្.˚⠀━━━⠀⠀DEAN VS PLANES!
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❛ BOHEMIAN ━━ BOOK ONE ❜
𑁍ࠬ¸𓍢 ━━ ❪ SUPERNATURAL ❫ ˖ ୧ 。
𓆸 ┊ ⠀CHAPTER NINE ⠀┊ ❀
◟ ✦ NOTHING'S GONNA CHANGE. ❞
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BOWIE WINCHESTER FELT LIKE A MILLION BUCKS in his suit and tie as he stepped into the warehouse behind his brothers and tried his best not to trip on his oversized work shoes.

     Dean continued to smooth down his tie in hopes no one would stare at it, practically sweating and nodding when people passed so they didn't comment.

     Sam, however, purposely and loudly named all the breeds of cat on his tie.

     Quickly the brothers pulled out their forged Homeland Security badges, the three flashing the man behind the counter matching smiles before moving the badge away before the man could second guess it.

     "Nice tie, grandpa." The man from behind the desk says monotonously.

     Dean's face slacks, "Thanks." He said through his teeth, shoving his badge into his pocket.

     Bowie shifts a snicker from behind him.

     "Shut up, you look like a disco ball." Dean grumbled.

     What was left of the wreckage had been mostly just cargos, seats, and the head of the plane itself. Bowie had instantly shuffled towards the crushed emergency door, placing a hand against it with a small frown.

     The discomfort he felt when touching the handle of the door made him pull back from it, like the creature that touched it still lingered as he rubbed a colored residue against his fingertips.

     Sulfur.

     "What is that?" Sam questioned, glancing over Dean's shoulder as he pulled out what looked like an old walkman.

     "It's an E.M.F meter," Dean replies. "It reads electromagnetic frequencies."

     Sam deadpans, "Yeah, I know what an E.M.F meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?"

     Dean grinned proudly, "'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade!"

     "Yeah, I can see that." He says.

     Bowie pops his head between them, glaring down at the device, "That's literally mine━"

     "No, it's not!"

     Bowie flipped over the walkman, pointing at the faded initials BJW in the corner. Dean pulled it back before anyone could say anything, holding it to his chest.

     "Stop being a baby," Bowie rolled his eyes.

     Dean walked up to him, only to pause when the E.M.F went haywire near the emergency door.

     He waved it again to be sure, "Move."

     Bowie allows Dean to shove him out of the way, glancing back at the front entrance as his brothers crowded the wreckage.

     "Sam, check out this emergency door handle," He rubbed his finger against the yellow dust, "What is this stuff?"

     "It's sulfur," Bowie responds, "Honestly, don't you two read?"

     "We gotta be sure," Sam replies, scratching a sample into a plastic bag.

     Bowie frowned, "Someone's coming."

     Sam frowned, "How do you know that━"

     "They went in here."

     Bowie points to the door in a 'told ya,' motion.

     Sam shoved the bag in his suit pocket. The brothers slipped out of the building undetected through the back door, walking alongside the building and toward the back gate.

     Their walking turned to straight sprinting when a loud alarm blared, and Bowie wasted no time climbing over the tall white fence.

     He missed the landing, rolling his ankle a little before falling on his ass, sliding out of the way before Sam crash landed on him.

     Dean grabbed his suit off the gate, "These monkey suits really do come in handy!" He says between breaths as they ran back to the car.

     Bowie grins, "Power of the cat tie."

-

     BACK AT JERRY'S OFFICE, THE BOWIE LEANED against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting patiently for Jerry to confirm that under the telescope was what he had been saying since they left the warehouse.

     With a firm nod, he says, "This stuff is covered in sulfur."

     "Hm, who woulda guessed?" Bowie responds.

     "Will you boys excuse me, I have an idiot to fire," Jerry sighed, walking out of the room.

     "Not too many things leave being a sulfuric residue." Dean reminds.

     "Demonic possession," Sam responds.

     Bowie rubbed at his bottom lip in thought, "It would explain what Max saw. Black eyes, inhuman strength." He looks between them with a soft smirk, "Not gonna say I told you so, but—"

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire plane?" Dean asked rhetorically, shaking his head.

"Either of you ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asked them.

