Play It Again, Sam - Side B
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I made many, many cuts to this story, most of which were necessary for flow. But some of the most humorous scenes got lost, as did all the RoboSam stuff. So here there are, if for some crazy reason you feel like reading more at this point.
All songs referenced are included on the soundtrack.
*****
Right after Good God, Y'All
Sam didn’t expect Dean to let him go quite so easily, but that must be a testament to how far gone their relationship is now. His heart is in his throat the whole first ride, which is bumpy and hot and loud. The windows are open, and the car radio is blasting a staticky AM station. There’s talk of how the Democrats are ruining the country, and the driver grunts in agreement to that. Sam’s pretty sure it’s Lucifer, not the Democrats, and he’s halfway to saying that out loud just out of spitefulness (because it’s either spite or tears) when the topic switches to religion - specifically, salvation and the rapture. Sam wants to throw up, between the bad shocks on the truck and the misguided conversation the two radio hosts are having, and, let’s face it, the giant mess that has become his life.
“Do you mind if we turn the radio off?” he asks the driver. The look on the guy’s face tells Sam that his request is right up there with blasphemy of the abortion or homosexuality kind, but the man complies. “Rough day?”
“Rough life,” Sam replies quietly. He leans against the door with his eyes closed for the rest of the ride.
* * * * *
Sam makes it as far as Oklahoma before he decides to give up. He doesn’t really know where he’s running to, after all, and the RV was the only respite anyway. After that came a trucker blasting honky-tonk while he chain-smoked out a two-inch crack in the window. Then came the beat-up sedan that smelled like incense and had Phish playing softly in the background, so softly it itched the back of Sam’s mind. He wanted the driver, Curt, to either turn it up or turn it off. