Warnings: Slightly inherent agoraphobia, reference to character death, reference to character loss, pain due to inherent character death

Chapter 13: Can I tell you something?

"Can I tell you something?

Promise not to tell another soul

We know every nightmare is real,

And we have to fight ours on our own"

Channing disliked the crowd. It had always scared her. Whenever she saw a large gathering of people she couldn't help but imagine falling and dying suffocated or trampled during a sudden mass movement. She disliked standing for too long, it gave her a backache. But that night, the public almost literally carried her.

The shouting around her probably made her lose some hearing points, but it was worth it. On stage, Kevin was transformed. It was like watching a cartoon where the hero or heroine puts on their costume and changes their identity to save the world. It was exactly the same thing that was happening with him as he raised his eyes in astonishment and then thrilled on the big screens which were displaying messages of support and love, which were all intended for him. Beside her, Linda had brought her hands to her face and was holding back her tears. She herself felt absurdly happy for her friend, and a little embarrassed too. The Kevin she remembered disliked excessively capture people's attention, he was discreet, polite, almost diffident for anyone who didn't know him.

The Kevin she had in front of her, just a short distance ranks was nothing like that. He was in his place, he was smiling, wearing black jeans on which someone (or himself) had wiped his hands full of phosphorescent paint, in a white t shirt on which she had taken several songs to recognize the band logo printed in purple. From where she was, she could see his piercing glowing depending on the lighting. She had counted them earlier in the evening. One on the arch, three on the ear besides the spacers, one on the chin, one on the nose.

He was no longer the boy with broken dreams she had seen coming back from Princeton. This Kevin must have die somewhere on stage and be reborn in a keyboard chord, taller and stronger. There was a moment of wavering when the screens gave way to a focus on the stirred face of Kevin who was wiping his nose in his wrist. Channing turned to Linda.

"I think he found his niche." She shouted to cover the screams and applauses. Linda was clapping her hands and nodded, she leaned over the girl to be heard.

"Better, he found his place."

Beside her, Castiel was smiling.

Linda doubted to one day get over her son's transformation. She could blame any generation gap, or blame herself for being reactionary and prim and proper, but piercings were almost as badly acceptable as the clothes he had chosen to appear in public. In big public she had to note. But the smile of her son warmed her heart. The last time she had seen him with this expression, he had received his letter of acceptance to Princeton.

When later they joined him behind the scenes, she hugged him in her arms, tight. He hugged her back, a little puzzled.

"I'm proud of you, very proud." She said, squeezing her son's face in her hands. That smile, that expression, was the only thing she wanted to see on his face for the rest of her life. And if he needed this strange family he had formed for that, Linda Tran didn't really mind.

##

"The empty road stretching under our wheels

Going from one horror to another

We know every nightmare is real

And we're paralized in terror"

Charlie, Dean and Sam had left the scene during one of Kevin's solo, taking him by surprise, stuck in a ray of blue light. They were watching him from the backstages, looking up to the giant screens where, as he played, popped messages which were intended for him. Castiel had collected them on social networks, fan forums and had made a compilation of compliments and positive thoughts that were now passing to the view of all, and particularly of Channing and Linda. After Kevin's solo Dean would go back on stage for the acoustic session and Charlie took advantage of the few minutes remaining to slip into his arms. The cello notes were lingering, drowned by the muffled cries of the crowd and she began to cry against his shoulder. He had closed his arms around her from automatism and was gently rocking her before even having really realized she was crying.

"You know you're stealing his moment to Kevin?" He said by leaning his head a little to lay a kiss on her temple. She sniffled and nodded, but deep down, she didn't care. Kevin could have his moment and she could fall to pieces two minutes. Just two minutes to remember that never in the hall there would be someone to be proud of her and look at her with the admiration of a mother.

