Fic: 'Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood' (Supernatural)
Rated: K
Pairings: Gen
Genre: Angst, Family
Warnings: Usual Winchester Angst, Self-esteem Issues
Word Count: 2767
Summary: Tells the story of how Sam developed his own taste of music and how he doesn’t tell Dean because he wants to prevent that disappointed look emerging on his older brother’s face again. - Analysis of both brothers and their relationship
.
.
Sam was faced with many new sensations when he left for Stanford. Some of these were experiences that are so common to normal people that they don’t think twice about it. Music was one of those simple things.
All he ever really listened to were the Rock songs his father and brother were so in love with. Although all those songs grew on him he never felt as passionate about them as Dean and John. That was how evolution worked. If he didn’t want to go insane hearing Ozzy Osborne’s voice for the ten thousandth time, he had to adjust his tastes or just lower his standards.
But now that he was at Stanford, he didn’t have to listen to that anymore. It added to the feeling that there was something missing in his life. Those songs had been one of the only constants in an unreliable life. Only Dean, Dad, the Impala, and the same old Rock songs remained. Now that all of them were gone, he felt stripped bare.
But life had to go on and Sam was nothing if not pragmatic. He missed his family every day, just not enough to return to them. Maybe the fear of not being welcomed anymore played a role in that, but he was, in fact, glad to be free of the hunter’s life.
So after some time passed and he started to get used to his ‘new life’, he finally took the courage to listen to new kinds of music. Of course, he already knew a little about what existed outside his classic Rock bubble. The music that plays in the supermarket, in the elevator, at the background of a film… but he never really took the time to actually investigate what he personally enjoyed.
So not knowing how to get into this, he switched on the TV and searched for MTV. After all, at that time, MTV still had been Music Television and it was possible to watch it without being assaulted with too many trashy Reality Shows. Still, after about three hours of listening to various songs, he was left with an unsatisfied feeling. He didn’t really understand because it wasn’t like he didn’t try out numerous different genres.
Pop by Britney Spears and Michael Jackson, RnB by TLC and Destiny’s Child, Hip Hop by Eminem and Snoop Dogg... Either he cringed or he was bored to death. There were also times the cheesiness caused him to roll his eyes.
Maybe he needed to hear an impressive voice to really feel it. So he waited a little longer in front of the TV for acts like Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey to come up. And okay, the way Mariah sounded like a bird on tunes like Emotions and Fantasy sure was impressive but not really his thing. Plus, he was already mortified by only contemplating the possibility of Dean catching wind of the fact that he was listening to ‘chick-flick-songs’. He’d be referred to as ‘Samantha’ for the rest of his life. If his brother even wanted to see him again.
So he actually contemplated listening to something that resembled what he was used to. The next time Punk music by Green Day came up, he didn’t tune out to focus on his studies, but really listened. It was okay, he guessed, but frankly, not preferable to Black Sabbath.
After some more time passed, the Rock Charts came up and he almost felt a little giddy watching them. He remembered when John and Dean had said that it was an insult to call the noises that these bands made Rock. By the time number one was announced to be some track by Coldplay, he sort of agreed.
So at the end, he really didn’t find anything he liked or preferred to his Dad’s old tapes. After some months passed, he gradually started making friends and acquiesces at Stanford and when they made small talk, the topic of music tended to come up. When Sam told them about his struggle to find any music he liked, they nodded understandingly and slipped him a couple of CDs because “I get what you mean man. All that crap in the mainstream is ruining music. Here you have some quality underground band.”
Sam was elated at first because, of course, why didn’t he think of music of the underground? But he was disappointed when after listening to each CD numerous times, he still couldn’t get into it. Sure, some of the stuff he could appreciate, some of it was just plain weird, but nothing really captured his attention to the degree he’d spend time on it.
Still he listened to each CD over twenty times because he was often told that these tracks were ‘ahead of their time’. Maybe it was because everything Sam had to listen to growing up, wasn’t produced after the eighties. Maybe he was so stuck in the past that he needed many listens to understand something that was so futuristic.But eventually, he was just exhausted and quit.
