Play It Again
He didn’t know when they’d started this and a part of him was pissed that he’d missed it to begin with. If he was honest with himself, and he normally tried to be, he was pissed because he himself had let go of a lot of the small things that made them who they were, that he’d given them the room to become something without him even when they’d fought against him.
He didn’t want to do it anymore, they didn’t want him to do it, but he still had moments of doubt, like he should let his brother have this thing that was sullied and dirty by demon taint and human taboo.
The door to the bathroom was open just slightly because between Dean and Eliot they have a protective streak that just about drives him mad. Funny because they all know that Sam’s the one that holds the leashes in this relationship but if he’s out of their sight for too long both men start to get antsy. It’s been worse since they tied him to the bed, as if they think he’s going to run off into the night without telling them. Dean, at least, gets a pass on that since he’s managed to do that to Dean before, but he never says anything about it and Eliot sort of rides on Dean’s tail coats on that one.
Sam steps closer to the bathroom door, careful not to make a noise so he can see the two. Dean is sitting at the table, his elbows on his knees as he leans towards Eliot. Eliot is on the bed, a guitar in hand and his eyes half closed. Eliot strikes the first chord and Sam’s shocked because he never knew the hunter could play the guitar, never knew the singing voice that came from him either. He sings the first part of the song and Dean is watching him in a way that Sam’s not used to. He’s not watching as a hunter, or as a predator, or even as a lover. He isn’t sure what it is until Eliot stops and looks at Dean. “Got it?”
“Yeah, I remember now.” He said. When Eliot starts the verse again, Sam get the surprise of his life when Dean opens his mouth and begins to harmonize with their friend.
On a long and lonesome highwayEast of Omaha
You can listen to the engine Moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman Or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering The way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours And there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin' You just wish the trip was through
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
He knew the song, had always felt the strange pull of familiarity and ache with the song, even if the singer hadn’t really understood what it was like to be isolated from people that way that hunters were. Eliot’s voice was clear and strong in the melody, his eyes half closed the whole time and passion strumming through his body with each movement of fingers and flick of the wrist. Dean watched Eliot from the side, keeping tempo and matching notes with the other man, taking his lead and that was the look that Sam hadn’t been able to place before. His voice was beautiful, the counterpart making it a more haunting song than any version he’d heard before but he wasn’t completely sure if it was the harmony or the association of so much of their lives, lived on the road, being on the stage with every hunt and feeling the miles of it with every lie they had to tell.
Later in the evening As you lie awake in bed
With the echoes from the amplifiersRingin' in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette,Rememberin' what she said
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
There I go
There I go
The song was over and Sam was finally able to breathe again. He’d been keeping still, afraid if they saw him moving that they’d stop. When he opened the door they both turned sharply, as if caught in some sort of dark secret.
Sam sat on the edge of the other bed, wrapped only in a towel but forgetting anything else. He stared at the two men in his life and shook his head, trying to think of something to say. In the end, there was nothing else to say. “Play it again.”
He didn’t want to do it anymore, they didn’t want him to do it, but he still had moments of doubt, like he should let his brother have this thing that was sullied and dirty by demon taint and human taboo.
The door to the bathroom was open just slightly because between Dean and Eliot they have a protective streak that just about drives him mad. Funny because they all know that Sam’s the one that holds the leashes in this relationship but if he’s out of their sight for too long both men start to get antsy. It’s been worse since they tied him to the bed, as if they think he’s going to run off into the night without telling them. Dean, at least, gets a pass on that since he’s managed to do that to Dean before, but he never says anything about it and Eliot sort of rides on Dean’s tail coats on that one.
Sam steps closer to the bathroom door, careful not to make a noise so he can see the two. Dean is sitting at the table, his elbows on his knees as he leans towards Eliot. Eliot is on the bed, a guitar in hand and his eyes half closed. Eliot strikes the first chord and Sam’s shocked because he never knew the hunter could play the guitar, never knew the singing voice that came from him either. He sings the first part of the song and Dean is watching him in a way that Sam’s not used to. He’s not watching as a hunter, or as a predator, or even as a lover. He isn’t sure what it is until Eliot stops and looks at Dean. “Got it?”
“Yeah, I remember now.” He said. When Eliot starts the verse again, Sam get the surprise of his life when Dean opens his mouth and begins to harmonize with their friend.
On a long and lonesome highwayEast of Omaha
You can listen to the engine Moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman Or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering The way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours And there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin' You just wish the trip was through
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
He knew the song, had always felt the strange pull of familiarity and ache with the song, even if the singer hadn’t really understood what it was like to be isolated from people that way that hunters were. Eliot’s voice was clear and strong in the melody, his eyes half closed the whole time and passion strumming through his body with each movement of fingers and flick of the wrist. Dean watched Eliot from the side, keeping tempo and matching notes with the other man, taking his lead and that was the look that Sam hadn’t been able to place before. His voice was beautiful, the counterpart making it a more haunting song than any version he’d heard before but he wasn’t completely sure if it was the harmony or the association of so much of their lives, lived on the road, being on the stage with every hunt and feeling the miles of it with every lie they had to tell.
Later in the evening As you lie awake in bed
With the echoes from the amplifiersRingin' in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette,Rememberin' what she said
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
There I go
There I go
The song was over and Sam was finally able to breathe again. He’d been keeping still, afraid if they saw him moving that they’d stop. When he opened the door they both turned sharply, as if caught in some sort of dark secret.
Sam sat on the edge of the other bed, wrapped only in a towel but forgetting anything else. He stared at the two men in his life and shook his head, trying to think of something to say. In the end, there was nothing else to say. “Play it again.”