She had the impression of being a doll that get passed when Dean released his grip and pushed her to Sam for her to finish crying while he retrieved his guitar and went back on stage. Sam didn't rock her. She doubted he even was physically able to, he simply wrapped his big frame around her and watched the scene over her shoulder as she twisted and creased his tank top in her tight fist.

"Is it because of Dorothy?" He asked softly.

Dean wouldn't have asked the question. Perhaps because he would have guessed by himself, or maybe because he generally preferred to stay away from this kind of topics. She shrugged, realizing that her constant state of distress for several days had indeed everything to do with Dorothy, but tonight it wasn't the problem. Tonight, she was just feeling very alone while Kevin was finally so surrounded. She felt guilty for being so jealous of her friend, after all, of them all he was the one who was the more cut off from the world during the tour. But that didn't stop her from feeling alone and miserable.

Sam still had an arm around her shoulders when he held her bass out and they went up on stage. He held her against him just a half second too long, enough for Kevin to throw them a curious glance over his beatific smile and the drummer motionned him with the end of a drumstick that he would explain later.

The sound and the bass vibrations always calmed Charlie. She could focus on clenching her fingers on the neck, the monitors in her ear protector, the cries of the crowd, the echo of the drumroll that were reverberated in her bones. The music was shaking the scene under her sneakers as if it wanted to change her center of gravity and gradually, Charlie found herself swinging in rhythm, smiling slightly. Had to smile. Had to pretend, make people believe that it was easy to get on stage, even having sore hands and even with the heart in shreds. But the smile rarely remained fake for a long time. The music had the power to catch her by the edge of the soul and wrap around it to become the only important thing in the world.

"So I have an arsenal in my trunk

And you besides me, riding shotgun,

Sky is our only permanent roof

Salt and burn all the remains that could be a proof"

Charlie felt almost drunk when coming down the scene after the recall. The light had been turned on again behind the scenes and she caught the green glow of her bass when she removed it. The color was nothing new. The instrument had been offered by their producer just before the start of the tour. Crowley had held it out to her in a case beribboned in red and she had accepted it grudgingly, knowing she should therefore put her old beloved Rickenbacker away in favor of the brand-new Precision. But the sound of the latter suited incredibly well to Free Will's lives. The deep, round, almost smooth sound, perfectly accompanied Dean's voice and compensated the more high-pitched sound of his guitar.

She had conceived resentment towards Crowley for that. The instrument was costly, thought out for her ("green like your eyes" had said the producer), but it was the incarnation of a form of liability to marketing that she found very unpleasant. If Sam and Dean resented the cuts in their songs or the smoothing of their music, Charlie didn't like being imposed her instrument nor the sound that came out of it. She had named the Precision after Dorothy has pointed out to her that if Sid Vicious had been able to play punk rock with a Precision, she could surely get something pretty not smooth of it to annoy Crowley. It had made her smile.

The Fender was called the Wizard of OZ from that day and it was a joke between the two women. For everyone, the name had been chosen because the instrument was green like the Emerald City. In fact, the name referred to Crowley as a cheap junk magician only turned to theatricality. And this gave Charlie a sense of control over the nearly poisoned chalice he had given her. She regarded for a while the reflections in the green micro-particles before storing the instrument in its case. She had made a decision somewhere between the applause and the song of the recall and she wouldn't turn around.

Backed to the tourbus, smoking a cigarette, nose raised to the clouds lazily passing in front of the moon and temporarily darkening the parking lot, Dorothy watched the bassist approach in a rush. Charlie could have decipher her expression even in total darkness. She really didn't know where to start or what she would say when she opened her mouth. The words sprung out of her under the scope of emotion and adrenaline, tangled, incoherent and silly but they wanted to come out.

"I'm gonna fight." She said fists clenched, advancing towards Dorothy. "I don't care what we said one year ago. I want it to continue and I won't let you throw me out of your life like I don't mean anything! I'll fight because I deserve to be treated better than that."