Bowie shook his head, "No. But if this is the shit we're dealing with now, we're going to need a whole lot more than guns."

Back at the Motel, the brothers got set up with stacks of lore and gas station junk food.

Bowie sat stomach flat on the bed skimming through yet another book, the golden suit discarded somewhere on the floor, glad that he was back in comfy clothes.

Sam sat at the table, his laptop opened in front of him and he clicked and prodded away at what he could find on the internet.

Dean sat on the other bed, hunched over slightly and he read through his own books, tapping a pencil on the paper and making Bowie want to choke him for the loud distraction.

     "I'm going to stab that pencil in your neck," Bowie looked up from his book.

     "Sam, Bowie's threatening me." He replied monotonously.

     "I don't care."

     "He doesn't care," Bowie repeated, "So, shut up."

     There was a small pause. Then Dean started drumming the pencil really hard.

     Bowie snapped the book closed, "That's it—!"

     "So get this," Sam cuts in loudly, "Every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession. Christian, Native American, Hindu. You name it."

     "Yeah but none of them describe anything like this."

     "Well, that's not exactly true. According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made," Sam educates them, "One causes earthquakes. Another causes disease."

     "And this one causes Final Destination," Bowie sighed.

     "All right, so. . .what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" Dean questions, getting up to pace.

     Sam nods, "Yeah. . .you know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one."

     The eldest scoffs.

     "What's wrong?" Bowie asked.

     "I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig," He expressed, scratching anxiously at his head, "I mean, demons, they don't want anything just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. I wish dad was here."

     Bowie faltered.

     "Me too.." Sam sighed.

     To that, Bowie ducks his head into his book.

Jerry called Dean with bad news about another plane crash involving another one of the victims from the first one, causing Bowie's suspicions to rise. Traveling to Nazareth wasn't as long as the brothers expected.

     Now, they stood beside Jerry in another one of his offices, the residue of sulfur under a telescope confirming the same thing as before. Demons.

     "All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert, this demon sounds like it was after him." Dean was the first to speak.

     "With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news." Sam winched.

     "What's the bad news?" Bowie asked.

     "Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485."

     Bowie hummed, "Biblical numerology."

     "What?" Jerry blinked.

     "Biblical numerology," Bowie repeats, "The number means death."

     "Like Noah's ark, when it rained for forty days," Dean adds in, causing Jerry to nod.

     "I went back, and there has been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in." Sam continued.

     "Let me guess," Bowie huffed, "No survivors."

     "Not one," Sam confirmed, "Or not until now, at least. Not until flight 2485, for some reason. And the cockpit voice recorder. Remember what the E.V.P said?"

     "No survivors." Dean recalls, "It's going after all the survivors. Bowie was right."

     The man in question rubbed his temple, "I'm starting to hate when you guys say that."

     Back on the road, the brothers narrowed down the names of survivors from flight 2485 to make sure none of them would be on a plane in the next forty-eight hours.

     So far, Bowie had crossed Blaine Sanderson off the list, who sounded like he'd next step on a plane again, while Sam crossed Dennis Holloway off the list, who he tricked into taking a fake survey for United Britannia Airlines.

     "You have a good spoke-person voice," Bowie compliments after his brother hangs up the phone.

     Sam hummed, "Thanks."

     "So our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker." Dean realized.

     "Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back."

     "Well, sounds like just our luck," Dean replied sarcastically.

     Bowie frowned, "That's a five-hour drive, even with speedy Gonzales over here." He jerks a thumb at Dean.

     "Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass." Dean huffed.

     "I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off." Sam replied.

     "We're never gonna make it," Bowie flops back on the bench seat.

     "Oh, we'll make it," Dean replied.

     Bowie's whole body jolted at the sudden speed.

-

RUNNING INTO THE AIRPORT BOWIE LET OUT A GROAN when he saw that Amanda's flight was due to take off in thirty minutes and there were so many people in the area that he couldn't tell which way was which.

     "Okay. We still have some cards to play," Dean says optimistically, running up to a courtesy phone, "Hi, gate thirteen. Yeah, I'm trying to contact Amanda Walker, she's a flight attendant. . ."

