Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam smiled to himself as Castiel came back into the cabin. He focused his eyes and hands on his instruments, but couldn't help commenting. “Everything okay?” he murmured.

His copilot groaned and threw himself into his seat dramatically. “Why do I bother?”

He began to laugh. With that one phrase, Sam knew exactly who Castiel had just contacted, and about what.

“You find my infuriating relationships amusing, as always. How nice to know nothing changes. Ever.”

Sam cleared his throat, and flipped a switch before turning to face him. “I'm sorry. Tell me all about it.”

Castiel scowled at him. He was checking his instruments, and monitoring their numbers, but he made time to grumble. “You already know all about it. Because, as I say, nothing changes.”

“Ever,” Sam finished with him.

The copilot heaved a sigh. “Raph wants to get the band back together.”

Sam burst into renewed laughter. He had forced The Blues Brothers on Castiel the last time they were in Seattle for a whole weekend. It delighted him to no end to hear him occasionally reference it. “A mission from God?”

The man nodded. “Orders probably came from a place hotter and further south.”

“So what's he have to say now?”

“That if I'll just come home, he will make his cousin find someplace else to crash. Then in the same breath, he's talking about having Michael pay more rent.”

“Why did you call him anyway?”

“Because Lucien called me, and I'm sick of playing the mediator for a family I'm not even part of anymore.”

“So...you called Raph to play mediator for Lucien.”

“Of course I did,” he cried. “Because I always do! Which is why they'll never stop calling me to do it! Nothing changes! Ever!”

“Ever,” Sam repeated automatically.

“I put in my time with Raphael and his obnoxious brother, and his incredibly obnoxious cousins. I'm done.”

“Tell him that.”

“I do. Every time. No one ever listens when I try to stand up for myself. Balt left me a message too.”

Sam’s amusement stalled at that. He looked hard at his flight log. “Yeah? You're a popular ex today.”

Castiel sighed again. “Whatever. He says he wants to know how I'm doing, wants to meet for drinks when I hit London next, for old times’ sake. But I know he just wants money.”

“You going to give him-”

“Of course I will!” He threw his hands up in irritation. “Anytime anyone I've ever considered family calls me, I drop everything. I always have.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sam went over the intercom to speak to the passengers quickly, then motioned to Castiel to radio the tower their intentions and identifications. When it was all done, he glanced at his friend. “You need better family, man.”

Castiel brightened a little. “I get to meet yours now, right?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. Yeah you do.”

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Sam had finished up for the night. He washed up in his hotel room and gave a cursory look into the mirror. He needed to shave, he decided. Castiel could pull off the stubble. Sam loved Castiel's stubble. But Sam needed a shave.

A grin spread across his face as his phone thrummed out AC/DC minutes later. “I'm on my way!” he said as greeting. He threaded an arm through the sleeve of his leather jacket before juggling his key card, locker key, and wallet.

“You're slower than molasses!”

His grin became a barked laugh. “You're already drinking.”

“I'm already drunk,” Dean corrected. “Get your ass here.”

The cabbie nodded thanks for the tip, but Sam just hurried on. He hadn't seen his big brother in months, and he didn't want to waste another minute of their already too-short night.

Atlanta wasn't Sam's favorite city. Traffic was a nightmare. The sketchy parts of town were extremely sketchy, and the nice parts weren't Sam’s style. But Georgia had one thing no place in the world had that night. It had the Winchester boys.

Dean threw his arms around his brother the moment he walked in. Then came the back pounding, the arm around his neck.

Sam sighed happily as warmth rushed over him. There was nowhere in the world he wanted to be more than right there.

“Missed you, kiddo! God, I missed you!”

He chuckled. “You're trashed.”

Dean gave him an offended snort. “Hello to you too, bitch!”

“Jerk.” It was automatic, but it still made him weirdly content. That call and response had always been their way of telling one another that nothing changed between them. “Ever,” Sam murmured to himself. Now that he had been partnered with Castiel for over a year, that response was automatic too.

“What? Hey, let's drag somebody in pool. What do you say?”

“No rules about federal officers hustling in bars?”

Dean smacked him in the arm. “Shut up! I'm off duty. And don't say that so loud!”

Sam snickered, but apologized. Then he pointed to a table that was opening up in the back. “How about you just see if you can beat me, and we’ll play for the tab?”

Pure delight came over Dean's face now. “Yeah, okay. How rusty are you?”

“Not at all. I play in the members’ lounge on three continents, and in shitty bars all over the world. It's okay if you're scared.”

Dean laughed at the challenge. “Yeah. Terrified.”

“Where's the partner?” Sam asked as he shoved in to grab a cue before someone else took the table.

At last, Dean's face clouded over a little. “Back at the hotel. Sulking.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged moodily, and set up their break. “Because he's going through another divorce, and somehow that's my fault.”

“Is it?”

“No! I never even met this one! I'm saying, his wife ain't here to take it out on, so that gets to be my job.”

“Oh. Guy I make runs with is still putting up with his ex too.”

“Yeah? She his fourth? Because this is Vic’s fourth.”

Sam leaned in to break. “No. He’s his first. I mean, his only.”

Dean's eyebrows raised.

The younger man lifted his gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“He's got an ex-husband. Makes him gay, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes and lined up his next shot. “Usually what that means, yeah.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. Then: “Are you hitting that?”

Sam’s stick hit soft green instead of solid white.

His brother stared. The fact that he didn't even laugh showed just how shocked he was.

But then there was a familiar voice behind him, and he whipped around. “Hello, Sam. Is it okay if I join you?”

He could feel Dean's eyes on him as his face heated. “Of-of course! Why wouldn't it be okay? Dean, this is Cas. Cas. The guy I…”

Castiel's eyebrow peaked. “Fly with?” he prompted.

“He's my copilot. Cas. I mean, not every run. But we hook up for most connections.” His face was burning now. “Not-not hook up. I mean, he-”

Castiel cleared his throat, and reached out to shake Dean's hand. “We're a good team,” he finished for Sam. “Mostly because I know when he needs me to rescue him.”

The older brother was laughing now. “Glad he's got somebody looking out for him.”

“Always,” Castiel promised. “My foot from mouth extraction technique has been honed over the last year or so.”

Sam sent him a glare. “Shut up. You're at least as bad as I am.”

“Clearly I'm not,” he corrected. “So this is Dean. The way Sam talks about you, I sort of expected a cape and boots, maybe an eye mask.”

“They're at the cleaners.”

“Ah. Pity. You look like you could pull off the tights.”

Dean grinned. “I could totally rock a superhero costume. I'd be awesome.”

“You'd be ridiculous. What would your power be?” Sam demanded.

“Just being myself, Sammy.”

Castiel glanced at the pilot quickly.

“Sammy is a chubby twelve year old. It's Sam,” he reminded his brother.

Dean shrugged. “What? Sorry. I can't hear you over how awesome I am.” He proceeded to run the table, while Sam sat back and sighed.

Castiel's eyes were wide. “Sam? Did you just lose? I've never seen you lose before. Did you just-”

“Get his ass kicked? Yeah. He did.”

“Luck.”

Dean snorted. “No. Stupidity on your part. Never should have given me the chance. Too bad you scratched.”

The blue eyes were staring now. “Sam? You scratched?”

“I-I didn't-I just tapped the-I'm not-”

It was Dean who came to the rescue this time. “Good practice round. Thanks for letting me brush off the rust. Two out of three. Cas, you in?”

Castiel shook his head, stunned. “I better just sit back and try not to get in the way. It's like watching two wizards duel.”

“Get yourself a beer on my brother's tab,” Dean suggested, “and me and Dumbledork will show you some magic.”

The night was the best in Sam's recent memory. After two beers, he felt the edge easing off, and he began to relax. Castiel switched to water early, since their flight was before noon the next day. He watched the interactions between the brothers with wonder.

“You two aren't bad at anything, are you?” he complained after losing to the Winchesters at darts.

Dean was sobering gradually, but his buzz was still pushing him to be overly affectionate. Sam thought it was hilarious, until he put his arm around Castiel's shoulders. “We suck at losing. We ain't the Losechesters, after all.”

Sam smacked his palm into his forehead. “You did not just say that.”

“You said it first!” Dean cackled.

“Yeah, when I was like eight!”

Dean did not release Castiel from his too-friendly grip. “See, Cas...I'm gonna call you Cas.”

“That's my name,” Castiel murmured in bewilderment.

“Sam was a tiny badass. There was this other kid who tried to call him Winnie at this park we lived near. Great park.”

“Cedar Ridge.”

“Whatever. So he had enough one day, and when the kid-What was he? Two years older? And a hell of a lot bigger. Sam was scrawny. Don't believe me to look at him now.”

“Shut up.”

Castiel was watching Sam now, with a small smirk.

“So kid shoves Sam and calls him Winnie. Stupidest thing. So before I can get to him, Sam cold clocks the kid, sends him sprawling on the ground, and yells at him to call him Winnie all he likes, because at least he wasn't a Losechester. The other kid's buddies called the brat Losester the rest of that summer, and they sure as hell called this one Sam.”