Dorothy leaned her head to the side as if she needed a new perspective on the bassist. She dropped her cigarette and crushed it under the heel of her sneaker without a word. Words, Charlie had for both.

"You'll find it stupid, but I don't care, I want it to be romantic like in a movie." The redhead continued. "I want my great love story. I want the warrior princess. And I refuse to accept less than the big adventure! I wanna fight with you, against you, and for us to make up in bed. I want to be scared to death and you to comfort me. I wanna do illegal things with you, stupid things, I… I want my epic love and I want it with you!"

Dorothy smiled and Charlie felt suddenly really angry. She had no right to smile when she was opening her heart!

"But the big adventure is already started, Red."

"Don't make fun of me!"

"I don't." Dorothy said, approaching her. "I'm deadly serious. The big adventure is started. Whether I like it or not." She had placed her hands on Charlie's cheeks and plunged her eyes into hers. "And that's why it's so hard, why the future scares me so much. Because this adventure, nobody knows if it'll end well. That's why being together is a bad idea." She was close enough that Charlie still feel the whiff of her cigarette in her breath.

"I don't mind being scared. Others survive much worse." Charlie said, placing her hands on the hips of her partner. "And I'm ready to fight against the entire world if necessary!" It seemed easy, cruelly easy to make up at this moment. As if by pretending that nothing had existed they could brush away with their hand every single day that Charlie had dragged her sentence like a millstone, ignoring the ball of loneliness grewing in Dorothy's belly.

"The entire world doesn't care." Dorothy said, moving Charlie's hair from her face. It was too dark to really see the green of her eyes but she could imagine it and that was enough. The lump in her stomach, full of cigarette smoke and words chewed until being nothing more than a mush she hardly choked back, was begining to dissipate. Dorothy wondered by what stupidity they had let things endorse and when it would have simply suffice to exchange a few words to not lose so much time to suffer each in her corner.

"Good."

Charlie had closed her eyes, had stood on tiptoe to be able to kiss her because there was no way that their talk concludes by other means than a kiss. Those were days of tears and frustration that Dorothy tasted on Charlie's lips, days of fear and pain she felt in the back of her head where the nails of the bassist sank like to brand her.

She hugged her against herself tight enough to print the fold of her clothes on her chest, tight enough for the pressure of their busts against each other to be painful, but they didn't break the kiss. Possessive and resolute, as a way of promise to belong to one another. Had they been able to reach the bus without detaching their lips, they would have done it. They contented themselves to mutually push each other inside, one pinning the other against the door barely closed by locking it gropingly, their hands already under their clothes, and no matter who'd want to enter, who would see them go out, for now only the two of them mattered.

##

"Everyone say we're criminals,

Killing our way through life,

And the day of our trial,

We'll just say we had no other choice"

Sam had lingered after the concert, half sprawled on the keyboard, sitting on the small stool that Kevin used to play the cello, he was plinking some notes heard earlier on the radio when Madison approached. He shifted slightly to let her sit next to him without stop playing softly, the sound strangely echoing in the empty hall.

"That was a good show." She said. He nodded.

"I think Kevin's mother was very touched."

"She had a reason to be."

He continued to play in loop the same three bars of the chorus of the song he didn't even know the title.

"Sam."

"Hem?"

"I'm sorry. For the other night. I wanted to apologize. This isn't how I should have reacted."

He shrugged. "I already said it was no big deal."

"Still." The sound of the keys was beginning to irritate Madison and she wanted him to look at her rather than keep looking down at the keyboard. She slipped her hand next to his until he stops playing to wrap his long fingers around hers, rubbing his thumb against her wrist. It was a habit he probably wasn't aware of. "I'm sorry. And I'm sad too."

"About what?"

"That I can't be her. I know she had reacted properly." He now was looking at her with an expression both puzzled and sad. He squeezed her hand almost without realizing it.

"I'm also sorry." He said quietly. "Sorry to be like him so much. Sorry to be exactly the kind of person you don't want in your life."