Bowie leaned against the piler, reaching up to rub his eyes as Dean pretended to be a doctor, claiming that Amanda's sister was in a car crash and that he needed her to leave.

It backfired.

Dean tried to play it off as a prank from Amanda's ex-boyfriend, feeding into everything she had on the other line with nods and hums, hoping she'd leave with that.

It backfired again.

"You suck at this," Bowie responds, watching Dean bang the phone back on its base.

"Oh, yeah? Next time we try to save a demonic plane, you can try," Dean seethed back.

"All right, it's time for plan B," Sam speaks up, "We're getting on that plane."

Bowie grimaced, "Fine, but I get the aisle seat."

"Now, just hold on a second." Dean seemed slightly panicked.

Sam wouldn't budge, "Dean, that plane is leaving with over one-hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash."

"I know!" Dean responds as if saying that was enough not to get on the plane.

Sam deadpans, "We're getting on that plane."

"Find that demon and exorcise it," Bowie agreed.

"I'll get the tickets, you and Bowie get whatever you can out of the trunk, whatever will make it through security." Sam orders, "Meet me back here in five minutes."

"Are you okay with that?" Bowie asked cautiously.

"No, not really," Dean admits.

"What? What's wrong?" Sam frowned.

Dean shifts in hesitation, "Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh. . ."

"Flying?" Sam guessed.

He throws his hands up, "It's never really been an issue until now."

"You're joking, right?" Sam insisted.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Planes? You're scared of planes? It's the safest way to travel! I mean, sure, there were thirty-five plane crashes this year alone but dude—!" Bowie ranted in one breath

Dean grabs his heart, "What?!"

"You're not helping!" Sam snapped.

Bowie faltered, "Well, I'm not gonna lie to him!"

"Why do you think I drive everywhere?" He huffed.

"I don't know, car attachment issues?" Bowie throws his hands up.

"All right!" Sam waved between them, taking a moment to think. "Dean, your fear is rational," He waved off in reassurance, "Bowie and I will go."

Dean didn't seem to like that either, "What?"

"We'll do this one on our own."

Bowie reeled his neck back, "Who's we?"

"What are you, nuts? The plane's gonna crash!" Dean pressed.

Sam looked visibly frustrated, "Look, we can do it together, or Bow and I can do this ourselves. I'm not seeing a third option here."

"Come on!" Dean whined. "Really? Man."

Bowie pushed out his bottom lip mockingly, "Aw, Dean, you want me to hold your wittle hand?"

Dean got into his face, "I will skin you alive."

"Car. Five minutes." Sam reminded, walking away.

Back at the car, Dean and Bowie stood in front of the open trunk, searching for things they needed.

Bowie unzips his duffle bag, grabbing a small black case and clicking it open. Curiously, Dean looked over his shoulder, lips pinched together as he watched his brother pull out a set of knives.

"Those aren't going through security," He scoffs.

Bowie holds one up, admiring the sharp white marble, "These, my obnoxious older brother, are marble blades dipped in holy water. Airport scanners can't pick up marbles, crystals."

"Woah," Dean breathed out, plucking it from his hands to examine it closer, "Where'd you get it."

His face reddened, "Katherine's family are expert demon hunters, they have all kinds of crazy shit. Her sister gave me that one Christmas."

Dean smirked, "Getting jiggy with the in-laws, aye?"

"Shut up."

     "There's really nothing you're scared of?" He asked suddenly, "No silly fear?"

     Bowie shrugged, "Nope."

-

BOWIE SAT ON THE AISLE WITH HIS ARMS CROSSED AND the biggest pout on his face as he glanced across his brothers who were sitting together, on the other side of the aisle next to him.

Sam leaned over Dean and whispered, "I couldn't afford to put us all together, okay? Stop being a baby!"

Bowie snapped his head to him, "You left me to the wolves!" He seethed.

"You're literally inches away, it's the same thing!"

"Wolves." The man repeats lowly.

It's not that Bowie was scared of planes. He just hated people on the planes. Closed spaces next to strangers, sharing a bathroom, and trying not to strangle crying babies on eight-hour flights.

It was a nightmare.

Turbulence made Dean grip the seat between them, "Shut up, shut up, shut up." He says in one breath, closing his eyes.

