PARENTAL ADVISORY: Some explicit lyrics
"You don't actually want the Beatles to get back together. What you want is to be young again." - Eric Idle
"You think that guy did an okay job?" asked Sam as the brothers drove south from Chicago. "How long does it take to enchant tires?"
"If Frampton recommended him, he's probably a stand-up guy. I just wish Bobby had been around to do it, though," added Dean. "He'd probably even have done it pro bono."
"At the very least, it'll save an awkward conversation with AAA. 'Well, why don't you have a spare? What do you have in the trunk that's so damned important that you can't afford the space?"
Dean chuckled. "Heh heh, you think I'm a AAA member."
Sam smiled. "How about some tunes?"
"Hit it. And hey, we might even still be within range of The Loop."
Sam tuned the dial to 97.9 and Asia's "Heat of the Moment" blared to life. Sam's breath seized in his chest and he fumbled with the dial, starting to hyperventilate. He hit power off, killing the sound and put his head between his knees.
Dean looked at Sam quizzically before he remembered. "Right, that's the song that gives you some sort of Vietnam flashback. Are you gonna be okay?" Sam gulped, coughed and nodded. "Okay, let's break out the cassettes, then. I'll even let you pick."
Sam pulled the box into his lap from the back seat and began to sift through the jumble, narrating as he went. "Allman Brothers, Ry Cooder, Zeppelin, Zeppelin, Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen… Shania Twain?" He pulled out the tape and showed it to Dean.
Dean shrugged. "Have you ever actually listened to Shania?" Sam was about to answer in the negative when Dean continued. "Then shut your cakehole."
Sam put it back in the box. "Yeah, well we're not gonna – hey! Where'd you get this?" He pulled out two tapes rubber banded together, one of which featured a black and white close-up photo of a bearded man being punched in the face.
Dean glanced over. "What is it?"
"Pantera's Vulgar Display of Power. This album is amazing."
"It's not mine."
Sam turned the tape over. The one banded to it appeared to be homemade. "It's from Meg."
"Ugh!" Dean sneered. "It's bad enough she had her demonic mitts all over my baby, but she had to leave her garbage around too?"
"This isn't garbage," objected Sam, reading the song list. "It's a mid-90s metal mix. She had pretty decent taste."
"What's on it?"
"Manson, Chili Peppers, Soundgarden, Machine Head…"
"There's no Limp Bizkit, is there?"
"No, no Limp Bizkit. We're listening to this."
Dean shrugged again and waved at the tape deck. "Alright, throw it on. But I can't guarantee that the thing's not going to end up on the freeway."
The first song was Sepultura's Roots Bloody Roots, which Dean quite liked until Max Cavalera's furious gravely voice kicked in. He grimaced and looked at Sam, who was nodding happily and drumming his fingers in the air. He smiled as Sam sang "let freedom ring with a shotgun blast" along with Track 2 and thought to himself that he could live with this noise if it made his brother this damned happy.
As Marilyn Manson's Irresponsible Hate Anthem wrapped, a familiar female voice came through the stereo. "Hello boys," said Meg. "What does Crowley call you – Rocky and Bullwinkle? I was thinking that you might like a break from the old man music that plagues your Impala, so I hope you're grooving to my little gift." Dean reached for the dial, but stopped when Meg continued. "Let me tell you a little story.
Once upon a time there was a 16-year-old metalhead who chose to do badass evil for what seemed like noble reasons. Ellory Jourgensen lives in Lawton, Oklahoma, which incidentally, is only a 3-hour drive from Arlington Texas." Dean looked to Sam, who gave him a puzzled look. Meg continued, "Anyway, I furnished our Wayward Son with a rather powerful grimoire, but you two, being the eternal buzzkills you are, probably want to step in before anyone does anything cool or demonic. Happy trails, lads!
And now, back to our program. This next one goes out to Sam Winchester, the one man oblivious to Lillith's feminine wiles. This is Immune by Godsmack."
"Get out the map," said Dean with a sigh. "And let's hope nobody steals your body again."
Sam peered at the interstates, tracing them south. "What is it with high schoolers and the black arts?"
"Keeps 'em off the drugs," offered Dean.
"Right. Drugs would probably be the better option."
The brothers drove, travelling at higher speeds than usual as Godsmack gave way to Rage Against the Machine, and a Sevendust song that Meg dedicated to herself. The last song on Side 1 was South Texas Deathride, at which point Dean popped the tape out, worried that he'd incur a speeding ticket if they didn't switch to something more mellow.
