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"Well, that went well," Sam said.
"Well?" Dean hissed. "Well? Sam, we're in frickin' England!"
"Exactly," Sam said brightly. "Better than crashed somewhere over the Atlantic."
Dean had to take a deep breath at that reminder. That was exactly what they'd boarded the plane to try to prevent - it had been a proper, old-school phantom traveller this time, not some new-fangled demon. And it had all gone smoothly, much to Dean's relief, no near-crash, no freaky dives. No one on board had noticed a thing.
Of course, the downside of that was that the plane hadn't been diverted or turned back, and Dean had found himself stuck on a plane to frickin' England for more hours than he liked to think about. Sam had ended up giving him a hand job beneath the airline blanket in an attempt to stop him from freaking out entirely. It had worked well enough to keep Dean in his seat, rather than yelling at the flight attendants to turn the plane around. It hadn't worked well enough to keep him from humming Metallica for most of the remaining, endless hours, rather than sleeping.
"Breathe, Dean," Sam reminded him, grabbing his arm and steering him through the baggage collection point. "We're there now, it's all good."
"It is not all good," Dean said. "England, Sam! What part of this is not getting through to you?"
Sam flashed a smile at the bored-looking officer at the customs desk, and hustled Dean out into the Arrivals area, past the crowds of people waiting for loved-ones. "Dean - look, come on, let's go grab a coffee or something, you'll feel better after that."
Dean doubted that. Having a gun would make him feel better, or even a knife or two. Being back in America would make him feel better. Coffee was not going to help anything at this point.
"We've got to get back, Sam," he said, once they were finally sitting at a tiny table with mugs of coffee.
Sam put a hand on his knee under the table. Dean hadn't even realised his leg was bouncing up and down nervously until then. "Dean... Man, do you really want to go and jump straight onto another plane for seven hours?"
Dean felt the blood drain out of his face. Fuck. He was so screwed.
"Look, it's fine," Sam went on hastily. "Seriously, Dean, when did we last have a vacation? We can stay here for a week or two before we go back, see the sights."
The only sight Dean really wanted to see was his car, safe and sound in the airport parking lot, waiting for him, but it didn't sound like he was going to get to see that any time soon. "Sammy..."
"We can afford to take a week or two off," Sam said encouragingly. "We could go see the Tower. And the haunted house in Berkeley Square."
Dean took a gulp of his coffee. "I guess." That would be pretty cool, admittedly. Definitely better than being trapped in another plane.
"And I bet there's other things worth seeing," Sam said. "Hendrix lived in London, didn't he?"
"Yeah, he did," Dean said, perking up at the thought. "Fine, Sammy, if you don't want to fly back yet, I guess we can stick around here for a while."
Sam leaned back in his seat and grinned at him. "Gee, thanks, Dean."
"No problem," Dean said airily, and took another gulp of his coffee. It actually tasted pretty good.
"Shall we go find a hotel, then?" Sam got to his feet.
Dean followed him through the crowds. He hated being among so many people, especially when he wasn't armed. And he could still feel the adrenaline from the plane ride jittering under his skin, just starting now to shift into something else, heating up his blood. In fact...
He changed direction, tugging Sam along with him.
"Hey, where -?" Sam began, then cut off as Dean dragged him into the men's room. "Dean..."
Dean grinned. He had a lot of adrenaline to work off, and a favour to repay.