SPN fic: High School Musical 4: College Musical (Dean/Sam)
Title: High School Musical 4: College Musical or Once More With Winchesters
Author: chash
Fandom: Supernatural/High School Musical/inspiration from Buffy
Pairing: Dean/Sam.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, singing, I suck at life.
Word Count: ~5500 words
Summary: Something is rotten in the state of Louisiana. Mostly singing and spontaneous human combustion.
Notes: I had a long story about this, but then I was late for work trying to finish, and now I'm, well, late for work. STORY GOES HERE LATER.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Sam swallows his sweet and sour pork hard. "Demon?"
"A dancing demon?" asks Dean skeptically.
"Yeah, something isn't right there."
Sam's suspicious when Dean wants to get them an apartment. It's their first real, in-depth job after the whole apocalypse thing, and when Dean says it's at a college and they need to pose as students, Sam can't help thinking that maybe Dean is trying to ease Sam back into normal life. That maybe Dean thinks Sam still wants a normal life, wants to be rid of Dean, wants to go to college.
Even if Sam could have those things, he's over wanting them.
But it's a weird case, Sam has to admit, and if they're going to be really posing as students, they can't be living out of a motel. So he sits cross-legged on the floor of their completely unfurnished new apartment with a container of Chinese takeout and gets the facts.
"Okay, the cast of, uh," Dean squints, "Twinkletown? Seriously? Who names a musical Twinkletown?"
"Dean," says Sam gently.
"Right. Uh. The cast of Twinkletown the musical is having trouble. They're breaking into song."
Sam looks at him. "Dean, it's a musical. They're supposed to break into song."
"I know that, smartass. I mean, not while they're rehearsing. Like, in the middle of class, musicals! Dance numbers! The whole shebang."
"Huh," says Sam, curious despite himself. "Dance numbers?"
"Yeah."
"So why do we care?"
Dean slides two print-offs over. "Two of the musical kids? Spontaneously combusted. Doesn't say it's got anything to do with the dancing, but seriously. Two plus two."
Sam swallows his sweet and sour pork hard. "Demon?"
"A dancing demon?" asks Dean skeptically.
"Yeah, something isn't right there."
"Could be witches," Dean suggests. "Some evil witches."
Sam considers this. "On a whole town? That's more power than any witch I've seen. I dunno. We're going to have to see what they say. It could be some kind of, I don't know, massive possession? Maybe?"
"Massive musical theater possession?" says Dean, his voice making clear just how little respect he has for this theory.
"It could be hoodoo," Sam points out. "This is New Orleans."
"Dude, have you ever heard of massive musical theater possession hoodoo?"
"No," Sam admits. "But I bet I could find lore on it."
Dean snorts. "You look for this shit on the internet, Sammy. You could find anything there."
Sam smiles, flicks some rice at Dean, basks in the feeling that maybe they'll be okay.
*
First thing in the morning, they're on the Tulane campus, honest to god heading to a class.
"Who are you and what did you do with my brother?" Sam asks.
"You ever actually try to blend in at a college, Sammy?"
"I went to college."
Dean waves his hand. "People get all suspicious if you don't have a life outside investigating weird shit."
"Aren't we kind of old for college now?" Sam points out. He's twenty-six, and it feels vaguely perverted to be around this many kids. It's got to be worse for Dean, who's been quietly and secretly despairing about being thirty for months.
Dean waves his hand. "We took some time off."
"Dean?" someone asks from behind them, and Sam turns before Dean does, surprised. A professor is hurrying toward them, looking excited. "Dean Stockwell, is that you?"
Dean grins. "Hey, Professor Tyler. Long time no see."
"It's been years, Dean!" says the man. "We thought you might not be coming back."
"Decided to try working for a living," Dean says, shit-eating grin going strong, and Sam is gaping at him. "But my friend Sam here said he was coming down to Tulane for his graduate degree and I thought, hell, why not?"
The professor holds his hand out to Sam. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Philip Tyler. Your friend Dean here was one of my most promising students five years ago. I've never met anyone else who understands an engine so well."
Dean beams. Sam weakly shakes the guy's hand. "Sam Beckett," he says. "Nice to meet you."
"What are you here for, Mr. Beckett?" asks the professor.
"Dance!" says Dean, way too brightly.
"I didn't realize we offered a Masters for dance," says the professor, seeming confused.
"Dean just likes to rag on me for dancing," says Sam, elbowing Dean harder than is strictly necessary, but Dean takes it like a champ. "I'm getting my MFA in Design and Production."
"That's very impressive," the professor says, glancing at his watch. "I'm afraid I have to go. Dean, if you're interested--I have a course in engineering that I think you'd really enjoy. The first class will be tomorrow at ten, if you'd like to stop by."
"Yeah!" says Dean enthusiastically. "I'll definitely try to stop by. See you around, Professor."
"It's good to have you back, Dean," says the professor, genuinely, and Sam stares at Dean as the guy goes.
"Okay," says Sam. "Seriously. What?"
Dean rubs the back of his neck. "You know that job I was working before I came to get you at Stanford?"
"Not really," says Sam.
"Well," says Dean, "this was it. There was some hoodoo stuff going down--I was doing the whole fake-student thing to get information. Guess I left an impression on some people."
"An impression? It's been five years and that guy still loves you, Dean." It's weird, hearing that Dean once was faking being a student and doing well. Sam's whole world is a little topsy-turvy.
"Come on, I've been under the hood of that car since birth, Sammy. Course profs who are teaching about engines are going to want to marry me."
Sam shakes his head. "You weren't gonna tell me about this?"
"I figured everyone who knew me'd be gone! It didn't seem like a big deal!"
Sam mutters something pissy under his breath, but lets it go. Dean's probably right.
*
It turns out there are definitely people at Tulane who remember Dean Stockwell. It's kind of awesome, actually; Dean gets kind of flustered at most of them, flushes and scratches his neck and lies his ass off about what he's been up to. Sam learns that Dean pretended to take a lot of engineering courses and--awesomely--at least one Women's Studies course.
"I thought it would be, like, about boobs!" says Dean, glowering. "And studying, you know, women! Not that feminism crap."
"How have you ever gotten laid?" Sam asks. "Seriously."
Dean flexes his arm. "I'm a sexy beast, shut up."
Sam sighs. "All right, there's a drama club meeting today at four. And we have homework."
"You love homework," says Dean dismissively. "It's like research, except people grade you on it."
Sam has to admit this is kind of true. "I didn't think you'd be okay with it."
"We're on a job. Yeah, not my favorite kind of job, but whatever. We can't fail out of school if we want to stay in the musical."
Sam chokes. "What?"
"What?" asks Dean.
"We're joining the musical?"
Dean gives him a weird look. "How were you planning to do this?"
Sam hadn't really gotten that far, but the idea of Dean willingly joining a musical is kind of killing his brain. "I can't sing," he manages.
"Sure you can," says Dean, clapping him on the shoulder.
*
Sam really can't sing. Like, at all. The pretty girl who runs the drama club winces all through his audition, and Sam winces all through Dean hitting on her, because she's way too young for him. Like. Way too young.
Dean, though. Dean can sing. Dean knows how to carry a tune, which Sam sort of knew, although he doesn't really count "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" as a tune, exactly. It's more an abomination. But Dean's good, and the way-too-young girl is definitely getting starry eyed watching him. Sam can't tell if it's because she wants him in her musical or in her pants, and he guesses it really could be both.
