Fic: Fly the Friendly Skies
Title: Fly the Friendly Skies
Author: discreetmath
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1850
Summary: Castiel is a flight attendant, and Dean is the unreasonably attractive pilot he can't get off his mind.
A/N: Betaed by the endlessly patient haughtymelodic. ILU BB.
Disclaimer: Characters and anything else recognizable do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing them.
Sometimes Castiel feels like he can't stop embodying stereotypes. He frequently insists that there is no correlation between his job and his sexuality, but most people who know he's a flight attendant (including his brother Gabriel, the traitor) immediately assume he's gay.
He is, but that's not the point.
Castiel is aware that the other common assumption about flight attendants is that they sleep around. With pilots, specifically, and he's made sure never to fall into that practice. He'd never really been able to get into the idea of casual sex, and seeing a few of his coworkers end up with broken hearts (or a sudden, pressing need for antibiotics) had disabused him of any romantic notions about the glamour of transcontinental air travel.
He's seen some amazing places (albeit usually just overnight) and he's come to really love his job over the past three years. He knows he isn't as... effervescent as some of his coworkers, but he's been told that his polite, quiet nature is calming to passengers. So things have been good, consistent, until a few weeks ago when he was assigned to the flight from Philadelphia International to Paris-Charles de Gaulle. He'll be working with the same crew making that trip several times a week for the indeterminate future. That's not the issue, though. The problem is that the pilot on this crew is Captain Dean Winchester, life ruiner.
That's not to say that he's not a nice guy. Dean is one of the nicest pilots Castiel has ever met. He's always friendly, and he's never condescending to the flight crew. Beyond that, Dean is criminally attractive, so combining that with his pilot uniform (and the hat, Jesus, the hat) has the cumulative effect of turning Castiel into a stammering mess around him. He supposes it could be worse. Every female flight attendant on the crew (and one of the men, thank you, Balthazar), flirts with Dean shamelessly. He's always friendly in return, but he frequently seems uncomfortable with it. Castiel supposes having all of that attention focused on you all the time could make an already small plane feel downright claustrophobic. He wouldn't really know.
The upside is that his newfound inability to behave normally in social situations means that he couldn't have flirted with the pilot if he wanted to. He's too busy focusing on projecting the image of a sane, functioning human being when Dean is around. At least that way he's saving himself a bit of embarrassment.
---
After a week or so, Castiel has finally gotten used to seeing Dean and is able to refrain from blushing in his presence. He's even been able to have a few brief conversations with him, and he's starting to think he might be getting over his crush. Until one day he realizes that he's really, really not.
It's common knowledge that Castiel is not a morning person. He's never been late, and he always gets his work done, but interacting with other people within two hours of waking up is generally impossible if he hasn't been caffeinated. So one morning around five, Castiel is sleepily wheeling his overnight bag onto the plane when he bumps right into something solid. He looks up and blinks for a minute when he finds himself about six inches from Dean Winchester, who's grinning down at him. Another round of blinks and he notices Dean's hand resting on his shoulder, presumably to steady him. His stomach gives a not-unpleasant flip. He glances back up, searching for something to say, when he hears a voice behind him.
"Hey, Cassie, do you think we could move this along? Some of us would like to make it to Paris before the day's out."
Castiel shuts his eyes and silently curses Balthazar in four different languages. When he opens them, Dean is still smiling.
"Morning Cas," he says simply, before holding up a paper cup. "Thought you might need this."
Castiel's heart jumps at the nickname, totally at odds with his annoyance over the one Balthazar uses. Something about hearing it said in Dean's low voice makes him fight down a shiver. He realizes he's been standing there saying nothing for a few moments, long enough for Balthazar to shoulder his way past him onto the plane.
"Er… thank you, Captain. You didn't need to do that." The way he quickly snatches the cup belies his words, and Dean laughs.
"Please, call me Dean. At least while we're on the ground."
Castiel nods before taking a long sip of the coffee. It burns his mouth, but it's strong and delicious and he feels his eyes drift shut in pleasure.
"Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it. I am quite tired this morning."
"No problem, Cas. I hope you like it. It's a red eye," he adds, sounding like he's trying not to laugh. Castiel cracks one eye open and squints at him.
"Did you just make a pun?" he asks, frowning in mock disapproval.
"Nope, definitely not," Dean says, contrite. "Won't happen again, boss," he assures him with a smile.
"See to it," Castiel says sternly, before smiling as well, and are they flirting? He's not really sure. He gives Dean a final nod before heading to stow his bag, not amused to find that his blushing problem is making a comeback.
