Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

This very situation was literally nightmare fuel for Dean, his eyes darting around violently as the plane starts to ascend, fingers clammy and clinging to the arm rests. He was trying so damn hard to be nonchalant for you. His green eyes kept making their way to you, sitting between him and Sam, trying to distract himself from the utter terror that was making his heart race. So pretty, so perfect, so pretty. so perfect, so -

"Dean? Y'okay?"

You ask softly, fingers brushing against his tense hand. He practically whines at the touch, fingers instantly sliding into yours and holding on for dear life. You felt so damn good in every way. God, if only the freakin' plane would land and he could wear the pants in the relationship again. But for now…he was too scared for much. He pouts.

"Don't like planes."