Hatred of Flying

I fiddled with my iPod, looking at out the dirty window. Someone needed to clean it; I could see that the skies were clear, people seemed energetic and alert, and the planes were landing smoothly and on-time. It was a perfect day for flying.

On my right, Sam's bags sat as their owner waiting in line impatiently to get our tickets. Sam's impatience was largely in part to his brother, whose eyes kept darting between the exit and the will-call line. I could tell he was determining how quickly he could run past both Sam and me to make it back to the rental car.

Meanwhile, I was cold from the blaring AC. I tried to keep warm by tugging my jacket closer and distracting myself by blasting my music. I could not concentrate for even two minutes due to Dean's skittish, sweaty, and jumpy behavior. As the minutes ticked by, he became more scared, jumping whenever the intercom announced a flight. Sam walked over with our tickets, but not before flashing Dean a reproachful look.

"I cannot understand it," I snatched my earphones out my ear, after watching him flinch for the third time in a row. "You can kill demons, you've dealt with archangels, you even went to hell. But you cannot for the life of you get on an airplane for a couple of hours? Are you kidding me?"

Dean's eyes looked at me blankly before nodding. I could faintly hear Sam mutter to himself, "You've got to be kidding me."

Because of Dean's fear, the boys normally drive everywhere most of the time. It's okay as long as at least four wheels touch the ground at all times. Unfortunately, none of us had the luxury of picking our mode of transportation, given that our destination was London. My godfather Bobby Singer called the boys while I was on a job in Kentucky. Imagine slaughtering a werewolf, dirty with blood and grime all over when the last two people show up in an Impala. The Winchesters and I go way back, from childhood friends to a settled rivalry. I might've fired a warning shot off to warn them I was not in the mood. But if Uncle Bobby sent the two most ridiculous people to help me in finding a horseman, then I'll put up with them. What I won't put up with is forcing a grown-ass man to board an airplane.

"What if it crashes, huh, Carrie?" Dean snapped, being shoved past the gate. "Then we're in the air, with no control."

I smirked, shifting my backpack. "Dean," I said sweetly as Sam shoved him past the stewardess. "That's why they have parachutes."

If looks could kill, I would be sporting a mean neck brace. I handed our tickets over, only for her to ask if he needed a paper bag.

"No, I need off this plane!"

"Dean," Sam hissed. "They're going to think we're kidnapping you. Get a grip."

This is ridiculous. I was thinking of the many ways to smack Dean into his usual sarcastic, tough persona, because leaving Sam as the rational one is more scary than the plane crashing. Not paying attention, I bumped into a cute attendant, whose eyes glared at me in pure black hate. I blinked frowning.

Down girl, I thought to myself. You get into the hunt enough, you start seeing black eyes where brown eyes are and warning signs in place of normal. I sat in my seat, staring at Dean as he started praying.

That was my final straw. Growling, I winded my arm back before clocking him in his jaw. I watched him blink before turning back to me.

"What the hell was that for!?"

"Man up!" I hissed, ignoring the looks we were receiving on the plane. "You are thirty years old, you've been on a damned plane before, and you are not praying all flight!" I narrowed my eyes folding my arms. "Do I have to call Bobby? Because I will." Both Sam and Dean's eyes widened, shaking their heads. "Then buckle your seat belt, sit back and wait until the pilot says 'Good morning, passengers"!"

Annoyed by the gawking faces, I snapped, "Problems?"

After everyone settled into their seats, I rested back into my seat. I knew Dean would still be skittish, but at least I didn't have to feel or see him. I closed my eyes, not quite going to sleep. I couldn't chance something happening, like Dean sneaking into my backpack or Sam reigniting their prank wars.

"Pillow?" the attendant asked Dean. I could hear his gruff refusal, before feeling a splash of water hit my skin.

"What the hell!" I yelled before opening my eyes. We weren't even on the ground yet and something was happening! The attendant was howling, holding her face as two more rushed for us. My instincts kicked in, sliding out of my seat and making quick work past the first demon before punching the second.

"This is why-" Dean paused to block a punch before getting tackled to the floor. "I hate planes!"

I hissed as my head got knocked to the side by a vicious punch before kicking the girl in the gut, rounding it off with a bitch slap. Now, it may be disrespectful to humans, but it made for a nice broken jaw if done right. I looked up in time to duck from the flying knife Sam threw my way. Glaring at him, he sheepishly apologized.

"Aim!" I barked. "Stupid idiot," I muttered before helping him subdue his demon, while Dean wrestled around with his. Quickly chanting the Latin words needed to complete the ritual, I collapsed next to Dean on the seat.

"I hate flying," Dean muttered. I rolled my eyes as the co-pilot staggered out the pit. I guess the demons wanted to jack the plane. They never gave up on that, as they weren't the brightest ones from hell.

"What just went on here?" He asked surprised. As the passengers looked over to us, I stood and clapped Sam on the shoulder.

"He'll explain. Right Harry?" I grinned. Motioning to Dean, we walked to our seats, chuckling to ourselves. Dropping back down I looked over to Dean's reproachful glance.

"Not a word, Winchester," I snapped, pulling my headphones out of my pocket. "Not one."