Play It Again, Sam - 3/10

[monsterfan]

Download the soundtrack

“We’re good, blanket apologies all the way around,” Dean says in the cemetery.  Sam doesn’t doubt that it’s the truth.  Dean’s not the kind of person to hold a grudge.  He’s been tortured in hell, betrayed by his own brother, generally fucked over by heaven, and he’s still standing.  Standing next to Sam.

Sam shudders to think what he’s done that he still doesn’t know about, what that blanket apology might be covering, but he knows Dean means it, and that’s worth everything.  He hopes Dean knows, for whatever it’s worth, that it goes both ways.

They’re silent as they walk back to the car and head out.  They know without being told that Bobby doesn’t want them to wait around.  Saying goodbye to Rufus is something he needs to do in private.  So they take off, slowly at first as they wind their way through the cemetery, and then quickly once they’re back on the open road.

It’s pretty obvious to Sam that Dean’s leading them back to Bobby’s house.  It’s become their default destination these days, like home base.  Part of him misses the story of Sam and Dean, two brothers with nothing but a series of oddly decorated motel rooms to call home, but he loves Bobby fiercely, and he knows Dean probably needs as much stability right now as he can get.  He’s lost one home, so the next best thing is to treat Bobby’s like it’s theirs.  Plus, once Bobby’s had some time alone on the drive back, he’s going to need to be around other people.  Sam wants to be there for him.

After about twenty minutes, Dean arches an eyebrow and gestures toward the radio.  “You mind?”

This is Dean’s latest act in I can’t believe I got my brother back theater.  In the past it was driver picks the music.  Or Dean would flip the radio on when he didn’t like what Sam had to say, when he didn’t want either of them to get too caught up in their thoughts.  Now he asks Sam politely, and while part of Sam can’t help but feel that this new courteousness calls attention to the fact that they’re not yet totally back to where they used to be, he also knows it’s a grand gesture.  It’s Dean’s way of taking care of Sam, yet again, because Dean is always taking care of Sam, even two years after announcing that he was going to start thinking of Sam as an adult.

Sam loves him for it.

He nods, half anticipating if there will be another weirdly coincidental song and half dreading it. So far, the cosmic force that controls the radio reminds him of a thirteen-year-old with an overdeveloped sense of literalism.

He’s pleasantly surprised when the first song that comes on is that Rolling Stones song about honky tonk women.  It doesn’t seem to have any direct correlation to their lives.  Maybe there never was a music thing; maybe it was just Sam making mountains out of molehills.  Dean also seems satisfied with the song; he moves his hand away from the dial and back to the steering wheel.  For a few minutes there’s nothing but the sound of the engine and Mick Jagger talking about blowing noses and blowing minds.

When the song ends, the DJ announces in that annoyingly faux-cool way all DJs have of talking that it’s a double feature or a double header or some other clever thing that means he’s going to play other Stones song.  It’s all fine and well with Sam, who likes the Stones a lot, until he hears Mick Jagger open with, “She would never say where she came from,” and Sam’s blood nearly freezes because he knows, he just knows, there’s no freaking way Dean made a speech twenty minutes ago about forgiving Sam for his trespasses and now they’re playing that.

He’s not entirely sure what the best course of action is here.  If he freaks out, Dean’s going to start thinking more than Sam wants him to about the song.  And then they’ll both be thinking about her, and no good can come of that.

Jesus Christ, why the hell had he married her in that bizarro world?  He’s still holding out hope that it was just Balthazar’s way of fucking with him.

Of course, if he lets the song play on, then he might be tacitly telling Dean, Hey, since you love me unconditionally, I can quit atoning for that whole Ruby thing, right?

“Aw, it’s your girlfriend’s song.”  Sam looks at Dean in a panic, but he can’t see anything in Dean’s eyes other than genuine brotherly teasing.  No ulterior motive, no resentment, so he decides to just go along with it.

“Yuck, turn it off.”

“That fake-Ruby wasn’t all that bad.”