She claps when he's done, and Sam would probably be annoyed at his own crappy treatment if it wasn't so hilarious. Dean is going to have to be in the musical. Probably as the lead because the drama girl clearly wants in his pants.
Sam grins smugly. "Good job."
"Shut up," says Dean, slotting in next to him. "You could have tried."
Sam flushes and tries not to look too upset. "I did."
Dean glances over, looks surprised by what he sees. "Uh," he says, scratches behind his ear. "Right."
Sam rolls his eyes. "I got the brains, you got the musical talent," says Sam. "Fair trade for me."
"Bitch," says Dean, grinning.
"Jerk," Sam agrees.
"Um, guys?" says the drama club girl hesitantly. "Thanks for trying out. But, um, can you keep quiet for the other performers?"
Sam flushes along with Dean this time, and they're both quiet until the auditions finish.
Afterward, Sam finds himself chatting to two undergrads and a tall grad student named, honest to god, Fabian. Fabian doesn't have an accent but he does have a lisp, and Sam isn't sure what to do with the way the guy won't stop hitting on him.
"So," he says, as soon as he can without seeming weird about it, "I've heard some pretty crazy rumors about this club."
"Rumors?" asks one of the undergrads. Carla, Sam thinks.
"Something about singing in class?"
"Only the really dedicated ones, honey," says Fabian.
"Really?" asks Sam. "I heard it was a little less planned."
"Ohhhhhh," says Oliver, the other undergrad. "That."
Fabian winks and wanders off. Sam blinks. "What?"
Oliver leans in conspiratorially. "They wanted everyone to think it just happened, but I heard it was planned. To raise awareness of the drama club and all that."
"And the dead kids?" asks Sam.
"Dead kids?" asks Oliver blankly. "What dead kids?"
Sam blinks. "Uh...I just. Never mind. I'm going to, uh." He smiles, laughs a little. "I'm going to get Dean. We've got--a thing. Homework. Thing."
Oliver waves his hand.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Carla adds, smiling. "We've got a flair for the dramatic, you know."
Sam nods, goes towards Dean with grim determination, but finds himself dragged off to the side.
"They aren't going to tell the newbies, sweetie," says Fabian. Sam might meep. Mostly because he's been dragged really close to Fabian and--it's weird. Sam usually isn't pressed up to people. He's grown a pretty large personal bubble, living with Dean.
"Tell them what?" asks Sam. He can't remember what they were talking about, suddenly.
"Would you rather have a publicity stunt or two dead bodies? No one's going to join a fatal club."
Sam exhales sharply.
Fabian grins, sounds like he's going to say something else, but Dean grabs Sam's arm and Sam's being dragged again.
"Come on, Sammy," says Dean roughly. "Time to go."
Sam stumbles after Dean into the fading daylight.
*
"So what did you find out?" Sam asks. They're eating pizza off the floor tonight.
Dean grunts. "You need to dress less gay."
"I meant about the case, freak," Sam says. He looks down at his shirt. He guesses the pink floral pattern could send a weird message.
"They're saying it was publicity for the club," says Dean. "Wouldn't tell me anything about the bodies."
Sam scowls. "That guy was going to tell me stuff before you dragged me off."
"Yeah, like how to suck his cock," says Dean.
"He told me they didn't want to scare off new recruits," says Sam loudly, over Dean's objection. "Which makes sense. I think we should find out about the two victims, talk to their friends."
Dean nods, wipes his face with his shirt while Sam grimaces. "Let's see, uh...Dylan Rochester, senior, and Aleksandra Gorski, junior."
Sam looks over Dean's shoulder, surprised. "Gorski...Dean, that's Fabian's last name!"
Dean raises his eyebrow. "You got hit on by a guy named Fabian?"
"A guy named Fabian whose sister died during last year's musical," says Sam.
"Huh," says Dean. "Might be time to use your gay charm, Sammy."
"I was trying to," Sam points out, just to be a bitch. "Until you dragged me off."
"See if I ever save you from Fabian ever again," Dean mutters. Sam wishes there was a part of the pizza he could easily throw at Dean. It would make life easier.
*
"You should have just told me you had a boyfriend," says Fabian when Sam approaches him at the next drama club meeting. Dean is talking to the head girl again, presumably trying to use his non-gay charm on her. It looks like it's working.
Sam considers Fabian's words for only a minute before ducking his head and smiling. "Thought you were just being friendly. Dean, he's kind of the jealous type."
Fabian snorts. "Honey, I know you aren't that stupid."
Sam shakes his head. "So, um. Your sister, she was..."
Fabian looks. "You do your homework, Sammy."
Sam flinches. "It's Sam."
He smirks. "Sam. Yes, my sister was...something happened to her," he says, face growing more somber.
"But you don't have a problem with...telling people it was just a stunt?"
"It was an accident," says Fabian. "Freak...something. It's not going to happen again. She wouldn't have wanted the club to get shut down because of some..."
"Spontaneous human combustion?" Sam supplies.
"Yes," says Fabian. "That." He leans back. "Could you tell your boyfriend to stop glaring at me?"
Sam glances over; Dean is definitely glaring at Fabian. "Yeah, I can. Sorry."
He wanders over and drapes an arm around Dean's shoulder, can't help grinning as he stiffens minutely, trying not to blow whatever cover Sam's come up with.
"Fabian wants you to stop glaring at him," Sam announces. "This whole jealous thing isn't a turn-on, Dean."
The way-too-young drama club girl wilts a little. Dean grins with his teeth pressed together, but he leans into Sam's touch.
"Kelsi was just telling me about the show," Dean says. "She wrote it when she was in high school."
The too-young girl smiles brightly. "We did a production back in New Mexico. I think it's gotten a lot better."
"So not a good show back home?" asks Sam.
She smiles. "There was some drama. And the songs were terrible."
"Oh," says Sam. He assumes that means no one burst into flames during the first show.
"What did you do last year?" asks Dean. "For the show."
"Dylan wrote that one," says Kelsi. "He, um..."
"He died," Sam supplies. "We know."
Kelsi looks down. "Our star died too. Fabian's sister."
"I'm sorry," says Sam.
"Fabian thought we should keep it quiet from the freshmen. All our old members know, but...we didn't want anyone not joining because of it."
"Well, that sounds like an awesome plan," says Dean.
Kelsi flushes. "It's...I don't..."
Sam glares at Dean. "It's happening again, right?" he asks gently. "The dancing."
Dean is pretty clearly trying not to snicker. Sam tightens his arm around Dean's neck tight enough to hurt.
Kelsi nods. "Just once. It's...what if someone else dies? Should we even have a show?"
"Yeah," says Dean. "Don't worry about it."
Kelsi looks down. "I'm glad you think that. Because you're Arnold."
"Arnold?" asks Dean.
"The lead," Kelsi prompts.
Dean chokes.
Sam thumps him on the back. "I'm so proud of you, honey," he says with a grin.
*
"What the hell was that?"
"What?" asks Sam. He smiles at Dean as innocently as he can, slightly nervous still.
"I'm your boyfriend now?"
"Yeah, well, the dragging thing kind of got Fabian assuming things. And it's not like I can say you're my brother."
Dean grumbles but doesn't disagree.
"So," says Sam. "We better figure out what's happening. Because if it's the same as last year, you're first on the kill list."
