Play It Again, Sam - 9/10
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PRESENT DAY
Sam laughs at the song about making love - it’s a little obvious, isn’t it? - but Dean pastes on the most convincing innocent expression. If Sam hadn’t spent the last thirty years studying his brother, he’d fall for it, believing that Bad Company was just a random coincidence.
Even a few days ago, he’d have had to talk himself into that belief. Because if it wasn’t a random coincidence, it was fate or heaven or a monster or a spell, or something else that, in retrospect, seems a little silly. A few days ago, everything was different. A few days ago, Sam could only remember the smoothness of Dean’s inner thigh through distant, blurry memories. Now he only has to think back to last night.
A few days make a big difference. It’s just music, Sam knows now, and he’s glad Dean has stopped worrying so much about Sam’s fragile mind coming apart that they can have a little fun with it.
He debates whether or not he’s going to say anything outright and decides against it. Let Dean have his shining moment of feigned innocence; he’ll get his revenge.
* * * * *
Two days later, Dean is checking them into a motel while Sam remains in the car. It’s been a long drive, and Sam’s bored and restless, and he should get out and stretch his legs, but he finds himself fiddling with the radio instead.
When Dean comes back out to move the car closer to their room, T. Rex’s “Get It On” is playing. Sam peeks at Dean out of the corner of his eye but keeps his face forward. Dean throws the car into reverse, his right arm stretched across the back of the seat in Sam’s direction, and echoes, “You’re dirty, sweet, and you’re my girl.”
Sam’s not sure whether to laugh or to be insulted.
* * * * *
Later that night, they head to a Chinese takeout place together after spending seven minutes arguing about whose turn it was to make the food run. They place an order for Szechuan beef, broccoli chicken, fried rice, eggrolls, one egg drop soup, and one hot and sour soup.
While they wait, Dean thumbs through a rack of local newspapers. Sam takes a seat on one of the hard chairs near a potted fern by the window. After a second he realizes Dean is humming along with the music blasting from the kitchen.
“I’m not like this, I’m really kind of shy,” Dean sings quietly. He squeezes his eyes shut, puts a hand over his heart, and does a little hip roll thing.
“Seriously?” Sam looks toward the kitchen, but the staff are all too busy to pay them any attention.
“I wanna make you high,” Dean continues, but the cashier comes back to the front and nearly catches him. Dean drops swiftly into the seat next to Sam and tries to look cool.
Sam tries not to laugh.
* * * * *
Since Dean has been having fun with music lately, Sam decides he deserves a turn. It begins innocently enough: Dean is peeing at a gas station while Sam stays in the car and fiddles with the radio dial. There’s a George Michael song playing, and Sam leaves it on for a minute, since, apparently, scoring the world to cheesy ’80s music is his forte. George Michael explains that sex is natural, sex is good, and Sam thinks it’ll be funny to see Dean’s reaction to the song.
He waits eagerly, tapping his finger along the window seam, nervous that Dean will take too long and the song will be over before he gets back to the car.
Dean makes it just in time to hear Sex is something we should do, and he cocks his head as he puts the car in gear. He doesn’t say anything, but by the end of the song, he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
* * * * *
At lunch at a diner somewhere near Big Sky, Montana, a cute blond waitress makes it her life’s work to get Sam in her pants. He, of course, does not encourage her flirtations, though he is flattered. And maybe his dimples come out when she makes him smile - it’s not like he can control them - but he doesn’t even give her his name, so really Dean has no reason to act like a giant dick.
But when he comes out of the bathroom, Dean’s already paid the check and is waiting in the car. Dean seems pretty into the music playing on the radio. Sam listens for a minute, curious why this song has spared him a few good miles of Dean being pissy and possessive. The lyrics are - well, they sound like a lot of nonsense.
“Dude, what the hell is this song about?” Sam asks.
“Man, I have no fucking clue,” Dean answers, “but the good part’s coming up.” He turns the volume up and closes his eyes (which is always a good idea when driving on a highway).
Then the singer starts repeating I came for you over and over, and Sam can’t function. He catches Dean sizing him up, though, so he’ll be damned if he’s going to choke audibly. They have some kind of freaky Vulcan stoic-off for the duration of the song, and when it’s thankfully over, Dean turns the volume back down.
“Good song,” Sam says coolly, but his voice comes out just a little bit higher than usual.
* * * * *
Outside Idaho Falls they stop at a diner with a jukebox right inside the door. Somebody with a hard-on for sock hops must have fed a few dollars into it. After the waitress takes their order, Sam heads over to the jukebox with the intention of putting on something a little heavier, a little more Winchester, but a track on the first page catches his attention. He inserts a dollar into the machine, makes his selection, and returns to their table just as the waitress brings out his iced tea.
The golden oldies continue for a few more minutes until finally Sam’s song comes on. “Did you pick this?” Dean asks, leaning forward across the table. He’s holding his fork in a way that’s vaguely threatening.
The singer declares that he can’t go on, no, he can’t go on, if he’s on his own, but Sam just shrugs. “What makes you think I’d pick this?”
Dean narrows his eyes. “Then what did you pick?”
Sam shrugs again and leans forward to take a sip of iced tea through his straw. The maneuver is sufficiently distracting; Dean leans back against the crimson booth with his mouth hanging slightly open and lets the subject drop.