They laughed. Castiel smiled fondly at Sam. “Were you a bully, Sam?”

He snorted, even as pink crept up his throat again. He picked up the darts to throw idly as he answered. “No. I was a scared little kid with anger issues and a hell of a big brother looking out for me. He's kind of an asshole now, but he was my hero growing up.”

Dean shook his head. “Guess we all better crash into our racks, huh? Long day tomorrow.”

Sam glanced at him. “You gonna be okay?”

“My kid brother at the helm? Of course I'll be okay.”

“Gonna load up on liquor before boarding?” Sam guessed.

“Damn right. Sure as hell ain't getting on that death trap sober.”

Sam laughed. “All right, man. You won at pool, so you get the tab.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Wait, what?”

“Goodnight!” Sam called behind him as he grabbed Castiel's arm and led him to the door before Dean could protest his logic.

When the night air hit them, they were laughing together. Sam couldn't remember the last time he had been so content, so perfectly happy.

Then he looked down and saw that Castiel was gazing up at him with a small smile and shallow breath. His heart began to race, as he realized he was not entirely in control of his own reactions. He should have been looking for a cab, but he was looking at Castiel's mouth. He should have been saying goodbye, and instead, he was biting into his own lip to keep from pouncing on those lips before him.

“Sam,” Castiel murmured.

He blinked, but it didn't discourage his eyes from watching those lips speak.

“Sam, I…” Finally, Castiel sighed. “Goodnight, Sam.” Disappointment rolled off the man's tongue, and he turned to walk away.

That was when it suddenly occurred to Sam that Castiel wasn't staying at the hotel. “Where are you staying tonight?” he called.

“A friend’s place.” Castiel didn't turn or stop walking.

Sam watched him go, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “A friend,” he sighed. Another name in Castiel's black book. A guy in every port. Yet another guy who would take advantage of Castiel's good heart and trusting soul. Sam hated to think of Castiel spending time with anyone, but especially those who would cause him grief. But he couldn't bring himself to call out to his friend, to offer him a safe set of arms to land in.

Nothing changed. Ever.

Chapter Text

Hannah helped him with his tie. He was too tired to do it properly himself. He surrendered to her sure fingers, and sighed. “I'm a mess.”

“You usually are.”

He smiled softly. “You aren't supposed to agree.”

“Castiel, you once told me that the correct exchange was for me to ask after you, and when you lied and said you were fine, I was to lie and say you looked well, and we were never meant to speak of it again.”

He snorted. “Something like that.”

Hannah shook her head at him. “Castiel? You look well.”

The man closed his eyes and heaved another deep sigh. “I'm fine,” he muttered automatically.

Hannah stepped back and raised an eyebrow.

Castiel pulled his blue jacket on, and then sought the pale coat that had slipped off the chair onto the floor in the night. “Thinking of going back,” he mumbled.

She stared at him with disapproval. “You've been out a long time, Cas. And you were so happy to leave that you've probably burned your bridges.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I know, Hannah, but I'm just not good at being a civilian.”

“You weren't good at the Air Force either.”

This produced a sad laugh. He loved that Hannah had no concept of tact, no matter how long he had been coaching her. He personally preferred her bluntness, though he doubted most of her other relations did.

“Cas?”

“No,” he said finally. “No, I wasn't good at that either.”

Hannah seemed to realize her mistake. “Oh, Cas, I didn't mean being an officer and a pilot. You were clearly good at that. Best we had. But I meant the structure of it all. You did it, and did it well. But you loathed it. Some of us were meant for that life, Cas, and I admit to not understanding why you were leaving at the time. But I do understand now. You're happier being miserable out here than you were being a hero back home in the military. Don't go back, Cas.”

Frustration burned in his eyes. “I still feel like I'm AWOL.” He tried to laugh again, but it stuck in his throat.

“I outrank you now. Would it help if I ordered you to stand down, Lieutenant?”

The sincere way she had said that was endearing. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You're a true friend, Hannah. Thank you for letting me stay last night.”

“I'm scheduled to be stateside again next February, unless someone starts another war. I'll send you my schedule. We’ll meet up again for a night.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

She shrugged. “If you ever decide you're not so gay, call me, and I'll use some of my banked leave,” she teased.

Castiel nodded sadly. “My life would be so much easier. I've already found the perfect woman.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “You'd be a terrible military husband.”

He had to agree with that. “If I ever find the right guy, he won't be able to fly away without me. I like my independence. But I don't like being lonely.”

“Then find one that can fly with you, Cas.”

The words buzzed in his mind all morning, as he went about preparing for the long flight ahead. He ate a sandwich at a counter, as he did every morning, in every airport he found himself haunting. Sometimes his pilot was with him. Usually not. When he flew with Sam, he knew to expect the man to sleep in till he absolutely had to be up, especially before a long flight like this, and if it wasn't Sam...Castiel never seemed to bond with any of the other pilots. There was one who did Midwest runs, who talked constantly and drove Castiel crazy, but this morning, he would even have preferred Garth’s chatty company to none at all.

So it was a relief when Meg smacked him in the arm and dropped into the chair beside him. “Hey, Fly Boy. What are we eating?” She picked up his abandoned sandwich and sniffed at it.

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

She made a strange face, then shrugged and took a bite. “Whatever,” she said. “You ready to hit London?”

He scowled. “Not as such.”

Meg watched him. “You got an ex there, don't you?”

“I have an ex everywhere,” he sighed.

She laughed in that way of hers that made him wonder if they were friends or if she just found him amusing. “Well, I'm going to a boxing match when we get there, so you and Winchester better pull in on time.”

“We’ll do our best,” he promised, as Meg popped the last of his breakfast into her mouth and stood.

“Come on, Fly Boy. Let's get this show in the air.”

Sam was already stowing his things in his locker when Castiel arrived. They glanced at one another in an awkward sort of way, but it took only a moment before they were discussing the flight, and all felt normal.

Normal for the two of them was relative.

So Castiel had imagined it last night. As they were leaving the bar, that moment that passed between them, that simple second when the world stopped turning and nearly lurched them into one another's arms, the moment that Castiel had ached over all night long...He had just imagined it. Well, nothing changed, did it? Ever.

Sam smiled at him. “Want a little entertainment?”

He looked up.

“My brother is about to board.”

Entertaining was not exactly the word for this. It was painful, cringe-worthy. Dean's teeth were clenched so tightly, he could barely speak. But he forced a smile onto his face that really just made him look like a frightened raccoon snarling, especially since his eyes were dark with lack of sleep.

His partner rolled his own eyes. “Dean Winchester, get your ass on the damn plane. I ain't holding your hand for this!”

“Back off, jackass. I said I was fine, and I'm fucking fine!”

Sam arrived through the curtain. “You okay?”

Dean's gray face turned on him. “I'm okay! I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches.”

Castiel snickered. So much for the tights and cape. “Dean, why are you doing this if you hate it so much?”

“I look like I've got a choice?” He shrugged at his partner. “So? All’s clear. Let's get off of here till we gotta get the princess boarded.”

His little brother was smirking. “Dean, we haven't even left the ground yet. If you're this tightly wound now, how are you going to handle a flight across the ocean? Vic, you can't handle this one on your own?”

Victor threw his hands up. “What? And miss the one-man show? No. Queen of England wants two escorts, and she found out he hates flying, so she requested him personally. And because of that, I gotta go, because we're attached at the freaking hip. If this is anybody's fault, it's his!”

“Damn bitch,” Dean mumbled.

Sam began to laugh. “I thought she was an important diplomat.”

“She's a damn bitch,” Dean corrected. “I'll be glad when she's an ocean away. It'll be worth the flight home knowing I'm getting further away from her!”

Castiel cleared his throat, as a face appeared behind the two Division officers.

Victor sniffed a little. “Ms. Talbot. You're a little early. We're still, uh, checking the-”

“Of course you are,” she snapped in a pretty British accent. “And is it all clear then? I'm ready to board, and I'm told I can't do that until my servant agents are certain it's safe for me to do so.”

“Service agents,” Victor corrected under his breath.

“Of course.” She looked around first class and wrinkled her little nose. “Is it safe, and is it clean as well?”

Dean smiled at her sweetly. “There's nothing here that will even scuff up your shoes, ma’am,” he drawled out.

“I certainly hope not,” she responded. “They're Christian Louboutin.” She turned to Castiel, and treated him to a fabulously wicked smile as she looked him up and down, as though he were the in-flight meal. “You're the pilot?” she purred.

Castiel met her sensuous gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. “I'm the copilot, sweetheart. And mine are Testoni. I keep my Stuart Weitzman in my Hermès handbag so they don't get scuffed. It'd be a shame when I went to show off my pedicure in London, am I right? Excuse me.” He stepped back into the cabin to continue his work.

A moment later, Sam burst into laughter behind him. He slid their divider closed and fell into his seat. “Cas, that was the single gayest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, and you once told me you sometimes blew Balt just to make him stop talking.”

He shrugged with irritation. “If she's going to try to be the diva for this flight, she needs to know what she's up against.”