Sam can still see the sympathetic face she gave him when she thought he was losing his mind, the perfectly manicured hand she held out as she offered to soothe his troubles in the ostentatious suite that passed for their - her and Jared’s - bedroom.  Worse, he knows how close he came to taking her up on that offer because, hey, they were just playing their parts.  She was attractive and interested, and he’d followed her up the stairs thinking he really might fall into bed with her because it wouldn’t mean anything because she wasn’t Ruby, just an actress, but at the last second he couldn’t do it.  It would be lying to himself and lying to her.  She didn’t want Sam.  She wanted Jared, and he’s not Jared.  He’s pretty sure the biggest difference between him and Soulless Dickwad is that he actually cares about other people, so, no, he couldn’t sleep with the pretty actress under false pretenses.  Plus, no way would he be able to look Dean in the eye again, and that’s worth way more than a night of easily offered sex.

“She hated you,” Sam reminds him.  “And apparently you hated her.”  Because Dean’s in a good mood and because somebody somewhere is conspiring to put them on the right path again, he presses his luck.  “Hey, do you think you two were fighting over me?”

Dean half-shakes his head and remains quiet long enough for Sam to wish the words back into his mouth.  “Ruby Tuesdays have good pie,” he says at last.  “We should eat at one of them soon.  I’m sick of Denny’s.”

It’s a strange non-sequitur, but today has been a milestone in their relationship, so Sam just rolls with it.  “And Biggerson’s,” he adds.  “Those places give me the creeps.”

“Good fries, though,” Dean points out.  “You hungry?  I could eat.”

Sam shakes his head.  Breakfast is still sitting heavily in his stomach.  “We should pick something up when we get closer to Bobby’s.  He probably won’t feel like cooking tonight.  We should probably help him do some cleaning, too.”

“That’s just gonna piss him off.”

Dean’s right.  Bobby won’t want to be coddled, but they are the world’s biggest mooches, and the least they can do is try to earn their keep when his best friend dies.

The DJ must have decided that the Stones were worthy of a triple play, because after “Ruby Tuesday” it’s “Paint It Black.”  Once upon a time Sam liked this song, but now it just reminds him of Lucifer.  In some ways Lucifer and Sam know each other better than Sam and Dean ever will.  Sam knows, for instance, how hard it is for Lucifer not to scratch the constant itch to destroy everything in sight, how hard he works to hold it together.  On Earth, anyway.  Sam can’t remember much of the cage except fire, but it’s reasonable to assume Lucifer let his hair down there.

“We had a good party, didn’t we?”

Sam turns to look at Dean, but Dean’s concentrating on driving.  He’s not even tapping a hand on the steering wheel to the music.  “Dean?”

His brother doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

“Try again, Sammy.”

Sam turns around abruptly, but the backseat of the car is empty, too.  There’s no one else but Dean, who isn’t really paying any attention to Sam.

“You think you have to see me for me to be with you?  What part of MFEO don’t you get?”

Lucifer.  The thought makes Sam’s blood run cold.

“You can’t be out of the cage,” Sam says aloud, and now he’s starting to freak out because Lucifer is back and Dean is giving him the silent treatment.

“Just because it didn’t work out last time doesn’t mean we can’t try again,” Lucifer says.  “We could paint the world black together.”

“No.”  It comes out as a whimper, but Sam manages to pull himself together enough to reach for the radio and snap it off.

But instead of going off, it’s playing a different song.  And instead of holding the radio knob, Sam is holding Dean’s wrist.  The car has stopped moving, and Dean is leaning across the seat with concern.

“You with me?” he asks, patting Sam’s cheek a little.

“Quit slapping me.”  Sam bats away Dean’s hand and sits up.

“You were out for, like, five minutes,” Dean tells him.  Sam notices that Dean has lowered his hand from Sam’s face, but it now rests on Sam’s leg.  Dean doesn’t move back over to his side of the car, either.  “Was it hell again?”

“What?  No.  No, I was - ”  Sam thinks for a moment.  “I was listening to ‘Paint It Black.’  Did it come on after ‘Ruby Tuesday’?”

Dean shakes his head.  “No, man, Golden Earring double decker.”

But it was the Lucifer song, Sam thinks.  It makes sense after the Ruby song.  He doesn’t want to say it out loud, though, because Dean will panic and obsess over the wall, even though there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Man,” Sam says, hoping his voice has some levity, “if I’m starting to hear classic rock in my sleep, we need to get some new music.”

* * * * *

Sam thinks long and hard about it and decides that Celine Dion is not a part of whatever’s happening.  She just can’t be.

* * * * *

Sam is driving along a highway that looks pretty much like every highway he’s ever driven on: two-lane asphalt, tall trees lining either side, no other cars in sight.  The girl sitting next to him is side-eyeing him every few minutes, but she’s agreed to come along for the ride, so that’s something.  They’re driving in silence, which is weird, he knows, but he doesn’t know why.

