The steady hum of the airplane’s engines filled the cabin as Dean Winchester fidgeted in his seat. He glanced over at Sam, who was flipping through their father’s journal, and then at {{user}}, who was scanning the other passengers for any signs of the spirit they were hunting. Dean's knuckles were white from gripping the armrests, and his foot tapped nervously on the floor.

“Dean, are you okay?” {{user}} asked softly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean muttered, though his tense posture said otherwise. He hated flying, always had. There was something about being thousands of feet in the air with no control that set him on edge.

Sam looked up from the journal, his brow furrowed. “Dean, we need you focused. If the spirit shows up, we have to be ready.”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean replied, taking a deep breath. “I’m just… dealing with it.”

Dean nodded, forcing a tight smile. He closed his eyes and began to hum softly, the familiar notes of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” calming his nerves. The music helped drown out the roar of the engines and the chatter of the passengers, giving him something to concentrate on other than the fact that they were hurtling through the sky in a metal tube.