“So? Who's Stuart Wentsworth?”

“Weitzman. Balt wears Testoni, and he's a clothes horse, and his aunt Naomi is always bragging about her Stuart Weitzmans. They're these ridiculous heels that cost a million dollars.”

Sam’s eyes shot wide. “People buy shoes that cost a million dollars?” He gave a low whistle. “No wonder he's hitting you up for money.”

Jo pulled the divider open and stepped in to close it behind her. “Good god, ya’ll. You met the queen in first class?”

The pilot cackled. “She's a piece of work. Nobody I know can ruffle my brother's feathers like that. And Cas just shut her down, which means it might be a pretty long flight.”

She shook her head. “What did you do?”

Castiel looked up at her. “Nothing. I just don't like the way she seemed to think Sam's plane was her private jet.”

Sam was smiling at him fondly, but he didn't need to look. He could feel it.

Jo’s hands went up. “Well, she's Ruby’s problem. And Ruby’s Meg’s problem. I'll be serving the bourgeoisie, and the masses will get Pamela and Andy.”

“Just tell Meg not to let them up here. Cas is in a mood,” Sam teased.

“I'll warn the crew.” Jo winked at them, and left them alone.

“I'm not in a mood,” he protested. “I simply don't like entitlement. That's all.”

“You didn't sleep enough last night. That's all.”

“Nothing changes.”

“Ever,” Sam finished for him with a hint of sympathy. He refocused on his instruments and log. “So? Where did you end up after the bar?”

Castiel glanced at him, but Sam's eyes were steady on his controls. He took a breath. “A friend of mine from the Air Force was on leave, and found out I’d be in Georgia, so we met up for the night.”

Sam nodded. “Nice guy?”

He shook his head, but before he could answer, the airport security and maintenance were giving them the green light to board priority passengers. He took over the routine instrument checks, because he knew Sam liked to greet certain guests. He left the divider open, and simply closed the curtain, so he could hear if Sam needed him.

And wouldn't it be nice if Sam needed him for once?

But nothing changed. Ever.

He heard the two older men sniping at one another as they boarded. Sam was taking their passes personally. “Mr. Singer, Mr. Turner, we’re happy to-”

“Yeah, yeah,” one of them snapped. “Just show us to the liquor.”

“Rufus, weren't you ever nice?”

“Nineteen eighty-”

“Oh, shut up, you old grouch. They said they were upgrading me, I shoulda told them it wasn't no upgrade unless they got him some other flight! Wheel me out to the wing, and I'll sit there happy if you just get rid of this idgit.”

“It's all good, Bobby!” Rufus called. “They got Johnny Walker!”

The other man snorted. “Well, thank the Lord for small miracles,” he muttered.

When Sam returned, he was chuckling to himself. “Dean and his drama queen are sitting across from what amounts to the grumpy old men movie. Airline didn't sell the first class seat, so they upgraded some guy in a wheelchair, and his buddy, and so now it's a little less Prada and a lot more greasy ball caps. I think I like them better.”

“Any other characters?”

“There's a kid and his mom in the back that both look like they could use a drink, but they're okay. Don't know why they were priority, except that if that lady told me she boarded first, I don't think I'd have the nerve to say no. She's little, but I bet she's scary.”

Castiel laughed. “Like Jo’s mom?”

Sam shuddered. “Like Jo’s mom,” he agreed. “Oh, and we got two lady cops in the back too.”

“I believe they're just called cops, Sam.”

He could feel the glare, and he smirked back. Sam shook his head. “Yeah, well, they've got their arms stored away. Crowley said it was like disarming Russia.”

Castiel frowned. “They can have their side arms if they're stowed properly, and separate from their ammunition, I thought.”

Sam put his hands up. “I'm not messing with Crowley's bureaucracy. He's got Atlanta’s security checks running exactly the way he wants them. Besides, one of the ladies mentioned getting blingoed by the time we hit altitude, and I'm not sure what that meant, but I think it's just as well that they're unarmed.”

Nearly forty minutes passed before they were given the go-ahead to board the rest of the passengers, and by the time that was wrapping up, Meg was finished with Bela Talbot.

“She's an absolute pain, Sam! I'm going to throw her ass off the plane. I'm just waiting till we're high enough first.”

Castiel snickered to himself.

Meg turned to him. “You want to deal with little miss Queenie? I'll happily sit next to Winchester and pretend to work for a living!”

He sneered back. “You'd be surprised to find out how difficult some of the crew are. One keeps coming into the cabin to complain, when we all know perfectly well who the truly terrifying Queen is here.”

She let a smile past her defenses. “Shut up,” she responded. “I'm an angel.”

“You're a demon queen.”

“All right, all right,” Sam sighed. “Meg, go make sure Ruby isn't sitting on my brother's lap. Cas, get us our clearance. I'm ready to get this flight underway before anyone dies.”

Meg sniffed. “What if Ruby is hitting on the old guys?”

Sam considered, then shrugged. “Let her.”

At that point, Flight 1967 out of Atlanta was given clearance for takeoff, and everyone got to work.

Chapter Text

Dean was humming Metallica. It was meant to help him relax, but he still felt like his heart was in his throat. Victor had rolled his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and promptly fallen asleep in the chair behind him. He was no help while he was going through a divorce. Normally, Dean enjoyed his company a great deal. But whenever a wife left him, he was a terror.

Next to Dean was Bela Talbot, the most beautiful, awful person he had ever met. And he had no idea what Castiel had said to her, something about a handbag, but she had only gotten more sour after the pilots had escaped into the cabin, which was, so far as Dean could tell, Hell-adjacent.

“They're perfect peasants,” Bela was hissing. “I've never been a snob, mind you, but that copilot is nothing but a chav in a dark suit! And the pilot! Did you see the way he looked at me? I'm sure I don't know what sort of dreams he’ll be having about me in London!”

At last, Dean turned to her. “I'm sure you don't,” he agreed. “Because he's gay. They both are.”

Bela looked shocked. “Well, clearly that copilot is a queen without a tiara, but the pilot-”

“Is my kid brother. My gay kid brother. And I would appreciate it if we could go the entire flight without you speculating on his dreams.”

Her mouth hung open indelicately.

The plane began rolling. Dean gripped the armrests until he could no longer feel his fingers.

“You're scared,” a small voice murmured nearby.

His eyes flew open, and he looked. Across the spacious aisle, by himself, sat a small man, who smiled grimly at him.

“It's okay. I'm scared too.”

Dean cleared his throat. “I'm fine, buddy. But thanks.”

The man just nodded. “I'm Chuck. I fly all the time, but I'm always scared. Never gets better.”

That was exactly what Dean didn't need to hear. “Perfect. Good to meet you, Chuck. I'm-” He felt the wheels of the plane lifting off the ground, and he swallowed hard. “Dean,” he whimpered.

Bela opened her book and ignored them both.

Dean focused on his breathing, and reminded himself that Sam was in charge of this thing, that there was nobody smarter or more capable than Sam. Of course, if Sam was so smart, why did he spend all of his time in a metal tube above ground?

He tried looking around at the other passengers. The curtain blocking the fragile first class from the riffraff in business was open, and he could see the first row. Unlike the premium seating he was enjoying, which was just four passengers across, two together in the middle like Dean and Bela, then one each to either side with an aisle separating them, the setup behind them was eight seats across, in pairs of two.

In the first pair, there was a very large man in a suit, with earbuds in and a blank expression on his face, as if he were concentrating just a little too hard on his music. Beside him sat a redhead Dean might have thought attractive if his stomach weren't churning too much. The next pair was empty. Either they had missed their flight, or the plane hadn't sold out. Sam had indicated that was the case, and probably why those two cranky older men got upgraded. The next pair had one empty seat, and in the other sat a blond man with earbuds on, looking at a news magazine. That was as far as Dean could see behind them.

He frowned. In spite of his discomfort as the plane climbed in altitude, his brain was whirring. He reached back behind him and swatted Victor’s leg.

“What?”

“You see the guy there with the magazine?”

Victor turned immediately. “I got him.” Then he looked back at Dean. “What about him?”

“He ain't reading it.”

His partner glanced again. “So? He's probably distracting himself from your brother's driving.”

“It's actually been a perfectly fine takeoff,” another voice cut in. “I hear you say your brother is the pilot? Boy got us in the air real easy.”

Rufus Turner snorted. “Getting us in the air’s the simple part! Keeping us there, then putting us down in one piece is the tricky part.”

“You shut up. Boy’s doing just fine. Especially for a kid that's only fourteen,” Bobby Singer laughed. “Real tall, but I don't think he's drinking age yet, is he?”

Dean scowled.

“I am,” Rufus shot back. “Where's the pretty bartender was here a minute ago?”

“He's drinking age about four times over,” the other man sneered conspiratorially.

Dean gave him a smile finally.

“Now I remember a time in ‘76, when I flew to Tokyo-”

Bobby squinted at him. “You flew to Tokyo in 1976.”

“Would you let me tell the story? So this flight was the worst of my whole life-”

“Why were you in Japan in 1976?”