“How about the radio?” she suggests, shifting a little in seat.  Her bad-ass leather jacket rubs against the leather of the car seat, making obscene noises.

He gives her a nod, but he doesn’t reach for the knob; instead, he keeps his two hands firmly on the wheel (can’t lose control of the car, it’s really important to drive carefully).

She turns the radio on, and the Rolling Stones’ “Play With Fire” comes on, and immediately things feel more right somehow.

The woman (Robin, she said her name was Robin, like the bird) settles back into the seat, causing more leather-squawking. She’s starting to freak a little, maybe because there’s a smell permeating the air inside the car.

“Do you smell whiskey?” he asks.

Wrong question, because Robin now looks like she thinks she got behind the wheel with a drunk driver.  She begins rubbing her forehead and generally trying to convince Sam to turn around.  But he can’t.  It’s really important that he keeps going.

The sun comes up suddenly, not like a sunrise, but like someone flipped the lights on.  He slams the brakes with both feet, squinting against the harshness, and the car skids to a stop.  Robin is completely freaking out now, insisting that it’s always been daytime, but he knows that’s not true.

He’s pretty sure that’s not true.

Also, even though the car is off, he can still hear the music.

* * * * *

Bobby’s house looks like something out of a gothic novel.  There are candles everywhere, sheets draped over furniture, spooky shadows emanating from every source, stretching long in the moonlight.  Sam half-expects to hear organ music.  He wonders what is says about him that this is the kind of thing his mind conjures up.

His hell-self doesn’t really look all that bad, considering.  He seems pretty browbeaten, but he’s still in one piece (okay, he is only a piece, of his soul, but, like, he has all his limbs and everything).  Sam can’t believe there’s anything this version of him has lived through that he can’t also handle; after all, they’re the same person.

And, somewhere, Dean is waiting for him.  Dean, of it’s been almost three years (Sam can’t remember how long exactly), Dean needs him to get his lazy ass out of bed.

Except he’s not in bed.  He’s in Bobby’s candlelit house.  (No, he’s not.  He’s in his own mind.)

“You don’t want to remember,” his hell-self says, his voice broken and desperate.

A flock of birds flies overhead, even though they’re inside.  Such is the way the mind works, Sam supposes.  His hell-self doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t look up to the ceiling for an explanation the way Sam does.  One of the birds suddenly swoops at Sam’s forehead.

“It’s not a Hitchcock reference,” his hell-self explains as Sam swats the bird away.

Sam doesn’t ask what it is then; he’s on a deadline and eager to move things along.

* * * * *

There’s a tense moment after Castiel pronounces himself their new god, and then Bobby actually kneels on the ground.  Sam and Dean look at each other, starting to bend their knees, not really sure they should, but not really sure it’s smart to go against the wishes of their new Lord (definitely a capital L) either.

Castiel, whose face has been more stoic, more together, since his transformation, suddenly looks disappointed.  Like he’s opened all the Christmas presents and now there’s nothing left but a pile of wrapping paper and some junk he never really wanted in the first place.

He wants their (Dean’s) love, so he lets them go.  Tells them he never wants to see them (Dean) again.  Tells them if they’re lucky, they’ll stay out of each other’s way.  Bobby looks pretty relieved, Sam’s confused because his mind is starting to play tricks on him again and he has a screaming headache, but the grief on Dean’s face could melt the coldest heart.

It’s pretty hard not to see this as Castiel’s final fuck off to Dean.  If Sam were feeling one hundred percent, he’d wrap his arms around his brother and assure him it would be okay.  Instead, it’s Dean who steadies him as they stumble out of the lab.

“Did I do that?” Sam asks, looking at the wreck that is their car.  It’s upside down, the roof crushed, the glass of the windows shattered everywhere, everywhere, like in a one hundred foot radius.  Sam remembers driving, he remembers a truck coming out of nowhere, unexpectedly, crashing into them.  He’s just not sure Bobby was there.  And he’s pretty sure he walked here tonight.

“No,” Dean says.  “Demons.”

“But I was driving,” Sam tries to say, but it’s hard to get the words out, and he’s distracted by all the blood dripping from his nose.

“I sent that truck driver to you.”

“You did?” Sam asks.  The words stick in his mouth.  It’s like talking through peanutbutter.

