Imagine Book 2

Turbulence and Trust- Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Fem Y/N

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Dean Winchester gripped the armrest of his seat so tightly his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him. The plane hadn't even taken off yet, and he was already fighting the urge to bolt down the aisle and back into the relative safety of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, placing her hand over his. Her touch was warm and grounding, and he forced himself to look at her. Her eyes held nothing but understanding and affection. "We're going to be fine. I've got you."

He managed a weak smile. "Yeah, sure. Flying death trap's totally fine." But he didn't pull his hand away from hers.

The flight attendant began the safety demonstration, and Dean's breathing quickened. Every word about oxygen masks and emergency exits made his heart rate spike higher. Y/N shifted closer, her thigh pressing against his, and began tracing small circles on the back of his hand with her thumb.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I went skydiving?" she asked, clearly trying to distract him.

Dean's eyes widened. "You jumped out of a perfectly good airplane? Voluntarily?"

Y/N laughed, the sound musical and light. "It was amazing. The free fall feels like floating, not falling. Kind of like being suspended in the clearest, bluest pool you've ever seen."

"Yeah, well, you're braver than me, sweetheart." He jumped slightly as the engines roared to life. "Shit."

"Dean Winchester, you literally fight monsters for a living. You've faced down demons, vampires, and God knows what else. This is just a little two-hour flight to Olympic National Park, where we're going to have an amazing week together." She squeezed his hand. "And I'm right here."

The plane began to taxi, and Dean closed his eyes, trying to focus on Y/N's touch, her presence, the subtle scent of her shampoo. He'd faced down the literal apocalypse multiple times, but somehow being in a metal tube thirty thousand feet in the air terrified him more than any monster.

As they accelerated down the runway, Dean's free hand clutched at his knee. Y/N leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. "Just breathe with me, baby. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it."

The plane lifted off, and Dean's stomach lurched. He could feel the blood draining from his face. Y/N immediately reached into the seat pocket and pulled out the airsickness bag, placing it in his lap just in case. Her other hand moved to the back of his neck, massaging gently.

"You're doing great," she murmured. "We'll be at cruising altitude soon, and it'll feel much smoother."

Dean nodded mutely, focusing on not throwing up. The plane climbed higher, and his ears popped painfully. Y/N dug in her carry-on and produced a pack of gum, offering him a piece. "The chewing helps with the pressure," she explained.

Twenty minutes into the flight, Dean had managed to relax slightly, though his grip on Y/N's hand hadn't lessened. She'd pulled up a movie on her tablet and offered him one of her earbuds, choosing one of his favorites – Die Hard. The familiar action scenes helped distract him, at least until they hit their first patch of turbulence.

The plane dropped suddenly, and Dean let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Y/N quickly pulled the tablet away as his face went green, and he grabbed for the airsickness bag. She rubbed his back soothingly as he was sick, murmuring soft words of comfort and offering him water once he was done.

"God, this is embarrassing," he groaned, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Some tough hunter I am."

"Hey, everyone has their kryptonite," Y/N said, running her fingers through his hair. "Remember how I screamed like a little girl when we saw that spider in the bunker last week?"