"I'll give you black sensations up and down your spine
If you're into evil you're a friend of mine.
See the white light flashing as I split the night
'cause if God's on the left then I'm sticking to the right."
-Hells Bells, AC/DC
Things chill out after the world decides to keep on spinning. Less evil shit. Not no evil shit, but less. Which means Sammy backing off to live his life and Dean continuing to clean up after the things that go bump in the night with Cas by his side.
The Impala cuts across the desert, blaring sun reflecting bright and hot off of the hood. Dust shoots out from under the car, rocks rubbing fast against the black of the wheels. Cas sits in the front seat, looking like a real hunter in jeans and a loose T-shirt, any layers taken off long before they reached the middle of Texas and the hottest fucking drive of Dean's life. Sweat beads and drips off of both of their foreheads as the trip goes on.
Throughout the ride, music plays. Sometimes dim, to allow for conversation, sometimes loud so Dean can pretend he can sing. Cas does not have a preference. He loves talking to Dean, trying to understand him more and more every day. He also loves watching Dean grin as he belts out slightly off-key renditions of any given song he plays from one of his tapes or the radio.
They haven't seen another car in hours. Dean likes it that way. He speeds down the asphalt at a breakneck pace despite the fact that they have no particular case that means life or limb for some poor sap. Dean just likes how the wind blows through the windows, cooling him and Cas down. Plus, Cas's face is just fucking hysterical when the breeze gets too hard and his hair is forced into an even more ridiculous state of disarray.
A song comes on that Dean loves and he leans over to crank the volume dial, already using his other hand to slap out the beat loudly on the steering wheel's super-heated surface. Cas smiles slightly, staring straight ahead, as Dean attempts to sing. The hunter nods viciously to the beat, screaming out some of the lyrics as the singer does. Cas knows this song, vaguely. He has heard it one of a thousand times he has sat in this car, sat in this passenger seat, and listened as Dean actually enjoyed something in his life.
This time, the former angel listens to the lyrics as Dean "sings" them (he adds the quotation marks he knows Dean would tease him about within his own mind). There are words about Hell, about being on the wrong side of God, about power and death. It seems a fairly dim set of subjects despite the obvious upbeat nature of the song. Cas voices this out loud (at a bit of a yell to be heard over the radio) and Dean just breaks into laughter. It is Cas's favorite noise in the world, Dean's full-bellied laughter.
"Cas, it's supposed to get you pumped and pissed," he chuckles out, leaning over to turn down the dial and allow for more conversation. He doesn't complain about the interruption. One of his arms rests against the opened window of the car, light catching the soft, honey-colored fuzz along his arms.
"Why sing about Hell this way, though? I know you don't feel positively about your experiences there," Cas replies. Dean's smile dims slightly and he clears his throat.
"No, I don't feel 'positively' about those experiences," Cas hears the implied quotation marks and squints his eyes. So it's fine when Dean does that but not him? The double standard is alarming and must be repaired at their soonest possible convenience. Perhaps after this current conversation concludes.
"So why sing in such a manner about a serious subject?" It is Cas's earnest face, eager for understanding, and the way his tousled hair is sticking hot to his forehead that makes Dean answer honestly instead of blowing it off.
"Music gets you through whatever, buddy," Dean says, shrugging like these are the honest truths of life. "It's fast, it's slow, it's about whatever is bugging you deep down in your soul, and it makes you get over whatever shit you've been cramming down there. It's like cheap fucking therapy, basically."
"I thought you hated the concept of therapy…"
"Off topic, Cas!" Dean shakes his head, but he's smiling bright again. They are still hours from their destination. "Music is for every time, anytime you need it. Even if it means singing loud about the sad shit." Cas nods slowly then looks thoughtfully out the window to his right. Another song comes on and Dean turns it up but instead of returning his hand to the wheel, he uses the arm currently resting on the door to take control of the car, and grabs for Cas's hand with the other.
It's sweaty, far too hot to be holding hands, but Cas glances down and smiles. Squeezes Dean's hand a little tighter. Dean gives him a grin that involves biting his bottom lip, scrunching up his nose, and nodding his head hard to the song. Cas chuckles. He didn't usually pay attention to the words of Dean's music, or any music for that matter, but maybe from today onward he just might have to make an effort. Music did seem to be the backdrop of Dean's life, after all. Which meant it would just have to be the backdrop of his as well.