“Did what?” Dean replies.

“Send the truck driver,” Sam reiterates with frustration.

“You don’t have to say it out loud.  I can understand your thoughts.”

Oh, Sam thinks with relief.  Good.  What are we going to do about Cas?

Don’t worry about Castiel, the voice says, and now that it’s in his head, not aloud, Sam realizes it doesn’t sound like Dean.  Or Bobby.

Soulless Dickwad?

There’s a laugh and then an amused, No, Sammy.  I’m you.  You’re me.  Together forever and never to part, together forever we two.  Don’t you know I would move heaven and Earth to be together forever with you?

“I hate this song.”

“Sam?”  It’s Bobby’s voice now.  “What do you hear?”

Sam turns in the direction of Bobby’s voice and sees him, really sees him.  It’s dark behind him, night maybe, but Sam can see the concerned look on Bobby’s face plain as day.  “Rick Astley.”

“Wow, it is bad,” Dean deadpans.

“Don’t joke about this, boy,” Bobby snaps.  “He’s losing his marbles here.”

“Believe me, I’m not laughing.”

“Dean?”  Sam turns to his right, toward the sound of Dean’s voice, but Dean’s not there.  He turns back to the left, and Bobby’s gone, too.  Then it’s not night anymore.  Everything is red, bright, hot, glowing with fire and cinder, and time and space stretch infinitely.

“Sam!”  It’s Adam now, screaming desperately.  “Sam, help me, please!”

Adam is hanging off a meat hook that has been pierced through his throat, his feet bicycling wildly, futilely, several feet off the ground.  If this were upstairs, he wouldn’t have any vocal chords left for screaming.  But the laws of physics don’t apply here.  Adam only looks like he has a body so that he can truly envision the torture Lucifer and Michael are inflicting.  He’s really just a soul.  His body is gone.  Dead.

Sam’s too.

“Stop it!” Sam pleads, but Lucifer and Michael just laugh in delight.  This is their favorite game, but every day they alternate which Winchester they’re going to torture by having to feel the pain and which one they’re going to torture by having to watch.  Today it’s Sam’s day on the sidelines.  He hates the feeling of his limbs stretched taut and held in place by an invisible power.  He hates watching Adam get ripped to pieces, begging his bigger, stronger brother to save him.

Sam prefers the days Adam watches because nobody really expects Adam to save Sam.  That’s not how it’s supposed to work.

At some point Adam switches from screaming for Sam to screaming for his mother.  It always pisses off Michael, who doesn’t like to be reminded that he got the back-up half-brother vessel while Lucifer got the pureblood (isn’t that funny, what with the demon blood infection?).  It doesn’t matter how angry Michael gets, though, Adam always ends up screaming for his mom - he can’t help it.  Michael rushes toward him, fists balled up at the sides, murderous look on his (old-past-young-Dad’s) face.  “You fucking mention that whore one more time.  One more time, Adam, I dare you.”

“Michael,” Lucifer (Nick) calls, like he’s calling off a dog.  Michael might be older, but he’s the loose cannon of the two.

“Fucking whore ruined everything!” Michael yells.

Lucifer looks at Sam with a fond smile on his face.  My brother, he thinks, and Sam can hear Lucifer’s thoughts plain as day inside his head.  What’s a boy to do?  “Yes, Michael, we know the fucking whore ruined everything.  Come back beside me now.”

Can you really blame him? Lucifer thinks.  He just wanted Dean.  Adam was a disappointment.

It’s not Adam’s fault, Sam tries to channel to Lucifer.  Tell Michael he can take it out on me.  I’m the one who kept Dean from saying yes.

“Michael,” Lucifer obliges, “Sam wants you to know it’s his fault Dean’s not here.  Is there anything you’d like to do to Sam?”

“Later,” Michael growls, and he sounds like Dean.  Sam turns in his direction and realizes it is Dean, or, at least, a convincing copy.

Adam can’t tell the difference.  “Dean, help!  Please, Dean, get me down!”

Lucifer (now Sam, so he matches Dean-Michael) laughs at that.  Oh, Sam, don’t take everything so seriously, he thinks, giving Sam a wink when Michael has his back turned.  Sam appreciates the courtesy; Michael’s a jealous bastard whose rage is only amplified when he sees evidence of just how close Lucifer and Sam really are.  Dean’s not here.  Adam’s not here.  None of this is real, remember?