That's just the start of it. Over the next few weeks, Dean frequently lingers outside of the cockpit, unwilling to leave the cabin until he's at least greeted Castiel. As welcome as the attention is, he's not willing to give anybody (including Dean) the impression that there's some inappropriate flirtation going on between them, and he always keeps their conversations short.
It's difficult when Dean flashes him a shy smile, one that he hasn't seen him give anybody else. But he hasn't worked this hard to be some pilot's one night stand. Assuming that Dean is gay. Which he seems to be, right? It definitely seems like he's flirting, but Castiel usually tries to derail this train of thought immediately. He's sure it's all in his head, anyway.
He thinks he's doing a decent job of keeping things under control, although the knowing smiles and encouraging eyebrow raises he gets from Anna make him realize he might be wrong about that.
---
A month of overnight trips to Paris later, Castiel is pleased to have something to show for it besides his burgeoning crush on the pilot. He's been taking miniature sightseeing trips at every opportunity, traveling to one landmark at a time to make use of his brief stays in the city. Before he was hired at the airline he'd never been out of the Midwest, so he doesn't take these opportunities for granted.
So far he's seen the Eiffel Tower (obviously), the Arc de Triomphe, the Musee d'Orsay, and several other tourist landmarks. He's got souvenirs from all of them and pictures that he's looking forward to putting on the walls when he has a little bit of time at home. Tonight though, he's not feeling the tourist experience. He's feeling muddled from a combination of jet lag and his increasingly confused feelings toward Dean. After letting Anna know where he'll be, he leaves the crew drinking in the hotel bar and makes his way into the Paris night, desperate for some air. It's late, but they have a full day before their return flight so he's not terribly concerned.
It's only a few blocks to the Left Bank, and he finds a bench to collapse onto before leaning back to watch the Seine. The city lights are reflected on the water, and the only boat he sees is some distance up the river. It's beautiful, and he takes a deep breath, feeling himself relax.
Castiel doesn't know how long he's been there when he hears footsteps approach. He turns his head slightly, nervous, and sighs with relief when he sees that it's just Dean behind him. Though he tries not to stare, it's impossible not to notice how good the other man looks in jeans and a black button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is kind of mussed and no. Not staring. Castiel turns back to the river.
"Mind if I join you?" Dean asks, leaning on the back of the bench and into Castiel's peripheral vision.
"That's fine," Castiel answers softly. "How did you know I'd be here?"
"Anna told me," Dean responds, sitting down next to him. "She also gave me an elbow nudge that I think was supposed to be meaningful, but it just kind of hurt."
That startles a chuckle out of Castiel, who shakes his head.
"Yes, well, Anna seems to have gotten the wrong impression about our relationship." As soon as the statement is out of his mouth, he's wishing he could drag the word relationship right back in. Dean just looks at him though, one corner of his mouth turned up slightly.
"Has she?" he asks quietly. Castiel focuses very intently on a stone in the sidewalk, feeling his face turn red. "I'm going to tell you something, Cas," Dean continues. "It's important you know this. I don't… I don't hook up. I know other guys in my line of work do, but I just can't do that shit. I try to avoid getting involved in general, because relationships are hard as hell with this job. But I don't know what it is, I can't stop thinking about you."
Castiel looks at him, not sure what to say. He doesn't really trust himself to say anything. Dean makes a frustrated noise.
"Damn it, that's not true. I do know what it is. It's a dozen little things I've learned about you. It's that every other person on that crew has gotten so disillusioned and cynical, and they're all back at the hotel bar complaining about being stuck in France. France, for God's sake. But you've been coming here as long as they have, and look at you. I know you're not new at this job, but you're still excited to be where you are. You give a shit." He drags a hand down his face and sighs. "I know I'm not making any sense, but I just want you to know. I like you. I want to know more about you. I just want to be around you, whatever I can have. Even if it's just as friends."
Castiel stares at him, wide-eyed, even less sure of how to respond than before. So he takes a chance, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Dean's. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.
"Me too," he murmurs, hoping Dean will get it, that he'll hear all of the things Cas isn't saying. The other man's smile makes him think maybe he does.
"So what do we do?" Dean asks. "I want to do this right, but I haven't dated in a while."
Cas slides a bit closer on the bench, smiling when Dean takes the hint and puts an arm around his shoulders.
"Have you ever been to the Pantheon?"
"Um, nope," Dean responds hesitantly. "I haven't."
"Would you like to head over there tomorrow, buy a postcard for my brother, and then spend the day gorging ourselves on French cuisine and making out?"
Dean beams.
"I knew I liked you," he chuckles, and he leans in to kiss Cas again.
