Guitars, Drums, and Rock Salt
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sammy, or the other four lads in this story. This is my first fic, so please be kind!
Dean and Sam Winchester parked their 1967 Chevy Impala outside yet another cheap, grungy motel for the night. The white paint was slowly becoming more gray than white, and the office windows were dark and uninviting. They both desperately needed showers as they had spent most of the previous two days in the sewers hunting leads that went nowhere.
"You check in, I'll get our stuff," Dean said as he stifled a yawn. "I can't handle someone thinking we're a couple tonight."
"Sure, whatever," Sam said, getting out his wallet. "Our name this time will be... Waters." He took out the appropriate credit card and approached the office where he got the room key.
Dean called dibs on the shower as soon as they entered their shabbily furnished room and grabbed some clothes out of his duffel bag as he rushed to the bathroom.
Sam was left in the main room by himself. He decided to see if he could make heads or tails of some of the rougher entries in his dad's journal. He settled on the bed nearest the door and listened to the shower, knowing Dean was enjoying it as he sat there feeling disgusting and inhuman.
Sam got halfway through the first entry he had chosen when the water finally stopped. He sighed, stretching his back and marking his place in the journal, making some last notes. He got out some clean clothes and waited for his brother to make his entrance.
Sam sighed in exasperation when Dean finally stepped out of the bathroom, allowing billows of steam to escape with him.
"Please tell me you left some hot water for the rest of the world, Dean," Sam said, grabbing his clothes on the way to the shower.
"Sure. You know me, Sammy," Dean smiled at his little brother. "Always thinking of others, that's me. You going through Dad's journal again?"
Sam looked down at the journal, notebook, and laptop all in a neat pile on his bed. "Yeah," he said with a shrug, "just trying to decipher some of Dad's chicken-scratch. Do NOT touch it, Dean, OK? It'll take me forever to find my place in there."
Dean gave him the best look of innocence he could muster, but Sam just shook his head and made his way to the bathroom for a blessed shower.
Dean flipped the TV on, but there was nothing worth watching, since they didn't get cable; just the basic stations from the dawn of television. So he found his eyes wandering over to the neat little pile on Sammy's bed, just waiting for him to mess with.
When the water had been running for a safe amount of time, Dean gave in to his darker impulses and bounded over to Sammy's anal pile of research. First, he was going to confuse Sammy's place in the journal, as that would get the best reaction out of him. Then he would progress to dirty notes in the margins of that dull black-and-white marble notebook Sammy had taken to carrying around. Who knows? Maybe he'd even sign Sammy up for MySpace, since Sammy never told him it wasn't a porn site.
Dean checked what entry Sam was looking at, as even Dean couldn't handle the amount of hostility that would come from really losing Sam's place. There was a drawing of a snake with the heads of a man, a bull, and a lion.
He noticed the Greek lettering underneath the picture. He knew enough Greek to sound it out, but he had no idea what it said. He just shrugged and took the receipt that Sammy had been using as a bookmark and pocketed it.
Now time for the notebook. Dean grabbed the pen from the night stand as he heard the shower turn off. Guess I didn't leave as much hot water for him as I thought. He settled down to business with the pen and ideas from his downstairs brain.
As he was searching for a proper place to start, he became distracted by the translation Sammy had done of the snake caption. Sam stormed out of the bathroom fully clothed with his hair dripping wet just as Dean laughingly read, "O great Chronus, first-born lord of time and space, I ask of you a boon, to go to a time of song and place of fun, that I may show my brother what pleasure truly means."
"Dean, stopཀ What are you--?" Sam was interrupted by a whirling sensation like he was being flushed down a toilet. He thought he heard a deep voice say, "Thus do I grant... this groovy favor for you, babyཀ"
When he could bear the thought of opening his eyes, he noticed he was flat on his back next to his brother on a concrete floor. There were also four faces staring down at him, all looking perplexed at his sudden appearance on the floor of their living room.