The project ‘music’ was over till he met Jess some months later. Jess happened to be a geek for classical music and when Sam had told her that he didn’t really listen to anything, she gave him some of her CDs to try out. First, he had been convinced that this was it. The whole mistake had been to search for something that was new, opposed to the stuff he had to listen to in his childhood. Maybe, he just should have gone further back in time.
It turned out to be an overall positive experience. He appreciated classical music, especially great works like the Requiem by Mozart or Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He even enjoyed listening to them when he was studying because it helped him focus when they played in the background.
But the issue was, he never felt the same passion that he saw in Dean’s eyes when he was listening to his favourite Black Sabbath album.
So, Sam had concluded, maybe music wasn’t for everyone.
Eventually, he left Stanford anyway only to return to his original home: Dean and the Impala minus his father. And wherever any of them were, the classic Rock bands weren’t far away. And really, Sam didn’t hate the songs as much as he pretended to. Also, no matter how imperfect his childhood had been, not everything had been bad, and the familiar guitar riffs made sweet nostalgia arise in him.
After some years, amidst the Ruby and the Apocalypse mess, Dean and he had a case in some little town. People were dying and after some investigation they found out that all victims had bought items from the local CD shop.
Dean was talking to the owner while Sam was checking for EMF. They were rarely doing something together around that time and were generally just keeping their distance. His brother was rightfully mad about the whole demon blood issue. Sam tried everything that he could think of to make it good, show how sorry he was, but Dean blocked all of his attempts.
So although he had found no traces of EMF at any corner of the store, he didn’t approach Dean yet and acted as if he was looking through the shelves. He was sleep-deprived and a little unfocused, as his mind slipped and he unintentionally started listening to the track playing in the background.
He felt his heartbeat quicken and his senses sharpen when he heard the deep, emotional voice of a woman singing,
Life has its problems
And I get more than my share
But that’s one thing I never mean to do
Cause I love you
Oh baby
I’m just human
Don’t you know I have faults like anyone
Sometimes I find myself alone regretting
Some little foolish thing
Some simple thing that I’ve done
I’m just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood
Don’t let me be misunderstood
I try so hard
So please don’t let me be misunderstood
Sam froze still and started repeating the lyrics over and over in his head, desperately trying not to forget them. After they arrived at the Motel, he allowed himself to reach for his laptop and type some of the words into the search engine.
The result was Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by Nina Simone. Sam had heard of her and knew that she had been a Jazz and Blues musician. He never forgot those words, but he didn’t listen to that song again, no matter how much it had stirred something hidden deep inside him.
Mainly, it was because he didn’t want to allow himself the simple enjoyment of music. He didn’t deserve it after everything he’d done. It was his duty to suffer and thus, hope to repent some of his sins.
Years passed after that day and a lot happened. When they moved into the bunker and he eventually decided to make more of ‘his room’ than just a place to sleep, he helplessly thought of what to do to give the space a more personal feeling. Normal people listened to music in their rooms, didn’t they?
More time passed and once every week, later every day, his finger hovered over the ‘BUY’ button over Nina Simone’s Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood. Hadn’t his time in the cage been enough? Didn’t the pain he had experienced suffice to let himself enjoy the simple things in life?
One night, he had had a fight with Dean, who was probably drinking a bottle of Jack somewhere in the bunker, he retreated to his room. He tried doing something productive, reading lore, sorting books, organizing his index, anything really, but he could hardly concentrate. So he decided to sleep. After lying until 3am motionless in his too small bed, he eventually got up and soundlessly reached over for his phone.
He felt guilt consume him, when his finger hovered over the ‘BUY’ button once again. He didn’t deserve to feel that kind of enjoyment. It also felt like betrayal to Dean.
‘Only this one song’, a selfish voice in his head whispered, and he gave in and bought the damn thing.
Excitedly, he plucked the headphones in and made sure that the volume was very low so that he could hear all outside noises.
He clicked ‘play’. And then again. And then again. And again.
He let the pain laced words, the anguish-filled voice, the slow and sorrowful melody soothe him.
He was scared that he wouldn’t enjoy the song as much when he listened to it too often, but no matter how many times he repeated it, he never grew tired.
Sam really had planned on this song remaining as his only one. Eventually he grew greedy though and shamefully purchased another song. And another.
Till he eventually figured that it would be economically more benefitting to sign up for a Spottify account since he couldn’t stop himself from getting the whole album. And the other album.
