It was a gorgeous autumn day. The sun was out but it wasn't overly bright, and the air was cool and crisp. There was a gentle breeze sending falling leaves dancing across the grass.
In other words, it was perfect weather for tag saling.
It was always difficult being the new kid in school, but being new in town? That was always an adventure. If there was one thing Dean loved, it was anything vintage. Normally he got his fill by going from thrift shop to thrift shop, but when his family moved towns (which happened more often than he'd like)…..well then he got to explore the findings of a whole new town. Dean lived for town-wide tag sales, those wonderful days when at least fifteen houses in the same town would participate in a tag sale. He couldn't say how many amazing things he'd gotten at those events. His dad was always pestering him to throw some of it out, saying he didn't need so much of it, but it was all too old, too fascinating, and he couldn't bear to part with it.
It really was gorgeous out. He had the sleeves rolled up on his plaid button down, wearing it open so the faded Metallica shirt was visible beneath. His form-fitting black jeans were tucked into dark black boots that he had found at Goodwill a couple years ago. Sammy had been thoroughly disgusted that he was buying used footwear. ("But Dean, someone else's feet have been in there!" "That's history, Sammy.") Dean smiled. Sam just didn't see vintage the same way as he did.
A breeze blew, sending a cold gust of air by, ruffling his hair and the scarf around his neck. It was a pattern of stripes in alternating shades of light and dark blue and completely clashed with everything else he was wearing. His father called it girly and said he had no business wearing it, but it had been his mother's and he'd be damned if anyone would stop him. His smile turned somewhat wistful. She had always appreciated a good tag sale….
Dean stopped dead. There, underneath the table, was a box of record albums. He made a beeline straight for it, as though drawn by magnet.
"Deeeaaaan!"
Dean was only vaguely aware of his name being called, the whine a dim noise in the background as he examined he examined his find.
"Dean!"
Sam's voice was painfully loud, practically yelled in his ear. "Ow!" He rubbed his ear, looking up from where he was crouched by the records. "What is it, Sam?"
The thirteen year old glared down at him. "We've been here for almost an hour! Just this one tag sale!"
Shit. Dean hadn't realized it had been that long. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Sammy. Just this one last thing, okay? Then we'll go."
Sam nodded, placated, and moved away to rifle through some books.
"Well, isn't that sweet."
The voice was laced with sarcasm. Dean looked up, finding himself face to face with a derisive smirk, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the eyes that went with that smile: two gorgeous orbs that might have been cut from sapphires for how deep a blue they were. The boy had a shock of messy brown hair that looked like it would feel amazing to touch. He was wearing an emerald sweater that was WAY too big on him, hanging off one bony shoulder, and a pair of black skinny jeans that were cuffed up. Cuffed up…..in September, for God's sake.
"See something you like?"
Dean realized he'd been staring. He flushed. "Not when what's inside the package is clearly so obnoxious."
The boy's brows shot up in surprise; a laugh burst forth. "Got a mouth on you, don't you."
Dean shrugged one shoulder, his attention back on the records, thumbing through them. "Look who's talking." He wasn't fazed by this boy or his attitude. In all honesty, Dean had had far worse many times before. Being the new kid so many times, he had quickly grown accustomed to what kind of assholes teenagers could be. This kid was nothing. He was probably just kidding around, though who knows? He could be a huge asshole. Dean didn't know and he shouldn't care. But there was something about him that made Dean curious, something tugging him to learn more. But Dean wasn't going to let any of that spoil his tag saling, his last day before school began and life started to suck again. No, he was going to finish here, buy Sammy the books he knew his brother was desperately eyeing (kid probably had thirty by now) and then leave, putting this kid out of mind.
"Do you mind letting me look at those, too?"
….apparently putting him out of mind was going to be harder than expected. Dean glanced up and saw the boy regarding him with a raised brow.
"The records. I'd like to look, too, if you don't mind." Dean shook his head, grabbing the box and hoisting it up, setting it on the table. He was rewarded with a smile for his efforts. "Thanks."
Dean nodded and moved to continue looking through the records, but the boy did at the same time, their hands brushing. His fingers were incredibly soft, and cold. "….I…" Dean wasn't quite sure what to say. "…..hope you don't mind starting in the middle," he finished, turning back to where the box of records was already half leafed through. "I already looked through a bunch of them."
He thought he could feel amusement radiating off of the other boy, but he ignored it. Could have been imagining it.
He wasn't entirely sure what this boy was looking for, cuz he sure wasn't picking anything out. Dean himself picked out a Queen album and an Erik Satie record, both eliciting noises from the boy beside him (the first a quiet chuckle, the second a pensive "hmm".) Suddenly, a title stuck out at him and he grabbed for the record so fast he himself almost didn't register it. Unfortunately, the other guy grabbed for it, too, and managed to catch the corner of it before Dean could completely pull it out of reach.
"No," Dean said, but his voice came out much more plaintive than firm. "This one's mine."
"You have two," the boy pointed out, grip not loosening in the slightest. "I don't have any."
"That's your own fault. This….I need this one."
The boy's blue eyes took on a look of extreme interest. "Why?"
Dean looked down at the record held in their hands, the Beatles 'Revolution', with Hey Jude on the B side. "…I just do," he answered, his voice almost too soft to hear.
There was a moment where the world seemed almost silent, as if there was no one but the two of them as Dean waits and wants, and then, unbelievably, the boy didn't just release the record, he gently pressed it into Dean's hands. Dean looked up at him, green eyes filled with surprise, and those blue eyes looked back at him with a gentle understanding. Somehow, without knowing the situation, this boy still understood how important the record is to Dean. Dean felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
"Thank you," he whispered. The boy nodded at him, and suddenly Dean couldn't bear that softness anymore, that understanding. He turned and went to Sam, who had been watching the proceedings with curiosity.
"Dean, who was-"
"Grab your books, Sammy, we're done."
True to his guess, Sam had picked out more books than he could carry on his own. Thankfully, Dean had been so flustered at the end that he hadn't gone back for any of the other items he had admired; he had only left with the three records. When they got home, he helped Sammy get all his books into his new bedroom, where the little nerd promptly flopped on his bed and began reading happily.
Dean headed into his own room, tugging his turntable out from under his bed and carefully setting a record into place.
"Hey, Jude…don't make it bad."
Dean lay back on the floor, arms folded behind his head, eyes shut. The so-familiar song played on, and if for once he thought not only of his mother but of big blue eyes and a smirking mouth, no one had to know.
~tbc~
