Just Like a Song in My Heart

Is This Love?

Stepping away from magic didn't mean that it didn't force itself on me. Since taking time off from hunting, I rarely worked any spells and minimally celebrated the solstices. Every now again, a message from spirit would work it's way into my thoughts, manifesting in my dreams. Vivid dreams were one thing, but something about these were different. They felt more real and had more depth. While my eyes were still shut and breaths still shallow, it was almost like I could taste magic on my tongue.

Tonight, it tasted acidic and bitter. I could see hazel eyes, surrounded by fire. Croaking screams slithered into my ears, getting louder and louder as the dream went on. From somewhere far away, the sound of throaty laughter echoed, rolling through corridors and bouncing off walls. The sound multiplied. Drizzles of fear entered my heart, crawled up my throat, and spilled through my mouth like dozens of horseflies.

I heard his cries. Angry sobs, muffled by his hands and the t-shirt he gathered up around his lips. He wanted to be quiet so he didn't wake her from her sleep. Badly, he wanted to wake her, to ask her to hold him in her arms, nestled against her breasts where he was safest. He wanted to hear her voice, like brassy bells and mourning doves all at the same time. But he didn't want her to see him like this. She needed him to be strong for her, but he couldn't manage to be strong for himself.

Sweat beaded on my chest and forehead when I was drawn out of sleep by the spirits. I shot up, eyes wide, heart racing, and sucked in a deep breath to wash away the feelings burrowing tunnels in my gut. The other side of the bed was empty. Smoothing my hands over the wrinkled sheets, I could tell that Dean hadn't been in for a while now, and suddenly the spiritual message in my dream made sense.

Yanking my satin cap off my head, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stepped into my slides. I shuffled down the dark hallways, touching the walls to guide myself down the staircase. One step at a time, I descended them and stopped when I reached the first floor. A dim light flooded the hallway from the kitchen. I followed it, taking short steps until I heard the fridge slam shut.

I rushed forward, feeling magic buzz on my fingertips. If he was in danger, I would have to break my no magic rule, but it wouldn't matter as long as he was safe. As soon as I reached the entrance of the kitchen, I stopped. My hands fell at my sides and any magic I called up dissipated.

He was standing over the counter with his shoulders slumped forward and his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His short, brown, hair was disheveled and his gray t-shirt was wrinkled. Beside him was a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and a glass filled a quarter of the way with whiskey.

"Dean?"

Without turning around, he dragged his forearm across his face and quietly sniffled, likely trying to hide the tears he'd been crying before I woke up. "Go back to bed, Jazz." His voice was hoarse and rough, rougher than he usually sounded when he talked to me.

I ignored his order and continued into the kitchen, cautiously. "Dean, why aren't you in bed?"

"I just...just eating a late night snack. Go back to sleep."

I walked up behind him, pressing my body against his back and wrapped my arms around his waist. "I'm not going anywhere, baby. Not 'til I know you're okay."

He wiggled out of my grasp and turned around. I craned my neck looking up at him. His eyes, green like the clearest sea, were red and puffy. Tiny particles from the tissues he used to clean his face were still visible on his cheeks, and his lips were red and swollen from biting them. His hands massaged the muscles of my arms as if I were the one in need of comfort. "I'm fine, Jazzy. Promise."

I frowned and started chewing the inside of my cheek. "You sure?" He licked his lips and his eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. Dean was never one to talk about his feelings, but since I was, he started opening up to me, except for when he didn't. "'Cause I didn't need to see your face to know that something was up. I could feel it. I could sense that something was wrong with you while I was sleeping."