"Me and Kelsi, yeah. Man, I had a shot with her."
"Wasn't she a little...nerdy for your taste?" Generally, when Sam thinks a girl is "pretty," Dean thinks her boobs are too small to be worth it.
Dean gives him an unreadable look. "Nerds are okay."
Sam blinks. "Uh. Okay. Anyway. We need to figure out what's happening."
"Wish I could get through to you," Dean sings softly.
"What?" asks Sam, giving him a look. Dean is acting weird.
Dean clears his throat. "Nothing."
*
So things are already weird. But they don't get weird until their theater class breaks in to a coordinated musical number. Sam watches in kind of aghast horror as everyone does it. It really isn't just the drama club kids. It's everyone except him.
Even Dean.
"You just sang about Hamlet," says Sam.
"Why didn't you sing about Hamlet?" asks Dean.
"Maybe the curse knows I suck," says Sam. He runs his hand through his hair. "I dunno, Dean. I mean, I knew the words, you know? I just didn't want to sing them."
"Well, neither did I, but I did anyway!" says Dean. "Seriously, man, what the hell is this?"
"You feel like bursting into flames?"
"No!" Dean says. "I feel fine! Kind of...man, I don't know. It wasn't, like, bad. Not like being possessed. Just..." Dean looks down.
"Just what?"
"Felt like singing," Dean mutters.
Sam can't help a snort.
*
He brings his laptop to rehearsals, watching Dean with one eye while he does research. Trying to figure out anything. But the lore was surprisingly mute on the subject of musical theater possessions and demons, and Sam was getting a headache.
"You're thinking pretty hard," said Fabian, sitting down next to him. On stage, Dean is singing about how it feels so right to be somewhere with someone. Sam isn't paying that much attention. He mostly just lets Dean's voice roll over him, deep and not quite smooth. It's nice, hearing him sing. That's all.
"We had a musical moment in class the other day," Sam says, not seeing any reason to lie. "It's kind of scary."
"Worried about your man?" asks Fabian.
It's not even a lie when Sam says yes.
*
"Fertility rite," says Dean that night. Sam's actually cooked, because their apartment came with a stove, so he might as well use it.
"Huh?" asks Sam.
"Fertility rite, dude. Guy and a girl last year, both burned up. Sacrifices to, I dunno, the Pagan Lord of the Dance."
"There is no Pagan Lord of the Dance, Dean."
Dean grabs Sam's laptop. "Yeah? Let's see what Google has to say about that."
Sam wanders away from the water boiling on the stove to glance over Dean's shoulder. "Song lyrics. Good work, Dean."
"Naked pagan dance," Dean points out. "That's gotta be good, right?"
"No, Dean."
"Dude, this girl's topless."
"Yeah that's really helping," says Sam with a sigh. He goes back to the stove.
"Know it looks like I don't care," sings Dean softly, and Sam blinks and turns back to him. Dean's got this horrified look on his face, but he can't stop. "Just because I flirt and stare."
Dean clamps his hand over his mouth and runs out of the apartment.
Sam takes a minute to recover and then dashes after him, because if Dean explodes from the effort of not singing about...whatever he was singing about, Sam is going to kill him.
He finds Dean outside, breathing heavily.
"We have got to kill this thing," is all Dean says. "Seriously."
*
Sam gets kind of used to Dean starting up songs--he's not really sure what they're about, exactly, but it sounds like his feelings, which is hilarious--and then running off with his hands clamped tight over his mouth. Sometimes Sam gets this urge to sing back, something deep in his gut, and that's weird too, because he doesn't have to do much to stop it, not like Dean, who's just walking back in from sticking his head in the full sink to shut himself up.
He shakes the water off his head while Sam laughs at him. "Screw you," Dean says, giving him the finger.
"You know, no chick flick moments is your rule," Sam points out. "Maybe the curse is trying to get you to get over your issues."
"Yeah," says Dean, glaring at him. "And then it's going to set me on fire."
"Maybe they burst into flames because they fought it. Seriously, Dean, I--"
"Leave it, Sam," Dean says, and the way he says it really does make Sam shut up. "And it's a Pagan god," he adds. "I'm telling you."
Sam clears his throat, awkwardly. "Actually, uh. I think it is a demon."
"Demon?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrow. "Dude, this isn't a possession."
"I know. But, um," Sam looks away. "I'm resisting it. And there's no reason I would be the only one immune unless..." he trails off.
They don't talk about the apocalypse. They haven't yet, anyway, and Sam wasn't planning to start anytime soon. But he did take on whatever power he was supposed to, to stop it. And demons haven't been able to touch him since. Demons can't even look at him without his approval. It comes in handy--it's kind of awesome, actually--but Dean still won't talk about it, and Sam doesn't want to see the look in Dean's eyes when he's reminded exactly what Sam is now. Exactly what Sam had to do to save the world.
"Oh," says Dean, quietly. "But--dude, demons don't do this shit."
"If there's a demon that controls plane crashes," Sam points out, "maybe there's one for, I don't know--one that curses theater? Like the Macbeth curse, only for musicals."
"Real Phantom of the Opera, huh?"
"The Phantom wasn't actually a phantom, Dean, he was--"
Dean holds up his hand. "I saw that movie, dude."
Sam smiles, shakes his head. Then he realizes something. "Wait. Okay, you remember, Ruby said--" and Dean does flinch at that; Ruby's never grown on him. But issues are only legitimate as long as they don't interfere with the case, so Sam doesn't stop. "Ruby said," he continues, "that when people go to hell, they become demons, eventually. So maybe this is another demon that held on to its humanity, decided it wanted, I don't know--"
"To destroy Twinkletown the Musical?" asks Dean, raising his eyebrow. "I can't really blame it."
"Shouldn't you be giving your show more support, Arnold?"
"Shut up," says Dean. "Okay, so if this is a demon that remembers stuff, it'd be from around here, right? I mean, it's been here two years in a row. It's not like demons just pick names out of a hat."
"If it's a demon," Sam continues, going for his laptop, "we're looking for someone who died young and famous. Probably made a deal, otherwise they wouldn't be hellbound in the first place."
"Could be young and not famous," Dean points out. "Remember that dude who got the talent."
Sam nods. "Actually, that might make more sense. Someone who sold their soul for talent and not fame would probably be a lot angrier."
Dean nods, patting Sam's shoulder as he gets up. "All right, research boy, do your thing. I've got engineering homework."
Sam twists around on the couch, watching Dean. "You know, you're not half bad at this college thing."
Dean gives him a look. "You got something to say, Sammy?"
"You ever thought about it? Going to college, getting a degree, a normal life."
"Nah. It's not for me, man. You still going back?"
Sam shakes his head. "You kidding? You're better at this than I am right now."
"That's because I'm awesome," says Dean, grinning, and Sam shakes his head.
"Right, how could I forget."
Dean wanders off, Sam keeps looking. Finding people is a lot harder than finding mythological demons--there are way more of them, for one thing. Sam wonders if it even matters who the demon is--they've never tried finding a demon's body to salt and burn before. For all Sam knows, that might work.
His eye catches on Aleksander Gorski, a 1912 graduate in performing arts. A relatively successful one, from the looks of it, who went on to Broadway fame. Sam scrubs his face. There's a good chance he's related to Fabian and Aleksandra--the last name's not that common in this country, and Dean was named after his grandmother (which, now that he knows, Sam is never letting his brother forget, ever), so Aleksandra could have easily been named after her great-grandfather or whatever. But it doesn't make sense that Fabian would be an angry demon killing off his own family. And he died old, so--Sam blinks.
