Chapter Text
Dean settled into the crimson seat next on Ben’s left, rolling his eyes at the annoying velvety feel of the chair. He looked over to see Ben chattering excitedly to Lisa, who sat on the boy’s right. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, deciding that he could suck it up and sit through a few hours of listening to a boring classical orchestra, at a pretentious, over-the-top theater if it made Ben happy. This whole trip had been Ben’s idea. And that was Dean’s fault.
When he’d decided to take a few days off from hunting to go on a trip with Lisa and Ben, he told Ben they could do whatever he wanted. “Really? Anything?” Ben had asked, his eyes lighting up immediately. “Yeah, man,” Dean replied. He owed Lisa and Ben so much more than that. But this was a start.
He thought Ben would choose something like going to a baseball game or watching a movie. Instead the boy ran excitedly to his bedroom, pulled out a flyer for some orchestra in some fancy theater in New York, then ran back to the kitchen table and handed it to Dean, gazing up at him with pleading eyes. Dean stared at the paper in shock, then at Ben’s desperate little face, then back at the paper.
Hearing the prolonged silence, Lisa looked up from her paperwork at the other end of the table. She shook her head when her eyes fell on the flyer. “Ben, I told you a million times,” she said in a tired tone. “We can’t go all the way to New York to see this show. Go on YouTube, it’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s fine, Lisa,” Dean said, finally snapping out of his daze. He knew her well enough to know that she would take Ben if she could afford it. But she couldn’t. A yoga instructor’s salary doesn’t exactly allow for spontaneous trips to fancy New York theaters. Dean, on the other hand, could easily afford this trip, thanks to his credit card…hobby.
So they’d packed for the trip, Ben jumping up and down and Lisa thanking Dean more times than was necessary, and here they were.
Dean was tapping his feet on the perfectly polished marble floor, occasionally catching a word in Ben and Lisa’s conversation. He smiled when Ben mentioned “art lessons” and Lisa nodded.
Over these past few days Dean had realized that he was right for staying away from them for so long, for shielding Ben from the life Dean’s father had forced Dean to live. Because maybe, if Dean had been allowed to be a kid, to discover what he liked to do instead of being trained like a soldier…maybe Dean would have liked classical music and painting, too. And maybe he wouldn’t have spent his entire life denying that he was bisexual.
His heart began to race at that last thought, as it always did when connected his military-like upbringing with the deep-seated internal homophobia he’d had to fight after his father’s death. He was pretty much over the homophobia at this point, but his resentment toward his father was still strong.
Dean’s train of thought was interrupted by a loud, “Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen,” but he didn’t even bother to look up. He leaned his head back against the chair, pain and self-pity suddenly overtaking him.
The orchestra music played in the back of Dean’s mind as he sat in a strange daze. His mind was empty but his heart was overflowing with crippling sadness. The theater was dark and the music was slow, and Dean’s eyes drooped as he let his head fall back, his left cheek resting on the soft cushiony back of his chair. The music swelled and died down repeatedly, its many instruments only a dull hum in Dean’s mind. He could feel himself slowly slipping into a warm sleep, his eyes falling completely shut.
Suddenly, the low hum of music came to a stop. It was replaced by a single note, trembling and reverberating out into the air, held until its strength faded out into silence. All at once, Dean’s mental solitude was filled with a stream beautiful high notes, pouring over his ears in a lyrical melody that sounded as if it were coming straight from heaven.
Dean opened his eyes in shock and looked up onto the stage. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the man standing there. Dean’s eyes found jet-black hair that, despite being gelled back with a lot of care, still looked unruly. The man had facial hair a bit longer than stubble, making him look serious and, perhaps, older than he was.
His eyes were half-lidded in intense concentration as he played, and it looked almost as if he were in another world, pulling each note out of a hidden corner of his soul. Dean let his eyes fall over the man’s black suit, over his broad chest and shoulders, down to his small waist, and lower, over the curve of his- Dean looked back up to the violin in the man’s hand.
He felt almost guilty for that thought. The man was playing beautifully, mesmerizing everyone in the audience. And Dean was not going to take that for granted. He could stare at hot guys any time- although this violinist was the hottest guy he’d ever seen- but listening to this music, it almost made him picture…
He let his eyes droop again as he imagined a vast field, covered in a soft, white coat of snow. Snowflakes fell all around him against a backdrop of bare trees. Dean smiled a little as he lost himself, remembering a winter when he and Sam had a snowball fight one afternoon. The sun shined down on the little boys’ faces, as they laughed and ran through the fresh snow, leaving their footprints as a claim to their territory. They bent down to grab handfuls of snow, pressing it together in their hands before hurling it at each other.
A single, long note echoed through the air again, and Dean opened his eyes when silence filled the auditorium. The man stood with his bow down at his side, looking out over the audience as the curtains came down.