Because Sam is feeling particularly defiant today, he responds, I’m glad Dean’s not here.

A bitter cold pierces Sam’s skin, working its way into his bones, until they feel so rigid and brittle he thinks they might snap.  His breath is coming out thick, frost collecting on his nostrils.  Lucifer burns cold.  It’s Michael who brings the fire to the party.

Please stop, Sam begs, immediately regretting his insubordination.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  I’m here.

“You’re with me?”

Yeah, he thinks with resignation, I’m with you.

“Sammy, are you with me?”

Sam takes a look around, but the infinite fire-space of the cage is gone, replaced now with a regular old landscape.  They’re outside.  Dean’s holding onto Sam, trying to keep him upright, while Bobby looks on with fatherly concern.

“We’re trying to get you inside, Sasquatch.  One foot in front of the other, huh?”

Sam concentrates on moving his feet forward, one after the other, and finds that it’s not that difficult to do.  After a moment, Dean seems to realize Sam’s not going to topple over and lets him go, but he and Bobby flank Sam the rest of the walk into the house.

They get Sam settled on the rust-colored sofa with a blanket over him.  It’s cozy, and Sam feels himself starting to nod off.  Dean comes over to check on him, sitting down on the coffee table so he can rest a hand on Sam’s forehead.

“Checking for a fever,” he explains, even though nobody asked him what he was doing.

Sam’s sleep-addled brain is still trying to process how exactly he got to the lab, how they all got out of the lab (Cas became God, right?  He’s pretty sure Lucifer wouldn’t make that one up), and why Dean is sitting here, taking care of him, after all the complete and utter shit that Sam has brought into his life since the day he turned six months old.

“You didn’t give up on me.”

“Sam, you came out of a coma to come rescue us.  You tried to gank Cas.  You’re - you’re a tough dude,” Dean says a little reverently.  “I’m never gonna give up on you.  Look what you’re capable of.”

Never gonna give, never gonna give, Lucifer says.  Never gonna run around and desert you.  Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie - now that’s an interesting one.  Dean lies to you, Sam.  All the time.  But I never have, and I never will.

* * * * *

When Sam wakes up, Bobby and Dean are eating sausage and eggs at the kitchen table.  They didn’t set a place for him, which makes Sam wonder just how long he’s been out and how much longer they thought he’d be.  He’s hungry but not ravenous, so he thinks maybe he only lost the one day.

Sam spends several minutes trying to convince them he’s feeling fine.  (Really, one of them is bad enough, but both?)  Marginally placated, they let him sit down and eat like a big boy.  Sam wants to tell them everything he’s been seeing and hearing, but he doesn’t want to panic them.  But there’s a connection between what’s happening now and what happened before (yes, okay, he’s thinking in riddles), and that’s not the kind of thing you keep from your hunting buddies.  Or your big brother.

“Dean,” Sam begins, “I need to tell you something, and I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I need you to believe me, and not think I’m still having hell hallucinations, okay?”

Even with his head lowered, Sam doesn’t miss the fact that Dean gives Bobby a look before he agrees.  So that’s how it’s going to be - the two sane ones indulging the crazy.

“Something’s happen with music.”

“Part of your hell-wall crashing?” Bobby asks.

“There’s no music in hell, Bobby,” Dean says, like duh, everybody knows that, which isn’t really fair, since hell is one thing Bobby’s never had the pleasure of experiencing firsthand.

“Actually,” Sam corrects, “there was.  I mean, Lucifer would sing to me.  Or, er, speak the lyrics to songs.  Like, all the time.”

From the look on Dean’s face, it’s clear this is not the image he had of the dark angel.  “What kind of songs?”

“Whitney Houston, Hall and Oates.  The occasional Lionel Ritchie.”

Sam can see Dean schooling his features, trying fervently to remind himself that this is Serious Business, he can’t laugh.  Except laughter would be welcome at this point, because, really, Lucifer quoting the Pointer Sisters is kind of funny in a creepy way.

“Okay, so, the devil’s form of torture is making you listen to bad ’80s pop,” Dean sums up.  “Good, that’s…good.  That’s…helpful information.”  He raises his eyebrows at Bobby, who belatedly nods in agreement.

“Yeah, helpful,” Bobby echoes.