Madison nodded, trying to watch something other than Sam's eyes, the shadows of his sweaty wisps who stuck to his forehead. Trying to see something else than the sunflowers at the bottom of his pupils and the shiny silver of his piercings.

"I still want to try."

The words had blurted out of her, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the piercings, by a flutter of lashes of Sam to sneak out of her mind. Curiously she didn't regret them, but her heart began to pound abnormally fast by seeing his expression change, moving from pensive and sad to… something else. As a mischievous glint that shone in his eyes while a smile slowly stretched his lips. Now she could watch his dimples and focuse on it. It made her want to smile too.

"Me either." He said, and suddenly his hand was on Madison's cheek, or maybe it was there for a long time? He watched her flutter her eyelashes as if clearing up her view would clear her mind, and with his thumb he brushed the slight blush of her cheeks before leaning toward her to kiss her, his fingers clutching Madison's neck, where the hair was a soft, warm blanket. They had both closed their eyes, their noses banged making them giggle, he could feel the pulse of the young woman under his hand, their hearts were beating as fast as the other. They guided each other, slowly, savoring the few seconds before the inevitable kiss before their lips join. For a second, maybe two they remained motionless, without breathing, just invaded by the new feeling, tasting the lips of the other, their texture, the salt taste of Sam's, the smooth slide of the balm on Madison's.

Then they were standing, her on tiptoes, hanging on Sam's neck until he lift her up with one arm, wrapped her legs around his waist with the other and carried her to a wall while she clung to his hair, laughing. As soon as they were settled, her, pressed against the wall, him, pressed against her, they began to kiss again, this time exploring each other, moaning occasionally, only stopping breathless to look at each other for a second and laugh again.

It seemed to Madison that the sunflowers in Sam's eyes were larger, more yellow than before. Then she didn't see them anymore when he closed his eyes and laid a line of kisses along her jaw to her neck where he buried his head as if it were its natural place while she dug her nails into his hair and shoulder.

##

"Can I tell you something?

Promise not to tell another soul,

Freedom is a length of rope

God wants you to hang yourself with it

But it's still worth fighting for"

Castiel and Dean said nothing during the short taxi ride that took them to the hotel where the team had booked rooms. Castiel leaned against the door to close it behind him while Dean put their bags down on the thick carpet, shivering in the cold air conditioning.

"You're annoyed with me." Castiel said thoughtfully without leaving his position, the hand still on the door handle.

Dean sighed and took off his jacket which he threw on the bed before sitting on it while passing a hand over his face.

"No. Yes. I don't know Cas. I asked you to send me a USB key, no to escort it to the other end of the country."

Castiel shrugged and also sat down on the bed. "It was just an excuse to see you."

"I know, and it's absurd. We return to LA in less than two weeks. You couldn't wait until then?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel scowled suddenly. Without answering he stood up and slammed the door of the small bathroom behind him, he let the shower water soak his hand, then the bottom of his jeans while trying to adjust the temperature.

"I'm sorry." Dean said entering after making a few discreet knocks on the door. Castiel shrugged.

"Me either."

"Are we really going to argue for that?"

New shrug. "It's up to you. Can you hear that I'm fine, and that whatever you say about it, if I want to cross the country twice in one weekend to see you, I will do so?"

Dean chuckled and entered completely into the bathroom to take him in his arms. "Can you hear that it'll still worry me anyway?"

Castiel nodded. Dean had passed his hands under his shirt and found on his hip a bandage half detached by sweat. He gave her a questioning look in the mirror and began to tear as delicately as possible the stacking of compresses and Band-Aid to uncover the brand new tattoo. He ran his thumb on the phrase covered with a layer of cream so thick that it tarnished the black ink and hid the red inflammation around the letters. He recognized his own handwriting and smiled, spreading the cream with fingertips to decipher every word. "Worth fighting for".