He gets up and walks purposefully into the room where Dean's studying.
Dean's in there, singing under his breath, so quietly Sam can barely hear. It's kind of a jaunty tune, even quiet. "No big deal, nothing's wrong, even if I can't stop this song. I was smooth, flirting, always cool, even when the girls thought I was a tool. But then one day it hit me, whammy! I went and fell in love with Sammy. Now there's no way, can't want any other--I've got it bad for my geek brother."
Sam's breath catches and he struggles to keep quiet while also being unable to breathe. It's--well, it makes sense that Dean's willing to stick his head in the sink to shut himself up, but seriously?
He can't think about it right now, though. They've got a job and he doesn't even know what the demon's doing, or if it's making Dean lie or tell the truth or whatever, so. Yeah. There is really no point in discussing this until after the case is over. And maybe not even then.
Sam leans heavily on the door, letting the noise startle Dean up.
"Dude!" Dean objects. He looks freaked as hell, which Sam can't blame him for.
"I gotta hit the library," says Sam. "I've got a lead, but I need newspapers. You want to come?"
"Nah, you know me. Not the research guy. But you have fun. Call me if you find anything."
Sam nods. "Yeah," he says. "Will do."
In the car on the way to the library and while he browsed old microfilm and while he found a remarkably talented young man who was passed up for a big part for Aleksander Gorski and who died ten years after he graduated from college and wrote down the information--that whole time, Sam did not think about Dean, or what Dean was thinking.
Not even a little.
*
"Percy Talbot," says Sam, throwing some print-offs in front of Dean. "An impressively talented young man who was lost three roles to Aleksander Gorski while both were at Tulane and one Broadway role to him. After that, Talbot cut himself off from people and died a drunk at age thirty-two."
"Huh," says Dean, leafing through. "Good work, Sammy."
I went and fell in love with Sammy, Sam thinks.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "So what do we do? Burn the bones? Does that work?"
Dean considers. "Can't hurt, right? If the singing and dancing doesn't stop after that, I dunno. I'll work Christo into one of my musical numbers and you can work your antichrist mojo on whoever flips out."
Sam blinks. "I can?"
"Pretty sure you can't go darkside anymore," Dean says, quietly. "I mean--I know you won't."
Sam swallows past the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Dean."
"Yeah," Dean says. "Uh. We should--where's he buried?"
Sam clears his throat. "Tennessee. You're going to have to miss some rehearsal."
"Lucky I'm so awesome at it," says Dean.
"Lucky," Sam agrees.
*
Ordinarily, Sam doesn't have a problem being in the car with Dean. He's in the car with Dean all the time, he's pretty used to it. But now he's aware of Dean, aware that Dean--maybe, possibly--wants him, like, wants him, like...Sam can't even quite wrap his brain around it.
Sam loves Dean. That much has never been in question--Sam's loved Dean since before he really knew what love was, since before he knew anything else. But he's never--not really. He always knew Dean was attractive, and there were a few times when he saw Dean and--but not like. Wanting Dean. Just noticing him. A little bit.
Sam leans back against the headrest.
"You okay?" Dean asks, slanting him a glance.
"Yeah," Sam says. "Fine."
*
After they burn the bones, Dean sings a touching song about how much he loves fire.
"Flames are licking at the bones, can't think of anything I like more!" Dean sings, looking like he wants to die. "Unless it's Sam fucking me like a whore!"
Sam chokes. Dean chokes too, and they both stand there, coughing and wheezing until they regain some semblance of dignity.
"Dea--"
"Didn't work," says Dean.
"Dean!"
"We're killing this, Sam," is all Dean says, and he jerks away from Sam's hand on his arm as he trudges back to the car. He turns up the Metallica loud as they drive back, singing along to that possibly just to keep his mouth occupied.
Sam keeps his lips pursed, his arms crossed. There's a song knocking around in his head, but he can't hear the words.
He wonders, if he left it to the demon, what he'd say to Dean.
He thinks he'd say yes.
*
The exorcism itself is almost anti-climatic. Sam's kind of disappointed, pulling the demon out of Kelsi without any effort, watching its black eyes stare up at him, unwavering. Somehow, death and destruction and spontaneous human combustion just don't seem like that big a deal, compared to Dean wanting to fuck him. Or to be fucked by him. Sam's not entirely clear on the details, but--it's a big deal. It's a really big deal.
"I didn't make him say anything," says the demon in Kelsi, staring right at Sam. "I didn't give them any emotions."
"I know," Sam says, pulling still. The black smoke is pouring out of Kelsi's mouth, and he can feel Dean behind him, standing rigid, looking at nothing.
He can still hear a song somewhere in his head, rattling around.
"He's a freak," Kelsi spits, the demon's last hurrah.
"I know," says Sam, but it's fond, the way he says it. Because he is--he's fond of Dean.
Kelsi slumps forward into Sam's arms, and Sam checks her pulse. It's strong and clear, which is shocking--she must have been possessed for a while, and he's never seen a demon leave a body in such good shape. He guesses they had to have some luck in this case, sometime.
"Sammy," says Dean, quietly.
Sam swallows. "No chick flick moments, right?" he says.
"None."
Sam smiles. "But musicals, those are okay."
"Sam--"
"My whole life, it's me and you," Sam says, just giving in, letting it wash over him. It's a ballad, of course. Sam would get a fucking ballad. "No one else has seen me through. Apocalypse and demon-hunting, all that hasn't stopped me wanting--"
Dean yanks Sam down and kisses him. Sam sort of meeps, because he didn't actually know how this was going to turn out--he sort of figured he'd wait for the chorus and see if he was for or against the whole brother-fucking thing, but Dean's body against him pretty much makes the choice for him--he likes this. The meep turns into a moan and Dean chuckles against his lips, like this isn't monumental and totally fucked up.
"Dude, we killed the demon," says Dean. "You don't have to sing anymore."
Sam grins; Dean's hands are still in his shirt, and it says a lot about his life that this isn't nearly the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. Musical theater demon making his brother reveal his non-brotherly lust? Possibly not even top ten.
"You do," he points out. "You're the star of Twinkletown."
Dean swears under his breath. "I've got an understudy."
"No way," says Sam. "You can't do that to Kelsi. She just got done with demon possession. She doesn't need you quitting on top of that."
Dean sighs, shakes his head.
"I hate you."
Sam grins wider. "You know, I heard you singing. I know the truth."
"Shut up," says Dean.
*
Explaining everything to Kelsi is a little awkward. It turns out she's been possessed for a full year, which--Sam's just happy she's not in worse shape.
"Most of the time it didn't make me do things," she admits. "It was just there. But then--I didn't know it was killing the people! Just covering it up. I thought it...I should have..."
"There's nothing you could have done," says Sam. "None of this is your fault."
Kelsi nods tightly. She blinks up at him. "Why was it--was it homophobic?"
"Huh?" asks Sam.
"Well, it said...there's nothing wrong with your boyfriend singing about you, is there?" she asks. "But it--it thought it was bad."
Sam glances over at Dean, who's rehearsing. Dean, who's maybe possibly actually his boyfriend now, except they never talked about it, and probably never will. But he's--they're something, definitely. "No," says Sam. "There's nothing wrong with it."
