The Song

by fairytalemanipulator

[Oneshot] After a long, tiresome hunt, Dean amuses himself by doing what he does best, which is picking on his younger brother.

Title: The Song

Author: fairytalemanipulator

Disclaimer: The only things I own are a…well, I don't own my apartment…or my car…I have a cute pair of sunglasses, though. The song being used is Meredith Brooks' Bitch.

Spoilers: None.

A/N: Okay, this was an inspired piece of mine…considering I caught my boyfriend singing this same exact song in the shower today…and I was like, wow.

Summary: Oneshot After a long, tiresome hunt, Dean amuses himself by doing what he does best, which is picking on his younger brother.

Here's the lyrics to the chorus of Bitch by Meredith Brooks, read 'em over if you don't know the song.

I'm a bitch, I'm a lover
I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I'm your hell, I'm your dream
I'm nothing in between
You know you wouldn't want it any other way

REVIEWS KEEP ME GOING!  That's not a part of the song…just heads-up…

Please review!

…………………

Dean felt the tiredness seep through his bones. He melted into the driver's seat of his car, cradling the bag of greasy fast-food that was now soaking into his chest. He couldn't bring himself to move far enough to bring his left foot into the car, and shut the door.

With a grunt, the older Winchester conquered the feat, remembering his brother whom he had unceremoniously dumped in the hotel room an hour before. Sam was, if possible, even grimier than Dean after being thrown into a pit of recently-dug-up-grave by a particularly pissed-off ghost. No damage had been done to either of them other than Dean's bruised ego and Sam's dirty skin, although Dean felt like putting himself ahead on the Pity Me list. After all, it was Dean that didn't get the shower first. It was Dean that was forced to get the food. It was Dean that…

At this point, Dean lost track of his self-pitying ways, and forgetting all about the conversation within his head, he blankly turned on the engine and backed out of the parking space. Luckily for him, the roads were deserted late on a Sunday night, so he made it back to the hotel without using too much of his already befuddled brain. Dean exited the vehicle, confused for a moment as to where he was. Regaining his bearings, Dean strode towards the door, key in hand. After approximately two minutes of grunting and groaning and yelling for the obviously otherwise-occupied younger brother to open the door, Dean wrestled his foe into submission. Panting, he stumbled into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Sam!" He bellowed, hearing the shower still running in the bathroom. He tossed the bag onto one of their beds, not caring if the fries got all mixed up. "Sammy!"

No response, but Dean could hear the faint strains of song gurgling out of his brother's throat, so he wasn't concerned in the slightest. Obviously, all was right in the world if Sam Winchester thought he could sing.

"Dude, you better not take all the hot water!" Dean warned, taking a step closer to the bathroom door. Oblivious to any voices other than his own, Sam continued his high pitched trilling.

Dean stopped, and stared at the door for a second. I know that song. Know, as in, not in a good way…

Where have I heard that song before?

Oh, right…holy SHIT. That is so wrong.

That was one of Cassie's post-modern rock favorites. But what does she know, anyway?

It was then, with dawning horror and eventual glee, that Dean remembered the lyrics. And for the first time, he listened to what his brother was singing.

………………….

Ten minutes later, Sam stepped out of the shower to the sounds of the television blaring in their motel room.

"Dean, what food did you get?" He received no response for his troubles, as his brother most likely couldn't hear him over the television. Quickly throwing on his clothes, Sam stepped out of the shower into the main room. He took in the brother lying haphazardly next to the food, remote on the floor, and hotel coffee on the table with a practiced eye, noticing something amiss.

"Dean?"

At the call, Dean slowly raised his head, a clever grin coming across his face.

Sam didn't like the look of it.

"Sammy! How nice of you to finally join us—care for some specially prepared gourmet dinner?"

"Dean? What's wrong with you?" Sam asked carefully, wondering why his brother looked so happy with himself.

"Nothing, dude, here," The next second, Sam found a burger flying into his face, complete with a fry to the side of the head.

"Nice, Dean. Very smooth,"

"Why thank you,"

The meal was eaten in comparative silence, with only the television blaring some obscure rock band's music video in the background. Surprisingly, Dean had no comments to make, although Sam did catch him looking suspiciously gloating in his direction.

The third time Dean cracked up for no reason, Sam demanded answers. The right way.

"Dude!" Dean's balance on the bed was upset by his idiot brother's decision to pounce. The burger halfway to Dean's mouth ended up on the floor, which only served to strengthen his position for blackmail.

"What…is…wrong…with you?" Sam grunted, trying to sit up on the overly-squishy bed.