Author: discreetmath
Rating: PG
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1850
Summary: Castiel is a flight attendant, and Dean is the unreasonably attractive pilot he can't get off his mind.
A/N: Betaed by the endlessly patient haughtymelodic. ILU BB.
Disclaimer: Characters and anything else recognizable do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing them.
Sometimes Castiel feels like he can't stop embodying stereotypes. He frequently insists that there is no correlation between his job and his sexuality, but most people who know he's a flight attendant (including his brother Gabriel, the traitor) immediately assume he's gay.
He is, but that's not the point.
Castiel is aware that the other common assumption about flight attendants is that they sleep around. With pilots, specifically, and he's made sure never to fall into that practice. He'd never really been able to get into the idea of casual sex, and seeing a few of his coworkers end up with broken hearts (or a sudden, pressing need for antibiotics) had disabused him of any romantic notions about the glamour of transcontinental air travel.
He's seen some amazing places (albeit usually just overnight) and he's come to really love his job over the past three years. He knows he isn't as... effervescent as some of his coworkers, but he's been told that his polite, quiet nature is calming to passengers. So things have been good, consistent, until a few weeks ago when he was assigned to the flight from Philadelphia International to Paris-Charles de Gaulle. He'll be working with the same crew making that trip several times a week for the indeterminate future. That's not the issue, though. The problem is that the pilot on this crew is Captain Dean Winchester, life ruiner.
That's not to say that he's not a nice guy. Dean is one of the nicest pilots Castiel has ever met. He's always friendly, and he's never condescending to the flight crew. Beyond that, Dean is criminally attractive, so combining that with his pilot uniform (and the hat, Jesus, the hat) has the cumulative effect of turning Castiel into a stammering mess around him. He supposes it could be worse. Every female flight attendant on the crew (and one of the men, thank you, Balthazar), flirts with Dean shamelessly. He's always friendly in return, but he frequently seems uncomfortable with it. Castiel supposes having all of that attention focused on you all the time could make an already small plane feel downright claustrophobic. He wouldn't really know.
The upside is that his newfound inability to behave normally in social situations means that he couldn't have flirted with the pilot if he wanted to. He's too busy focusing on projecting the image of a sane, functioning human being when Dean is around. At least that way he's saving himself a bit of embarrassment.
---
After a week or so, Castiel has finally gotten used to seeing Dean and is able to refrain from blushing in his presence. He's even been able to have a few brief conversations with him, and he's starting to think he might be getting over his crush. Until one day he realizes that he's really, really not.
It's common knowledge that Castiel is not a morning person. He's never been late, and he always gets his work done, but interacting with other people within two hours of waking up is generally impossible if he hasn't been caffeinated. So one morning around five, Castiel is sleepily wheeling his overnight bag onto the plane when he bumps right into something solid. He looks up and blinks for a minute when he finds himself about six inches from Dean Winchester, who's grinning down at him. Another round of blinks and he notices Dean's hand resting on his shoulder, presumably to steady him. His stomach gives a not-unpleasant flip. He glances back up, searching for something to say, when he hears a voice behind him.
"Hey, Cassie, do you think we could move this along? Some of us would like to make it to Paris before the day's out."
Castiel shuts his eyes and silently curses Balthazar in four different languages. When he opens them, Dean is still smiling.
"Morning Cas," he says simply, before holding up a paper cup. "Thought you might need this."
Castiel's heart jumps at the nickname, totally at odds with his annoyance over the one Balthazar uses. Something about hearing it said in Dean's low voice makes him fight down a shiver. He realizes he's been standing there saying nothing for a few moments, long enough for Balthazar to shoulder his way past him onto the plane.
"Er… thank you, Captain. You didn't need to do that." The way he quickly snatches the cup belies his words, and Dean laughs.
"Please, call me Dean. At least while we're on the ground."
Castiel nods before taking a long sip of the coffee. It burns his mouth, but it's strong and delicious and he feels his eyes drift shut in pleasure.
"Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it. I am quite tired this morning."
"No problem, Cas. I hope you like it. It's a red eye," he adds, sounding like he's trying not to laugh. Castiel cracks one eye open and squints at him.
"Did you just make a pun?" he asks, frowning in mock disapproval.
"Nope, definitely not," Dean says, contrite. "Won't happen again, boss," he assures him with a smile.
"See to it," Castiel says sternly, before smiling as well, and are they flirting? He's not really sure. He gives Dean a final nod before heading to stow his bag, not amused to find that his blushing problem is making a comeback.