Author: chash
Fandom: Supernatural/High School Musical/inspiration from Buffy
Pairing: Dean/Sam.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, singing, I suck at life.
Word Count: ~5500 words
Summary: Something is rotten in the state of Louisiana. Mostly singing and spontaneous human combustion.
Notes: I had a long story about this, but then I was late for work trying to finish, and now I'm, well, late for work. STORY GOES HERE LATER.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Sam swallows his sweet and sour pork hard. "Demon?"
"A dancing demon?" asks Dean skeptically.
"Yeah, something isn't right there."
Sam's suspicious when Dean wants to get them an apartment. It's their first real, in-depth job after the whole apocalypse thing, and when Dean says it's at a college and they need to pose as students, Sam can't help thinking that maybe Dean is trying to ease Sam back into normal life. That maybe Dean thinks Sam still wants a normal life, wants to be rid of Dean, wants to go to college.
Even if Sam could have those things, he's over wanting them.
But it's a weird case, Sam has to admit, and if they're going to be really posing as students, they can't be living out of a motel. So he sits cross-legged on the floor of their completely unfurnished new apartment with a container of Chinese takeout and gets the facts.
"Okay, the cast of, uh," Dean squints, "Twinkletown? Seriously? Who names a musical Twinkletown?"
"Dean," says Sam gently.
"Right. Uh. The cast of Twinkletown the musical is having trouble. They're breaking into song."
Sam looks at him. "Dean, it's a musical. They're supposed to break into song."
"I know that, smartass. I mean, not while they're rehearsing. Like, in the middle of class, musicals! Dance numbers! The whole shebang."
"Huh," says Sam, curious despite himself. "Dance numbers?"
"Yeah."
"So why do we care?"
Dean slides two print-offs over. "Two of the musical kids? Spontaneously combusted. Doesn't say it's got anything to do with the dancing, but seriously. Two plus two."
Sam swallows his sweet and sour pork hard. "Demon?"
"A dancing demon?" asks Dean skeptically.
"Yeah, something isn't right there."
"Could be witches," Dean suggests. "Some evil witches."
Sam considers this. "On a whole town? That's more power than any witch I've seen. I dunno. We're going to have to see what they say. It could be some kind of, I don't know, massive possession? Maybe?"
"Massive musical theater possession?" says Dean, his voice making clear just how little respect he has for this theory.
"It could be hoodoo," Sam points out. "This is New Orleans."
"Dude, have you ever heard of massive musical theater possession hoodoo?"
"No," Sam admits. "But I bet I could find lore on it."
Dean snorts. "You look for this shit on the internet, Sammy. You could find anything there."
Sam smiles, flicks some rice at Dean, basks in the feeling that maybe they'll be okay.
*
First thing in the morning, they're on the Tulane campus, honest to god heading to a class.
"Who are you and what did you do with my brother?" Sam asks.
"You ever actually try to blend in at a college, Sammy?"
"I went to college."
Dean waves his hand. "People get all suspicious if you don't have a life outside investigating weird shit."
"Aren't we kind of old for college now?" Sam points out. He's twenty-six, and it feels vaguely perverted to be around this many kids. It's got to be worse for Dean, who's been quietly and secretly despairing about being thirty for months.
Dean waves his hand. "We took some time off."
"Dean?" someone asks from behind them, and Sam turns before Dean does, surprised. A professor is hurrying toward them, looking excited. "Dean Stockwell, is that you?"
Dean grins. "Hey, Professor Tyler. Long time no see."
"It's been years, Dean!" says the man. "We thought you might not be coming back."
"Decided to try working for a living," Dean says, shit-eating grin going strong, and Sam is gaping at him. "But my friend Sam here said he was coming down to Tulane for his graduate degree and I thought, hell, why not?"
The professor holds his hand out to Sam. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Philip Tyler. Your friend Dean here was one of my most promising students five years ago. I've never met anyone else who understands an engine so well."
Dean beams. Sam weakly shakes the guy's hand. "Sam Beckett," he says. "Nice to meet you."
"What are you here for, Mr. Beckett?" asks the professor.
"Dance!" says Dean, way too brightly.
"I didn't realize we offered a Masters for dance," says the professor, seeming confused.
"Dean just likes to rag on me for dancing," says Sam, elbowing Dean harder than is strictly necessary, but Dean takes it like a champ. "I'm getting my MFA in Design and Production."
"That's very impressive," the professor says, glancing at his watch. "I'm afraid I have to go. Dean, if you're interested--I have a course in engineering that I think you'd really enjoy. The first class will be tomorrow at ten, if you'd like to stop by."
"Yeah!" says Dean enthusiastically. "I'll definitely try to stop by. See you around, Professor."
"It's good to have you back, Dean," says the professor, genuinely, and Sam stares at Dean as the guy goes.
"Okay," says Sam. "Seriously. What?"
Dean rubs the back of his neck. "You know that job I was working before I came to get you at Stanford?"
"Not really," says Sam.
"Well," says Dean, "this was it. There was some hoodoo stuff going down--I was doing the whole fake-student thing to get information. Guess I left an impression on some people."
"An impression? It's been five years and that guy still loves you, Dean." It's weird, hearing that Dean once was faking being a student and doing well. Sam's whole world is a little topsy-turvy.
"Come on, I've been under the hood of that car since birth, Sammy. Course profs who are teaching about engines are going to want to marry me."
Sam shakes his head. "You weren't gonna tell me about this?"
"I figured everyone who knew me'd be gone! It didn't seem like a big deal!"
Sam mutters something pissy under his breath, but lets it go. Dean's probably right.
*
It turns out there are definitely people at Tulane who remember Dean Stockwell. It's kind of awesome, actually; Dean gets kind of flustered at most of them, flushes and scratches his neck and lies his ass off about what he's been up to. Sam learns that Dean pretended to take a lot of engineering courses and--awesomely--at least one Women's Studies course.
"I thought it would be, like, about boobs!" says Dean, glowering. "And studying, you know, women! Not that feminism crap."
"How have you ever gotten laid?" Sam asks. "Seriously."
Dean flexes his arm. "I'm a sexy beast, shut up."
Sam sighs. "All right, there's a drama club meeting today at four. And we have homework."
"You love homework," says Dean dismissively. "It's like research, except people grade you on it."
Sam has to admit this is kind of true. "I didn't think you'd be okay with it."
"We're on a job. Yeah, not my favorite kind of job, but whatever. We can't fail out of school if we want to stay in the musical."
Sam chokes. "What?"
"What?" asks Dean.
"We're joining the musical?"
Dean gives him a weird look. "How were you planning to do this?"
Sam hadn't really gotten that far, but the idea of Dean willingly joining a musical is kind of killing his brain. "I can't sing," he manages.
"Sure you can," says Dean, clapping him on the shoulder.
*
Sam really can't sing. Like, at all. The pretty girl who runs the drama club winces all through his audition, and Sam winces all through Dean hitting on her, because she's way too young for him. Like. Way too young.
Dean, though. Dean can sing. Dean knows how to carry a tune, which Sam sort of knew, although he doesn't really count "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" as a tune, exactly. It's more an abomination. But Dean's good, and the way-too-young girl is definitely getting starry eyed watching him. Sam can't tell if it's because she wants him in her musical or in her pants, and he guesses it really could be both.
