Dwight walked down the hall to the one room in his mother's house that he hadn't been able to go near for almost four years now. Carefully, so as not to disturb any malignant spirits, he opened the door. He tiptoed through until he found what he was looking for, still where he had left it all those years ago. Muttering some ancient incantations (just to be safe), he crouched down and wiped off some of the dust that had collected on the top. Unfastening the locks, he took a deep breath and opened the case.
There, lying in satin and matted velvet was his violin. The whole case still smelled of stale rosin, fake blood, and summer afternoons. Dwight reached his fingers to pluck the strings. He then cringed at the out-of-tune croak they gave. After tightening his bow, Dwight lifted the violin up and adjusted the pegs until the strings rung out pleasantly.
Dwight tested his bow on the strings. After a few squawks and screeches, he remembered the things his teacher used to say to him. Tilt your bow! Bend your thumb! Stop assaulting me with rock salt; I'm not a demon! Soon enough, he was able to squeak out some basic scales and arpeggios.
With a glance at the framed picture on the wall of Alan and himself at one of his concerts, Dwight began to play the song that had brought him to this room in the first place.
It started out jovial. Although Dwight struggled at first due to lack of practice, soon muscle memory took over, initiating the thought of actual memories. Alan's bright, proud smile. Stifled giggles late at night. Exuberant shrieks of laughter when they chased each other around. Reading stories about ladies-in-white and vampires. Experimenting with what types of dye keep protective symbols on the longest. Hiding from their mom's wrath when she sees her makeup table. Trying to fit into Uncle Ford's leather jacket. Seeing Alan's excitement when he had come home from his first day of kindergarten.
Dwight's notes became carefree. Like sinking onto the couch for another Supernatural marathon. Or summer afternoons. Or going to the cabin and playing in the lake. Like Christmas.
Then there was Alan, grinning before he went to school. Telling Dwight that they'd finish hunting in the garden once he came home from school. It seemed like any other day. Cheerful. Bright. Full of potential.
But it wasn't like any other day.
Dwight didn't understand why he had to stay at his Aunt's house for the weekend. Nor did he get why everyone kept looking so sorry for him. And he especially could not comprehend why Alan wasn't coming with him. He had tried to ask his mom but she just said something vague like there are some things we have to work out or please, just do this for me. The weekend with his Aunt wasn't horrible despite the disgusting lack of protection from the intangible. He took it upon himself to purify all of the rooms that he was allowed to go into (and a few that he wasn't). The one thing that really annoyed Dwight was how clingy his Aunt was. She wouldn't stop babying him and hugging him. Then, late in the evening that Monday, his mom came to pick him up. He immediately asked how Alan was doing and where he was. Then his mother burst into tears and sat him down. Everything went blurry. His mom explained how she had gotten a call on Friday by the mother of Alan's friend who usually drove him home. She was in hysterics explaining how she couldn't find Alan anywhere. (His mom left out the part where the mother had asked around and someone had seen Alan leaving with an unfamiliar man who was assumed to be his father). She then explained that the police were doing everything they could to find Alan but they just hadn't gotten enough information yet. Dwight stared evenly at his mom and nodded. They drove home and he walked upstairs to his room. Quietly, he blocked the door with his dresser and bed and then got to work.
He was going to find Alan. Alan always depended on him and he hadn't let him down yet. It was his job, after all, being the older brother. He brushed away his tears angrily. Crying wasn't going to help Alan. They'd only get in the way. He got out a map of his town, some candles, his prized pendulum, and Alan's favourite blanket for comfort.
For days Dwight fought through his sleep-deprived state to find Alan. Then he choked out the breathe he seemed to have been holding. The pendulum struck the map in a definite location. He sprung up, cleared his door, and sprinted downstairs to where his mom was anxiously watching the telephone. Her eyes filled with tears when he told her what had happened, but she didn't have the energy or will to stop him from telling the police officers who came soon after.
Not knowing what the right thing to do was in the situation, the police officers agreed to look where Dwight had insisted, if not just to keep him from drawing various symbols on their cars again.
Dwight's hand shook around his bow. He was holding his breath, tears streaming down his face. He had been so alone. So empty. Dark.
And then he moved to Dalton.
He started playing again. The sound wasn't jovial like it was in the beginning. It wavered with his shaking hand. After a bar or two he built up his courage and pushed on more confidently. He had found friends. Friends who, despite questioning his sanity multiple times a day, accepted him and made him feel at home. They drove him crazy with their tendencies to be overbearing or protective (He was, after all, the one who kept them demon-free on a daily basis), but he secretly liked it in the end.
He still had his days. Todd definitely knew them. And he probably would always have those days. But now he had people who not only understood, like Kurt, but also wanted to help him through it.
And although he would always love and miss Alan, Dwight knew that this is what he would have wanted. This is what Dwight had always wanted. And so he shifted his hand up the fingerboard and trailed off the last note.
It hung in the air like a memory.