Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A. N. Today, prompt n. 14. Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."― Plato

Radio Angel

People broadcast their feelings. That's just the way life is. Or, at least, they broadcast their love. Dean suspects that if they broadcasted anger too, he wouldn't need the radio permanently on. He's never forgotten dad's tale. How he'd fallen for their mum, and realized he had it really bad when, out of the blue, Mary started humming the Led Zeppelin song that was his latest earworm. And the elation of realizing it was reciprocal when he'd heard a song that didn't come from the radio...one she admitted later was her latest favourite.

Love borrows music to express itself. Always has, always will. That's why your beloved will hear the soundtrack right from your mind. At least that's what Dean has been told. Whether it is because they're always too quick to move on to the next location – the next case – or because he just isn't lovable, he doesn't know. Oh, he's fuckable, yeah. Wanted. But it doesn't take him long to learn that it takes a bit more for actual love to be born. Born worth a song, at least.

Maybe it's his fault. He can never be honest, after all, and people notice that. See the facade he shields himself with for what it is. Pretty, sure. But not safe. Not worth scratching at – who knows what you'd find.

Not that it matters. The Impala offers all the soundtrack one can wish for. It's probably best he's not tainted by inescapable Mariah Carey or whatever. Dad has the best taste in music, ever, and that's a fact.

Of course, eventually Sam will disagree with that, just for the sake of disagreeing, Dean suspects sometimes. The kid wants better, and he deserves it, too. It's just – it might not be a song in his head, but at least it's a human voice at his side. One that's not barking orders or slurred with drink, when it deigns to be around at all. It's not that Dean is lonely. He doesn't get to be. But sometimes, he finds himself just aching for someone who cares. At least a little.

Nah, he's just being whiny. It's not that Sam cares only the littlest bit. Sure, not enough to stay with them (him), but enough to follow him, when Dean breaks down, after too long alone, and asks him to come along. Because dad's not checked in. As if his brother didn't know that their old man never does that when he's promised to.

Sammy must have read him. The way he was just fucking lonely. Sure, to be given the car and allowed to hunt on his own is supposed to be an accomplishment. But truth is, apparently Sam wasn't the only one who needed a breather from him. And Dean can be a needy bitch sometimes, even if he's supposed to be the jerk.

When their personal demon fucks things over (again), they're back on the road for good. There's no way he's leaving Sam on his own, half-suicidal as the kid is. Dean tries not to wonder whether, if he'd never come along, Sammy would be dead too, or if maybe he could have fled with Jess. He suspects that Sam is at least a bit relieved by the Impala's permanent, old-fashioned soundtrack. There's no risk of stumbling on any of their songs that way. (Of course Sam and Jess would have had songs. That was love. What Dean can't have, and he's starting to think it's for the best.)

At least, some things never change. Soft rock still knocks his baby brother out, even when he thinks he's too upset to sleep. Dean knows how to take care of the kid. That's his job, after all.

For a few years, that's his whole life. He hunts, takes down his share of monsters, and takes care of Sammy best he can. He has the Impala, its radio, the tapes, Sam wanting to talk even when Dean really, really would rather not. That's enough to get by. And then Sam's dead, and – there's no way Dean can move on.

Good thing that dad taught him what to do, and crossroads aren't exactly hard to find. Once he's gone, his baby brother will be fine. Maybe stop hunting. Find that white fence thing he's yearned for all along. Another blonde, or brunette (Dean doesn't think Sam's picky about that – possibly more about IQ), more songs. But Dean needs to make sure Sammy is alive to do that. He won't be a big loss for anyone, all things considered. It's not like he's leaving a widow or anything.

That's the end of Dean Winchester. Or – it should have been. Because suddenly he's not in hell anymore, which is weird to say the least (especially because Sammy swears up and down that it's not his doing) and possibly scary, because whose plan is he a pawn in, then?

The soft buzzing in his ear, that comes and goes, is probably (hopefully) just a side effect of...whatever. It'll disappear soon. Either that, or Dean will learn to tune it out. It's not like it's completely disabling. The much louder, ear-bleeding screech cum buzz that hits him once is, instead, a problem. And one that doesn't derive from illness, he's sure. But they'll solve that. Soon as they learn what a Castiel is, and how you kill it. With what he's done to Pamela, and the path he'd been already set to, Dean can't imagine it's anything good. Well, the thing will have to learn that Dean isn't going to roll over and go with whatever the plan is anymore.

Dean's the most surprised of them all, when a Castiel turns out to be an angel. If there are supernatural forces of good, as far as he's concerned, they've been slacking off for decades. Cas almost kills him all over again, because...it simply doesn't happen. Not to Dean Winchester. How could it happen for hell relict Dean? The buzzing is long gone, though, when – suddenly, the Impala for once silent and Sam sulking about something or other – there's a tune in his mind. Not a song he recognizes, but the throaty, resonant voice? Yeah. Cas's voice (or his vessel's, apparently) is unique. And Dean says it with a certain knowledge of music. The Impala swerves, Sam swears, looking alarmed at him, and Dean blames dozing off at the wheel. Even if it means that he has to let Sam drive (they can't exactly take time off right now, except the minimum necessary).

Still, Cas is on his brethren's side. Uriel and Zachariah and uh, Sammy may be the intended vessel of Lucifer and a demon blood addict, but Dean suspects he's still the luckier one, if one considered siblings. If only because he has only one, rather than countless assholes. And okay, maybe he's a bit manipulative. Pushes just a little more, knowing what Cas feels. But he's trying to stop the literal apocalypse, and every apologetic tune (Cas definitely uses music to send messages) he's heard since that first time makes him a little more confident. Come on, Cas.

Just like he hoped, his angel breaks. Picks his side. Not soon enough to stop Sam from being stupid (or Lucifer from getting out) but – he has someone on his side. Someone who loves him. Someone he doesn't deserve, of course he doesn't, but until the angel realizes the error of his ways, Dean is not going to be the one to enlighten him.

And then, one day, Cas pops into the Impala while Dean's on a food errand. No risk of a car accident, this time, since he had a musical warning. Dad's (now Dean's) Led Zeppelin tape is on, and his angel starts singing right along. Obviously, the only reasonable thing to do is join in a chorus. When the song is done, he switches the radio off.

"I wasn't sure they were in heaven. Good to know."

Cas huffs a laugh. "As if I hadn't heard it a hundred times over from you."

"Uh?"

"You don't know?" Confused head tilt mixed with hurt blue blue eyes make it impossible to keep one's eyes on the road.

"I..." Did he want to get Cas horizontal? Yeah, sure. Did he not want to disappoint him, even suspecting he would? Yeah. Did he find him adorable sometimes? Who wouldn't? But how was Dean supposed to know what he was feeling? Love wasn't supposed to be in the cards. Not for him. Finally, he sighs. "I'm an idiot."

"We need to do something for your self-esteem, beloved," Cas declares. Uh, again.