Dean's Got A Secret
Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchester brothers, or the lyrics I use in this story. I am merely borrowing them for entertainment of myself and fellow fans.
Author's Notes: This is just a little idea I had bumping around in my head after I posted my first story, "Guitars, Drums, and Rock Salt." I hope you like it, and check out my other story, and please review! I get so happy I scare my roommate!
"I'm heading out, Sammy," said Dean, putting on his leather jacket. "I'll probably be out til about 3, or later if I get lucky, so don't wait up."
"Yeah, sure, Dean. Just remember why you're going to this party - to get info, not to get laid." Sam sighed at the pitiful innocent look on Dean's face as he left the hotel room. "He gets to go to a frat party, and I get to stay here with my laptop. Something's seriously wrong here."
They were at a college in the middle of nowhere, where an angry ghost had apparently been offended by the students. They needed more information on where the ghost had been sighted, what it had looked like, so Dean had gotten himself invited to a party with plenty of young women to get this information. Sam had been left in the room to see what he could find on the school's web site.
Sam looked in his duffel bag for his computer charger, pushing aside his clothes and things. He sighed in defeat when he realized it was still in the Impala's backseat. He got up from his lumpy, green blanketed bed and looked around the hotel room. It was the same as the rest of the hotel rooms he had been in since he got back into hunting - run down, threadbare, and grungy. He really hated his brother right now.
He left the room for the Impala, not bothering to grab his jacket. He regretted it as soon as he stepped outside, feeling the wind bite through his shirt. He ran to the car, not caring if anyone saw him. He unlocked the back door and climbed in, searching on the seat. "Come on, where is it?"
His right hand brushed something under the driver's seat. He got into a ridiculous position that he hoped no one could see, especially his brother, and grabbed it. It was a tape case with a bunch of Dean's old tapes. It was pretty heavy, but Sam put it on the seat anyway, even though he was half upside down with his butt in the air. He saw the wire now; it had gotten stuck in the zipper of the box.
He tried to move the zipper to remove his wire without fraying it too badly, but it would not move. He finally just pulled it back, breaking the zipper clean off. "Oh, Dean's going to be really happy about that," Sam groused as he put his wire in his jeans pocket. As he tried to close the top of the case, he saw the cover of one of the tapes. It was completely white except for faint lettering in the lower right-hand corner. He took it out of its compartment to better read what it said. The letters spelled out "The Beatles." Is this one of Dad's tapes? He wondered.
He shrugged and put it in his back pocket, locking up the Impala and stuffing the tape case back under the seat. He walked back to the room much more calmly than he had left it, taking his time and wondering what Dean had a secret stash of tapes for.
In the room, he connected his computer to the outlet and let it charge for a while before using it. Instead of doing research, he took out their old beat-up tape player and put the tape in. It came in handy with ghosts who could only communicate through EVPs. He pressed play and heard the unmistakable sound of jet engines coming in. He was startled, not realizing he was listening to the famous "White Album." Why would Dean have a tape of a band like the Beatles, the ultimate peace and love band, in his beloved Impala?
As Sam listened, he understood why Dean would be attracted to this album with songs like "Glass Onion" and "Happiness Is A Warm Gun." By the time he needed to turn the tape over, he was on the computer, working to the music. He had just found a statement from the Dean of Students when the door opened and Dean walked in, hazel eyes wide.
"...and you know what it's worth!"
"How did you find that?" asked Dean, stalking over to the tape player. He turned around, glaring at Sam, daring him to make fun of his hidden music.
"I was looking for my charger wire in the car, and I found it under your seat," said Sam, smirking at Dean's discomfort. "Why are you so embarrassed to let me know you like more than just mullet rock? This is some good stuff, Dean. Why can't we ever listen to this on the road?"
"'Cuz it was Mom's," Dean said curtly, looking Sam full in the face. "I only take it out on her birthday or holidays, Sam. In her memory. Is that OK with you?" He stormed into the bathroom, putting a stop to whatever 'sensitive' thing Sam was planning to say.
"...Feel so suicidal/ Just like Dylan's Mister Jones!"
Sam sat on his bed, listening to the music - his mother's music. It was desperate, and painful, and raw. No wonder Dean listened to it on special occasions. Sam felt like a big heel for the way he brought it up. He walked to the bathroom door and banged with his fists. "Dean, come out. What are you doing back so early, anyway?"
Dean flung the door open, wiping his hand on the towel next to the chipped sink. "Some guys got in a fight and someone called the real cops. Didn't want to get pulled in with the others, so I split."
Sam nodded, accepting the story. He asked, "Should I turn it off?" Dean just shrugged. "Dean, if you don't want me to listen to it, just say so, I'll turn it off."
"No," said Dean, sitting on his bed, "Don't turn it off. I'm just glad you can recognize good music when you hear it. I mean, what do you usually listen to, the Backstreet Boys? Or maybe Britney Spears?"
"I do not," said Sam, feeling insulted that Dean thought so lowly of his taste in music. "Try R.E.M., DEVO, Weezer. Maybe it's not mullet rock, but it's--"
"Geek rock," finished Dean, smirking at Sam. "Come on, geek boy, you have to listen to 'Revolution No. 9.' It'll blow your mind."
"I think I know that one. It's a single, right?" Sam jumped when Dean laughed out loud at him, slapping his legs and all.
"Oh, Sammy," he said, pretending to wipe tears away, "you did not have any fun in college, did you? Let's fast forward a bit--" Dean reached over to the bedside table and hit the button "–and show you what you've been missing."
As the first sounds of the track came out of the tiny speakers, Sam looked at his brother, who looked peaceful in a way he hadn't since Dad died. He laid on his bed, hands folded on his chest, just listening to the noise that Sam had trouble understanding or caring about. He tried, but it was too weird for him. He reached over to fast forward, then pulled his hand back. He owed his brother this much, at least.