He started researching more Blues and Jazz artists, always careful to delete his browser history. Sam wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want Dean to find out about this habit of his. Maybe he was scared of being ridiculed. When he reconsidered though, he realized that it wouldn’t be Dean calling his songs ‘grandma music’ that would bother him.
No, what he actually feared was his brother’s disappointment. It was clear to him, even if the older man wouldn’t admit it, that Dean Winchester had a problem with change.
He wore the same haircut for as long Sam could remember.
He rode the same car since he had learnt how to drive.
He always ate the same food.
He listened to the limited number of songs never once taking or adding to the track list.
Sam knew that it had to do with the fact that Dean had control issues. This trait started out with the simplest things.
He never let Sam drive the car if he could help it. Dean wanted to take the literal and metaphorical wheel in their lives.
Even his brother’s fear of flying stemmed from these issues. Dean didn’t like being in a vulnerable situation he had no control over. If it was him, hypothetically speaking, who’d be flying the plane, he wouldn’t be half as afraid.
And this trait of Dean’s translated when it came to Sam. Dean had given both of them certain roles regarding their relationship.
He, the older brother, the martyr, the savior.
Sam, a kid, a good person, a screw-up.
Dean wanted things to work this way, because he secretly liked the thought of being a hero, of being needed. And for that story to make sense, he liked to pretend that Sam was still a helpless little boy.
Sam loved his brother like he didn’t believe others could comprehend. He’d sacrifice anything he had for him without any hesitation. But it was a simple fact that Sam had changed and wasn’t the child that Dean wanted to see him as because the other man couldn’t accept the change.
Dean had certain expectations, a specific picture of him and if Sam stepped outside that predictions, his older brother didn’t react well.
“You’ll get early wrinkles with all the brooding you do,” Dean remarked, the grin on his face soft and teasing. “Then you’ll have an even harder time picking up any chicks.” He laughed, steering the wheel comfortably while Sam forced a smile on his lips.
His mind was still on the matter he was contemplating before. Maybe he was overanalyzing. Regardless, he didn’t want to risk anything and worsen his brother’s mood.
“Hey, you okay?” Dean’s voice adapted the familiar concerned tone. As expected, he started looking towards Sam every other moment, barely paying attention to the road. Any other time the younger brother might have bitched about it, but that day, he saved himself the trouble.
In a few years, Dean would be forty. Sam doubted that the habits the man had lived with for such a long time would start changing now. Instead, he felt fond exasperation.
He was frustrated because Sam, who wasn’t all that young either, only four years younger than his brother, was still being treated like an inept child.
At the same time it was comforting to know that Dean wanted to take care of him. With what had happened to Sam in the last years, he had felt vulnerable at times. It was soothing to know that Dean cared for him, and loved him.
“Sammy…”
The man’s voice took a warning tint. He tended to get like that, especially when it came to his little brother. He didn’t like not knowing, not being in charge of a situation.
Sam smiled. “It’s nothing. I’m just caught up about the fact that this is the ninth time When The Levee Breaks is playing. Can you put on Presence, at least?”
His brother made an offended face. “Dude, Led Zeppelin IV is their best album.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Which is the reason you’ve listened to it more than a thousand times, already. At least Presence is still somewhat fresh. Better yet, put on Aerosmith.”
Although Dean made a serious face, Sam knew that he found the discussion engaging and entertaining. “Dude, I can’t believe we’re having this discussion again. Aerosmith is awesome, no doubting that, but nothing in their discography can live up to Led Zeppelin IV.”
Maybe Sam should have rolled his eyes and brushed over this conversation. But although he was passionate about the Blues and Jazz corner of music, he still had his opinions when it came to Rock.
“Toys in the Attic is proof that they long surpassed that album.”
Their talk lasted for more than half an hour, but his mind tended to slip to the one Billie Holiday album he wanted to try out. He had already listened to the first three tracks which had been gorgeous.
Sam didn’t worship her the way he did Nina Simone, but then again, he didn’t think that any other song would be able to have the same effect on him that Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood has.
Sam would listen to it that night, like every night they spend in the bunker. He would get up in the late hours to insert one headphone in one ear so he could hear if something was going on in the rest of the building.
It didn’t solve any of his problems, but he felt just a little better, a little understood.
