Warnings: Swearing, language, mention and reference to shooting
EPILOGUE : Music (You!) Matters
There wasn't any blank page left in the worn out leather notebook Sam was holding in his hands. They had been attached so long to this notebook of which Dean had torn apart a few pages where John had scribbled shopping lists and phone numbers that it had become like a familiar piece of furniture, a small extension of them they now had to replace.
"It's like he was forcing us to admit that now, we do what we do for ourselves, not to throw it in dad's face or to prove something. Just cause that's what we do best."
Dean smiled.
"Last year you would have said we were doing it because we couldn't do anything else."
Sam put the notebook on the hood of the car where he had perched himself. The old Impala was put together again, almost renovated. She only lacked paint. He taped the bodywork with the tip of a fingernail. "Obviously we can do something else. Even things that are less visible than this mud heap!"
"Hey! No one insults Baby!"
Sam smiled and pointed the notebook. "So what do we do? We buy another one, or do we write on the walls?"
They chose the most exuberant, the most decadent notebook they could find. A wonder with the front cover coated with royal blue velvet and arabesques embroidered with golden yarns with a satin ribbon as a bookmark and margins adorned with tiny flowers. Sam liked its flashy side and Dean loved it because he thought it beautiful. Unlike the leather notebook that seemed to be an extension of their brotherhood, this notebook found its place on a table at their home, at the reach of all, open to everyone and quickly filled with anything other than songs. Bass chords scrawled on footers, small drawings and lists of things to do between two unfinished couplets.
And a drawing on the front page. A drawing around which Charlie had added a cloud and Kevin a scribble that certainly was a cat. Two squares side by side representing the basement and the main assembly of a house.
"There, a skylight so we don't record like vampires. And several bedrooms arranged around the living room. Charlie you can paint yours in purple!" Dean had gushed, scribbling. Two lines to depict windows on the walls, an arc of circle for doors. Beds in each room with pillows with bobbles, a small pointer indicating the location of game consoles and a blue carpet in the living room to spot Chevy when she sleeps over it.
A house for all of them, no matter where and no matter when. A house they would call a home, surrounded by those they had chosen to accompany them.
"Add a garage." Had said Castiel. "A big one for Dorothy's motorbike and the Chevrolet."
Dean had added a small box and drawn a car viewed from above with the lights on.
"You know we can't afford that?" Had pontificated Kevin.
Charlie had burst into laughter, earning puzzled looks from her friends. "What worries you is money and not us arguing and ending up not wanting this house anymore?"
"If this was how things were to be done, it would have already happened." Had said Dorothy. "Put a second bathroom Dean, one is never enough."
"We'll get the money." Dean responded, adding a sink in the second bathroom, the notebook perched on his lap. "Dreams are made to come true."
"When I felt like a useless candle,
You lit me up, gave my poor self a shot,
Being away from you is like being away from home
If I grew up that strong, it was thanks to you
I left away my hopes and dreams long ago
Now I glow and love and give myself a shot
It's worth fighting for
I'll give it a go"
##
Rufus's tattoo shop had closed for the afternoon. Not that the pieces on which he was working were large or complex, but tattooing three persons at once required not being bothered. Especially if such persons had insisted on having company.
Charlie was grinding her teeth, and he could feel her tense up under the dermograph.
"Hurts like a bitch!" She snarled, compulsively tightening her hand on Sam's arm. The needle had an unpleasant noise and gave her the impression that someone was cutting her with a boiling scalpel.
"You weren't actually expecting it to do good?" Taunted the drummer sitting beside her. He was watching Rufus working with an attention he never had even when himself was under the needle. He was following closely the fine line of black ink under the skin of his friend which, little by little, was drawing a target on her collarbone, around the scar still a bit red of the bullet.
On the seat next to them, a petite blonde was busy retracing precisely the contours of a more imposing piece on the back of Dean. A large deer, hooves set in the flowers of his kidneys, nose up to the lilies on his shoulder blade. This particular piece would take time, but the singer was not really in a hurry. He was playing chess with Kevin on a travel board in equilibrium on the knees of young man.
Castiel was massaging his freshly tattooed wrist wrapped in cellophane.
Rufus finished his work and wiped one last time the ink on the skin of Charlie before improvising a bandage around her shoulder, reeling off a few hygiene rules. He did not worry too much, the tattoo was small and he had worked enough on Sam and Dean to know that they could, if necessary, recall the precautions to the young woman. Usually he did not ask questions when customers didn't spontaneously told him about their motive. But this group had become more friends than ordinary customers.
