A16
Dale Stuckey x Reader
AN: recently got back from a trip and that kind of inspired this story. i didn’t actually meet anyone on the plane, i’m not lucky enough for that (on one of the flights i was seated next to a kid who later on wouldn’t stop shouting), but i actually was pretty nervous when boarding
You sit down with a shaky sigh, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm your nerves. It’s been years since you’ve travelled by plane and since then you’ve heard countless stories about planes disappearing or crashing or exploding or crashing and exploding or—
“Excuse me. Miss?”
You open your eyes. “Sorry?”
A man stood in the aisle of the plane, wearing a checkered shirt, dark blue jeans and a light brown corduroy jacket. Pretty put together for a flight. The man gives you a friendly smile and points to the empty seat next to you. “I’m 16A.”
Get it together, Y/N. “Right. Sorry.”
You get up from your seat and move to the narrow aisle to make way for him. He squeezes past you and takes a seat next to the window.
You sit back down, buckle yourself in, and close your eyes again. It’ll be fine. The plane won’t crash, you won’t die a horrible painful de—
“Boy, they barely give you any leg room on these things, huh?”
Eyes still closed, you offer a tight lipped smile. “Mm-hm.”
It’ll be fine, you’ll—
“I’m Dale, by the way.”
Oh my God.
You open your eyes and look over at him. His hand is extended, the friendly, almost dorky looking smile, still on his face.
You manage a faint, but friendly (and totally not fake), smile of your own and shake his hand. “I’m Y/N.”
Dale’s hand is slightly clammy but the handshake is firm and lasts a little longer than it needs to. His blue eyes shine brightly as he looks at you. Was it even possible to have eyes that blue?
“Business or pleasure?”
Before you can even respond, he goes on to tell you all about where he lives and what he does for work (“I’m a CSU technician. I see the raw seedy underbelly of the city. Not everyone can handle what I do.”) and some of the gruesome details to go along with it (“I mean, this guy had all his fingers cut off and stuffed in his mouth! Turns out his wife found out he’d been cheating.”).
It was all pretty gory but pretty interesting, though the mother sitting with her child in front of you who kept casting nasty glances at Dale, didn’t seem to agree.
The only thing that shut him up was the pilot’s voice over the intercom.
The flight attendants went over where to find the emergency exits and how to use a life vest and so on; everything that didn’t help your nerves in the slightest.
”I really don’t see how tucking your head between your knees is going to save you from a crash. You know what I mean?” Dale’s voice again.
You nod, not really paying attention as your hands clutch the arm rests.
Dale speaks again. “I mean, think about it. The plane is nose diving from thirty something thousand feet in the air and this flimsy seatbelt is supposed to help? Do you think—“
”I’m trying not to think about any of that, actually.”
The plane begins to ascend; your grip on the arm rest tightens.
Dale rambles on, completely oblivious. “I saw this video of a plane that crashed just last week—“
”Dale,” You cut him off.
“Yeah?”
”Could you maybe not talk about this right now?”
He blinks. “Why?”
”Wh—“ You look at him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but i’m kind of trying not to freak out right now.”
After a pause, he still didn’t seem to get it so you add, “I don’t like flying.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
He begins to apologize, words fumbled here and there, but it was sincere all the same. You dismiss it with a small wave of your hand.
“It’s— it’s fine. You didn’t know.”
Still looking apologetic, Dale begins to backtrack and tries to ease your nerves in his own way. “Obviously not all planes crash. I’m— I’m sure this one won’t. The pilot looked reliable enough.”
It was a sweet gesture though not really effective.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Why don’t you just tell me more about your job?”
With a small smile, clearly relieved you weren’t mad at him, he went on to talk about even more gruesome crime scenes he’s been to.
As gory as it all was, it did manage to take your mind off your fear of flying even for just a few hours. He even asked you a few questions here and there, but each answer you gave was always followed up by a lengthy comment of his own. He was a chatterbox, sure, but a sweet and fairly good looking chatterbox. At one point, you yawn and he semi-jokingly pats his shoulder and looks at you with a goofy grin as he says, “You always have a place to rest your head if I begin to bore you.”
By the end of the five hour flight you’re definitely more at ease; you laugh and continue to talk with Dale as you all file out of the plane.
Once you’re both in the airport, bag in hand, he turns to look at you. “Well… I guess this is it.” A hint of disappointment in his tone.
You were surprised to find you felt a little reluctant to say goodbye. “I guess so.”
“I really liked talking to you.”
You find yourself smiling— in reality he did all the talking. “I did too. And thanks again for taking my mind off, you know…. possibly crashing and dying.”
With a warm smile of his own, he responds, “Anytime.” He suddenly seems unsure of what to say. It isn’t something you’re used to seeing but it’s a cute look on him. After a moment he adds, “Maybe if you’re not too busy we could… you know, we could meet up for drinks or— dinner?” There’s a nervous yet hopeful look in his eyes.
“As long as you don’t talk about any dismemberments while we eat.”
He laughs a little. “Deal.”