Pairings: Gen
Genre: Angst, Family
Warnings: Usual Winchester Angst, Self-esteem Issues
Word Count: 2767
Summary: Tells the story of how Sam developed his own taste of music and how he doesn’t tell Dean because he wants to prevent that disappointed look emerging on his older brother’s face again. - Analysis of both brothers and their relationship
.
.
Sam was faced with many new sensations when he left for Stanford. Some of these were experiences that are so common to normal people that they don’t think twice about it. Music was one of those simple things.
All he ever really listened to were the Rock songs his father and brother were so in love with. Although all those songs grew on him he never felt as passionate about them as Dean and John. That was how evolution worked. If he didn’t want to go insane hearing Ozzy Osborne’s voice for the ten thousandth time, he had to adjust his tastes or just lower his standards.
But now that he was at Stanford, he didn’t have to listen to that anymore. It added to the feeling that there was something missing in his life. Those songs had been one of the only constants in an unreliable life. Only Dean, Dad, the Impala, and the same old Rock songs remained. Now that all of them were gone, he felt stripped bare.
But life had to go on and Sam was nothing if not pragmatic. He missed his family every day, just not enough to return to them. Maybe the fear of not being welcomed anymore played a role in that, but he was, in fact, glad to be free of the hunter’s life.
So after some time passed and he started to get used to his ‘new life’, he finally took the courage to listen to new kinds of music. Of course, he already knew a little about what existed outside his classic Rock bubble. The music that plays in the supermarket, in the elevator, at the background of a film… but he never really took the time to actually investigate what he personally enjoyed.
So not knowing how to get into this, he switched on the TV and searched for MTV. After all, at that time, MTV still had been Music Television and it was possible to watch it without being assaulted with too many trashy Reality Shows. Still, after about three hours of listening to various songs, he was left with an unsatisfied feeling. He didn’t really understand because it wasn’t like he didn’t try out numerous different genres.
Pop by Britney Spears and Michael Jackson, RnB by TLC and Destiny’s Child, Hip Hop by Eminem and Snoop Dogg... Either he cringed or he was bored to death. There were also times the cheesiness caused him to roll his eyes.
Maybe he needed to hear an impressive voice to really feel it. So he waited a little longer in front of the TV for acts like Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey to come up. And okay, the way Mariah sounded like a bird on tunes like Emotions and Fantasy sure was impressive but not really his thing. Plus, he was already mortified by only contemplating the possibility of Dean catching wind of the fact that he was listening to ‘chick-flick-songs’. He’d be referred to as ‘Samantha’ for the rest of his life. If his brother even wanted to see him again.
So he actually contemplated listening to something that resembled what he was used to. The next time Punk music by Green Day came up, he didn’t tune out to focus on his studies, but really listened. It was okay, he guessed, but frankly, not preferable to Black Sabbath.
After some more time passed, the Rock Charts came up and he almost felt a little giddy watching them. He remembered when John and Dean had said that it was an insult to call the noises that these bands made Rock. By the time number one was announced to be some track by Coldplay, he sort of agreed.
So at the end, he really didn’t find anything he liked or preferred to his Dad’s old tapes. After some months passed, he gradually started making friends and acquiesces at Stanford and when they made small talk, the topic of music tended to come up. When Sam told them about his struggle to find any music he liked, they nodded understandingly and slipped him a couple of CDs because “I get what you mean man. All that crap in the mainstream is ruining music. Here you have some quality underground band.”
Sam was elated at first because, of course, why didn’t he think of music of the underground? But he was disappointed when after listening to each CD numerous times, he still couldn’t get into it. Sure, some of the stuff he could appreciate, some of it was just plain weird, but nothing really captured his attention to the degree he’d spend time on it.
Still he listened to each CD over twenty times because he was often told that these tracks were ‘ahead of their time’. Maybe it was because everything Sam had to listen to growing up, wasn’t produced after the eighties. Maybe he was so stuck in the past that he needed many listens to understand something that was so futuristic.But eventually, he was just exhausted and quit.
The project ‘music’ was over till he met Jess some months later. Jess happened to be a geek for classical music and when Sam had told her that he didn’t really listen to anything, she gave him some of her CDs to try out. First, he had been convinced that this was it. The whole mistake had been to search for something that was new, opposed to the stuff he had to listen to in his childhood. Maybe, he just should have gone further back in time.
