An extremely heavy, loud bass-beat is thumping down the hallways and spewing out of the library.
Dean has acquired a boombox.
He's also legitimately doing research, for once in his life, plucking books here and there and stacking them in a rather haphazard fashion on the nearest table, all the while singing along to
Separate Ways by one of the
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"Nice fucking music choice."
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"Haven't see you around here, dude. Who're you?"
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He shrugs, still looking around himself at the library.
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You have got to be kidding me.
[ If you guessed 'the guy who doesn't want to deal with this shit because he already has a permanent headache on account of THE FUCKING DEMON ALIEN VIRUS THING LIVING IN HIS BODY' then you get the full score. Congratulations! ]
Excuse me, could you please turn that off?
[ The words are there, but his tone is distinctly lacking any form of politeness. ]
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Sure, dude.
[...which is why Dean leans over to the CD-player, turns the volume up higher, and flashes another grin before returning to his book in his lap, tapping his fingers along with the beat.]
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Wow. That is just... incredibly mature, really.
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All work and no play makes- ...what's your name, again?
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