Dean's always hated flying. There's something about being 35,000 feet in the air that always reduced him to tears, causing him to quiver and hide his face in his hands, pretending the window that overlooked the world below didn't exist, but the take-off and landing were always the worst parts of the journey.
We were on a plane that was about to take off and Dean kept fidgeting, the prohibition of phones and the internet now unable to take his mind off the terrifying experience that was waiting for him.
"Doesn't music help?" I suggested, unsure of what would calm him even though we had been best friends for years.
He shook his head. "No, I've tried that."
"Here, just give me your hand," he did as he was told and from the moment the plane started moving, he gripped onto it with a strong force, squeezing his eyes shut and using his other hand to cover his face, doing his best to curl up into a ball with the limited space we were given.
Once we were up and the plane settled at a constant height, he straightened up in his seat but kept hold of my hand, looking up at me with a flushed face.
"I'm sorry Jack."
"It's alright, just try and relax okay?" He nodded and then let go of me reluctantly, beginning to play with the sleeves of his hoodie. "Dean, does it help when you're holding my hand?" I asked and he nodded eagerly in reply. "Then hold onto me whenever you're scared, alright? It's what I'm here for," he smiled weakly before interlocking our fingers together and turning red again.
"Sorry."
"It doesn't bother me in the slightest, really, don't worry about it," I've always secretly liked it whenever we held hands on the rare occasion, it just feels nice and reminded me of the feelings I had for Dean that were more than just friendship that I usually kept hidden away from my attention, and gave me the crazy idea that maybe one day I could call Dean mine.
I looked down at my possibly future boyfriend as he turned and gazed out the window, chewing his lip and clutching tighter and feeling my own hand tremble as he started to shake.
I put up the armrest that was between us and nudged him to turn his attention to me.
"Come here," I let go and put my arm around his waist so he could still hold my hand if he wanted and leaned into me and sighed, but I could've sworn I saw him smile. "You're exhausted, go to sleep Dean," I knew he had been up all night worrying about the flight because I heard him constantly pacing around the place before I dropped off.
"I'll try," he mumbled, his face snuggling into my neck and clasping onto my hand again. It only took a few minutes before he was snoring softly. How close we were to each other and the way we were positioned kept me comfortable and warm, and the impact of the early start made me put my head on top of his and I began to slowly drift off myself.
* * *
Hours later we were waiting at baggage reclaim, already sweating in the California heat.
"Well, the flight wasn't too bad," Dean stated.
"Only because you were sleeping on me," I said, rolling my eyes, trying to ignore the blush that crept up on my cheeks when Dean took my hand again.
"Yeah, I guess so," he grinned. "But you love it."
"Sure I do," I grabbed our suitcase that we were sharing for the week off the belt and headed off to the exit, desperate to get some fresh air after all those hours of breathing in recycled air on the plane.
"What do we do now?" Dean questioned me.
"We'll get a taxi to the hotel and we've got tomorrow to what we want and then VidCon for 3 days until Saturday and then we've got until next Friday for our holiday."