"I don't know, jackass, but you fucked up my meal!" Dean pouted, an image that Sam feared was forever burned into his brain.

"Unless you overdosed on your happy pills, there is no reason to laugh every time you look at me!" Sam knew he was beginning quite the argument, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Well, actually—"

"No, Dean, no snarkiness here! Just…give me a straight answer! What's going on?" It came out more pleadingly than Sam would have preferred, but hey, if it resulted in answers…

"Okay, fine, Sam," Dean sighed, looking down at his feet and grabbing the remote. The television was switched off, leaving a pressured silence in its wake.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam looked at his brother, frowning when he saw how serious Dean had become.

"Sam, I promised Dad I would never tell you,"

"Dean, what?" Sam was fretting in anticipation.

"The truth is…"

"What!"

"You were adopted," Dean let the words ring a little, smirking inwardly at his brother's face. Oh, this was gonna be good.

He continued on, in a somber tone. "We adopted you, from the monkeys, in Scandinavia. That explains your weird ass genes and shit, and I'm sorry you had to find out like—"

Dean's words were cut off by a pillow thrust in his mouth. Dean ripped it off his face, roaring in laughter. In fact, he was chuckling so hard that he quite literally fell off the bed.

Sam simmered in rage, listening to his brother's snorts of derision from where they couldn't see each other.

"I can't believe you fell for that one again! Remember when you actually believed me? In like, fourth grade? Dude, that was the SHIT—what the hell, I just ate!" Dean was cut off mid-gloat by his younger brother jumping on top of him.

"Do you have any idea how wrong this looks, Sammy? If that sexy long-legged desk clerk sees this, I don't think she'll bang me!"

"What…was…so…funny?" Sam punctuated each word with a shake of his brother's shoulders. I will shake that asshole grin off your face, you turd.

"Unless you want me to spew my half a burger all over you, Francis, you might want to get up,"

"Not until you tell me what I want to know,"

"Look at you, going all police-interrogator on me. Looks like my Sammy's all grown—aargh!"

Sam jabbed a knee in his brother's stomach. "That's retaliation for all those times back in middle school,"

"I never hit you that hard!"

"Oh, yeah, right!"

"Did not,"

"Did—hey, I am not having that retarded argument with you again!"

"Yes, you will,"

"Will not,"

"Will too,"

"Will—dammit!"

"Ha."

"Seriously, Dean, tell me!"

"You are seriously not going to let this go, are you?" Dean glared at his brother, before promptly upending him in a chokehold.

"Fine. Sam, I have a question for you," Dean let go of his brother, who gasped like a fish.

"Are you a bitch?"

"Huh?" This is new.

"Are you a lover?"

"Dude, what—"

"Oh, no, wait…you're a child! You're a mother!"

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face as he stared at his brother. Dean let out a Spawn of Chuckie giggle.

"But also, you happen to be a sinner and a saint…and you do not feel ashamed!"

"How can—how did…"

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, be careful what tunes you sing around me, because I might be obliged to hold them against you for the rest of your life,"

"How do you know the lyrics?"

At this, Dean's smirk faltered a bit, before he triumphantly came up with an excuse. "It was Cassie's favorite song,"

"Right,"

"At least I'm not singing it in showers across the midwest, rejoicing in my womanly liberation!"

"Whatever," Sam pretended not to be insulted. Dean took the opportunity to perform his own rendition of the song.

"I'm a bitch, I'm a lover,"

"Augh! Shut up!"

"I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint…"

"SHUT-UP!" Sam held his hands over his ears as he stood from the floor, taking the chance to kick his brother in the leg.

Dean closed his eyes, basking in the moment. "I'm your hell, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between,"

"No! Seriously!" Sam proceeded to throw objects at his brother, who was now comfortably leaning against the drawers next to the bed. Dean deftly deflected each object as it came near him.

"You know you wouldn't have it any other wa-ay!" Dean's falsetto voice soared high, and Sam found himself wondering if the other customers at the hotel would complain. He chucked the burger in its wrapper at Dean, who managed to catch it and take a huge bite.
"Dean! It was on the FLOOR!"

"I lived through your concerto in the shower, I think I'll survive some germs,"

The room was silent for a moment as Dean swallowed, with Sam watching apprehensively. Dean looked up with a glint in his eye. Oh, shit.

"I'm a bitch…"

As Dean started the refrain again, Sam found refuge in the bathroom. It was then that he realized how thin the walls were, and he looked at himself in the mirror to the music courtesy of Dean.

"Note to self. Never sing in shower again."

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