Sam sighed, "Just try to relax—"

"Just try to shut up!"

The second the plane started moving up, Bowie felt a harsh kick against the back of his seat. He opened his eyes but ignored them.

The kick happened again, and again.

"That's it," Bowie unbuckled his seat and turned around.

A six-year-old with headphones on and a sticky face stared back at him. The child's mother was sound asleep.

"Hey!" Bowie says low enough for the child to hear, "You kick my seat again and you're in trouble."

Long pause.

Kick.

The man clenched his jaw and flopped back in his seat, clicking the seatbelt back in place and crossing his arms over his chest. Sam and Dean muttered to each other in conversation beside him.

"I'm Jasper." Says the person beside Bowie, a teenager with a pixie cut and an awkward grin.

"Bowie." He responds shortly.

"Are you on vacation?" Jasper pressed.

"Business trip," He replied in the same tone.

The teenager nods slow, "Cool. Cool. I'm gonna go see my mom."

Pause.

"You like jazz?" Jasper asked.

"Bye." Bowie unbuckles his seat belt and stands up.

"Bow!" Sam tells him, "Go talk to Amanda to see if she's the one possessed! She'll flinch at the name of God. Say it in Latin."

"Okay," He nods, going to leave.

Dean grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back, "In Latin it's Cristo."

Bowie deadpans, "Dean, I know eight languages, I think I know how to say shit in Latin."

"Just being sure!" His brother replied.

Bowie sighed, pulling his sleeve out of Dean's grip and walking down the aisle toward the back of the plane, where Amanda was restocking a food court.

He gives her a thin-lipped smile, jerking his chin up in greeting, "Hey."

She smiled back, "Hi. Can I help you with something?"

Bowie shook his head, "Nah. . .I just need to stretch my legs before the long flight. I have to applaud you, stewardess, for doing this stuff every day."

Her face tinted a soft red, "Thank you." She paused, noticing his hearing aids, "I don't mean to sound too straight forward but I've never met anyone with a hearing disability. . .how'd it happen?"

Bowie chuckled it off, "Sometimes people shouldn't have children," He managed. "Flying like this makes my ears ring a little."

Her face saddened, "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, "Eh, I'm getting by just fine. But I guess it's easier for you up here in the clouds."

"You'd be surprised." She chuckled.

He leaned forward a little, "Aw, come on. You telling me you're a nervous flier?"

That brought a small smile to her face, "Yeah, maybe, a little bit. You gonna make fun of me?" She teased.

"Depends, if I'm in the mood." He responds, "Why don't you just work in a different field?"

She shook her head, "Everybody's scared of something. I just, uh, I'm not gonna let it hold me back. Commitment."

Bowie smiled, "That's a brave way to think. I gotta admit, I'm known for running away when shit gets a little too real. As much as I want it to be, commitment isn't a thing in my line of work."

Amanda looked down at the cups in her hand, "Guess you're gonna have to find someone brave enough to keep you in place, huh?"

His eyes widened, realizing what was happening. Is she flirting with him? Was he flirting with her? He didn't mean to. The way she eyed him made his face heat up in slight discomfort. Did everything have to be about sex, come on—

"Cristo." He coughed.

She didn't even flinch, "Huh?"

"Nothing. Bye."

He ran out of the backroom and toward his seat, where Dean was humming rock music to himself to calm his nerves.

He sits back down in his seat, turning to them, "Not a demon. Very level-headed."

"Then why is your face red?" Sam asked in concern.

He frowned, "Am I attractive?" He asked suddenly.

Sam reeled back, and Dean's eyes snapped open.

"What?"

"Am I attractive? Like if you didn't know me—"

"Is this important right now?" Sam deadpans.

"It's a fair question."

Dean scrunched his face, "I changed your pull-ups, man."

Bowie sighed, "Fine. Forget it." He grumbled, blowing a curl out of his eye.

"Okay, okay. If I wasn't your brother, I'd look twice. Happy?" Dean replied.

"Okay, let's not." Sam reels in disgust.

"I think you're attractive," Jasper whispered next to Bowie.

The man slowly turned around with wide eyes, "Go away, Jasper."

"Okay."