She claps when he's done, and Sam would probably be annoyed at his own crappy treatment if it wasn't so hilarious. Dean is going to have to be in the musical. Probably as the lead because the drama girl clearly wants in his pants.
Sam grins smugly. "Good job."
"Shut up," says Dean, slotting in next to him. "You could have tried."
Sam flushes and tries not to look too upset. "I did."
Dean glances over, looks surprised by what he sees. "Uh," he says, scratches behind his ear. "Right."
Sam rolls his eyes. "I got the brains, you got the musical talent," says Sam. "Fair trade for me."
"Bitch," says Dean, grinning.
"Jerk," Sam agrees.
"Um, guys?" says the drama club girl hesitantly. "Thanks for trying out. But, um, can you keep quiet for the other performers?"
Sam flushes along with Dean this time, and they're both quiet until the auditions finish.
Afterward, Sam finds himself chatting to two undergrads and a tall grad student named, honest to god, Fabian. Fabian doesn't have an accent but he does have a lisp, and Sam isn't sure what to do with the way the guy won't stop hitting on him.
"So," he says, as soon as he can without seeming weird about it, "I've heard some pretty crazy rumors about this club."
"Rumors?" asks one of the undergrads. Carla, Sam thinks.
"Something about singing in class?"
"Only the really dedicated ones, honey," says Fabian.
"Really?" asks Sam. "I heard it was a little less planned."
"Ohhhhhh," says Oliver, the other undergrad. "That."
Fabian winks and wanders off. Sam blinks. "What?"
Oliver leans in conspiratorially. "They wanted everyone to think it just happened, but I heard it was planned. To raise awareness of the drama club and all that."
"And the dead kids?" asks Sam.
"Dead kids?" asks Oliver blankly. "What dead kids?"
Sam blinks. "Uh...I just. Never mind. I'm going to, uh." He smiles, laughs a little. "I'm going to get Dean. We've got--a thing. Homework. Thing."
Oliver waves his hand.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Carla adds, smiling. "We've got a flair for the dramatic, you know."
Sam nods, goes towards Dean with grim determination, but finds himself dragged off to the side.
"They aren't going to tell the newbies, sweetie," says Fabian. Sam might meep. Mostly because he's been dragged really close to Fabian and--it's weird. Sam usually isn't pressed up to people. He's grown a pretty large personal bubble, living with Dean.
"Tell them what?" asks Sam. He can't remember what they were talking about, suddenly.
"Would you rather have a publicity stunt or two dead bodies? No one's going to join a fatal club."
Sam exhales sharply.
Fabian grins, sounds like he's going to say something else, but Dean grabs Sam's arm and Sam's being dragged again.
"Come on, Sammy," says Dean roughly. "Time to go."
Sam stumbles after Dean into the fading daylight.
*
"So what did you find out?" Sam asks. They're eating pizza off the floor tonight.
Dean grunts. "You need to dress less gay."
"I meant about the case, freak," Sam says. He looks down at his shirt. He guesses the pink floral pattern could send a weird message.
"They're saying it was publicity for the club," says Dean. "Wouldn't tell me anything about the bodies."
Sam scowls. "That guy was going to tell me stuff before you dragged me off."
"Yeah, like how to suck his cock," says Dean.
"He told me they didn't want to scare off new recruits," says Sam loudly, over Dean's objection. "Which makes sense. I think we should find out about the two victims, talk to their friends."
Dean nods, wipes his face with his shirt while Sam grimaces. "Let's see, uh...Dylan Rochester, senior, and Aleksandra Gorski, junior."
Sam looks over Dean's shoulder, surprised. "Gorski...Dean, that's Fabian's last name!"
Dean raises his eyebrow. "You got hit on by a guy named Fabian?"
"A guy named Fabian whose sister died during last year's musical," says Sam.
"Huh," says Dean. "Might be time to use your gay charm, Sammy."
"I was trying to," Sam points out, just to be a bitch. "Until you dragged me off."
"See if I ever save you from Fabian ever again," Dean mutters. Sam wishes there was a part of the pizza he could easily throw at Dean. It would make life easier.
*
"You should have just told me you had a boyfriend," says Fabian when Sam approaches him at the next drama club meeting. Dean is talking to the head girl again, presumably trying to use his non-gay charm on her. It looks like it's working.
Sam considers Fabian's words for only a minute before ducking his head and smiling. "Thought you were just being friendly. Dean, he's kind of the jealous type."
Fabian snorts. "Honey, I know you aren't that stupid."
Sam shakes his head. "So, um. Your sister, she was..."
Fabian looks. "You do your homework, Sammy."
Sam flinches. "It's Sam."
He smirks. "Sam. Yes, my sister was...something happened to her," he says, face growing more somber.
"But you don't have a problem with...telling people it was just a stunt?"
"It was an accident," says Fabian. "Freak...something. It's not going to happen again. She wouldn't have wanted the club to get shut down because of some..."
"Spontaneous human combustion?" Sam supplies.
"Yes," says Fabian. "That." He leans back. "Could you tell your boyfriend to stop glaring at me?"
Sam glances over; Dean is definitely glaring at Fabian. "Yeah, I can. Sorry."
He wanders over and drapes an arm around Dean's shoulder, can't help grinning as he stiffens minutely, trying not to blow whatever cover Sam's come up with.
"Fabian wants you to stop glaring at him," Sam announces. "This whole jealous thing isn't a turn-on, Dean."
The way-too-young drama club girl wilts a little. Dean grins with his teeth pressed together, but he leans into Sam's touch.
"Kelsi was just telling me about the show," Dean says. "She wrote it when she was in high school."
The too-young girl smiles brightly. "We did a production back in New Mexico. I think it's gotten a lot better."
"So not a good show back home?" asks Sam.
She smiles. "There was some drama. And the songs were terrible."
"Oh," says Sam. He assumes that means no one burst into flames during the first show.
"What did you do last year?" asks Dean. "For the show."
"Dylan wrote that one," says Kelsi. "He, um..."
"He died," Sam supplies. "We know."
Kelsi looks down. "Our star died too. Fabian's sister."
"I'm sorry," says Sam.
"Fabian thought we should keep it quiet from the freshmen. All our old members know, but...we didn't want anyone not joining because of it."
"Well, that sounds like an awesome plan," says Dean.
Kelsi flushes. "It's...I don't..."
Sam glares at Dean. "It's happening again, right?" he asks gently. "The dancing."
Dean is pretty clearly trying not to snicker. Sam tightens his arm around Dean's neck tight enough to hurt.
Kelsi nods. "Just once. It's...what if someone else dies? Should we even have a show?"
"Yeah," says Dean. "Don't worry about it."
Kelsi looks down. "I'm glad you think that. Because you're Arnold."
"Arnold?" asks Dean.
"The lead," Kelsi prompts.
Dean chokes.
Sam thumps him on the back. "I'm so proud of you, honey," he says with a grin.
*
"What the hell was that?"
"What?" asks Sam. He smiles at Dean as innocently as he can, slightly nervous still.
"I'm your boyfriend now?"
"Yeah, well, the dragging thing kind of got Fabian assuming things. And it's not like I can say you're my brother."
Dean grumbles but doesn't disagree.
"So," says Sam. "We better figure out what's happening. Because if it's the same as last year, you're first on the kill list."
"Me and Kelsi, yeah. Man, I had a shot with her."