Rufus turned to glare at his friend in exasperation. “You want to see my passport? I'll show you my damn passport! January 1976! Tokyo!”

“What were you-”

“What were you doing in 1976, you old coot?”

“You know damn well where I was January that year!”

“That the Sara Jane Moore year?” Rufus wondered.

“That's when she got her sentence! I was a mite busy that month!”

“Don't mean I wasn't in Japan!”

Dean and Victor exchanged glances, then turned to stare at the older men. “Sara Jane Moore?” Dean said.

“The Sara Jane Moore?”

“Who's Sara Jane Moore?” Chuck wanted to know.

To everyone's shock, it was Bela who responded. “A failed assassin who tried to eliminate Gerald Ford, a former president of your country. Honestly, does no one study history in your country?”

Rufus laughed. “Bobby here was on the squad that decided she wasn't a threat to the president. That, uh, that before or after she pulled a 9mm on Gerry in San Francisco?”

“A .38.” Bela put her book in her lap. “It was a .38, and one she was unaccustomed to. She had lost hers to a search and seizure the day before.” She smiled. “She then escaped federal prison a few years later, though they caught her and moved her to higher security. One should never underestimate a woman who feels trapped and backed into a corner.”

The men all stared at her for a moment, then Bobby cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh...Lady knows her stuff. Yeah, I was Secret Service when Passkey had two separate ladies try to take him out within a few weeks. And, yes, my team looked over Moore, and decided she weren't no threat. But I'm on record as saying she's off her mind, and they better keep a good eye on her. Others disagreed, and I didn't have much experience as of yet, so I shut my mouth.”

Dean sat back as Victor pounced, railing Bobby with questions about the old days in the service. It was a lovely distraction from flying through the air in a metal tube.

***

Tyson Brady did not dare raise his eyes to meet Yuriel’s. He listened to his music with a growing sense of excitement. Two more songs to go. Just two more, and then they were all moving simultaneously to take control of this plane. He couldn't help the feral grin on his face as he stared hard at the magazine he wasn't reading.

***

Ruby went about her duties with a smile. She avoided Meg easily enough. The bitch didn't like her, probably because Ruby was prettier, smarter, and better at the job. Not that this was her real job. Her mission came from a higher power. She refilled the glasses of Johnny Walker for the old men in first class, and continued listening to her earbuds under her hair. Just two more songs.

***

Scott was a special child. He was meant for something far more important than anyone he knew even dreamed. He was meant for greatness. So it annoyed him a little that he was in economy, while the others had taken business and first class. But he didn't care. He just had to get through two more songs, and this plane would be his.

***

Ansem stared hard at the flight attendant who was laughing with a girl a few rows ahead. Something about that guy made him angry. Terribly angry. He reminded him of himself, though he couldn't figure out why, and he didn't like it. Ansem had always been alone, had never been able to laugh like that with anyone, and here was this guy, acting like the version of Ansem that said the right things and got the right reactions. It made him angry. When his two songs were over, that was the guy he was going to aim for, and he hoped someone gave him a reason to kill him.

Chapter Text

Meg was in the cabin when Ruby’s voice went over the intercom. Her eyes narrowed immediately.

“Attention all passengers,” the silky voice called. “The pilot has turned on the seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and buckle in for now, and we will let you know when it is safe to move about again. Thank you for your cooperation!”

Castiel watched Meg’s temper flare. “Winchester, you want to confirm you did not, in fact, need me to buckle down passengers?”

Sam smirked. “I did not. And if I did? I would have said so to you, not to her.”

“What is that dumb blond bitch doing?”

Castiel glanced at Sam as Meg stalked out of the cabin and closed the divider. “That's a strange mistake, even for Ruby.”

Sam shrugged. “Could be worse. I like this crew. If I had my way, I'd do every run with you in the cabin, Meg running the aisles. I like Jo, Pamela, Andy. Ruby’s not so bad as everybody thinks. She's just got a chip on her shoulder, but I'm betting Meg did too, back in her rookie years.”

“Still does,” Castiel laughed. “It's just that she's earned it. Ruby hasn't yet.” He smiled to himself. “So...really? Me and Meg’s crew for every run? You'd choose us?”

“In a New York minute. They could line up every pilot and crew in the country, and there's no one I've ever worked with that I feel safer with and enjoy more.”

Castiel sat back in his seat to bask in that praise.

Sam looked at him. “But you know you don't need to be sitting in that second chair,” he said, and something about his tone made Castiel think he was saying something he didn't really want to be saying. “So why are you?”

He shrugged. “Everything's kind of beautiful from up here, isn't it?” he murmured. “Easy to pretend nothing down there matters.”

His pilot waited patiently. Castiel liked that about Sam.

“Things down there...I don't have the same level of confidence that I once commanded. And you know as well as anyone-better-that confidence up here doesn't always arrive on the baggage claim with everything else. Once I hit the ground...I'm not even entirely sure I belong in this second seat, let alone yours. I'm content here, Sam. It's what I want to do. I'm flying, I'm seeing the world from above it, and I'm not the pilot of record. I prefer it that way. I don't want to be anyone's boss.”

Sam was smiling at him. “I don't like being the boss either.”

“No. But you do it well.” He chuckled suddenly. “And with Meg on board, you don't even have to worry about that. She runs a tight ship.”

“Scares the hell outta me,” Sam laughed. “I consider her my boss!”

Castiel was laughing when the shouting began. He and Sam exchanged startled glances, and then he stood to go into the back to see what was wrong. Then he froze.

“Cas?” Sam demanded.

His blue eyes were wide, and his heart began to race. He turned back to his pilot with horror on his face. “Sam? Sam, the cabin’s locked down. Meg’s locked us down.”

Chapter Text

Before the blond bitch put her blade into Meg’s chest, the older woman got to the cabin divider and locked it manually with her key code. It was one of those new security measures they were always trying out, and one of the first ones in a long time she had considered worth the investment. If she hadn't done it, Ruby probably wouldn't have stabbed her. But it was the single best thing she could do to ensure the safety of the passengers, and the pilots. Especially Castiel. Meg didn't have a lot of friends. She was generally content that way. But Castiel had befriended her without warning or provocation over a year ago, and she had found herself quite attached. So when she had assessed at a glance what was going on aboard her flight, her thoughts had immediately turned to her one friend, and her duty to those in her charge.

As that bitch was running at her with her knife, Meg had time to think of how much she really hated Crowley, the jackass running security in Atlanta, since it was clear that he had allowed weapons on board in spite of his rigorous checks. That could only mean that he was in on the whole thing, probably paid to let a few things slip through. If Meg lived long enough, she was going to kill that man.

Blood rushed from her mouth, and her head rolled back. Her eyes caught fierce green ones down the aisle, and she tried to speak, tried to tell this man to protect the pilots. Something in those green flames told her that this was a warrior, like her. She choked on her blood, and let her fingers uncurl from their attempt to pull the knife out. She pointed behind her, at the cabin, and the green eyes followed her silent gesture. They narrowed.

He got it, she told herself. Whoever the man was, he understood. The pilots were the only ones who mattered, the only chance any of them had. And it was up to the owner of those green eyes to keep Ruby and anyone else from getting to them. Meg would stand watch over them herself, but things were getting so dark, and she thought it would be better to sleep, just for a minute. She closed her eyes. Just for a minute…

***

Dean's eyes flashed in fury. He had watched the life pour out of that woman, staining everything in red, and he had been unable to get to her. But he had never been more sure of anything in his life than what she had meant by her last gesture.

Sam and Castiel were locked in, and it was up to Dean to keep it that way.

The screams around them were maddening. The blond man had his gun trained on Bela, and his large friend had the pretty redhead in his grip, his own knife to her throat. The blond man was grinning ferally.

“I need everyone to kindly shut up,” he shouted with glee. “It would delight me to shoot this woman right in the face. Trust me; it really would. But I'll refrain if I can get a little quiet.”

Murmurs of desperation flooded over the whole plane, and other than intermittent sobbing and a whining baby, no one dared speak up.

“That's better. Ruby, dear, tell them what they've won.”

That sickeningly pretty voice came over the intercom again, as Ruby purred into the handheld speaker. “Passengers and crew of flight 1967, the situation is completely under control. Our demands are simple, and no one needs to get hurt. No one else, that is. Your head flight attendant will not be serving drinks anytime soon.”

Dean’s snarl was centered on this woman now. He needed just a moment, just a tiny opening, when lunging at her pretty throat wouldn't get Bela Talbot shot or the redhead’s blood spilled. He could feel Victor’s cold anger complementing his own hot wrath. Just a tiny opening was all they needed.

And they weren't going to get even that.

“Demands are simple,” Bobby Singer murmured behind him. “What are they?”

The man with his gun aimed at Dean's charge smiled. “That will be communicated to the government. Right now, your pilot is letting authorities know the flight’s been compromised. And now I compromise a pilot. My buddy here, Yuriel, he flies. We won't be needing both pilots. Nothing says these hijackers mean business quite like letting a pilot bleed out through his throat over the radio for the world to hear.”