"Why a target?"
Charlie put her hand to her collarbone, only meeting plastic she refrained from crumpling between her fingers. She shrugged. "Cause I'm scared shitless that this happen again, but it's not going to prevent the worst from happening, so may as well go with it. If someone wants to gun me down, they can try, I've already survived once after all."
"No one is going to try to gun you down." Kevin said, moving his bishop. "You're almost symbols now, it would be foolish to target you."
"God forbid." Sighed Dean. He winced when Rufus retrieved the tattoo machine and started inking again a part of the chest of the deer along his spine. He buried his head between his clenched fists and did not notice the smile of Castiel.
"You are the voices I hear in my head,
You are the reason I jump on the scene
You help me remember
For you what I do truly matters"
##
The interior of the Impala smelled of old leather and painting. Sam sat down, feeling strangely misplaced, as if nothing was the right size. He probably had not grown since the last time he had slided onto the seat but perhaps his memories were a bit narrowed. Before them, Dorothy was carefully tying the crash helmet of Castiel before settling on her brand new motorcycle.
"You'd better drive carefully!" Dean grunted from the window.
"Never!" The young woman teased before stepping on the gas. Sam smiled at the motorcycle rushing forward in the low morning traffic of Los Angeles. Castiel had insisted upon going to Coachella with Dorothy to christen the motorcycle that had cost the young woman her whole end of tour bonus.
Dean started the car and all four occupants let out a sigh of relief upon hearing the engine purr, although the fact that she had left her garage already proved she was working. Was a time, the brothers would have been relegated to the back seat while their father was driving. Was a time, they would have crammed guitar and drums in the back to travel from city to city. Now Sam was in the passenger seat and Kevin and Charlie were arguing in the back seat to the sound of an old AC/DC tape.
"We're going to Coachella." Kevin marveled, watching the scenery change slowly, buildings and traffic jams quietly making way for a highway running through the deserted landscape. The hills in the distance never seemed to move like a bad movie set. "I can't really believe it."
"You'll believe it when they begin to cast stones at us." Charlie grumbled. The festival distressed her. It also distressed Dorothy, and they had spent several nights worrying together about everything that could go wrong, thinking of impossible scenarios that made them have nightmares from which they woke up trembling and frozen with sweat several hours after.
"No one's gonna cast stones at us!" Sam said. "If the festival program has accepted us it's for a good reason!"
"Yeah, cause Crowley greased their palm!" The bassist mumbled.
"And because Cain is number one in the charts for three weeks!"
"Crowley can't have bribed all these people." Dean added with a smile. "It's gonna be fine."
They all understood the fear of their friend, they shared it. And the more kilometers passed, bringing them closer of the festival, the more they felt knots in their stomachs. They were not headline acts and their performance was scheduled early in the afternoon. For Dean it meant the crowd would not be only faces in the shade, barely visible in the colorful lighting. He would see their eyes, their hands, their clothes. Who ever are the audience they would be more real and anonymous than fans met in the street or after a concert. John could not be in the crowd. But he knew that the four of them would seek him, reflexively or just for reassurance.
Him, would seek Castiel and Dorothy, whom he would probably not see. They would be away from the crowd to not be too bothered or recognized. But the idea of their presence had something reassuring, as if knowing that he had friends in the crowd could help the singer evacuating the ball of stress that made him miss the interstate exit after Palm Springs.
They reached the stage door, away from the crowds and had their bracelets tied. Charlie had trouble stem the anxiety that shook her by waves. She had a dry throat and the impression of not being able to breathe. Kevin was holding her hand very tight behind the scene. She had refused to eat or drink anything.
"Dammit it's hard!" She muttered, cocking her head to look at the crowd beyond the stage
"If it seems easy to you, usually there's something you're doing wrong." Replied Dean. She smiled.
"You learned that from Cas?"
"Rhonda Hurley actually." He corrected her. "Cas comes with an instruction manual and a road map."
"No autopilot?"
"I put him in manual mode most of the time."
The bassist burst into a laugh. A long laugh that came from the bottom of a place that fear and fatigue had not yet reached, and eventually reached them all. For a moment, she was worried that the public hear them. The next moment she did not care. The next moment, Dean was pulling her by the hand, leading her to the scene.