That's just the start of it. Over the next few weeks, Dean frequently lingers outside of the cockpit, unwilling to leave the cabin until he's at least greeted Castiel. As welcome as the attention is, he's not willing to give anybody (including Dean) the impression that there's some inappropriate flirtation going on between them, and he always keeps their conversations short.
It's difficult when Dean flashes him a shy smile, one that he hasn't seen him give anybody else. But he hasn't worked this hard to be some pilot's one night stand. Assuming that Dean is gay. Which he seems to be, right? It definitely seems like he's flirting, but Castiel usually tries to derail this train of thought immediately. He's sure it's all in his head, anyway.
He thinks he's doing a decent job of keeping things under control, although the knowing smiles and encouraging eyebrow raises he gets from Anna make him realize he might be wrong about that.
---
A month of overnight trips to Paris later, Castiel is pleased to have something to show for it besides his burgeoning crush on the pilot. He's been taking miniature sightseeing trips at every opportunity, traveling to one landmark at a time to make use of his brief stays in the city. Before he was hired at the airline he'd never been out of the Midwest, so he doesn't take these opportunities for granted.
So far he's seen the Eiffel Tower (obviously), the Arc de Triomphe, the Musee d'Orsay, and several other tourist landmarks. He's got souvenirs from all of them and pictures that he's looking forward to putting on the walls when he has a little bit of time at home. Tonight though, he's not feeling the tourist experience. He's feeling muddled from a combination of jet lag and his increasingly confused feelings toward Dean. After letting Anna know where he'll be, he leaves the crew drinking in the hotel bar and makes his way into the Paris night, desperate for some air. It's late, but they have a full day before their return flight so he's not terribly concerned.
It's only a few blocks to the Left Bank, and he finds a bench to collapse onto before leaning back to watch the Seine. The city lights are reflected on the water, and the only boat he sees is some distance up the river. It's beautiful, and he takes a deep breath, feeling himself relax.
Castiel doesn't know how long he's been there when he hears footsteps approach. He turns his head slightly, nervous, and sighs with relief when he sees that it's just Dean behind him. Though he tries not to stare, it's impossible not to notice how good the other man looks in jeans and a black button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is kind of mussed and no. Not staring. Castiel turns back to the river.
"Mind if I join you?" Dean asks, leaning on the back of the bench and into Castiel's peripheral vision.
"That's fine," Castiel answers softly. "How did you know I'd be here?"
"Anna told me," Dean responds, sitting down next to him. "She also gave me an elbow nudge that I think was supposed to be meaningful, but it just kind of hurt."
That startles a chuckle out of Castiel, who shakes his head.
"Yes, well, Anna seems to have gotten the wrong impression about our relationship." As soon as the statement is out of his mouth, he's wishing he could drag the word relationship right back in. Dean just looks at him though, one corner of his mouth turned up slightly.
"Has she?" he asks quietly. Castiel focuses very intently on a stone in the sidewalk, feeling his face turn red. "I'm going to tell you something, Cas," Dean continues. "It's important you know this. I don't… I don't hook up. I know other guys in my line of work do, but I just can't do that shit. I try to avoid getting involved in general, because relationships are hard as hell with this job. But I don't know what it is, I can't stop thinking about you."
Castiel looks at him, not sure what to say. He doesn't really trust himself to say anything. Dean makes a frustrated noise.
"Damn it, that's not true. I do know what it is. It's a dozen little things I've learned about you. It's that every other person on that crew has gotten so disillusioned and cynical, and they're all back at the hotel bar complaining about being stuck in France. France, for God's sake. But you've been coming here as long as they have, and look at you. I know you're not new at this job, but you're still excited to be where you are. You give a shit." He drags a hand down his face and sighs. "I know I'm not making any sense, but I just want you to know. I like you. I want to know more about you. I just want to be around you, whatever I can have. Even if it's just as friends."
Castiel stares at him, wide-eyed, even less sure of how to respond than before. So he takes a chance, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Dean's. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.
"Me too," he murmurs, hoping Dean will get it, that he'll hear all of the things Cas isn't saying. The other man's smile makes him think maybe he does.
"So what do we do?" Dean asks. "I want to do this right, but I haven't dated in a while."
Cas slides a bit closer on the bench, smiling when Dean takes the hint and puts an arm around his shoulders.
"Have you ever been to the Pantheon?"
"Um, nope," Dean responds hesitantly. "I haven't."
"Would you like to head over there tomorrow, buy a postcard for my brother, and then spend the day gorging ourselves on French cuisine and making out?"
Dean beams.
"I knew I liked you," he chuckles, and he leans in to kiss Cas again.