They’re trying so hard to be serious that Sam can’t help losing it.  “It’s fucking ridiculous,” he says, and that seems to give both Bobby and Dean license to laugh along with him.  “Yesterday he was singing ‘Never Gonna Give You Up.’  I think he could be a little more subtle, don’t you?”

“Yesterday?”  Oops.  Dean’s not laughing anymore.  “Yesterday?” he barks again.

“Dean -”

“Can it, Bobby.”  He turns back to Sam. “What do you mean, you saw Lucifer yesterday?”

There’s nothing Sam can do but nod.  “But, Dean, it’s not a big deal.  It’s just -”

“It is a big deal, Sam.”  Dean pushes back from the table.  “It’s a big fucking deal!”  He storms out of the house, slamming the screen door behind him.

Bobby and Sam look at each other awkwardly, but Bobby - god love him - shakes his head that Sam should let it go.  “He’s just worried, son.  You, Cas, the car - he’s got a lot on his plate.”

“The car?”

“Crashed.  Totaled.”

“Demons,” Sam finally remembers (and, no, this time it wasn’t his fault).  “Is it here?” Bobby nods.  Sam wipes his mouth with his paper napkin and takes both his and Dean’s plates to the sink.  He grabs two bottles of beer from the fridge and heads outside.  He knows Dean will be sulking or wallowing or stewing near the car.

* * * * *

He finds Dean right where he expects: in the garage next to the Impala, the little portable radio playing on the workbench.  Dean is holding a socket wrench, but he’s just twirling it around with one hand while the other strokes one of the door panels.  He doesn’t appear to be doing any work.

He is, however, quietly singing, giving all of his love to the car.

“Nice sentiment, but are you sure she reciprocates?”

Dean looks up, a bit sheepish.  He snaps the radio off.  “My baby loves me just fine.  How you feeling?”

“If I tell you the truth, are you going to run away again?”

“Fair enough.”  Dean leans up against the door, giving Sam his full attention, and that’s when Sam remembers he’s holding two beers.  He settles against the car next to his brother and offers up a bottle.

“I’m not okay,” Sam admits.  “I’m worried Lucifer’s really out there.  And I don’t know what’s better - him out there, or in here.”  He taps his temple with a finger to make his point.  “But we have bigger fish to worry about right now.  Like, god-sized, so I’m just going to try to keep it together until we can get that sorted out.”

Dean shrugs.  “I don’t really know what we can do about Cas.”  The way Dean says Cas is different now.  Before it sounded mostly affectionate, often irritated and bemused at the same time, but now it’s just cold and disgusted.

Sam is enlightened enough to know he’s not enlightened about certain things, but he also knows he’s ahead of Dean on many fronts.  Dean is deeply in denial about his relationship with Castiel and always has been.  Sam’s not sure Dean’s ever even been with another guy (two years, eleven months, and sixteen days) or if angels even have sex (of course they do, look at Balthazar and Gabriel).  But it’s undeniable that Cas and Dean have a profound bond, something Dean has yet to come to terms with.  And Sam understands, even if his brother doesn’t, that this is part of the reason why Cas’ betrayal stings so badly.

“Tell me more about the music,” Dean says.

“Well, like I was trying to tell you earlier,” Sam tries hard not to sound annoyed, “there was music in the cage, but now it’s here, too.  It’s like, I’ll be doing something or saying something, and then suddenly whatever music is on the radio kind of matches, you know?”

Dean makes a face like, no, he doesn’t know.  “Okay, so who’s the DJ?”

Sam frowns.  “I don’t know.  Maybe some angel with a warped sense of humor -”

“Yeah, we’ve met plenty of those.”

Sam shrugs and admits his biggest fear.  “Maybe Lucifer.”

Dean shakes his head.  “If Lucifer was out of the cage, we’d know it, man.  He’d waste the world.  No, he’s too busy duking it out with Michael in the cage.”

“Dean, Michael and Lucifer weren’t fighting in the cage.”

“They weren’t?”

“No, I mean, they were ready to kill each other on the battlefield, you know, to fulfill destiny because Dad told them to, and all that crap, but, like, once we got into the cage, it was a happy family reunion.  It’s what they wanted ever since Lucifer got cast out - just to be back together, even if they were both dead.  Only they weren’t dead.  I mean, they didn’t want to be stuck in the cage, but they were glad they were together.”

“So if they were getting along down there…”  Dean’s voice trails off, but Sam can see the gears turning in his head.  If they weren’t fighting with each other, Dean is thinking, then they teamed up on you.  Sam wants to add, And Adam.

