles, trembles and lurches again and Dean downs the whiskey in one swallow, closing his eyes and holding on for dear life.
*
“Was he all right?”
“Fine, Cassie. Scared shitless, but fine.”
“Should I check on him?”
“Why?” Jimmy busies himself with sorting through the menus from their earlier flight, grimacing at the food choices. “The vegetarian option is always terrible. They need a new chef.”
“I'll pass on your feedback.” Castiel twitches the curtain, peering down the aisle to seat 34C, where the nervous passenger’s arm can be seen, his hand white-knuckling the arm of the chair. “He might need something else.”
“What else?” Jimmy glances curiously at his twin. “I gave him the drink he wanted. He didn't ask for anything more.”
“Well. You know. Maybe he didn't wish to bother you.”
“Oh, and you're wishing he'd bother you, is that it?” Jimmy laughs, wrapping an elastic band around the menus and stashing them in a tiny cupboard. “Cassie. I swear you fall in love five times a day. At least once per flight.”
“I do not.” Red in the face, Castiel lets the curtain drop and grabs for a handhold as the plan trembles. “And sit down, you're making me nervous.”
Jimmy is about to protest but the plane cuts him off by swaying in the air and plummeting at least three feet: shouts and frightened cries echo from the cabin and Castiel catches his brother around the waist as he stumbles forward and almost hits his head on the corner of a cabinet.
“Shit. OK, big brother, you may have a point.” Jimmy takes a seat and fastens his belt, only to look up and see that Castiel has done the exact opposite. “Hey! Where are you..?”
“I think everyone's OK.” Castiel is poking his head outside the curtain again. The turbulence seems to finally be subsiding, and everyone is settling in their seats again. He can see Benny further down the cabin, calming a frightened young mother and her child, and Meg’s soothing voice comes from somewhere nearby as she reassures someone. He can't help it: his own gaze is drawn to Dean, and he's moving down the aisle before he can stop himself.
The guy really is handsome. Truly. Tanned, honeyed skin and dark blonde hair that Castiel is certain was artfully styled when he entered the plane. It's now a mess thanks to nervous fingers constantly playing with it. He's in a soft-looking t-shirt which shows of muscular forearms, and he even has a scattering of freckles across his nose which Castiel finds incredibly endearing. Cute, even. Although he's sure the word wouldn't be well-received: the guy looks like his alpha-male exterior is well intact. Well, it was until the turbulence, now it seems to have slipped a little.
“How are you doing?” He speaks softly enough so as not to startle the guy, but just loudly enough to be heard. His head swivels to look up at Castiel, and his face is a picture of sheer panic.
“Crashing? Are we going to crash?”
Castiel gets the distinct impression that he's walked in on a very fierce internal conversation. “No. We aren't going to crash. Believe it or not, this isn't unusual for us. But I understand that it's unsettling. Can I get you a bottle of water?”
A pause, into which the guy seems to be breathing heavily and his throat works as he swallows multiple times. Then, “Dean. I'm Dean.”
“Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel.” He would shake Dean’s hand like a gentleman, but it seems like the guy’s fingers are glued to his arm rest. “I think the worst of the turbulence has passed. Are you doing OK?”
“Do you think? Yeah?” Dean looks hopeful at this, his eyes sparkling a bit as the overhead light catches them just right. “I swear, I'm normally a helluva lot braver than this. It's just… yeah. Planes. Not a fan.”
“I gathered,” Castiel says drily and Dean squints up at him, unsure if he's being teased. Jimmy picks that moment to saunter up, now apparently deciding to be the epitome of perfect air steward.
“Sir? How are you feeling? Is there anything any of us can get for you?” He receives a sharp jab to the ribs from Castiel, but it doesn't wipe the syrupy smile from his lips.
“Holy crap. Am I seeing double here, or…?” Dean is wide-eyed, staring up at the twins with undisguised shock. Castiel shakes his head while Jimmy barks out a laugh.