"So, if the demon is on the plane, it can be anyone, anywhere." Sam continues.

The turbulence makes the plane shift.

"Oh, come on! That can't be normal!" Dean whined.

"It's turbulence, relax." Bowie waved off.

"Oh, yeah? What's your fear, huh?" He pressed.

"Nothing."

"Liar!" He says, then brings his voice down to a whisper that Bowie needed to strain himself to hear, "This plane is about to go down, so both of you stop treating me like I'm four."

"You need to calm down," Sam says firmly.

"Well, I'm sorry, I can't!"

"Yes, you can." sam continued softly, "You got this."

"Stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap. It's not helping." Dean snapped.

Bowie had enough, "Okay, fine. Tough-love then. You hunt monsters for a living and you're scared of a machine with wings. Stop being a pussy little bitch, you're wide open to demonic possession!" He seethed out.

Dean sobered instantly.

"So breathe in, breathe out and shut up!" He finished.

A pause.

Dean awkwardly starts to breathe slowly, in and out.

"Thank you."

The back of Bowie's seat slams, giggles following.

Unable to keep his calm Bowie spins around and says, "Santa Claus isn't real."

The child instantly starts crying.

"Oh my god— I'm sorry—" He backtracks, panicked.

"I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work, the ritual romano," Sam educates, bringing his attention back to the case.

"What do we have to do?" Bowie asked.

"It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful."

"More powerful? How?"

Sam went on to explain the ritual romano with great detail, causing the brothers to hang on to every word. The second part sends the demon straight back to Hell.

All they had to do was find it.

Dean walks down the aisles with his E.M.F meter while Bowie scanned the area for anything suspicious.

"Anything?" Sam asked them.

Dean shook his head, "No, nothing. How much time we got?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"We're so gonna die," Bowie sighed.

"Maybe we missed someone."

"Maybe the thing's just not on the plane?" Dean suggests.

"You believe that?"

"I will if you will."

Suddenly, the E.M.F started whirling and flickering those familiar red lights. All three brothers snap their heads to the bathroom, where the pilot was existing.

"Cristo."

His eyes flashed black, then went back inside.

"We're so gonna die," Bowie repeats in a whine, more panicked than before.

"We gotta tell Amanda!" Dean says, motioning for Sam to run toward the back.

Bowie is first in line, "She's not gonna believe us!"

"Twelve minutes, dude!"

"Hi," Amanda smiles the second she sees him, "Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope."

"Actually, that's what I needed to talk to you about." He rubbed the back of his neck, "This is gonna sound nuts, but we don't have time for sugar coating."

"We know you were on flight 2485," Sam cuts in.

She falters, "Who are you guys?"

Sam continued, "We've spoken to some other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure."

Dean nods, "We need your help to stop something from happening again, here and now."

She tried to push through them, "Sorry, I gotta go."

Bowie grabbed her wrist softly, "Amanda. Listen to me, I'm not trying to hurt you, I just want to make sure you get off this plane in one piece. The pilot from 2485, Chuck Lambert, he's dead."

Her eyes watered, "What? Chuck is dead?"

"He died in a plane crash," Dean confirmed. "That's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?"

They were running out of time.

"There was something wrong with 2485, there's something wrong with this flight, too!" Sam adds in.

"Amanda, believe us." Bowie pleas.

She did.

"What are you asking me to do?"

"Get the copilot. We need you to bring him back here," Dean orders.

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?"

"We don't have time to explain, we just gotta talk to him!"

"But, how am I supposed to—"

"Tell him there's something broken back here," Sam suggests. "Whatever it takes."

"I could lose my job—"

"You could lose your life!" Bowie snapped, never one to really yell at people but they were running out of time, "Just go!"

Amanda quickly nods, leaving the backroom and instantly running toward the cockpit.

The brothers watched from behind the curtain as Amanda spoke to the copilot, pointing to the backroom.

Bowie and Dean are on either side of the door, looking at each other for the signal.

The second the copilot stepped into the background, Bowie moves forward and slams his fist into the demon's face, causing him to stumble into Dean, who slammed it down into the floor.

Sam quickly pressed a piece of tape against his mouth to keep it quiet.