It was not easy, it was terrifying. But it was the right thing to do.
"You might feel like a broken candle
But I will light you up
And give you a shot
For as long as we all remember
That music can really matter"
Soft toys were prohibited on the festival and of course she had obtained permission to disperse several on stage. It was a joke that no longer amused anyone except her for a long time, but the orange snake which pulled its tongue from its place on the mic stand of Dean was strangely reassuring her. Sam pulled her arm while settling behind his drums and showed her something from the tip of his stick. A tiny dreamcatcher hanging from one cymbal stand. Charlie felt tears of anguish and relief up in her eyes. She could imagine Dorothy handing the item she had surely crafted herself to Madison, and the young woman carefully hanging it there where she knew the group would notice it as a sign that she thought about them.
Suddenly, shouts and applause seemed less violent in her ears. The knot in her stomach loosened a little, just enough for her to take a deep breath and send a silent thank to heaven for that little respite. Suddenly, the festival seemed as friendly as the years when she knocked around as a spectator. She seized her green bass and passed the strap over her shoulder. Under her shirt, she brushed her scar and the tattoo surrounding it with her fingertips.
"You survived, you can do it." She told herself in an undertone.
There was a stuffed elephant on the bass drum and Sam put it down before the drums before sitting in his place. From where he was, he saw only the heads of the spectators and felt a pang of emotion. There were many. Young. Joyful. Most had already gotten sunburnt on the nose. He who had often mocked artists who endlessly discoursed on their fans and how important they were suddenly became aware that as silly as the speech might seem, it was true. These people had led them here today, and they were here to share with them something they thought important. And he, Sam, felt duty-bound to at least give of himself as much as he could. Till his hands bleed. Anyway, he didn't perceive the album they were presenting for the first time to the public any other way.
The sound was incredibly good for an open space. Kevin did not remember having been more stressed in his life. He did not remember having one day held his bow so hard it was shaking in his hand. And he did not remember either having ever felt such an emotion upon hearing their music mingling with the sounds of the huge crowd of the festival, the remote sounds of the other scenes and the crazy beat of his own blood in his ears. He completely plunged into a strange trance of which he did not want to come out, and the songs came one after another as if he really had done it all his life. Or as if he was destined to never do anything else.
Music imposed its rhythm and movements to Dean who was running from one end to the other of the scene. He should have been short of breath but he was still singing, urging the crowd to do the same and enjoying the power he had to make them jump on the spot and sing along with him the words that came from the bottom of them all. He had the vague vision of himself, years earlier, playing for an indifferent public in an old bar. He was no longer the same person, and he found himself wondering who he would be in the next several years? But for now, it didn't matter.
"You gotta know" The singer said, smiling at the crowd. "We've heard that song so much we all hate it... If you don't know what happened last year, it's going to sound stupid, but for the others... I guess you'll get why we had to do it today."
"And we're really sorry for the inconvenience!" Shouted Charlie who had just grabbed the microphone.
Without looking, Castiel knew that all eyes were set on him. Now his face was almost as famous as Dean's. Castiel had never removed the photo of his naked companion which took center stage above the phone of the entrance of his apartment, and in revenge, Dean had framed an enlargement of a photo of Castiel at the Gay Pride and had hung it in his living room.
Charlie had tweeted it and since they were receiving every day pictures of the same enlargement framed in fan's living rooms.
People around him knew. He was no longer anonymous in the crowd. He was Dean Winchester's lover. He was the one who had defeated cancer, homophobia and an abusive family. The man in the old trench coat, dragging even more worn jeans to go in the backstage and kiss the person he loved at the end of the concert. Now everyone knew.
He didn't look anybody, smiled, and hid his face behind his camera, zooming in on the scene while Dean kept talking.
"He saved me, and I'm sure he can still save many other people..."
Kevin's cello began the first notes of "My heart will go on" and Castiel burst out laughing, alone in his corner of the crowd. Now, everyone knew how many times he had seen this movie and how many times he had forced the group to watch it with him. People around him were smiling while lights were becoming green on the stage.
The lyrics were silly but Dean's voice made them look... real. It was true that they would go on and on as long as they could rely on each other. This was not only talking about Dean and him, but also the relationship between the band and their fans.
When Dean was singing eyes closed, one hand clutching the microphone, it seemed true that love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime. No one but them knew the sweetness of their relationship. Everyone was aware of the difficulties, but the infinite love that united them was visible only very rarely, the few times they allowed themselves to indulge in public.