The Winchesters donned their "authoritative lawman" costumes and were let into the Jourgensen house by Ellory's mother. As Dean spoke to her in the den, Sam excused himself to use the bathroom and slipped into a bedroom covered in posters and black t-shirts.
There was a guitar in a stand next to the bed and a book of guitar tabs lying open. Sam spotted a notepad next to the desktop computer and saw that a page had recently been ripped free. He made a pencil rubbing of the blank page, which revealed the words "Moore Memorial Garden Cemetary, Plot H7", as well as a list of herbs hastily scratched. Sam's jaw clenched. He went back to the bed and closed the guitar tab booklet. It was Guitar World's "Riffer Madness" by Darrell Abbott.
"Sam?" said a small voice from the doorway.
He looked up and saw an 11-year old girl gawking at him. She gasped when he turned.
Sam's mind scrambled. "I think you're mixed up. I'm Special Agent…" he looked around. "…Cavalera."
The girl looked to her sister's Soulfly poster and gave an elated smile. "Oh my god," she whispered to herself and ran to her room.
Sam followed her but was interrupted by Dean's booming voice. "How you doing in there, partner? Y'almost done?"
"Yeah," he answered absently, "I'll be right there." The girl ducked back out of her room holding a pulp horror novel. Sam already knew what it was.
Walking to the car, Dean briefed Sam. "According to the mum, Ellory is a completely harmless Goth kid, gets good grades, doesn't drink or smoke weed, and claims to have gone to a concert for the weekend with some friends."
"I found this in his room. We need to get a move on. He's trying to bring back Dimebag Darrell."
"Ellory is a girl." Dean looked at Sam's grey note. "What's Dimebag Darrell?"
"Darrell Abbott! The guitarist of Pantera? Was murdered onstage by some maniac in 2004 after the band broke up. Which was an insanely dick thing to do because A) now they'll never get back together and B) Pantera's breakup was all Phil's freaking fault."
"And let's not forget C) killing guitarists is an all-around dick thing to do," Dean added, getting in the car. He looked at Sam in the passenger seat. "How the hell do you know all this? Since when do you like metal?"
"Since when do you care?" countered Sam. "'Shotgun shuts his cakehole', remember?"
"Oh yeah," said Dean with a grimace. "So where are we going now?"
"Arlington."
"Ugh, just like Meg said."
"And we gotta hurry. Look at those ingredients I know the spell she's using. Somebody's going to get hurt."
Dean craned to see. "'A gallon of blood'. Human blood?" Sam nodded. "Fresh?" Another nod.
Sam popped Meg's Mix back in and Dean put his foot down.
"This next song goes out to the lovely and talented Ellory Jourgensen," continued Meg at the beginning of Side 2. "…a girl after my own heart. This is Machine Head's American High. Bang your head." So began a rousing ditty about impotent adolescent rage that really spoke to Dean.
I can see the appeal he thought to himself as the song wrapped and Track 2 began with a "Long live Dimebag!" from Meg.
A thunderous and sinister guitar groove rumbled through the speakers and both brothers nodded in unison.
"This ain't half bad," said Dean appreciatively.
"Pantera," answered Sam, pointing to the tape deck. "It's funny, traditionally, it's older siblings who turn their younger ones onto this music."
A 16-year old girl in a Johnny the Homicidal Maniac t-shirt and army pants sat by herself at a booth in Taco Cabeza. Ellory had just finished her fries when she saw her phone vibrate on the table, the number being her own house. With her clean left hand she pulled off her headphones, and put the cell to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Elle?" said her younger sister.
"Hey Caitlyn, what's up?"
"I just wanted to let you know that Dean and Sam are coming for you."
"Who?"
"The two Supernatural guys from the books I was telling you about."
"Kate, you understand the difference between reality and pretend, right?"
"Don't be so condescending!" asserted the younger sibling. "I'm not an idiot. There's been an online fan theory for years that suggest Carver Edlund wasn't writing fiction. I never believed it until they dropped by and talked to mom."
Ellory pulled the leatherbound tome out of her bag, and it occurred to her that a visit from fictional characters was an arbitrary place to draw the line of credulity. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. They were really tall, really buff, not that old, and they gave fake rock and roll last names. The really really tall guy even answered to Sam."