Neither of them says anything; they don’t need to in order to know what the other is thinking, and anyway what can they say at this point that will change anything?  Archangels are still dicks, Adam’s still down there, and they each think it’s their fault.

“So is there any pattern to these songs you’ve been hearing?” Dean asks instead.  “Has it just been since the cage?  Certain time of day trigger it?  Anything?”  His brother, always the hunter.

Sam starts to think about when exactly he first noticed music being a thing.  He has memories of wacky musical situations as far back as high school, when he developed an unhealthy obsession for Oasis.  But the Gallaghers, Dean, they’re like us.  You have to listen to this one song.  Dean was never really on board.  If you play that fucking song about champagne and supernovas one more fucking time, I’m going to rip your lungs out.

The thing is, it wasn’t just an interest in the band.  Their music spoke to him (okay, yes, eyeroll), but it was always playing when something happened in his relationship with Dean.  Music by brothers to match his life with his brother: Sam missed his bus and got caught in a torrential downpour at the exact moment Dean happened to be driving down the street in Mrs. Johnson’s hunter green Buick, which he’d “borrowed”; Dad called on January 20th to say he was going to be gone an extra week, and even though Dean was usually pretty stoic about Dad missing birthdays, that year he kind of melted into Sam and told him he was really, really glad his brother was by his side.

Flash forward in time, and the events were scattered here and there, but Sam vividly recalls that after Lucifer got out of the cage the first time (the only time, he’s in the cage now, it’s all in Sam’s head), the music was definitely a thing.  There was that one time at the bar in Oklahoma with the Skynryd song, there was the ass-tapping song right after he and Dean reconnected….

Sam starts to assess the situation objectively, working through the evidence like he would on a case.  Was there ever music when Lucifer wasn’t around?  Yes.  Okay, so it’s not Lucifer.  (Dean said that already.)  Was there ever music when they went to some alternate universe or time-traveled (because that might mean it’s all connected to Sam), or is it just in this life (which means it’s something or someone here doing it)?  When they were in Canada in the alternate universe, the music sucked.

Okay, he thinks, and Yeah, this is good.  He’s determined what it’s not, so now he can start formulating hypotheses about what it is.  The music - the songs are all connected to him, but also to Dean - they’re about his relationship with Dean.  No, not about his relationship with Dean - about how things ought to be.  The songs are trying to lead them back to something.  To before.

So here’s what it adds up to: a supernatural playlist scoring the Sam and Dean reunion.

Sam can’t quite figure out how to tell Dean.  It sounds cheesy and embarrassing, and all it does is make him vulnerable.  Points out to Dean that Sam marks time in before and after, that Sam still thinks about how it’s been two years, eleven months, and -

“Sammy?”

Sam shrugs and pretends he’s still two steps behind in his reasoning.  “If it was witchcraft or something, the spell would have been broken when I died.  So it’s gotta be something more powerful.  I’d say a demon, but a musical demon?  I mean, that stuff only happens on TV.  So that leaves angels, Lucifer, God.”  The last name sends a chill running through them both, and Sam shrugs again to shake it off.  “I mean, like you said, don’t they all have more important stuff to be doing?”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.  Did you consider that?”

Actually, no, he hadn’t, not really, because it all seemed too meaningful.  But he doesn’t want to say that, in case Dean starts pressing for details - two years, eleven months, and -

“All right, well, right now it’s not hurting anything, so until we figure out who’s doing it, we can just…keep grooving.”

“Grooving?” Dean mocks, but he’s okay with letting it drop for now.

“And Cas?” Sam ventures to ask.

“Yeah, I think we should lay low there, too.  We don’t know where he is, and even if we did, we don’t know how to stop him.  So I think we should just go back to hunting non-godly things, you know?  Vampires, werewolves, vengeful spirits - it’ll be like old times.”

“How?  We’re broke and our car’s a wreck.”

“So we’ll fix the car and use fake credit cards, same as always.”

“Identity theft?  You don’t think that’s a surefire way to bring down the wrath of God?”

Dean shakes his head.  “I think if Cas had a problem with credit card fraud, we’d have heard it from him a long time ago.”  He pats the car (his baby) and pushes off it.  “So how about it, hmm?  Want to get back out there and hunt some things?  Save some people?”

Next
Back to masterpost