Chapter title is from song by Samuel Barber.

83

Adagio for Strings – Samuel Barber

He dreamt of her still.

Ocean waves crashed against rocks in these dreams, a low murmuring rumble off in the distance. She was standing out there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the deck, looking out over the horizon. He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close. Buried his nose in the fragrance of her hair. She eased back against him, trusting him with her slight weight, the fit against him both heaven and a heartache. She would turn, slide her arms around his neck, slip a kiss over his lips, soft and exploring. He would see just how tightly he could hold her, his kiss devouring, all heat and need until she wrapped around him, ecstasy and perfection.

She liked using his chest as her pillow, head tucked beneath his chin, breathing soft and easy with the lassitude of sleep. He stroked her arm lightly, not wanting to wake her, just enough to make sure she was real, but her lips would curve with his smile anyway, like she knew what he was doing. She would curl closer, snuggle deeper, content and secure in the circle of his arm, nightmares banished.

Home.

Often he woke on a breath threatening to become a noise, something choked up and desperate in his throat, hand curling around empty sheet instead of the Bowie knife underneath his pillow. Mercifully, Sam ignored these little chinks in the fourth wall, early in the morning when the dream was too close and too raw. He felt his way blindly through the day, waiting for the night, waiting for the time he could close his eyes and drift off to that other place, where the world wasn't cutting with each breath.

He ran out of Jack and ran out of Johnny, and they didn't work anyway. Then he was angry, angry at her for promising one thing and doing another, angry that she left him to face each cold dawn alone. Angry about the hole eating its way through his chest, at the burden of being human again, assaulted by feelings that threatened to drown him day by day. And he was angry at the slow process of healing that came with his humanity, hesitant fibers weaving their way cautiously across the gap in his heart that should have stayed a wound forever.

Sam was pussyfooting again. Not quite hovering, his need to talk lying there just below the surface of his patient giving-you-space 'tude. Dean ignored him. Give him something to hunt, something to kill, something to exercise his general rage at the universe on, and he was good to go.

Warm sunlight beat gently down on him. It was times like this, between jobs, when there was nothing to focus on, nothing to think about except the things hovering at the edge of his perception that were the real problem. He sat on the picnic table at the edge of the lake, propping his feet up on the bench, looking out over the expanse of blue water behind the dam, seeing nothing. He had about twenty minutes before Sam got back from the grub run, which was twenty minutes when Sam wasn't looking at him like he was a ticking bomb about to implode. If for a moment, he let go of the thing twisting his soul into a knot, he would see the relief in Sam's face, the gratitude in Sam's eyes, and, God forgive him, the joy. If in that moment, he felt the ghostly warmth of her hand lace through his, felt a little push towards life and future and hope, felt understanding like a blessing kiss his brow—if he felt those things—he would step forward into life, which he had no business doing.

"I am sorry, Dean."

He almost jumped off the table and out of his skin. At the last instant recognition kicked in, so all he did was start and turn to see Cas, still in his trench coat despite the heat, sitting quietly beside him on the table, hands folded over his knees, the blue of the water perfectly reflected in Cas' unmoving gaze.

"Jesus, Cas. We need to bell you or something."

"I don't think so. I already got my wings back, thank you."

Dean rolled his eyes. It was not a Wonderful Life, and Cas had earned his wings ten times over by now anyhow. He just wanted a little warning before Cas popped in on him.

He swallowed. He must have let a little prayer slip through his thoughts, or Cas had his ears set on high. Talking was just about the last thing he wanted to do right now, not knowing what he might let slip through, when things were still jumbled in his mind, fighting for supremacy.

He heard himself talking anyway.

"If I could have broken that hex."

"Dean." Cas' voice was grave.

Cas went silent for so long that he turned to make sure Cas was still there. It wouldn't be the first time Cas flitted off mid-talk. Angel boy was staring at some far off point over the lake, possibly looking at some spot between dimensions, for all he knew.

