"'Course I'm not afraid of your piloting," says Dean, mostly to cover the sound of his own uneven breathing, though it's true. "I'm sure you're a great pilot. I'm, uh."

Looking up, he sees at least twelve gears he could jam a wrench into and make his escape, but he can't do it. Not to a good engine, and not to Faye. "Yeah." He swallows, the beginnings of Metallica already in the back of his throat to distract himself. "Yeah, I'd love to go up."