"Wasn't she a little...nerdy for your taste?" Generally, when Sam thinks a girl is "pretty," Dean thinks her boobs are too small to be worth it.
Dean gives him an unreadable look. "Nerds are okay."
Sam blinks. "Uh. Okay. Anyway. We need to figure out what's happening."
"Wish I could get through to you," Dean sings softly.
"What?" asks Sam, giving him a look. Dean is acting weird.
Dean clears his throat. "Nothing."
*
So things are already weird. But they don't get weird until their theater class breaks in to a coordinated musical number. Sam watches in kind of aghast horror as everyone does it. It really isn't just the drama club kids. It's everyone except him.
Even Dean.
"You just sang about Hamlet," says Sam.
"Why didn't you sing about Hamlet?" asks Dean.
"Maybe the curse knows I suck," says Sam. He runs his hand through his hair. "I dunno, Dean. I mean, I knew the words, you know? I just didn't want to sing them."
"Well, neither did I, but I did anyway!" says Dean. "Seriously, man, what the hell is this?"
"You feel like bursting into flames?"
"No!" Dean says. "I feel fine! Kind of...man, I don't know. It wasn't, like, bad. Not like being possessed. Just..." Dean looks down.
"Just what?"
"Felt like singing," Dean mutters.
Sam can't help a snort.
*
He brings his laptop to rehearsals, watching Dean with one eye while he does research. Trying to figure out anything. But the lore was surprisingly mute on the subject of musical theater possessions and demons, and Sam was getting a headache.
"You're thinking pretty hard," said Fabian, sitting down next to him. On stage, Dean is singing about how it feels so right to be somewhere with someone. Sam isn't paying that much attention. He mostly just lets Dean's voice roll over him, deep and not quite smooth. It's nice, hearing him sing. That's all.
"We had a musical moment in class the other day," Sam says, not seeing any reason to lie. "It's kind of scary."
"Worried about your man?" asks Fabian.
It's not even a lie when Sam says yes.
*
"Fertility rite," says Dean that night. Sam's actually cooked, because their apartment came with a stove, so he might as well use it.
"Huh?" asks Sam.
"Fertility rite, dude. Guy and a girl last year, both burned up. Sacrifices to, I dunno, the Pagan Lord of the Dance."
"There is no Pagan Lord of the Dance, Dean."
Dean grabs Sam's laptop. "Yeah? Let's see what Google has to say about that."
Sam wanders away from the water boiling on the stove to glance over Dean's shoulder. "Song lyrics. Good work, Dean."
"Naked pagan dance," Dean points out. "That's gotta be good, right?"
"No, Dean."
"Dude, this girl's topless."
"Yeah that's really helping," says Sam with a sigh. He goes back to the stove.
"Know it looks like I don't care," sings Dean softly, and Sam blinks and turns back to him. Dean's got this horrified look on his face, but he can't stop. "Just because I flirt and stare."
Dean clamps his hand over his mouth and runs out of the apartment.
Sam takes a minute to recover and then dashes after him, because if Dean explodes from the effort of not singing about...whatever he was singing about, Sam is going to kill him.
He finds Dean outside, breathing heavily.
"We have got to kill this thing," is all Dean says. "Seriously."
*
Sam gets kind of used to Dean starting up songs--he's not really sure what they're about, exactly, but it sounds like his feelings, which is hilarious--and then running off with his hands clamped tight over his mouth. Sometimes Sam gets this urge to sing back, something deep in his gut, and that's weird too, because he doesn't have to do much to stop it, not like Dean, who's just walking back in from sticking his head in the full sink to shut himself up.
He shakes the water off his head while Sam laughs at him. "Screw you," Dean says, giving him the finger.
"You know, no chick flick moments is your rule," Sam points out. "Maybe the curse is trying to get you to get over your issues."
"Yeah," says Dean, glaring at him. "And then it's going to set me on fire."
"Maybe they burst into flames because they fought it. Seriously, Dean, I--"
"Leave it, Sam," Dean says, and the way he says it really does make Sam shut up. "And it's a Pagan god," he adds. "I'm telling you."
Sam clears his throat, awkwardly. "Actually, uh. I think it is a demon."
"Demon?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrow. "Dude, this isn't a possession."
"I know. But, um," Sam looks away. "I'm resisting it. And there's no reason I would be the only one immune unless..." he trails off.
They don't talk about the apocalypse. They haven't yet, anyway, and Sam wasn't planning to start anytime soon. But he did take on whatever power he was supposed to, to stop it. And demons haven't been able to touch him since. Demons can't even look at him without his approval. It comes in handy--it's kind of awesome, actually--but Dean still won't talk about it, and Sam doesn't want to see the look in Dean's eyes when he's reminded exactly what Sam is now. Exactly what Sam had to do to save the world.
"Oh," says Dean, quietly. "But--dude, demons don't do this shit."
"If there's a demon that controls plane crashes," Sam points out, "maybe there's one for, I don't know--one that curses theater? Like the Macbeth curse, only for musicals."
"Real Phantom of the Opera, huh?"
"The Phantom wasn't actually a phantom, Dean, he was--"
Dean holds up his hand. "I saw that movie, dude."
Sam smiles, shakes his head. Then he realizes something. "Wait. Okay, you remember, Ruby said--" and Dean does flinch at that; Ruby's never grown on him. But issues are only legitimate as long as they don't interfere with the case, so Sam doesn't stop. "Ruby said," he continues, "that when people go to hell, they become demons, eventually. So maybe this is another demon that held on to its humanity, decided it wanted, I don't know--"
"To destroy Twinkletown the Musical?" asks Dean, raising his eyebrow. "I can't really blame it."
"Shouldn't you be giving your show more support, Arnold?"
"Shut up," says Dean. "Okay, so if this is a demon that remembers stuff, it'd be from around here, right? I mean, it's been here two years in a row. It's not like demons just pick names out of a hat."
"If it's a demon," Sam continues, going for his laptop, "we're looking for someone who died young and famous. Probably made a deal, otherwise they wouldn't be hellbound in the first place."
"Could be young and not famous," Dean points out. "Remember that dude who got the talent."
Sam nods. "Actually, that might make more sense. Someone who sold their soul for talent and not fame would probably be a lot angrier."
Dean nods, patting Sam's shoulder as he gets up. "All right, research boy, do your thing. I've got engineering homework."
Sam twists around on the couch, watching Dean. "You know, you're not half bad at this college thing."
Dean gives him a look. "You got something to say, Sammy?"
"You ever thought about it? Going to college, getting a degree, a normal life."
"Nah. It's not for me, man. You still going back?"
Sam shakes his head. "You kidding? You're better at this than I am right now."
"That's because I'm awesome," says Dean, grinning, and Sam shakes his head.
"Right, how could I forget."
Dean wanders off, Sam keeps looking. Finding people is a lot harder than finding mythological demons--there are way more of them, for one thing. Sam wonders if it even matters who the demon is--they've never tried finding a demon's body to salt and burn before. For all Sam knows, that might work.
His eye catches on Aleksander Gorski, a 1912 graduate in performing arts. A relatively successful one, from the looks of it, who went on to Broadway fame. Sam scrubs his face. There's a good chance he's related to Fabian and Aleksandra--the last name's not that common in this country, and Dean was named after his grandmother (which, now that he knows, Sam is never letting his brother forget, ever), so Aleksandra could have easily been named after her great-grandfather or whatever. But it doesn't make sense that Fabian would be an angry demon killing off his own family. And he died old, so--Sam blinks.