"That wasn't a hex. There's no such thing as an anti-telekinesis hex."

The I-told-you-so flash he had was short lived. He already knew he wasn't going to like what came next.

"It was a bind."

"A bind?"

"A bind is tied to the wearer's emotion. You couldn't have broken it if you tried."

He didn't need to ask what that emotion was.

All that time. It had been sitting right in front of him, all that time.

Sam had been right. It was why the normally perceptive Sam never caught on to the B-side, because all those things—those shining, impossible things Sam believed in, they had been real.

He stood, propelled to his feet because he couldn't sit any longer. Cas got up with him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn't shake it off.

"Dean."

"I'm fine, Cas."

Strange, now that he thought of it. She so rarely said his name. Hadn't needed it, for whatever reason.

And she never actually said goodbye.

His mind raced, retracing events from beginning to end, a perfect circle. His heart beat too fast with the thinking of it.

"Cas."

Cas anticipated his question. "I don't know, Dean."

"You came back." There, and there it was out. That little secret unvoiced hope, hiding for the fear that saying it out loud would destroy it. "Something brought you back."

Cas went silent again. He moved forward a few steps, standing at the edge of the path before it dropped off to the water. "Yes."

It seemed Cas would stop there. Silence stretched, comfortable and easy, in the warm gold light of midday. The chaos of the world in upheaval seemed far away. They stood there for minutes, in the tranquil little bubble of sunshine, looking out over the lake. He felt the warmth curl around him, there and not there, threaded through the sunlight, whispering on the breeze. If he closed his eyes, if he listened to the wind, he could almost believe. How he wanted to believe.

In the distance he heard Baby rumble to a stop as Sam pulled into the parking lot. He heard the rustle of paper bags as Sam gathered up the burgers he'd gone the extra miles to get. Sam got out of the car slowly. He would be looking curiously at the two of them standing there motionless, like they were doing some bizarre meditation thing or yoga pow-wow, which they most definitely were not.

Cas turned to him then, and looked him straight in the eye the way only Cas would do.

"Do you see?"

Dean hauled in a breath around the sharp edges of something stuck in his throat. He looked out at the sunlight sparkling off the water again. The words got stuck in his chest, because they were fragile and the world was still the world and there were still things that moved in the darkness and in the shadows.

He turned to look at Sam walking towards them, fizzy drinks on a cardboard tray in one hand, grease soaked paper bag in the other. There was another bag hanging off Sam's arm, with a square box sitting in it and a distinctive red-topped can full of artificial fat rolling around on top of that. He could smell the warm cinnamon from here; pumpkin this time, not apple.

He glanced out over the lake again, squinting against the reflected light. His look slid past Cas, wordless and teetering. He knew what it was he held in his hands, in his heart, delicate like a butterfly, the stuff of spun sugar and dreams. His heart ached.

It was easy to forget sometimes, that Cas was an angel, of sorts, and he saw with more than human eyes. After everything Cas had been through, perhaps more than an angel's sight. Cas looked, and what he saw made him smile. It was a little sad, Cas' smile, but also satisfied. Of course, Cas chose that moment to flap off with his old-new wings, leaving sunlight where he stood.

Show-off.

He looked around at Sammy heading up the path towards him, looking back a question at him. What was that about?

Not yet.

Most of it Sam already knew. Because Sam was smart that way. But there was just one thing. Just one more thing he needed to show Sam.

His job wasn't done yet.

Dean brushed off his jeans and met Sam halfway before reaching out for the bag Sam handed to him.

"You remembered the pie."

Sam gave a small start and tried to hide his relief.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded shortly, reached down into the cooler, and grabbed two beers, handing one to his brother. As he reached down he glanced at the clean skin of his forearm, tanned evenly by the sun, not a line nor scar left there as a reminder.

A new day.

His breath rasped out.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." He kept his answer short, not ready to say more. "Yeah, Sam. Everything's fine."