West Coast

Chapter Nineteen

It took Dean a while to collect himself, with Cas and Hoagie at his side. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted, and tears streamed down his cheeks from the relief of it.

Cas rubbed his shoulder gently, smiling. Dean's description of the accident had never sat well with him, and now he knew why. Cas pulled Dean closer and rested Dean's head on his shoulder.

Dean bunched his fist in Cas's shirt, and curled up.

Hoagie settled himself in Cas's lap, and they all sat at the side of the road in silence, until the sun began to set, and Dean was ready to drive home.

Over the next few days, whenever Dean was in the house, he walked around with a new spring in his step, whistling and humming as he went.

Cas enjoyed seeing him so happy and relaxed, though he wasn't such a fan of being spun around the kitchen whenever Dean felt like dancing while he was cooking.

Fresh flowers regularly appeared in the vase in the dining room again. Sometimes Cas used them as subjects for his paintings, and sometimes he used Dean himself.

Occasionally, Cas even heard music coming from the spare room, and sometimes from the bedroom too.

He stopped outside the bedroom door to listen one afternoon. Dean was inside playing his guitar and singing. Cas was entranced by it, until it abruptly stopped.

'I know you're out there,' came Dean's voice. 'You can come in, you know.'

Cas opened the door and crept in sheepishly.

Dean was laying with his head at the foot of the bed, his feet up against the headboard, and his guitar across his chest.

'I didn't want to disturb you,' Cas said, kneeling by Dean's head.

Dean smiled at him. 'It's all right.'

'I haven't heard you play much before.'

Dean shrugged. 'I haven't really felt like playing for a while. I'm a little rusty.'

'Will you keep going?'

'Sure.' Dean strummed the guitar, playing a song that Cas didn't recognise.

Cas listened quietly, gazing at Dean, resting his head on the bed.

Dean turned pink, but carried on playing, laughing at Cas slightly as he did so.

'You have a wonderful voice,' Cas said when Dean finished his song.

'Aw, well aren't you sweet,' Dean grinned, sitting up.

'When did you start playing?'

Dean shrugged. 'Sam found this crappy guitar when I was maybe twelve? He wasn't really into it, so I gave it a try.'

'You mean, you taught yourself?'

'Yeah.'

'Wow.'

Dean snorted. 'All right, enough with the googly eyes, it's time to eat.'

After that, Dean started playing out in the dining room, quietly strumming while Cas painted. It made Cas happy during the day, and his paintings took on more lively colours and fluid brush strokes. Dean's music didn't reach his dreams, however, and his nightmares became more intense.

'What do you think it is?' Dean asked one night as they lay in the darkness.

Cas shakily held Dean's hand under the blankets. 'Penny thinks it's something to do with Gabriel,' he whispered. 'It's been happening since I remembered more about him.'