Madness threatened to overwhelm Dean. His seatbelt was off, and he had leapt out of his seat before he realized he had even moved, but two strong arms grabbed him and held him back. Agonizing betrayal swam in his eyes as he looked back at Victor and Rufus, who each had hold of him.

“Can't,” Victor gritted out. “Dean, we can't.”

“Not yet,” the older man hissed. “Look.”

The redhead slumped to the ground without a sound. Yuriel turned to Dean with ice in his eyes. “Maybe we didn't make ourselves clear,” he suggested nastily.

The first man laughed. “How's it feel to know that girl’s death is on you, buddy? If you don't want another, you better back off. I'm on a timetable. Don't fuck with it. Ruby, disarm these guys. They're on security detail for Talbot. Our informant neglected to inform us about her escorts. I'll be killing Crowley as soon as this is all over.”

Ruby sauntered up, and reached into Dean's holster, while smirking up into his eyes. “Brady,” she laughed, “I like this one. Let's try to not kill him. He's pretty.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “Pay attention, love. Al isn't going to want to hear you got yourself shot while disarming a couple of Feds.”

She turned gracefully to show him that she now had both Dean and Victor’s sidearms in her hands. “Yes, sir.” She winked at Dean. “Another time?”

He hated her. “You really know how to hurt a guy,” he hissed through his teeth.

“I like seeing strong men lose control of their firepower. It's a kink of mine.”

Brady glanced at her again. “You get Yuriel into the cabin. You know the pilots?”

“Sure do.”

“Which one?”

Ruby considered. “The copilot is military. But the tall one...He's pretty buff for a nerd. They're both a problem. You sure we can't do without both?”

“Can you fly?” Yuriel snapped.

She glared at him.

“All that matters is the mission,” the large man murmured. “So if I get taken out, you can still land the damn plane if you've got a pilot. Hurt them both if you want. But you can only kill one.”

Ruby was pouting, but she shrugged. “Then kill the one that gives you the most trouble.”

Brady nodded. “All that matters is the mission,” he repeated softly. “All that matters is her.”

Dean watched Bela’s eyes close. “Lillith,” she sighed. “You're doing this for Lilith Blanc.”

Brady smiled at her. “Everything I do is for Lilith,” he confirmed. “And I would do anything for her.”

Chapter Text

Since he was four years old, Sam knew he was going to fly. Dean had gotten him a toy jet at Christmas time, and he had played with it every day for the next six years. Even when he got too old to really play with it, he had hung it from the ceiling and dreamed about flying it while he lay in bed. A photograph of him with his plane was in Dean's wallet at all times, he knew. He had once asked Dean how he could be so afraid of flying, while Sam himself lived every day waiting for the next time he could be above the world.

“Planes crash,” he said simply.

Sam had laughed. “Yeah? So do classic cars!”

“Not while I'm driving them, they don't.”

“Seriously, man. What is it about flying?”

“Honest?” Dean sighed. “I don't know, Sammy. You're up there in the sky, where you don't belong, and if something goes wrong, there ain't nothing you can do. I can't stand thinking about it. I don't like helpless. I don't like trapped. I ain't a control freak like you, but I don't like not having any control at all if things get messed up. That happens...you just fall. Christ, it's making my chest hurt just thinking about it.”

Dean was absolutely a control freak. And Sam did belong in the sky.

But today, over the Atlantic, it tore his heart out knowing that Dean was back there, phobic and waiting to fall, and the only thing between him and the ground was Sam himself.

Castiel was on the radio; Sam was on the computer, entering codes and checking his systems. If this were a drill, Sam would be pleased and maybe even a little smug about how well he and his crew were following protocol, and working synchronously. But it wasn't a drill, and he had heard Meg’s enraged, agonized scream, and now Ruby was going over the intercom again, and nothing made sense.

The sky was falling, and Sam’s flight was going with it.

“They took out the camera,” he murmured to Castiel as soon as he realized. Ruby would have known exactly where it was. Ruby knew everything.

“Sam? Meg. Do you think she…”

“I don't know, man.”

But then there was a new voice over the speaker, and Sam didn't like it a bit. “Hi, everyone. I'm Brady. And I'm here to send a message. This is my friend Yuriel. He's here to fly this thing if our pilots won't. And the rest of my buddies, Ansem, Scott, Ruby? They're here to kill anybody who tries to be brave, just like these two right here.”

Castiel's face was gray, and he knew his own was losing color too. “Meg,” he whispered.

But Sam’s lungs could not take in a breath. He just looked at his friend with wild eyes.

Dean. If anyone had been brave, it would have been Sam's big brother, the goddamn hero. Dean.

If Dean had been killed…

Sam couldn't even think beyond that. If Dean had been killed, on his flight, while he was responsible for the safety of his passengers and crew...If Dean had been killed on a plane, of all places, with his brother locked safely away in the cabin.

Castiel was wrestling him back to his chair. “Sam, I said no!” The deep voice was desperate but firm. “You open that lock, and you're handing them the life of everyone on this plane!”

“My brother's out there!”

“I know!” Castiel shouted. He gripped Sam tightly, then stepped away. “I know. Sam, I know. But we've got to keep them from getting near these controls. You with me? Captain Winchester!”

Sam turned his panic from the cabin door to stare at Castiel with heartbreak in his eyes. “He's my brother,” he breathed.

“He's a passenger. And the best thing you can do for him is get him home safely.”

The alert sounded again, and that horrible voice came over the speakers. “This message is for our pilot. The cabin door needs to open in ten seconds, or I shoot someone.”

“Guns,” Castiel cried. “How did they even board with them? This isn't just a couple of punks with improvised weapons, Sam! How did they-”

“It doesn't matter now!” Sam snapped.

“Open the door,” the voice said cooly.

“God.”

“Sam, we can't! You know we can't!”

“Last chance.”

Sam felt his stomach tighten, and he swallowed back vomit. “Cas, he's going to. He's going to kill one of them!”

“Sam, we…” Castiel was shaking his head, but he closed his eyes against the impossible choice.

The radio was in his hand now. “Stop! Stop now! Wait!” he cried. “Just wait.”

“This our captain speaking?” There was a wicked lilt to the man’s voice.

Sam dropped his head into one hand, and held the mouthpiece with the other. “Yes. My name is Sam. Don't hurt anyone. Just talk to me.”

“Done talking,” Brady replied.

“No!” Sam and Castiel screamed in one voice, which was buried beneath the most nightmarish sound Sam had ever heard.

Castiel's hand closed onto Sam’s, and they simply stared at one another. Disbelief swam in Sam's tears. “Father help us,” Castiel murmured.

It was the first time Sam had ever heard the man pray.

“Sammy!” Delight dripped from the voice now. “It's going to get very messy in here. Open the door, please.”

A surreal disassociation manifested in Sam's movement. In an instant, his fear and horror dissolved, and from its cocoon burst rage. Sam stood, and this time, Castiel did not dare try to stop him.

As he reached for the door, he heard it again behind him.

“Father help us all.”

Chapter Text

They had trained for this.

It ran through Jo’s mind as she stared at the man holding Andy at gunpoint. They had trained for this.

But in the drills, there were signs, things they were supposed to look for, so that they could act before there was a human shield. Before there was Andy kneeling in the aisle, with those frightened eyes, with a gun against his temple. They were supposed to yell, and shout their intentions. They weren't supposed to simply stand up and yank a flight attendant by the hair and pull their gun-and why the hell did they even have guns? What was wrong with Atlanta’s security?

The only command the guy had given was spoken with such a cold voice that the other passengers didn't dare disobey. “Keep all seat belts on. I hear even one click, and the next sound you'll hear is a bullet going into my friend's brain. Go ahead. Try me.”

Andy's eyes closed.

The other guy was hissing at the business class, where an extremely large man in a suit, and a blond man, whose grin reminded her of The Joker, were murmuring back. The man had Pamela by the hair, and a dark bruise was forming over one of her eyes.

Jo swallowed hard. Pamela must have fought. Guilt swam in her as Jo realized she had not even had the opportunity to do so. By the time she knew what was going on, Andy was already a hostage.

They had trained for this, but it wasn't going at all by script.

***

Jody Mills looked at Donna Hanscum, who was scowling darkly. She knew exactly what her friend was thinking. Atlanta security had taken their sidearms, and forced them to stow them away. They had argued, but in the end, they had let it go. They hadn't met the requirements to show the need to have their arms on the flight. They just didn't like to fly naked, that's all. At least this flight had excellent security precautions in place, they had sighed.

Or, she thought, someone in the security department in Atlanta had been compromised. That now seemed more likely.

But it could never be said that Sheriff Mills was disarmed simply because she had no weapon. She watched this Ansem person closely, and awaited an opportunity to help. Her eyes met those of a frightened flight attendant, the blond girl Jody could see had a bit of spark to her. The girl took a breath and calmed herself visibly, and Jody smiled at her tightly. Then she tapped Donna’s leg with a finger, and without further movement, pointed the girl out to her. Her sheriff friend gave a very slight nod.