"Huh. I hope they don't know where I'm going." Ellory opened the grimoire and reread her instructions.
"They probably do. If they don't, they'll figure it out soon enough. They're good detectives."
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"It's not too late to change your mind, you know. If these guys are trying to stop you, maybe you should reconsider." Caitlyn paused. "Maybe this whole thing isn't worth it."
"It is. I know what I'm doing. Thanks for your concern, though. If mom asks, tell her I'm sober and alive and having fun. Have a good night, goofball."
"'Bye, Ellory."
She hung up and contemplated the ingredient list. Maybe the company will be a good thing, thought Ellory, deliberating on all that blood. Now the human sacrifice doesn't have to be me.
The girl in the military fatigues with the dyed black hair was still blundering around the cemetery at sundown, folding army shovel in hand, headphones on and eyes peeled for security guards. The Moore Memorial Garden Cemetary was one big-ass place, but Ellory thought that finding the name of the plot she was looking for might narrow the search down. Turns out that Plot H7 was a big-ass piece of land too, and finding any particular tombstone was a nightmare, even one as distinctive as The Master's.
When she finally spotted it, a weight lifted off her chest. There is no mistaking Dimebag's headstone, emblazoned as it is with his smiling mug and band logos. If she hadn't been listening to her Discman, she might have remarked on the sound of a purring engine twenty minutes sooner. As it was, she didn't realize that the Winchesters had caught up with her until she spotted them across the clearing.
So close! She slid her brass knuckles onto her fingers and held the entrenchment tool as if it were a katana. "First guy to make a move gets LoBo-ed," announced Ellory. "You can watch if you want, but don't try to stop me. This is all for the greater good." She pulled her headphones down around her neck.
Dean advanced, gun drawn. "This is not happening, kid. Drop the shovel."
Sam walked forward with his hands in the air. "Listen, I know what you want, I know what you're trying to do, but this is not the way."
"The hell it isn't!" She jabbed the entrenchment tool at Dean. "Call off your dog. I'm just trying to fix what that bastard Nathan Gale broke."
"Nathan Gale?" Dean asked Sam.
"That's the guy who shot him," explained Sam.
"Yeah, and freaking ruined everything," continued Ellory. "What the hell is that? I only just discovered Pantera and Dimebag's already dead. I'm never gonna see them live, I'm never gonna meet them or get them to sign my boobs, I'll never get to wait for a new album. What bullshit. What a complete and total waste! It's just not fair. The world is a better place with Dimebag in it. Stand back, I'm gonna fix everything." She dumped the contents of her backpack onto the burial plot and flicked open a folding knife. She pointed it at herself.
"Drop it!" barked Dean, advancing again and brandishing his handgun.
"Dean, you have no leverage." Sam spread his fingers. "Ellory, your life isn't worth his."
"Yes it is! Haven't you been listening? There's nothing I could possibly be when I grow up that would measure up to greatness like his. I'm fine with dying if it means it'll accomplish this one thing. Really. My life is such a small price."
While Ellory was looking at Sam, Dean quickly dropped his gun, grabbed her wrist and twisted the knife out of her grip. She hit him in the neck with her brass knuckles but from her angle, she couldn't get any power. Dean locked her other arm, and she struggled wildly against his grip. She kicked so hard with her free legs that her bodyweight jerked Dean back and forth off-balance.
"Goddamnit, let go of me! You short-sighted assmonkey! I'm doing this for everybody! Help! Security! God, the groundskeeping here SUCKS!"
"Stop wriggling, you psycho Satanist! Sam, tie her legs down."
The brothers successfully subdued and bound the teenager, who thrashed and cursed at them all the while.
"I really hope that security shows up right freaking now," spat Ellory, rolling uncomfortably hogtied on the grass. "I'll tell them that all that magic stuff is yours. And isn't your trunk full of salt and shotguns too? Who's the psycho Satanist now?"
"What's the plan, Dean?" asked Sam.
"Yeah, what's the plan, Dean?" sneered the girl. "It's not like you can kill me."
"We take her home," replied Dean uncertainly.
"She's just gonna pull this stunt again."
"And it's not like you can watch me 24/7," added the prisoner. "The Chupacabra or whatever isn't going to hunt itself."
"How the hell do you know about us?" asked Dean.
"My sister read all your books," she replied. "It's all she would talk about for, like, two months there."