It turned out to be an overall positive experience. He appreciated classical music, especially great works like the Requiem by Mozart or Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He even enjoyed listening to them when he was studying because it helped him focus when they played in the background.
But the issue was, he never felt the same passion that he saw in Dean’s eyes when he was listening to his favourite Black Sabbath album.
So, Sam had concluded, maybe music wasn’t for everyone.
Eventually, he left Stanford anyway only to return to his original home: Dean and the Impala minus his father. And wherever any of them were, the classic Rock bands weren’t far away. And really, Sam didn’t hate the songs as much as he pretended to. Also, no matter how imperfect his childhood had been, not everything had been bad, and the familiar guitar riffs made sweet nostalgia arise in him.
After some years, amidst the Ruby and the Apocalypse mess, Dean and he had a case in some little town. People were dying and after some investigation they found out that all victims had bought items from the local CD shop.
Dean was talking to the owner while Sam was checking for EMF. They were rarely doing something together around that time and were generally just keeping their distance. His brother was rightfully mad about the whole demon blood issue. Sam tried everything that he could think of to make it good, show how sorry he was, but Dean blocked all of his attempts.
So although he had found no traces of EMF at any corner of the store, he didn’t approach Dean yet and acted as if he was looking through the shelves. He was sleep-deprived and a little unfocused, as his mind slipped and he unintentionally started listening to the track playing in the background.
He felt his heartbeat quicken and his senses sharpen when he heard the deep, emotional voice of a woman singing,
Life has its problems
And I get more than my share
But that’s one thing I never mean to do
Cause I love you
Oh baby
I’m just human
Don’t you know I have faults like anyone
Sometimes I find myself alone regretting
Some little foolish thing
Some simple thing that I’ve done
I’m just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood
Don’t let me be misunderstood
I try so hard
So please don’t let me be misunderstood
Sam froze still and started repeating the lyrics over and over in his head, desperately trying not to forget them. After they arrived at the Motel, he allowed himself to reach for his laptop and type some of the words into the search engine.
The result was Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by Nina Simone. Sam had heard of her and knew that she had been a Jazz and Blues musician. He never forgot those words, but he didn’t listen to that song again, no matter how much it had stirred something hidden deep inside him.
Mainly, it was because he didn’t want to allow himself the simple enjoyment of music. He didn’t deserve it after everything he’d done. It was his duty to suffer and thus, hope to repent some of his sins.
Years passed after that day and a lot happened. When they moved into the bunker and he eventually decided to make more of ‘his room’ than just a place to sleep, he helplessly thought of what to do to give the space a more personal feeling. Normal people listened to music in their rooms, didn’t they?
More time passed and once every week, later every day, his finger hovered over the ‘BUY’ button over Nina Simone’s Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood. Hadn’t his time in the cage been enough? Didn’t the pain he had experienced suffice to let himself enjoy the simple things in life?
One night, he had had a fight with Dean, who was probably drinking a bottle of Jack somewhere in the bunker, he retreated to his room. He tried doing something productive, reading lore, sorting books, organizing his index, anything really, but he could hardly concentrate. So he decided to sleep. After lying until 3am motionless in his too small bed, he eventually got up and soundlessly reached over for his phone.
He felt guilt consume him, when his finger hovered over the ‘BUY’ button once again. He didn’t deserve to feel that kind of enjoyment. It also felt like betrayal to Dean.
‘Only this one song’, a selfish voice in his head whispered, and he gave in and bought the damn thing.
Excitedly, he plucked the headphones in and made sure that the volume was very low so that he could hear all outside noises.
He clicked ‘play’. And then again. And then again. And again.
He let the pain laced words, the anguish-filled voice, the slow and sorrowful melody soothe him.
He was scared that he wouldn’t enjoy the song as much when he listened to it too often, but no matter how many times he repeated it, he never grew tired.
Sam really had planned on this song remaining as his only one. Eventually he grew greedy though and shamefully purchased another song. And another.
Till he eventually figured that it would be economically more benefitting to sign up for a Spottify account since he couldn’t stop himself from getting the whole album. And the other album.
