You had never doubted that Dean was strong, but it never really occurred to you how strong until he was gripping onto your for dear life.
“You really weren’t kidding when you said you were afraid of flying,” you winced, trying to pry off his fingers in the most sympathetic way you could manage.
“Well, yeah. Why the hell do you think I drive everywhere?” his voice had jumped an octave and his breath came in shallow bursts. Oh great, he was starting to hyperventilate.
You were a hunter, as tough as they come with a reputation as a hardened killer (monster killer, that is), so your next move wasn’t exactly comfortable for you or Dean.
“If you tell anyone about this I’m going to drain you for dead man’s blood,” you muttered. His eyes were squeezed shit but he peaked out when you took his hand in yours. “Just follow my breathing, alright? In and out just like this.”
You took a series of deep breaths, making sure Dean slowed to your rhythm. The air still hitched in his chest every time he inhaled and you thought your hand was going to break during the entire take-off, but he was significantly calmer than before.
“See?” you said, “Taking off is the worst part.”
“What about landing?”
You glanced around for a flight attendant. “About how many of those little bottles of vodka will it take until you pass out?”