They would get through this, so long as everyone kept their heads.

***

Pamela had seen this coming. She had known from the moment she and Ruby had woken up in their hotel room that something about today was very, very off. But Jo, Meg and Andy all seemed perfectly at ease, so she had shrugged off the feeling. And now here she was, with bruised knees on the ugly carpet, having been yanked by the hair out of the business area by the one who that Brady guy had called Scott. The redhead who had looked like she was about to try to help her had been cut and dropped by that awful man Yuriel, and was probably dead. Meg had screamed in a way that would haunt Pamela’s dreams for the rest of her life, assuming she lived beyond today, and she had to assume her supervisor was also dead.

That might have been the most frightening revelation. Meg was a badass bitch. Meg handled every drunk, every arrogant jackass. Any time someone had been stupid enough to try to harass any of her flight attendants, Meg had been fearless and scary. When she chose her team, she looked for those who could take care of themselves, who were strong and confident. Even quirky, friendly Andy usually fit that description. Pamela certainly did. Which was why she kneeling there with a gun to her head, and a dark swelling stealing her vision from one eye.

If they had really killed Meg, whom Pamela had considered a survivor in every way, these hijackers were capable of killing them all.

***

Bela had been certain it would be her. Why wouldn't it be? For that matter, why wouldn't they have killed her first thing, just because? They said they were doing this for Lilith. They had mentioned Al, which she had to assume was short for Alistair. If there were anyone on the planet those two would want to see dead, wouldn't it be Bela?

But when the pilots did not open the door, and the shot was fired, Bela was still alive.

She realized with a sinking heart. “You know who I am,” she whispered.

Brady laughed into her ear. “Oh, we know, Abbie. And Lilith has far worse things in mind for you than death. Hell, Abigail. That's what my Lilith has planned for you.”

“Don't call me Abigail,” she hissed. “And Lilith can plan all she likes from maximum security. They'll never let her see daylight again. Not after my testimony.”

Brady simply continued to laugh.

***

Rufus should have been dead a hundred times since Bobby met him. They had been in the military together, then had both become federal officers, and served at the side of some of the most important men and women in the history books. Then, when Bobby had lost his legs protecting a charge from a crazy man, Rufus had retired too, in order to care for him. There had been a terrible bedside manner which went with it, but Bobby would have taken the grouchy, slightly off Rufus over loneliness any day, though of course he had told the man daily how he wished for solitude.

And that was what he would have now. No more bickering over every little thing. No more yelling at one another to shut up. No more correcting each other's memories.

Rufus had put himself between that Chuck man and the bullet coming for him, as he had been trained to do for decades. Bobby didn't know Chuck, and had to assume he was a good man. But he couldn't help wishing Rufus had just let this one go.

Chapter Text

Castiel had never seen anything like it. He had known men trained to fight together who didn't possess the coordination of these two brothers.

He could see the horror come over Dean's face as Sam stormed from the cabin, but it was replaced in an instant with determination. The brothers locked eyes for not a quarter of a second, but they each knew what the other was thinking. Just a flick of eyes told Sam exactly what they were up against, and where the threats were.

Dean burst from his seat, and flew at the man holding his gun on Bela, just as Sam whirled on Ruby with a hellish fury.

Castiel shook his head, cursed quietly, and stepped out to probably get himself killed. The third hijacker, the one who must have been Yuriel, was enormous and cold, silent. Castiel charged him, and let his years of training take over.

Madness erupted everywhere.

All Castiel could think was that if he could somehow stuff Sam back into the cabin, and take the brunt of the damage himself, it was the best chance they all had to land this doomed flight. It was the best chance these innocent people had, and the best chance Sam had. He couldn't pretend the fact that Sam was the pilot was the only reason he desperately wanted to keep him safe. It was all that ran through his mind as he threw his fist into Yuriel’s face. If he could just get Sam safe, it didn't matter what happened to Castiel himself. Sam mattered. Sam was everything.

He would analyze why some other time.

It was so difficult to tell, in this close quarter chaos, what was playing out around him, especially when Yuriel had recovered his balance and began to return the attack. But it was like he could feel Sam and Dean, and then Dean's partner.

Dean had Brady on the ground, and they were wrestling. Bela had the gun in her hand now. Sam was slamming Ruby against the seat Dean had abandoned, and her head lolled back in unconsciousness. Sam turned like a dancer to assist his brother. Victor was removing a brutal blade from Meg's chest, a sight Castiel would have nightmares about, and oddly, he was tossing it to the gentleman in the wheelchair. Even more odd was the fact that he caught it and looked ready to use it. There was probably a story there, but since Castiel had just received a punch to the eye that had made his vision blur badly, he would have to worry about that later.

Yuriel went over like a tower suddenly, with a roar of pain and rage. Castiel had a moment to catch his breath, and he realized there was a young redhead on the ground, gripping her own bleeding neck with one hand, and a bloody knife with the other. Castiel stared as his vision cleared. The woman had cut Yuriel's hamstring from the ground, probably saving Castiel's life. She turned her eyes to Castiel, as if giving him an order, and it reminded him immediately of Hannah. He dropped himself down on top of the hijacker, his knee in the man's throat, with all his weight centered on it. The older man nearby was shouting at Victor to get help for the girl, and Castiel desperately wanted to know if Sam was all right. But he remained there, until Yuriel passed out beneath him, unable to take a breath or struggle out of Castiel's attack.

From his position, he could see the turmoil in the back of the plane, and as soon as he was certain Yuriel was not going to get up, he whirled on Victor. “You got this? This guy, you make sure he doesn't get up!”

Victor nodded, and looked grimly at the older man with the knife. “We got this. Go. Chuck? C’mere, man. Me and Bobby gonna deputize you. You need to help us help this girl.”

Castiel was gone before the response came.

The scene in the back was terrifying. He looked around him in confusion. “What the hell…”

A young man looked up from the chaos. “You okay? Everybody up there okay?”

He shook his head. “Uh...uh, no. We have some injured folks…” His voice faded out.

The kid and the woman with him nodded and moved toward the front of the plane. “My son is going to be a doctor, you know,” the woman said matter-of-factly as they brushed by him.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded.

A woman stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “This here is Ansem. And my buddy Jodes has got Scott in a hogtie with his own belt. Real good work if you ask me. This here flight attendant, she's gonna get herself a medal, that's for darn sure.”

“She saved this kid’s life,” the other woman called from where she was watching over her victim. She was pointing at Andy, who was still controlling his breathing, as Jo patted his back. Pamela had a cold soda can over her eye, but she looked as though she were ready to protect the two younger crew members if needed. “Can we assume you're one of the good guys?”

Castiel blinked, then nodded. “I'm the copilot.”

“Who’s flying the plane?” the woman holding Ansem down asked. Then she burst into laughter. “Always wanted to say that. Who's flying the plane? Ha!”

Castiel stepped back. “I-I better…” He turned without finishing his statement. Apparently the coach area was perfectly under control. Aside from Andy's shaking and Pamela's black eye, it looked like there were no significant concerns. On the other hand, he could still hear shouts from the front, so he hurried back.

Sam. He prayed the man was all right. The rest of them too. But, God, Sam.

The pilot was standing over Brady, heaving angrily. He was like a tower of rage, and Castiel nearly stumbled when he saw the way his powerful chest expanded when he breathed deeply.

Dean looked up at him. “Sammy?” he murmured. “What do we-Is there something we can…”

Castiel guessed that Dean was losing his adrenaline, and was beginning to feel his anxiety about the plane itself again. He stepped forward. “We can take care of everything from here, Dean, if you'll keep control back here. I would like to see you and Victor in charge of these awful people. Sam and I will be sure the authorities are waiting for them when we land.”

“They okay back there?” Dean asked.

“They're okay. We've got some tough ladies on board.”

“Speaking of which,” Dean said, and he swiped at Bela in one quick movement, snatching the gun before she could react. “Vic, let Bobby watch that one. Go get those two in the back, and do a sweep. I want all passengers in the back, any injured and this here kid medic in business, and get these sons of bitches all rounded up right up here where me and Bobby can watch them. Bobby? You up to that? I know you just lost your buddy, but I could use somebody who knows how to handle himself.” Dean held the gun out to the older gentleman. “You ought to be the one with the gun. Any of these guys get up, they'll have a height advantage over you.”

“Not after I shoot them in the legs. I find they don't run so fast after that.”

Dean nodded and smiled. “Yes, sir. Try not to kill anybody if you don't have to. Vic, see if we got flight attendants with medic training, who can help in business. And...and these two, Rufus and...what was her name?”

“Meg,” Castiel choked out.

“Yeah. Rufus and Meg, they'll stay up here for now. You okay with that, Bobby?”

“Don't you worry about me, kid.”

Dean turned to his partner. “Everybody healthy in the back. Everybody hurt or knows how to help the hurt, in business. Everybody who's a psycho asshole or who’s trained to shoot psycho assholes right here.”

Victor nodded. “I'm on it.”

“And you two.”

Castiel looked up.

“Go fly the goddamn plane!”