“No, buddy, you're not. Double the fun on this flight. Cassie, I assume you're capable of looking after him while I attend to the rest of the plane?” An exaggeration. They have four flight attendants for a reason, but Castiel allows Jimmy to push past him and amble on up the aisle. He pulls a face at his brother’s back, then turns back to Dean.
“Seriously though, Dean. Can I get you anything?”
“No.” His hold on the seat arms hasn't relaxed much. “I don't think any more alcohol would be wise. I don't want to throw up.”
“No, I agree.” Fighting against his nerves and his instincts to run because why would this handsome, dreamy guy want to be stuck talking to him, Castiel crouches down by Dean’s seat to give them a little more privacy. “Flying is statistically the safest form of travel, you know?”
“Yes, I've heard.” Dean inclines his head to look at him, and Castiel is momentarily lost for words at how pretty his eyes are. Emerald green, and currently wide with concern. He wonders how they would look with the pupils blown wide due to something else entirely… “But it doesn't feel like it. Feels like we’re going to drop out of the sky.”
“We’re not.” Again, against his better judgement, Castiel does something he's never done for a nervous passenger before. He covers Dean’s straining hand with his own. “It's OK. Only half an hour left, you're going to be just fine.”
“Really? Half an hour?” Dean doesn't look comforted. In fact, he looks downright disheartened at the news. “That's forever.”
“It isn't. It will pass quickly, I promise you. We’re starting our descent into Dallas in a few moments.” Sensing that keeping Dean talking is the key, Castiel soldiers on a bit, hoping Meg and Benny don't mind picking up his slack. Jimmy will mind, but he doesn't care too much about that. “Are you heading there for business or pleasure?”
“Work, mainly. Meeting my brother. We run a… family business.”
“Well, that sounds great. I've heard Dallas is a nice city.”
“You've never been?” Dean’s eyes are reflecting surprise now, and Castiel allows a small smile to touch his lips.
“No. I've only seen the inside of the airport and the hotels. I don't get much time to explore, the turnaround is normally pretty quick.”
“It's beautiful. You really should-” Dean cuts himself off as the seatbelt sign flashes once more, and his eyes once again take on MLS terror. Castiel’s hand squeezes his, gently, reassuringly.
“It's all right. Really, Dean. You're going to be fine.”
“Oh, God.” As the plane lurches and drops again, Castiel reaching to steady himself on the seat in front, Dean turns horrified eyes on him and claps both hands to his mouth.
“What is it, Dean?” Dark eyebrows furrow in concern, and a warm hand touches his thigh. “What do you need?”
“I'm going to be sick… Cas, can I…”
Castiel never learns what the rest of Dean’s sentence was going to be, because half a second later the guy throws up. All over him.
*
Dean allows the elderly couple to elbow past him and bites back a retort as they muster and grumble about him to each other. He waits until almost all the passengers on the plane have disembarked before dragging his duffel bag down from the overhead bin and making his way, shakily, to the exit with one goal in mind: getting his feet back on solid ground. He's still shaky, nauseous, and more than a little embarrassed. Then, as he approaches the exit, Castiel sends him a reassuring smile and his mouth runs a little drier. OK, maybe he has two goals in mind. Three, if you count endless grovelling to the person you vomited all over. Castiel is in a fresh shirt and his hair is still a little damp; Dean’s stomach again clenches, this time with humiliation.
“Thank you for flying with us,” Castiel says as he approaches. His freakishly identical twin stands at his side, grinning. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.” Dean moves aside to let a young family off, then it's just him, Castiel, and the twin left on the plane, with the other air stewards already disembarked and doing whatever it is they do. “Thanks for… the flight. I'm so sorry. Really.”
“It's fine. I'm glad you were all right in the end.” Castiel is studying his face, the vaguest hint of a smile at his lips, and do his cheeks look just a little pinker? “Flying can be difficult if you're not used to it.”
“Yeah. No. I mean, yes, it is and no, I'm not used to it. I hate it.” He says it with a little more vehemence than intended, and the twin snuffles, clearly attempting to hide a laugh.