* * * * *
The next morning Dean is in his one of his deliriously good moods. The kind that manifests itself through Dean being as obnoxious as he possibly can be until he’s the only one in a good mood in a twenty-mile radius. Sam’s quite used to playing the straight man sidekick to Dean’s goofiness, but on days like this there’s no performance to his grumpy faces and the stern way he says his brother’s name.
They’re about ten miles past Pocatello when Dean decides to serenade Sam again. Offkey and loud, and totally toneless. “They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family,” he croons. He points across the car to Sam.
“Is this a joke?”
“Right down the line, it’s been you and me.”
“I think they sang this on Glee, Dean.”
“I don’t know the words to this next line,” Dean sings expressively.
“Wow, that’ll win you American Idol.”
“Oh, girl, you stand by me -”
“I’m not a girl.”
“I’m forever yours -”
“I’ll shoot the radio again.”
Dean snaps the radio off. “Don’t take it out on my baby just because you’re jealous of our epic love.”
“Uh, Dean, you were pointing at me when you were singing.”
* * * * *
Sam starts thinking about this game they’re playing. Yes, Dean’s sadistic side enjoys making Sam listen to him sing offkey to really, really bad music, but Sam’s beginning to suspect there’s more to it than that. Since they’re already sleeping together, what’s the big secret Dean needs to confess through song and dance (there hasn’t been any dancing, yet, thank god, he hopes there won’t be)?
It hits Sam like an arrow to the heart as he’s washing his face one night, and he chastises himself for being so obtuse that he didn’t see it sooner. Dean has kissed him, fucked him, let Sam fuck him back, taken care of him, believed in him, and agreed when Sam confessed his feelings - but Dean hasn’t said the words on his own. He told Sam he regretted not saying them to Lisa, and surely he wishes he could say them to Sam, who’s offered them freely on more than one occasion. The music must be his way of working up to it.
Shows how much Dean knows about Sam. Sam didn’t even realize it. He knows his brother loves him. Knows now that his brother is in love with him. Knows how important they are to each other. The words don’t matter because they’ll never do it justice (neither will cheesy music). But Dean will always worry he’s not taking good enough care of Sam, even emotionally, so Sam decides to help him see that he already knows how Dean feels.
Dean is lying in the left bed when Sam emerges from the bathroom. He’s on top of the covers, stripped down to shorts and t-shirt, his bare feet nearly at the edge of the mattress, and Sam can’t resist giving one of them a little tap as he passes by. Dean kicks involuntarily when it tickles.
“Where are you going?” he asks as Sam steps back into the jeans he’d just shed.
It’s only four-thirty in the afternoon. They’d agreed to stop because they drove through the night, and they wanted to get a few hours of sleep before dinner. (He doesn’t have to explain why they want some time off the road together.) There are a few hours left before the stores start closing. It’ll be tough, a mission like this one, but Sam’s feeling lucky. The world has, for whatever reason, been on their side lately.
“I’ll be back” is all Sam tells his brother as he swipes the car keys and steps out into the chilly afternoon.
It takes a trip to the nearest Wal-Mart, three thrift stores, and some illicit use of the display stereos at Best Buy, but finally Sam makes his way back to the motel victorious. If Dean wonders where he’s been for the last three hours, the hot pizza Sam slides in front of him keeps the questions at bay. It also helps when he feeds a bite to Dean, whose hands are full of rock salt rounds. It’s stupidly romantic, but it quickly turns into a food fight, and then a wrestling match, and then a naked wrestling match.
* * * * *
Sam makes sure he gets to the car first in the morning. He’s kind of an asshole about it - packs up his stuff, then leaves it all on the bed for Dean to carry out, doesn’t even say anything, just gets in the car and gets everything ready. He feels smug waiting for Dean to lug everything out.
Sure enough, there’s a cloud on Dean’s face as he makes his way out their motel room door with two duffels, Sam’s camouflage backpack, and the laptop case slung over both shoulders. If the sun weren’t shining so brightly, causing him to squint, Sam’s certain he’d be glaring daggers.
Once their gear is stowed in the trunk, Dean gets in the car. Sam waits eagerly for him to notice the music. At first he doesn’t even react. He just reaches toward the ignition, realizes the keys are already there, and puts the car in reverse. He pulls a neat three-point turn. Then he absently hits the fast-forward button on the radio, which is fine with Sam, since the entirety of the cassette is full of songs that’ll do the job. When the cassette plays again, it’s in the middle of a different song. Dean ejects the cassette, balances it on the steering wheel, and looks at it skeptically.
“Where’d this come from?”
Sam so wanted to play this cool, to act like he had no idea what Dean was talking about, but he loses all self-control and bursts out, “You like it?”
Dean smiles slowly, like it’s taking him a second to get the whole meaning of both the tape and the question. Then he puts the car in park and kisses Sam slow and deep, the way that leaves him a little lightheaded. “Yeah,” Dean breathes. He’s looking right into Sam’s eyes. “We good?”
It’s the question they always ask each other, and they always answer affirmatively, even though most of the time it’s a giant lie - well, maybe not a lie, but at least, it’s not true, but Are we good? and Yeah, we’re good is their way of helping to keep each other on track, eyes on the ball. Except the way Dean asks it this time isn’t like that. His voice is all soft and warm, and Sam knows what the question really means.
He presses their foreheads together. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“Good.” Dean gives him one last quick press of his lips and moves back to his side. He pushes the cassette back in and jacks up the volume. “Now quit talking over the music.”
The End
Notes and Acknowledgments
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