The pilots glanced at one another, then hurried back to their place. Castiel locked the door behind them. “Are you all-”

Sam shoved him back against the wall and pressed his lips onto Castiel's without warning. When they parted, Castiel stared. Sam's eyes were full of tears. “I'm so glad you're all right!” he sobbed. “God, Cas, if they had hurt you...I'm so-I'm just so glad you're okay! Why the hell did you follow me out there? What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking! I was thinking that the man most important to me in the world had just put himself in danger, and I wasn't going to let them have Sam Winchester.”

Sam wouldn't stop touching Castiel's face. “You could have been killed!”

“So could you! You stupid hero!”

The man sniffed down at him. “I'm sorry.”

“Damn right you're sorry! I'm your damn copilot! I have your back! Always! That's my job! So if you go out to get yourself killed, that's what I'm going to do too-”

The lips were on his again, and it was a slow realization, but gradually, Castiel's brain caught up, and he stumbled on his feet. That only made Sam hold him tighter.

“Sam,” he breathed out when their mouths parted.

“I love you,” Sam said in a tone that was nearly accusatory. “So please don't ever put yourself in danger like that.”

Castiel's heart filled with the words; his eyes filled with tears. “I love you. So I will always put myself between you and the largest threat in the room.”

Sam gently touched Castiel's bruises. “Come on. We need to do our job. Then you need to get your eye looked at.”

Pain burned inside again, as his mind was brought back to reality. “Meg,” he sighed.

“Yeah. But she died doing what she could to save us and those people out there. So let's not let her down.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, Captain Winchester.”

He had been hurrying toward his seat, but he glanced back. “It's Sam.”

The copilot took just a moment to watch the capable, large hands move with confidence across the panels.

It was Sam. Those lips, that touch, the tears...It was Sam. Maybe Yuriel had managed to kill him after all. Maybe he had reached his Heaven, and it was flying with Sam Winchester.

He took a deep breath, then sat in his space to begin radio communication with the nearest tower.

Chapter Text

Dean was never going to leave the ground again. Never. Except that he had to get back home. “Maybe I'll swim back.”

Sam shook his head. “Too cold. You'd freeze.”

“I like that you don't doubt his ability to make the swim. It's just that he's going to freeze along the way.”

The younger man looked up. “Have you met my brother? Nothing he can't do.”

Victor snorted. “Speaking of it, I'm going to stay with the redhead that took down Yuriel. Till she's ready to fly home. Seems the right thing to do.”

“I bet it does. You got a name for this future ex-wife of yours?”

“Anna. Her name is Anna. And I'm pretty sure she could kick your ass. So shut up.”

Dean smacked him on the back. “The chick took a blade to her throat, then used that same knife to hamstring a guy that was wailing on the copilot. I ain't messing with that.”

His partner smiled happily, and hurried back to his charge.

The sheriffs approached them with a bit of a saunter. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” one of them teased.

Sam sighed. “You ladies all right? You've been checked over by the medics?”

“Yup. And gave our statements to the coppers. We're so sorry about the flight attendant and the older man. They're calling them both heroes.”

Dean smiled at them both. “In all the mess, I never got your names.”

One of them gave a small wink at the other, and cleared her throat. “I'm Jody Mills. And I'm going to go check on Jo, Andy and Pam. Tough kids, all of them.”

Dean gave her a nod, but his gaze was steady on the other woman.

She laughed a little. “I'm just Donna.”

“Just? I don't think there's any chance you're just Donna. You're awesome.”

Sam smirked. For all the times Dean had made fun of his ability to flirt, the older man seemed a little out of his league at the moment.

But Donna didn't seem to mind. “Oh, Jodes and I don't like bullies, and we got the advantage that stupid people always underestimate what a girl can do. Me and Jody are on a vacation, celebrating my five year anniversary.”

Dean's face fell a little. “Oh. Congrats, then. Husband around someplace? I'd like to tell him what a lucky guy he is.”

Donna giggled, and Sam watched the way Dean looked at the pretty dimples on her cheeks. The woman was pure sunshine, in a lethal sort of way. “Oh, you betcha. He sure was. Too bad he left me five years back, or you could tell him so. Doug doesn't like ladies that have a little extra under their uniform.”

Sam was certain he had never seen Dean's eyes like that before. “Doug’s an idiot.”

“Darn tootin’. Took a lotta nights of getting blingoed on minibars with Jody to see it myself. But I'm a catch, and he's more of a release.”

“His loss,” Dean breathed.

Pamela sidled up to Sam and put her arm in his. “Could be your gain,” she challenged. Then she tugged Sam away from the two officers staring at one another. “Don't cockblock your brother, Captain.”

Sam laughed. “Sorry. It's like watching a train wreck. I've never seen him lose his cool with a girl before. The lines are still coming out of his mouth, but it's like he's never spoken to a female before.”

Pamela patted his arm. “He hit on me first thing, before we were even done boarding in Atlanta. Jo too. He was nervous about flying, but claimed it might be easier if he had something to hold onto.”

Hazel green eyes rolled heavenward. “Yeah. That sounds more like the guy I grew up with. I don't know who that idiot is.”

The swelling had gone down, but Pamela's bruised eyes still made him cringe. And he couldn't even look at the bruises on her neck from where that Scott maniac had gripped her around the throat. But still she laughed. “That idiot back there is used to flirting with girls. That’s not just a girl. That's a woman, Sam. And I think your brother is about to reach a whole new level he didn't realize was out there.”

Sam looked back in time to see Dean lower his eyes and stuff his hands into his suit pants pockets, with a goofy grin on his face. He shook his head. “I kind of like the new look,” he admitted.

“I think she does too. I'm going to take Jo and Andy out for some beers when they release us. You want to come?”

He smiled at her. “That's what Meg would do.”

“Yeah. Except with Meg it wouldn't be an offer. It would be mandatory, even for you.”

Sam gave her a sad laugh. “God, I can't believe she's gone. You know she'd been through an attempted hijacking before? And a crash once too. She was a survivor, Pam.”

“We’re the survivors now. Meg would be proud of us. And from what that man in the wheelchair told me, I think the other guy would be too. Two grouchy old souls gave their lives protecting folks today. We need to live like we're grateful for that.” She gave a meaningful nod at a man several meters away, speaking with three officers, giving his statement.

By the time Sam was done staring, Pamela had disappeared. He sighed and looked back at Castiel. But as he approached, he saw a man hurry toward the copilot from the small crowd, and throw his arms around him.

He stopped, stunned. It felt as though he had been slapped in the face. He had never met this man, had never seen a photo, but he immediately knew who it was.

“Balt,” he cried out in despair.

Sam couldn't help the sick feeling in his stomach as he drifted closer to the scene. It was silly. Really ridiculous. He and Castiel had been through a traumatic experience together. They were close friends. And, yes, they were each attracted to men. Of course there would be a moment of romantic and sexual tension between them at some point. The way they had each been so relieved to find the other safe from harm, the way they had each been suffering from raging emotions, was it any wonder they had experienced a moment of euphoria? It meant nothing, not really. He had kissed Castiel, and he needed to apologize for it. It was incredibly inappropriate, unprofessional, and just a complete breach of their friendship’s boundaries. The fact that Castiel had said those things, that he had seemed to kiss back...that was mere adrenaline.

Sam had meant his words. But that didn't make them okay to say. And he certainly couldn't hold Castiel to the things he had said in the heat of the moment.

He hated Balt. Raphael was a jackass, but Castiel had left him, divorced him, and even if he hadn't managed to entirely untangle himself from the family, he was certainly not going back. A dozen other men had broken Castiel's heart, and Sam hated them for that too, but in the end, Castiel had always been the one to leave. Not Balt. Balt had dumped Sam's friend, had knocked the air from his lungs, left him reeling in free fall. Sam knew that Balt was the only injury Castiel had never recovered from, the only one he could still feel at night.

And there he was. Holding him.

If there had ever been a chance for Sam, even a remote one, it had shattered the moment Balt had Castiel back in his arms.

“Captain Winchester?”

Sam looked desperately at the men across the crowd, watched with a sick heart as Balt leaned his forehead in to Castiel's, and whispered to him, while holding the pilot’s hands in his own. But the voice was insistent.

“Captain Winchester!”

He turned to find the queen from first class beckoning him. “What?” he demanded. Then he sucked in his breath. “I'm so sorry. I'm just-I'm tired. What can I do for you, Ms. Talbot?”

She was watching him with hawkish eyes. “I'm trying to thank you.”

Sam smiled weakly. “No, ma’am. You took pretty good care of yourself up there. I'm just glad I could help a bit.” He looked back to find Balt leading Castiel even further away.

“They've released me, and I wanted the chance to tell you that I appreciate everything you did for me and the others. You're quite brave. I'm certain that I wouldn't be alive if you and your brother and the others hadn't taken charge of the situation. Tyson Brady is a psychopath, and he's apparently in love with the psychopath for whom I was traveling to the States to begin with. My estranged sister, Lilith, who killed our admittedly vile parents and used their fortune to cause terror on two continents. There's a man called Alistair who sees her as some sort of religious savior, who seeks out broken and murderous men and women like those who attacked us, to carry on her missions. Your crew and my escorts, and the brave passengers who stepped up, you've saved far more than those on the plane. Taking these men and that woman in alive will surely lead us to Alistair, to end this at last.”