He gets up and walks purposefully into the room where Dean's studying.
Dean's in there, singing under his breath, so quietly Sam can barely hear. It's kind of a jaunty tune, even quiet. "No big deal, nothing's wrong, even if I can't stop this song. I was smooth, flirting, always cool, even when the girls thought I was a tool. But then one day it hit me, whammy! I went and fell in love with Sammy. Now there's no way, can't want any other--I've got it bad for my geek brother."
Sam's breath catches and he struggles to keep quiet while also being unable to breathe. It's--well, it makes sense that Dean's willing to stick his head in the sink to shut himself up, but seriously?
He can't think about it right now, though. They've got a job and he doesn't even know what the demon's doing, or if it's making Dean lie or tell the truth or whatever, so. Yeah. There is really no point in discussing this until after the case is over. And maybe not even then.
Sam leans heavily on the door, letting the noise startle Dean up.
"Dude!" Dean objects. He looks freaked as hell, which Sam can't blame him for.
"I gotta hit the library," says Sam. "I've got a lead, but I need newspapers. You want to come?"
"Nah, you know me. Not the research guy. But you have fun. Call me if you find anything."
Sam nods. "Yeah," he says. "Will do."
In the car on the way to the library and while he browsed old microfilm and while he found a remarkably talented young man who was passed up for a big part for Aleksander Gorski and who died ten years after he graduated from college and wrote down the information--that whole time, Sam did not think about Dean, or what Dean was thinking.
Not even a little.
*
"Percy Talbot," says Sam, throwing some print-offs in front of Dean. "An impressively talented young man who was lost three roles to Aleksander Gorski while both were at Tulane and one Broadway role to him. After that, Talbot cut himself off from people and died a drunk at age thirty-two."
"Huh," says Dean, leafing through. "Good work, Sammy."
I went and fell in love with Sammy, Sam thinks.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "So what do we do? Burn the bones? Does that work?"
Dean considers. "Can't hurt, right? If the singing and dancing doesn't stop after that, I dunno. I'll work Christo into one of my musical numbers and you can work your antichrist mojo on whoever flips out."
Sam blinks. "I can?"
"Pretty sure you can't go darkside anymore," Dean says, quietly. "I mean--I know you won't."
Sam swallows past the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Dean."
"Yeah," Dean says. "Uh. We should--where's he buried?"
Sam clears his throat. "Tennessee. You're going to have to miss some rehearsal."
"Lucky I'm so awesome at it," says Dean.
"Lucky," Sam agrees.
*
Ordinarily, Sam doesn't have a problem being in the car with Dean. He's in the car with Dean all the time, he's pretty used to it. But now he's aware of Dean, aware that Dean--maybe, possibly--wants him, like, wants him, like...Sam can't even quite wrap his brain around it.
Sam loves Dean. That much has never been in question--Sam's loved Dean since before he really knew what love was, since before he knew anything else. But he's never--not really. He always knew Dean was attractive, and there were a few times when he saw Dean and--but not like. Wanting Dean. Just noticing him. A little bit.
Sam leans back against the headrest.
"You okay?" Dean asks, slanting him a glance.
"Yeah," Sam says. "Fine."
*
After they burn the bones, Dean sings a touching song about how much he loves fire.
"Flames are licking at the bones, can't think of anything I like more!" Dean sings, looking like he wants to die. "Unless it's Sam fucking me like a whore!"
Sam chokes. Dean chokes too, and they both stand there, coughing and wheezing until they regain some semblance of dignity.
"Dea--"
"Didn't work," says Dean.
"Dean!"
"We're killing this, Sam," is all Dean says, and he jerks away from Sam's hand on his arm as he trudges back to the car. He turns up the Metallica loud as they drive back, singing along to that possibly just to keep his mouth occupied.
Sam keeps his lips pursed, his arms crossed. There's a song knocking around in his head, but he can't hear the words.
He wonders, if he left it to the demon, what he'd say to Dean.
He thinks he'd say yes.
*
The exorcism itself is almost anti-climatic. Sam's kind of disappointed, pulling the demon out of Kelsi without any effort, watching its black eyes stare up at him, unwavering. Somehow, death and destruction and spontaneous human combustion just don't seem like that big a deal, compared to Dean wanting to fuck him. Or to be fucked by him. Sam's not entirely clear on the details, but--it's a big deal. It's a really big deal.
"I didn't make him say anything," says the demon in Kelsi, staring right at Sam. "I didn't give them any emotions."
"I know," Sam says, pulling still. The black smoke is pouring out of Kelsi's mouth, and he can feel Dean behind him, standing rigid, looking at nothing.
He can still hear a song somewhere in his head, rattling around.
"He's a freak," Kelsi spits, the demon's last hurrah.
"I know," says Sam, but it's fond, the way he says it. Because he is--he's fond of Dean.
Kelsi slumps forward into Sam's arms, and Sam checks her pulse. It's strong and clear, which is shocking--she must have been possessed for a while, and he's never seen a demon leave a body in such good shape. He guesses they had to have some luck in this case, sometime.
"Sammy," says Dean, quietly.
Sam swallows. "No chick flick moments, right?" he says.
"None."
Sam smiles. "But musicals, those are okay."
"Sam--"
"My whole life, it's me and you," Sam says, just giving in, letting it wash over him. It's a ballad, of course. Sam would get a fucking ballad. "No one else has seen me through. Apocalypse and demon-hunting, all that hasn't stopped me wanting--"
Dean yanks Sam down and kisses him. Sam sort of meeps, because he didn't actually know how this was going to turn out--he sort of figured he'd wait for the chorus and see if he was for or against the whole brother-fucking thing, but Dean's body against him pretty much makes the choice for him--he likes this. The meep turns into a moan and Dean chuckles against his lips, like this isn't monumental and totally fucked up.
"Dude, we killed the demon," says Dean. "You don't have to sing anymore."
Sam grins; Dean's hands are still in his shirt, and it says a lot about his life that this isn't nearly the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. Musical theater demon making his brother reveal his non-brotherly lust? Possibly not even top ten.
"You do," he points out. "You're the star of Twinkletown."
Dean swears under his breath. "I've got an understudy."
"No way," says Sam. "You can't do that to Kelsi. She just got done with demon possession. She doesn't need you quitting on top of that."
Dean sighs, shakes his head.
"I hate you."
Sam grins wider. "You know, I heard you singing. I know the truth."
"Shut up," says Dean.
*
Explaining everything to Kelsi is a little awkward. It turns out she's been possessed for a full year, which--Sam's just happy she's not in worse shape.
"Most of the time it didn't make me do things," she admits. "It was just there. But then--I didn't know it was killing the people! Just covering it up. I thought it...I should have..."
"There's nothing you could have done," says Sam. "None of this is your fault."
Kelsi nods tightly. She blinks up at him. "Why was it--was it homophobic?"
"Huh?" asks Sam.
"Well, it said...there's nothing wrong with your boyfriend singing about you, is there?" she asks. "But it--it thought it was bad."
Sam glances over at Dean, who's rehearsing. Dean, who's maybe possibly actually his boyfriend now, except they never talked about it, and probably never will. But he's--they're something, definitely. "No," says Sam. "There's nothing wrong with it."