“I can see that.” Castiel’s smile is warmer now, and they just sort of stand there, looking at each other, neither moving towards the stairs to leave the plane.
“Oh, for the love of God.” The twin rolls his eyes in exasperation and places his hands on his hips. Up close, the differences between them are more amplified. Castiel isn't as dramatic or exuberant as his brother, and he's a slightly heavier build. More muscular, Dean thinks with a spark of interest. Before he can say anything more to Castiel, his brother interjects.
“Look. You guys need to get moving so we can get off this plane because I need a shower, a coffee, and a fucking cigarette. So, Cassie, are you going to ask Mr Nervous Flyer out or do I really have to do it on your behalf? We aren't fifteen any more. And I think the ice between you has been sufficiently broken. Or, well, drenched.”
“Jimmy!” Castiel definitely flushes now, right to the tips of his ears, and looks simultaneously mortified and scandalised. “I don't know if… he probably doesn't want…”
Before Dean can respond in the affirmative that he does want, and that he's so, so sorry for the whole projectile-vomiting thing, Jimmy opens his mouth again. “OK. 34C, do you want to go out for dinner with my brother? We’re stopping here overnight before heading bask to Chicago, and I could use a break from him. He's a little annoying. I nominate you to entertain him instead; do you accept?”
It's the most bizarre, infuriating, idiotic and downright stupid way Dean has ever been asked out but he can't help it. His embarrassment melts away somewhat, a grin spreads across his face and he's nodding. “Sure, Jimmy. I can show Castiel the sights of Dallas for a few hours.”
Castiel is blushing furiously and looking at the ground, but a hint of a smile appears at his lips and he glances up at Dean. “You sure?”
“Hell yeah. Here,” Dean fishes in his wallet and hands over a card with his number scribbled on - he had written it out just before the plane landed, just in case he got a chance to give it to Castiel before he got the hell off the flying death trap. “Give me a call later? I know a great burger joint if you're into that sort of thing.”
“I am.” Castiel looks relieved and excited at the prospect of going for dinner with Dean. “I’d love to have dinner. I should probably shower first though…I'll see you later?”
“Yeah. See you, Cas. I promise I won't puke on you this time.”
They grin at each other and part ways. Dean descends the stairs, breathing in the warmth of the Texan air and congratulating himself on surviving the (albeit pretty short) flight with only minimal (OK, maximum) embarrassment. Behind him, he hears the twins erupt into a babble of excited, angry chatter - no doubt Jimmy is getting an ass-whooping for not leaving the whole asking-Dean-out thing to Castiel, and he can't help but grin. Fiesty twins. If that isn't something straight from any guy’s wet dream… But he finds himself disinterested in Jimmy, and only has thoughts of Castiel as he walks through the airport, already wondering what to wear and if he should make a reservation.
Sam is waiting for him at the arrivals gate, full of excited babble about a case he's found which he's sure is a wendigo but he wants Dean’s opinion and should they set off tonight or is Dean too tired? He definitely pulls a spoilt, sad puppy face when he's told that no, they can't go tonight because Dean has a date.
“A date? With who?! The pilot? An air stewardess? Who could you possibly find to ask out on a plane, Dean?”
Sam shuts up pretty quickly when Dean confirms that yes, it's one of the air stewards, and if he dares open his mouth again he won't come and hunt the wendigo at all and Sam will have to go solo. He knows his brother wants company on this hunt, and the threat works: the cab ride to the motel is quiet save for minor chit-chat and Dean bemoaning the state of the Impala. She had been backed into by a truck a week ago, and is currently sitting in Bobby’s yard half-mended by Dean’s own hands. He misses her, and can't wait to get back to finish fixing her and polishing her up.
I wonder if Castiel likes cars…
I can't believe I puked on him.
I can't wait to see him…
*
The first date goes well, with no untimely incidents. Three days later, the second goes even better and Castiel never ends up using his room at the airport hotel…