Chapter 22.
Dean texted his mother to meet him in the armoury. By the time he got there with his angel blade, she was waiting for him. She had a cassette player with her.
"You wanna do this to music?" he said.
"It works best that way." she said, "Put the blade down. You won't need it."
"Kinda hard to practice without it." he said.
"Change of plan. We're going to dance." she said.
"No, we're not." he said.
She took the blade from his hand and put it on a shelf. "No Campbell has ever danced badly in public."
"Then you have a big incentive to stop me from ever dancing." he said, "Although, I am not a Campbell."
"Oh, Dean, you are such a Campbell." she said, "Come on, you should know how to dance. You might even have fun."
"I know how to dance, I just choose not to." he said.
"Well, choose differently. It's for your angel's birthday."
"Don't call him that." said Dean, wishing people would stop seeing Cas that way.
"Sorry. Don't you think of him like that?"
"Of course I don't. He's not my angel. He's not my anything. He's Cas."
"Your guardian, guide, protector, defender, best friend ... "
"Cas." said Dean.
"Okay. Well, it's for Cas."
"He doesn't care whether I dance or not."
"Then do it for me. We used to dance a lot."
"The Campbells?"
"You and me." she said.
He looked into her eyes. They didn't often discuss his childhood, mainly because it seemed cruel to bring it up in front of Sam, who had no memories of the brief time when he had been safely in his mother's arms. He did vaguely remember dancing with her, holding her hands, loving her laugh as much as the music, happy that she was happy.
"I don't dance." he said.
"Because you can't." she said.
"Yeah, fine, I can't." he said.
"I can teach you."
"No thanks." he said.
"You don't think you'll be able to learn?"
That irritated him. "I can dance, okay!"
"Prove it." she said with a smile.
He was going to refuse, but he thought of Cas, heading out to Ionia to stare at bees because he didn't want Dean's thoughts in his head. Maybe he owed it to Cas to try to distract his mind.
"Okay, I'll dance here, with you. Doesn't mean anyone will see me dance at the party."
She nodded. "You might want to dance, once you get back into it, but that's up to you."
"I may be a little rusty. It's been a while." he said.
"Sam's pretty good." she said.
"Well, I think I can beat Sam." he said.
For the first twenty seconds, he managed to maintain an air of mild annoyance, but it didn't last. He found it oddly easy to get back into the rhythm of dancing and his mother was a good dancer, full of energy and fun, fast on her feet. She still laughed the same way too and her happiness still made him smile.
He was dancing for her, because she wanted to dance. In the back of his mind, his four year old self was cheering him on, loving the fact that he could still make her laugh like that, could still fill her life with joy.
Something else in his mind, something dark and cold, told him not to be too happy, not to dare to think he had a right to fun and freedom. He thought about what Cas had said, talking about Sarah and her ideas about avoidance of joy. He hated to think that she could see so clearly into the shadows in his psyche.
Sarah understood him far too well. He'd try his usual lines to convince her all was well and she'd just give him a look as if she pitied him for thinking that would work. She had known too many wounded souls, seen too many of their defensive tactics and she was not fooled by his.
Part of him was glad of that. Not far from that four year old, dazzled by his beautiful, funny, wonderful Mom was the six year old, who had buried his face in the pillow to cry himself to sleep, trying not to let his father or brother hear his pain. That little boy, hidden in a mind that was no place for a child, felt the words and hugs of the kindly old lady and stopped cowering in the dark. Wounds made so long ago, untended for so long, healed when she was near. He hadn't known how much he craved affection until that gentle old woman had offered him her unconditional love.
His mother was glowing, an optical illusion caused by the lights in the room and the tears in his eyes. Sarah was not the only one who loved him unconditionally. He kept telling himself not to come to depend on his mother being around, because she might not stay, but it was hopeless. He needed her. He would always need her. He couldn't love her less and protect himself from pain. His love for her was as absolute and all-consuming as it had been when he was four. "I love you, Mom." he said.
Her answering smile was beautiful. "I love you too, Dean." she said.