“Winchester Air Flight 23 to New York City will begin loading passengers in fifteen minutes. Winchester Air Flight 23; loading in fifteen minutes,” chimed an entirely too cheerful woman over the speakers of LAX.
Dean grimaced and downed his whiskey with the air of a man desperate for salvation.
Sam looked up from his tablet and smirked at the stiff expression on his brother’s face. “Really, Dean. This is one of our planes. How can you still be scared of it?”
Dean raised a finger and pointed it at him. “Shut up.”
Sam’s smirk widened. Dean waved at the bartender and got another couple of fingers of whiskey which went down as quick and desperately as the last one. Dean pulled a couple of twenties to pay for his drink and got to his feet.
“I‘m gonna hit the head,” Dean said.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said absently. “Ten minutes until we board.”
Dean grimaced and stalked off, picturing the vengeance he’d exact on Sam the next moment he got his hands on clown pictures, or dolls, or fucking real clowns. It would happen damn it, even if he had to hire an entire circus to haunt his brother‘s steps.
He pissed, flushed and was heading for the sink to wash his hands when the sight of his haggard grey-toned skin brought him to a stop. He shook off his reaction, scowling at himself.
“Get a fucking grip,” Dead growled, as he angrily pumped out pinkish goop which apparently passed for soap in an airport terminal. “You‘ve flown before. Flight 23 isn’t going to fall out of the sky!” Yet! Added a traitorous little voice in his mind which sounded suspiciously like Sammy at his most annoyingly cheerful. Dean rinsed his hands and splashed water into his face, his eyes tightly closed.
“Would it help, if I told you I have one of the best flight records in the world?” asked a deep, gravely voice, in a wry tone.
Dean cautiously opened one eye to see the reflection of one helluva good-looking guy staring back at him through the mirror as he stepped next to Dean at the adjoining sink. Messy dark hair and blue-eyes which burned at him with mute intensity brought a flush to Dean’s checks. Then Dean noticed the pilot’s uniform.
“Yeah, that‘s not actually going to help, thanks,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Hmm, how about the fact that the Winchester‘s Impala class planes have never crashed? Ever?” The man rinsed his hands and tilted his head as he kept staring at Dean.
“It just means they‘re due,” Dean said, and instantly paled, thinking he’d just jinxed himself. “Fuck this. I can drive to New York!” Okay, he’d be late for the meeting with Bobby and their board of Directors but goddamn it it’d be worth it. Who the hell in the company had decided it was a good idea to send their co-owners across the country in the same plane? He was going to find out and make Sam fire them.
“Too bad, it isn‘t that often I get to meet such a good-looking passenger. And here I had a stopover for two days in New York,” the man shrugged and walked over to dry his hands before heading for the door.
The sight of that ass in those uniformed pants kicked Dean into gear. Just the thought of getting his hands on that... “Fuck, okay, I‘ll be on the plane. And I‘ll definitely be free for two days.”
As the he turned around, the devastating smile which spread across the pilot’s face nearly brought Dean’s heart to a stuttering stop and completely short-circuited his thoughts.
“Great, then, I‘ll see you in New York.” The blue of the pilot’s eyes was even more intense as he leaned close to Dean, picking his newly dried hand and holding felt-tip which seemed to appear out of nowhere. He wrote a phone number on Dean’s left palm, shooting him one last intense glance before he walked out the door.
By the time Dean got back to Sam with four minutes to spare before boarding, he had a shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“I have a date for New York,” Dean said smugly.
Sam looked up from his tablet, and stared at him incredulously. He checked the time in his phone and then back at Dean with more disbelief on his face. “You were gone for six minutes. How in the hell did you pick up a date in six minutes? And at an airport? Wait.” Sam’s nose scrunched up. “Was it in the airport bathroom?”
Dean’s grin damn near cracked his cheeks. “Yeah.” Sam bitch-face was epic. “Hey, last time I got my Mile High Club card it was with a stewardess. Do you think I‘ll get bonus points for a pilot?”
“Winchester Air Flight 23 is now boarding in Gate 5. Winchester Air--”
“That‘s never gonna happen in mid-air,” Sam answered instantly, even as he stood up to grab his carry on and laptop bag. “Wait, did you just say pilot? From our flight? As in one of our own employees?”
Dean grabbed his luggage and led the way to Gate 5. For the first time in entirely too long, maybe ever, he was actually looking forward to an airplane flight, well… to arriving at a destination in a plane.
He bet a hundred bucks he’d be able to talk the pilot into wearing the uniform for him.
“Jesus, Dean. This is how we get slapped with sexual harassment suits,” Sam complained, looking thoroughly aggravated.
“He came on to me. It was like something out of porn,” Dean smirked, enjoying the grimace on Sam’s face. It may not have been brought about by clown-riddled vengeance, but damn if it didn’t feel awesome.