Stay Away From Sam's iPod
Dean was scouring the bunker for his favorite machete, which someone (looking at you Sam) removed from his room. And since the Samsquash had taken Cas for a grocery run, Dean had no qualms with unceremoniously barging into Sam's room to look for it. But after some tossing of items he concluded that the room was shamefully weapon-free.
Dean was going to have to bitch to Sam about it when he returned. As he turned around to leave, he noticed Sam's iPod on his desk. It was still playing music through the tiny headphones. Dean grinned mischievously at that. He hadn't played a good prank on Sam in ages, and mixing up his carefully organized music would no doubt spark a very entertaining war.
Dean picked up the iPod and put the headphones in to see what crap Sam was listening to now. Ugh. The twangy female voice made him want to puke. Where had he failed as a brother? Yeah, turning that shit off, he thought as he paused the track. Then he went back to Sam's extensive playlists. They weren't really personalized much. Just one called "work-out," another called "sad." Ah, here's a good one to mess with: "drowning out the Zeppelin". Yup, Sam's paying for that heresy.
But there was one playlist he couldn't identify. It was called "destiel," whatever the fuck that meant. Sounded like an angel thing, as if the winged dicks had anything to do with music. "Whatever, Sammy's weird," he thought. But he decided to take a look anyway. "For curiosity's sake," he told himself as he plopped down on the bed. He didn't recognize any of these artists. Hell, a bunch were just called "unknown." And, was that Dean's own name in a title? Weird.
Then he hit play.
Sam and Cas took a long time at the grocery store. Cas was still pretty new to food that wasn't from a diner or a Gas-N-Sip, so he asked Sam to explain the ingredients and nutritional values of each item.
"No Cas," he explained as they walked in the door, "Preserves have more of the actual fruit than jam. Jam is filtered more but it still has seeds. Jelly is just the fruit juice hardened up with pectin, see?"
"I understand," Cas said with a grave look on his face, "And you spread these items on the twice cooked bread."
"Yes, Cas." Cas nodded and went to the kitchen to sample the jam.
"Dean!" Sam shouted to the bunker at large, "We brought you pie!" But Dean didn't melt out of the waxwork as usual at that declaration. Sam heaved a sign and set out to find him, well aware that, "you didn't hear me," is not an acceptable excuse when Dean craves his pie.
But Dean wasn't in his room. Or the showers. And the Impala was still here. Sam was just starting to worry when he heard a sort of soft wail come from his room. He cautiously approached the room and peeked in through the slightly open door.
Dean was siting on Sam's bed with his back to the door, shoulders shaking. Was he…crying!?
"Uh, Dean?" Sam knocked softly.
Dean turned around abruptly to display a teary-eyed face and Sam's iPod in his hand. He glared at Sam for a moment and then whispered, "Why?"
As Sam understood, a grin spread on his face. "You listened to my iPod, didn't you?"
Dean's face said it all.
"Destiel?" Sam asked, though he knew the answer.
Dean rubbed his hand across his face and looked at the floor. He now obviously knew what that word meant.
"Well, good to know that I hit the nail on the head." Dean threw a pillow at him.
"You sick son of a bitch."