He gave her a true smile finally. “I'm glad we could help, Ms. Talbot. It sounds like you've been fighting this war your whole life.”

“And I'll continue until it's done,” she swore. Then her eyes grazed the open room they were all waiting in, until their release after debriefing and medical attention. “Now who is that?”

Sam followed the interest, and sighed. “That, uh...You mean the guy with the copilot.”

Bela scowled. “Gay, right?”

His eyes widened, and he hurried to shake his head. “As a matter of fact, I believe he's bisexual. And I think you two might enjoy some of the same designers! Come let me introduce you!”

***

Castiel was miserable. As if it weren't enough that he had let the adrenaline and passion of the moment overtake him in the cabin, effectively ruining his friendship with Sam forever, Balt had shown up and managed to convince the authorities that he simply must see the copilot. “You're the king of the drama queens, you know that, right?” he accused.

Balt was ridiculous. He was taking every opportunity to touch Castiel, to be certain that everyone in the room, especially the journalists who were beginning to slip in, knew that he was a victim here too. “I don't know what you mean! Cassie, I'm just so glad you're all right!”

The forehead touching was a bit much for Castiel. “Okay, Balt, I'm not all right. I'm exhausted. And I don't know what you think you're doing here-”

“I've been so worried, since the first moment-”

“It's only been a few hours, Balt.”

His ex-lover pouted, and pulled him aside, though he was sure to let his silhouette show to any cameras which could be near. “Cas, I was just desperate to know you were all right.”

He began to repeat himself, but then he caught sight of Sam across the room. “Well, now you know. I need to speak to my pilot. Excuse me.”

“Cas!” Balt cried out.

Castiel sighed heavily. He supposed he should be grateful that anyone was even pretending to care about him. “I'm sorry, Balt. Thank you for coming to see me. It's been a very long flight. I've never had-”

But Balt waved that away, and interrupted. “Yes, but imagine what it was like for me! All they could tell us was the flight number, and that the plane was reporting a problem, and that no one thought it was mechanical, and that only leaves so many other problems! We waited by the telly for hours, Castiel!”

“It actually didn't last as long as it felt-”

“Cas, you're just not thinking of what I've been through at all!”

Castiel frowned, and reminded himself not to make a nasty remark. Had he ever loved this selfish man? He couldn't remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Cas,” a quiet, sweet voice said behind him, and suddenly it was like air was reaching his lungs again.

He looked up at Sam, heart racing, skin and muscles aching to hold him. He swallowed hard, and stayed silent.

“Cas, Ms. Talbot is very grateful for your part in her safe landing,” Sam said. There was a bit of a sparkle in Sam's smirking eyes.

Castiel narrowed his own.

Bela nodded, but she was looking at Balt instead. “Yes, you were very brave,” she murmured as though she didn't even care if he heard.

He looked from her to Sam, then let his face light up. “Ah! Balt, let me introduce you to Bela Talbot. She's the most prestigious of all the passengers on board, without a doubt. Do me a favor, will you? I'm sure the press will be dying to have Ms. Talbot answer their questions. Would you be able to escort her in front of the cameras? It's probably very intimidating, and I know you can just turn on that natural charm of yours to help her through, after her traumatic experience.”

Balt stared in fascination at the woman. “Of course! You're English!” he pointed out.

“And so are you! How nice!”

“I really love your shoes,” Balt commented as they stepped away without even a glance at the pilots.

“You've got excellent taste,” she purred back.

Castiel deflated in a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sam.”

Hope sparked in Sam's eyes. “You aren't sorry I introduced them? I know it was probably nice to find him here waiting for you, worried about you.”

He snorted. “You mean worried that there was drama going on nearby and he wasn't a part of it? No, I'm done with that. I can't even remember why I wasn't done with it before now.”

Sam was watching him from under wayward hair, which he clawed back out of his face. “They're going to release the crew soon. It's been almost four hours. They've released nearly everyone."

He nodded wearily and stumbled into a chair nearby. “I'm tired.”

“I know. Me too. And look. I know we were supposed to share a room. But if you'd rather...Cas, listen. What happened before…”

A swirl of nausea crept up on him, and he put his elbows on his knees. “I know. It's okay. I just hope we can get past it. I mean...do you think we can?”

Sam dropped down to sit on his heels. He nodded quickly. “Yeah! Absolutely. We both...Yeah, I'd like that.” He gave Castiel one of his lovely sunshine smiles. “Does that mean you'll let me buy you a drink?”

Castiel needed to find a liquor store, and drink it. He didn't know how much it would take to wipe the memory of Meg with a knife in her chest out of his brain, or the way Sam had felt when he had kissed him. Or had he kissed Sam? That was more likely. It was generous of Sam to forgive that transgression. “How much vodka can you buy on a pilot's salary?” he teased wearily.

The man laughed. “A lot. And I had expected my brother to drink my entire paycheck tonight, but he's making other plans as we speak. So I'm all yours tonight.” His eyes widened then, and a hot flush came over his throat and cheeks. “Not like...I mean my drinking budget. All yours.”

He would have been all Sam's every night. But he would take what he could get. “Sounds good.”

Chapter Text

The beds creaked whenever either of them moved. So he knew Castiel was still awake.

“You want to talk?” he murmured quietly.

There was silence for a long time, but he was patient. Sometimes Castiel needed time to collect his words, and that was all right.

They had brought drinks back to the room, but neither had the energy to reach more than a sleepy buzz. It wasn't long before they toasted Meg, then shuffled off to get ready for bed.

Exhaustion had not given them rest, however, and each had stared into the darkness for a very long time.

At last, Castiel took a breath. “I've considered going back to the Air Force.”

Sam's eyes had slipped closed, but now they flew open. He found that he was holding his breath.

“I'm a contradictory mess. I need the structure. But I hate the structure.”

He nodded, even though he knew his friend couldn't see him.

“The egos are worse sometimes. But there are some pretty inflated egos out here too. You're the only pilot I've ever flown with who didn't think he was the first one to ever leave the ground.”

He laughed. “I'm not?”

Castiel was turning onto his side, and he did the same. He could almost see him, as though there were a very slight halo. “Really,” he said. “It's part of pilot DNA to be a bit of a conceited asshole. How'd you get through without that requirement?”

“I don't know. My brother would say I'm pretty conceited.”

“You're not,” Castiel insisted.

He shrugged. “I don't know. I guess...it's like you said as we left Atlanta. Confidence in the air doesn't always translate to confidence on ground. I guess I know my job, but I don't have anything else I can point to that's...I don't have much reason to be conceited. I'm a damn good pilot. So are you. So are a thousand other guys. And I'm not much else.”

There was silence, then Castiel was shifting, and before he knew what was happening, the copilot was abandoning his own bed to sit on the side of Sam's.

Sam drew in a thick breath. He could smell the soap Castiel had used, and a little of the vodka that lingered. He could feel the feverish warmth of a body so near. And the dark silhouette was breathtaking, ethereal. His heart raced. It was entirely unfair how badly he wanted this man, how his proximity made his whole body ache painfully. If only Castiel had meant any of the things he had said all those hours ago.

“Sam, you are a great pilot. But you are so much more than that. And...and, Sam, I've thought about it for hours, and I know I'm ruining one of the only friendships I've got left in the world. But I do love you, and I need you to know. When I said it before...I don't know what I said. I don't know how I ended up kissing you. I'm sorry for that. And if you aren't comfortable with me, knowing how I feel-”

He was breathing out of time now. It took two attempts to speak. “Cas, I do love you. I'm...I'm in love with you. Are you saying that you think I'm uncomfortable with…” He stared up and let his hand touch Castiel's cheek, gentle with the bruises. “Cas, I want you. And-and I was the one who kissed you!”

But not this time. This time, it was Castiel's hungry mouth which initiated the contact, and Sam let out a soft whine. Castiel's body responded by lowering onto his.

Sam let his head fall back on the pillow, and then Castiel was on his throat, nipping and kissing, tasting. “God,” he moaned. “How could you think I didn't want this? I've wanted this since the minute we met!”

“I would have been yours since the minute we met,” he swore in a hot breath against Sam's neck. “And every minute after.”

“This isn't just some post-traumatic psychological-”

Castiel lifted his head finally. “Sam? Shut up. I'm going to make love to you, so unless you've got objections or suggestions, please just let me.”

He sighed happily. There was no chance he would argue with that.

The events of the weekend would drudge on for months. They would spend more time in conference rooms and courtrooms and at funerals than in the air for a very long time. But they would support one another through the hard times. They had lived through flight 1967 together, and walked away heroes and lovers, with a badass extended family. There was nothing they couldn't face as a team. Sam would always be selfless and courageous, and Castiel would always put himself between Sam and the largest threat in any room.

Some things just didn’t change. Ever.