"There's gotta be something else we can do," said Sam.
"Dude, what's with you tonight?"
"He gets it," answered Ellory, scooching on her stomach to look at Sam. "He knows I'm right about this."
Sam looked at the girl's belongings littered on the grass. He picked up her CD wallet. "You're not the only one who misses 90s groove metal." His face lit up and he looked at Dean. "Call Castiel."
"What's Castiel supposed to do?"
"Maybe he can pull some strings or something."
"I can't," said Castiel from behind Dean.
"See?" said Ellory. "That's why I had to go downstairs for this."
"Well, maybe we can get ahold of Darrell, like with a talking board or something," offered Sam. "That way, you could still get to meet him, kinda."
"The guitarist's soul is at rest," said Castiel. "It doesn't do to disturb him."
"Yikes, you need to quit smoking, buddy," said Ellory to Castiel.
"Angels don't smoke," ribbitted Castiel.
"I do," said a merry voice. The group looked up to see Balthazar sitting on Dimebag's headstone. "But only on occasion, and never tobacco." He looked at the teenager hogtied facedown. "But it looks like I don't need to tell you boys how to have fun."
"What are you doing here?" asked Castiel.
"I heard your prayers and I come bearing gifts."
"Why do you care?" asked Dean.
"I like the idea of having the Winchesters in my debt. Plus, I have a soft spot for Catholic Satanists," he added, motioning to Ellory. "I think they're hilarious." Balthazar snapped his fingers and the ropes restraining her disappeared.
"I'm not Catholic, I'm an atheist," said Ellory, getting to her feet.
"Indeed. One who summons demons and speaks to angels. Aren't you just darling?" He handed her a CD. "This is for you."
"Thanks. What is it?"
"Well, as these boys know, the afterlife is all things to all people, depending on what their idea of paradise is." Sam and Dean nodded, and the English angel continued. "Good old Dimebag's is a recording studio. This is what he recorded."
Both Sam and the teenagers' jaws dropped in unison. Ellory wasted no time pulling out her Discman, putting in the CD and pressing play. "Thank you," she squeaked at Balthazar, and reached to embrace him. He swerved out of her reach.
"No hugs for me, love. I daren't make my harem jealous."
"Balthasar," said Castiel with utmost gravitas "you must stop stealing from Heaven."
"Oh come off it. What would Heaven want with an unreleased album of noise?"
"How are you not dead?" asked Dean. "Cas shanked you right in front of us."
"Hey, it takes a lot more than a little chrome ice pick to stop Bal! Tha! Zar! I can do whatever I want. In any event, look how happy that one little recording had made our young Satanist."
Sam had been watching the girl intently as she listened to the gift, frowning critically. Her face shifted into a kind of apologetic grimace. She looked at Sam.
"Well?" he demanded.
"It… I suppose it's almost as good as Damageplan," she answered slowly. "I guess Darrell's kinda useless without Vinnie and Rex."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, them's the breaks." To Castiel he added, "Millennials."
"I don't know what that means," replied Castiel.
"They're the generation that came-" began Balthazar.
"Bitch, fuck you," said Sam quietly. Balthazar stopped and for several seconds, all anyone could do was goggle at Sam.
"Dude!" blurted Dean finally, aghast.
"People move Heaven and Earth to get you that thing, and it's still not good enough," continued Sam, his voice trembling. "That's music from beyond the grave, you know that, right?"
"Look, I'm not saying it's bad, by any means," sputtered Ellory. "I was just hoping for something a little more…" She trailed off.
"Gimme those headphones!" Sam snatched them off the teen's head and put them on, immediately wincing at the tremendous volume of the music. He turned it down as quickly as he could and listened to the CD. Finally he said, "what's wrong with this? It sounds just like Reinventing the Steel."
Ellory looked nervous. "Reinventing the Steel?"
"Pantera's fifth big album!" scolded Sam. "It came out in 2000. You 'just discovered' Pantera, did you? How much have you heard so far?"
"Vulgar Display and Cowboys from Hell," she answered sheepishly.
"Those came out in 1990 and '92!" roared Sam. "It's a moment in the past that came and went, and now it's over. What, did you think the band would stay the same forever? They used to be a hair metal band, for godsakes. Do I actually have to explain to you how TIME works?!"
"Dude, just relax…" began Dean.