He started researching more Blues and Jazz artists, always careful to delete his browser history. Sam wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want Dean to find out about this habit of his. Maybe he was scared of being ridiculed. When he reconsidered though, he realized that it wouldn’t be Dean calling his songs ‘grandma music’ that would bother him.
No, what he actually feared was his brother’s disappointment. It was clear to him, even if the older man wouldn’t admit it, that Dean Winchester had a problem with change.
He wore the same haircut for as long Sam could remember.
He rode the same car since he had learnt how to drive.
He always ate the same food.
He listened to the limited number of songs never once taking or adding to the track list.
Sam knew that it had to do with the fact that Dean had control issues. This trait started out with the simplest things.
He never let Sam drive the car if he could help it. Dean wanted to take the literal and metaphorical wheel in their lives.
Even his brother’s fear of flying stemmed from these issues. Dean didn’t like being in a vulnerable situation he had no control over. If it was him, hypothetically speaking, who’d be flying the plane, he wouldn’t be half as afraid.
And this trait of Dean’s translated when it came to Sam. Dean had given both of them certain roles regarding their relationship.
He, the older brother, the martyr, the savior.
Sam, a kid, a good person, a screw-up.
Dean wanted things to work this way, because he secretly liked the thought of being a hero, of being needed. And for that story to make sense, he liked to pretend that Sam was still a helpless little boy.
Sam loved his brother like he didn’t believe others could comprehend. He’d sacrifice anything he had for him without any hesitation. But it was a simple fact that Sam had changed and wasn’t the child that Dean wanted to see him as because the other man couldn’t accept the change.
Dean had certain expectations, a specific picture of him and if Sam stepped outside that predictions, his older brother didn’t react well.
“You’ll get early wrinkles with all the brooding you do,” Dean remarked, the grin on his face soft and teasing. “Then you’ll have an even harder time picking up any chicks.” He laughed, steering the wheel comfortably while Sam forced a smile on his lips.
His mind was still on the matter he was contemplating before. Maybe he was overanalyzing. Regardless, he didn’t want to risk anything and worsen his brother’s mood.
“Hey, you okay?” Dean’s voice adapted the familiar concerned tone. As expected, he started looking towards Sam every other moment, barely paying attention to the road. Any other time the younger brother might have bitched about it, but that day, he saved himself the trouble.
In a few years, Dean would be forty. Sam doubted that the habits the man had lived with for such a long time would start changing now. Instead, he felt fond exasperation.
He was frustrated because Sam, who wasn’t all that young either, only four years younger than his brother, was still being treated like an inept child.
At the same time it was comforting to know that Dean wanted to take care of him. With what had happened to Sam in the last years, he had felt vulnerable at times. It was soothing to know that Dean cared for him, and loved him.
“Sammy…”
The man’s voice took a warning tint. He tended to get like that, especially when it came to his little brother. He didn’t like not knowing, not being in charge of a situation.
Sam smiled. “It’s nothing. I’m just caught up about the fact that this is the ninth time When The Levee Breaks is playing. Can you put on Presence, at least?”
His brother made an offended face. “Dude, Led Zeppelin IV is their best album.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Which is the reason you’ve listened to it more than a thousand times, already. At least Presence is still somewhat fresh. Better yet, put on Aerosmith.”
Although Dean made a serious face, Sam knew that he found the discussion engaging and entertaining. “Dude, I can’t believe we’re having this discussion again. Aerosmith is awesome, no doubting that, but nothing in their discography can live up to Led Zeppelin IV.”
Maybe Sam should have rolled his eyes and brushed over this conversation. But although he was passionate about the Blues and Jazz corner of music, he still had his opinions when it came to Rock.
“Toys in the Attic is proof that they long surpassed that album.”
Their talk lasted for more than half an hour, but his mind tended to slip to the one Billie Holiday album he wanted to try out. He had already listened to the first three tracks which had been gorgeous.
Sam didn’t worship her the way he did Nina Simone, but then again, he didn’t think that any other song would be able to have the same effect on him that Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood has.
Sam would listen to it that night, like every night they spend in the bunker. He would get up in the late hours to insert one headphone in one ear so he could hear if something was going on in the rest of the building.
It didn’t solve any of his problems, but he felt just a little better, a little understood.