Castiel had lowered the camera. He had his eyes on Dean, mind lost in the song and the emotion of the moment. He was trying to carve each sensation in his memory. The sun on his shoulders, the light, the crowd singing in chorus, and the girl next to him saying to someone "I wish someone would look at me like that one day."
He did not know how much his face was reflecting the adoration and happiness he was feeling at this moment. He was only feeling big tears rolling down his cheeks when he wasn't even sad, and their salty taste. How a song this silly, heard so many times could make him shiver while the notes were still increasing and Dean standing more straight to force music off his lungs?
How could this be as intimate when they were surrounded by thousands people? How could drums, cello and bass tune so perfectly to Dean's voice that for a moment Castiel had the impression of not even touching the ground anymore?
He closed his eyes and whispered the last words together with Dean and the whole crowd. "You are safe in my heart and my heart will go on and on."
It could not have been more perfect if Crowley had written it. A moment later, Castiel was pushed, pulled on stage, and hugged Dean against his heart with all his strength, showering him with endearments echoing through the microphone. No matter that the whole world sees him calling Dean his sweetheart and kissing him in front of everyone and crying and…
He didn't give a damn.
Dean held his hand very tight, fixed his eyes dilated with excitement to his and smiled: "You jump, I jump?"
Castiel nodded. They jumped in the crowed.
Not a single hand let them down.
It was bliss.
"Give your art a shot
For someone out there it means a lot
Don't let your dreams die and rot
Yours are the faces I'll remember
Everytime I might forget
That for someone out there
Music really matters"
##
"When I'm a grown-up I wanna be like you!"
The kid was looking at him with big eyes full of admiration, clasping tightly his festival ticket that Dean had just signed. The singer had had to kneel in the dry earth to be at the child's height and smiled.
"Good idea lil' buddy."
He did not know what else to say, and found himself thinking about the discussion he had had with Castiel about the children they would not have. Probably because the accountant was standing a few steps away. What would he say to this kid if he was his son? Or Sam?
The answer was so obvious it made him smile again.
"You want a piece of advice?"
The kid nodded feverishly.
"Try to be the best as possible at school. I haven't been much there. So if you're real good, you can do songs even better than my own. And when you're more experienced than me, I'll come and ask you for an autograph."
The boy's eyes widened and his mouth opened in an expression of joy that Dean had rarely seen. He nodded solemnly.
"Promised." He said as he handed him a small hand that Dean shook, feeling strangely moved. He watched the child leave, accompanied by his mother, and felt the hand of Castiel on his shoulder.
"So?" Asked the accountant. "How does it feel to be the little boys idol?"
Dean raised his head to look at him. The sun made him squint, but he did not move.
"It feels like it's really worth fighting for."
Castiel pressed his shoulder. Tightly.
"Give yourself a shot
You are a melody
And you matter"
THE END
Post notes
I've spent so much time, energy and love to write this fic for past two years (damn, that much?) I'm having trouble finishing.
I could tell you so much more. Tell you that Free Will will never be the biggest rock band in the world, but will have thanks to their fans a long and interesting career. I could tell you that Dean and Cas will throw themselves into child protection and attempt to be models of hope for everyone they'll come across. Of curse they'll stay together. I could tell you about Sam's conquests and how he will continue to heal his wounds through music. I know Madison is going to stay with the group and open a travel blog filled with experiences and photos taken by Castiel. I do not know if Dorothy and Charlie will stay together more than a few years, but I know they will still be friends when the son of Kevin and Channing will discover a passion for painting. Because yes, these two will eventually get together!
But it would be pointless because the whole story was intended solely to bring the characters where they are now. If they forged themselves and got themselves back on track with music, I've shaped myself with this story, and now it's over, I can see how it speaks of me and of my own fights. That's why, for once, I feel the deep need to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for all your words of encouragement, and having come through this story with me. It is really important!
So thank you. From the bottom of my small heart, thank you!
Skadia
Translator's notes:
One year already... Dammit, it goes fast! I can't really believe one year has passed since I've started working with Skadia on her work...
Anyway guys, I wanted to thank every single one of you, those who've read, those who've left comments, those who've stayed with us all the way down... Thank you, really, your love and support was the most wonderful thing ever! Thank you, thank, you, thank you...
Deidato