"No!" snapped Sam, turning red. "She doesn't want Dimebag back," he whirled on Ellory, "you just wish you could be a teenager in 1994. Well burnout, that's just not going to happen."
"I could probably swing something like that, actually," chimed in Balthazar.
"You've done as much as you're gonna, thank you Balthazar," Sam continued angrily. "See kid, you're only allowed to be nostalgic for a past that you've actually been through. Don't friggin' steal anyone else's. Nothing makes you seem like an out-of-touch fossil more than being trapped in the past. Do you want to end up like Dean?"
"Hey!"
"Grow your stupid ass up! So the next time you're thinking of bending reality with black magic, just listen to Cowboys from Hell again instead. And go find a new band to obsess over. You want a bunch of albums that all sound the same? Listen to Slayer. Or Disturbed!"
"They're on hiatus," replied Ellory.
"Motherf-" Sam gritted his teeth and lunged. Ellory thought he was going to hit her but he yanked the Discman out of her grip and ripped the CD out. "I'm taking this with me!" He waved the CD in the air. "You don't deserve it. Dean, get in the car."
"Don't worry darling," said Balthasar when the brothers were out of earshot. "I'll snag you another copy. Just keep it to yourself. I want to avoid another Tupac situation."
"That was damn harsh, dude," said Dean, still in surprise. "I have never seen you fly off the handle like that."
"Yeah well," replied Sam, deflating. "How'd you like it if some poseur stole your childhood?"
Dean almost said monsters stole my childhood but bit back his reply. After some consideration, he offered, "wanna finish Meg's tape?"
"Sure," replied Sam, turning on the stereo. "It's kinda cold that Meg dedicated songs to everybody except you, isn't it?"
"I am perfectly okay with that," answered Dean.
When Slayer's Raining Blood ended, Meg's voice came back on. "And this last song right now goes out to our fine driver, Mister Dean Winchester." Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam looked at the track list again, smiling at what he saw. "This is Be Quiet and Drive by the Deftones. Ramble on, soldiers."
And so the boys drove west listening to a dissonant song that Dean found strangely soothing. It ended with approximately 15 seconds of dead air. Just as Dean was reaching for the eject button, Meg's voice reappeared.
"Oh. I thought I would have run out of tape by now, but it looks like I have another few minutes. One more song!"
A brawny riff began, pierced soon after by the distinctive whine of Fred Durst.
"Wow." Dean turned to Sam. "Meg is such a huge bitch."
The end of Limp Bizkit's Break Stuff was cut off by the end of the cassette.
MEG'S MIX
SIDE 1
Sepultura – Roots Bloody Roots
Machine Head – Davidian
Marilyn Manson – Irresponsible Hate Anthem
Godsmack – Immune
Rage Against The Machine – Know Your Enemy
Sevendust – Bitch
Red Hot Chili Peppers – Suck My Kiss
Fear Factory – Demanufacture
Incubus – Idiot Box
Korn – Got The Life
The Union Underground – South Texas Deathride
SIDE 2
Machine Head – American High
Pantera – Immortally Insane
Soundgarden – Spoonman
Powerman 5000 – 20 Miles to Texas
ZZ Top – Manic Mechanic ("This one goes out to the late, great Bobby Singer. Bobby, if you can hear this, your boys miss you. As for me, I just wanna say I'm sorry about the botched BJ. Damn squirrels.")
Tool – Prison Sex
White Zombie – Grease Paint and Monkey Brains
Ministry – Dead Guy
Slayer – Raining Blood
Deftones – Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)
Limp Bizkit – Break Stuff (hidden track)
Since she couldn't decide which song from Vulgar Display of Power to include on the tape, Meg just left the whole album in the car.
Author's Notes: As I'm sure you've noticed, this story is an unabashed love letter to the music I love. What started with the mere idea of a metalhead going to extreme measures to resurrect his idol became a very personal take about nostalgia and the passage of time. This is also the first time I've ever explicitly written myself into a story. I wanted my avatar to be a sort of reverse-Mary Sue; Ellory Jourgensen is supposed to be a worse version of my teenage self, who's as obnoxious, petulant, ungrateful and misanthropic as I dread I actually was at that age. I hope you don't hate her as much as I freakin' would.
By the way, that was Harry Dresden, the guy in Chicago who did the anti-puncture tire enchantment on the Impala. Also, please forgive me retconning Balthazar's death. I needed a jackass-ex-machina, and I think he's too good a one to throw away.