Author's Note: For my sister who doesn't ship it, but helped me write this anyway. Thanks, man.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a trumpet must be in want of an ego the size of an elephant. This truth was fully realized in Dean Winchester, lead trumpet in the orchestra of Laurence High School. The 17 year old was famous for his ability to hit a high C, worshipped for his vibrato, and mildly tolerated for his inability to pay attention to the conductor. It was hardly his fault of course, conductors should never be paid any mind, the poor dears might think they actually know what they're doing. No, Dean did not pay attention to the conductor, or anyone else, for that matter.
Dean had a problem. That problem's name was Castiel Novak. Cas was the double bass player. Quiet, he kept mostly to himself. Dean had yet to realize the problem, of course, but it was still there.
They had met in the hallway on the first day of that year. Dean knew he was a musician right away. Perhaps it was the tortured air that hung about him like a cloak, expressing the inability to ever compose that perfect piece which sums up your existence. Perhaps it was the subconscious connection that all musicians seem to share, binding them together. Or it might be the giant case he was carrying in front of him.
They shared an intense gaze that caused fangirls the world over to faint without knowing why.
Cas didn't know what to make of Dean Winchester. On one hand, he was an unquestionably narcissistic jerk with an ego big enough to squish New York. On the other hand, he was undeniably attractive...
Stay on track.
Ahem,
Dean wasn't the only Winchester in band, not by a long shot. His darling younger brother, Sam, was the lead flautist. A highly esteemed, if emasculated role. Sam was a kind, understanding boy, the kind who writes poetry and sings Phantom of the Opera. Needless to say, he was extremely popular with girls. Guys too, as it turned out. In fact he was so popular he-
The author was cut off at this point. Dean had decided that Sam had been talked about for long enough and that the spot light should be put back on him, as it should be. The author, now vaguely annoyed, returned to the hallway scene.
Finally managing to drag their gazes away from one another, Cas and Dean walked away in opposite directions. Dean suavely sashayed down the hallway before falling flat on his face after tripping on a conveniently placed banana that was most definitely not put there by the author. He pulled himself up and dusted off his plaid shirt. While Dean was busy regaining the remainder of his dignity, the mysterious past of the plaid shirt would be explained for humanity for the first time in the history of useless information.
Many years ago, the shirt patterns of the world took up arms against each other. For many years they fought. Then one day, the Horizontal Stripes got together with the Vertical Stripes and formed a tightly knit alliance called the Plaids. The Plaids dominated the war with their superior numbers and clashing patterns. The other patterns couldn't handle it. They arranged an Armistice. Finally, the shirt designs were able to live in harmony.
Anyways.
While the pointless story you just read was being told Cas had managed to run into a set of lockers, get up, and then run into the same set of lockers. Dean Winchester, even on the floor sporting a sizable bump on his head, had that affect on people.
After both boys had recovered they set out in their respective directions, both of them thinking how idiotically they had just acted.
Five hours later.
"Balthazar, why do you do that eyebrow thing whenever you sing," this came from the band director, Chuck. It was addressed to the lead vocalist and older brother of Castiel. The response was, of course, both eloquent and respectful-ish.
"I'm emoting."
Being the only tenor who could read music had its benefits apparently. Chuck sighed and gestured for Dean to proceed with the trumpet solo. Dean grinned at the other trumpets and proceeded to play the solo beautifully. It was, however, accompanied by the most absurd eyebrow aerobics ever seen. When Chuck stopped the music and glared at him, Dean claimed to be, 'emoting,'
Balthazar shot a spitball at Dean's head.
Chuck shook his head and counted out a slower tempo. The band struck up.
Then Chuck made the mother of all mistakes.
The grandmother of all mistakes.
The third uncle two times removed that you really only see at Christmas and birthdays and is dating your friends' mom of all mistakes.
He motioned for the trombones to play louder.
For those of you not musically inclined (though if you are, I don't know why you're reading this, seriously. All the references whoosh over your head…).
Ahem.
The trombone dates back almost as long as the trumpet. They are known for their ability to play the MOST OUTRAGEOUSLY LOUD NOISE MANKIND HAS EVER HAD TO ENDURE AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN'T YOU READ DYNAMICS.
Ahem.
Trombones are loud, and, as every halfway decent band director knows, to be completely ignored at all times. Attention just encourages them.
Once everyone had dragged himself or herself from the thirty-foot crater that had been created by the shock waves they surveyed the damage.
Unfortunately, the music room was pretty much leveled.
Fortunately, every viola had been destroyed.
In the wreckage, amidst utter destruction, with no music and only a battered trumpet, Dean began to play 'In The Mood'. In The Mood was a well-known jazz piece. Every jazz player in existence can play the darn thing backwards and forwards. Sam then hit Dean on the back of the head with what was left of one of the violas. Whether or not it was to punish his brother or destroy what remained of the instrument is something we may never know.
Five minutes later the music room was back in one piece thanks to the magic of books. In order to let Chuck know what they thought of his conducting skills, the band made him a card.
The front read:
What do call a group of conductor's neck deep in concrete?
The inside read:
Not enough concrete.