"What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him!" Amanda whisper-yelled.

"We are gonna talk to him."

Sam unscrews the bottle of holy water, dumping it on the demon and causing his skin to sizzle.

Bowie pulls a knife strap on his arm, pressing the white marble against its neck to keep it from trashing, its skin burned at the touch.

"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer we can hold him," Dean grunts out.

Sam starts to chant Latin.

At some point, the demon got the upper hand and punches Bowie across the face, the force splitting his lip. The holy water rolls across the floor but Sam keeps chanting as the other brothers wrestled the demon down.

The demon reaches up and grabs the sharp end of the knife, cutting into its own skin in order to pull it out of Bowie's hand and slash it deep into Bowie's chest.

"Bow! Fuck you okay?!" Dean screamed in a panic, punching the demon back down in rage.

Bowie stumbles back, grabbing at the wound between his cut shirt, "Ow, ow, ow—"

Sam continued chanting, looking to Bowie with worried eyes.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend!" The demon choked out gripping Sam's shirt, "She must've died screaming! Even now, she's burning!"

Bowie stumbled forward and slammed his fist into the demon's face, "Keep chanting."

Sam swallowed thickly and continues.

Black smoke oozed out of the copilot's mouth and into the vents.

"Where did it go?"

"It's in the plane!"

Instantly, the plane drops out of the air. Free falling.

Bowie's stomach jolts with panic as everyone in the plane starts screaming. His eyes blur at the sides, the blood loss getting to him as he tried to stand up.

Sam is scrambling around on the floor for the journal.

Dean is screaming in the corner.

"I got it!" Sam screams.

Jasper gets up, looking panicked as he turned to Bowie, "If we're gonna die, there's something I should say!"

"I'm not in love with you, Jasper!" Bowie snapped back.

"No, not that!" He cried, looking genuinely scared, "I-I'm pretty sure trans but I'm scared to tell my mom! But now I'm gonna die before I could tell her!" He starts hyperventilating with tears.

Bowie instantly straights as best as he could, trying not to pass out.

     "It's okay." He says softly, talking over the screams and chants, "Look, I'm sure your mom will love you either way and if not, then you'll find someone who's gonna love you unconditionally, all right? You're still you! What you are doesn't change that. Nothing's gonna change that, okay? We're gonna get out of this!"

Almost as if luck was thrown into his lap, Sam finished his chant and with an electric snap, the plane was slowing down and keeping a steady pace, causing everyone on the plane to let out a sigh of relief.

"See?" He says breathlessly.

With a choked sob, Jasper runs up and hugs Bowie hard, unbothered by the blood. Bowie shakes the discomfort he felt at the touch, patting the teenager's head awkwardly.

"That was Santa Claus," Bowie tells the child as he passed, causing him to smile.

     Medics were at the airport when the plane landed. Bowie is dragged out of the plane by his brothers, who continue to fuss over him until a medic takes him on a stretcher.

     As Bowie was rolled into a clearing, he sees Jasper, running up to his mother who looked worried sick about him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could guess it.

     He smiled when Jasper's mother did. She pulled him into a hug and he could faintly hear, "You're my baby no matter what! I'm just glad you're safe!"

     "Is our brother gonna be okay?" Dean asked in concern, watching them press a rag onto Bowie's wound.

     The medic sighed, "He'll be fine, the gash isn't deep. He might need stitches."

     Bowie's eyes widened, backing away, "What? No. No, no."

     Dean let out a surprised scoff when he realized, "Holy shit. . .you're scared of needles?!"

     Sam smirked, "A hunter scared of needles?"

     Bowie swallowed thickly, "Yes, okay! Needles!" He admits, "I hate needles."

     "Bow, you're twenty-four!" Sam laughed.

     Dean pushed out his bottom lip mockingly, "Aw, Bj, you want me to hold your wittle hand?"

     The medic pulls out a needle and thread and Bowie's eyes instantly watered.

     Sam's jaw dropped in surprise at Bowie's sudden child-like attitude.

   "Yes."

     Dean reeled back, "Oh, okay." He holds his hand out, and Bowie grabs it instantly, "Big baby."

     "Thanks, De. ." He sniffled.

[ this chapter might be my favorite ]