His concerns seemed suddenly ridiculous and inappropriate and he took his lover's face in his hands to kiss him, spreading the healing cream onto it. There were fights that needed to be conducted, but he decided that those who opposed him to Castiel were not part of the list.

##

"We're criminals and hellbound

But I like the empty road under our wheels

Having you riding shotgun

Hell doesn't know how good I feel"

"Dotty?"

"Hum?"

"Remember the cliff thing?" Charlie asked lazily. She felt her partner turning slightly in the small bunk where they were lying to try to look at her but she already couldn't open her eyes anymore. Dorothy regained her first position with her back to the wall of the bus, arms and legs wrapped around the bassist, and pressed her lips to her forehead above her bangs.

"Of course I remember."

It was hard to believe that it dated back to a year now. They had just left LA and Dorothy had only seen the group on two occasions before they got in the bus, heckling. The first part of the ride had been without incident, they had made a first stop in Malibu before taking the Pacific Coast Highway to St. Louis. They had exactly thirty hours to reach Monterey and that would require the drivers to take turns and get soaked with coffee shortly. The motor failure of a hardware trucks had forced them to stop at the edge of a cliff to the great annoyance of Dorothy. She hated wasting time. She remembered that when Charlie had approached her, she was leaning on the guardrail overlooking the sea and was wondering if it would be better to take a nap or to prepare a tonic. Charlie had let out a delighted exclamation when leaning over the railing.

"There's a staircase!"

"So what?" Dorothy had almost resolved to return to the roadies bus when she had seen out of the corner of her eye Charlie pulling her shirt out of her shorts. "What are you doing?"

"If there's a staircase it means you can back up!" The young woman had answered as if it was a self-evident fact. From the other side of the road the bus door had slammed and Dorothy remembered with a smile Dean barreling toward them by calling Charlie an idiot.

The redhead had bursted of laughter, throwing her shirt on the floor as well as her sandals before climbing on the railing with a small wince when the metal grazed her foot. She greeted Dorothy with a nod and before the latter could reach her, plunged into the void as far as the strength of her legs enabled her to. Dorothy barely stifled a yelp and leaned over the railing along with Dean, just in time to see Charlie finish her fall within five meters of the cliff in a jet of splashes.

"Damn, I hate when she does that!" Dean shouted, striking the guardrail.

"She often does that?"

Dean had nodded, gloomily.

"Last time, the time to go back, she had bleeding feet." He groused, following the progress of the girl with his eyes until she disappeared at the corner of a rock not far from the small beach that bordered the foot of the cliff. Eventually he actually realized the presence of Dorothy and gave a little smile of apology. "If you want to return the keys do it right away, because it's always a bit like that with her and Sam isn't better." He advised.

Dorothy smiled for the first time of the day. Her heart was beating very fast of a retrospective fear and the wind was drying in her back a cold sweat she perceived only now.

"She's crazy?"

Dean nodded. "Absolutely loony." He confirmed.

"She has guts."

"That's a way to put it."

When Charlie reached the top of the stairs, the bassist still had legs red where they had hit the water probably in a very painful angle. But she was grining, cheeks red of excitement, moving her soaked hair from her face where the wind persisted to pull them back. She smiled at Dorothy and offered her a wet and icy hand.

"Charlie Bradbury." She presented herself.

"Dorothy. Baum."

It was strange to think it dated back to a year. Since then she had seen Charlie do things even more stupid, dangerous or illegal and that was part of her partner she appreciated as much as it terrorized her. She understood why Charlie enjoyed playing with fire so much. There was like a need for adrenaline, a need for thrills that the scene wasn't always enough to give her. A need to feel alive, even briefly, like when Dorothy was slaloming between cars in motorcycle.

She hugged the bassist harder against her in the cramped space, her lips still on her forehead.

"Of course I remember." She whispered although Charlie was asleep and couldn't hear her.

She remembered it as the day she had first been taken with Charlie.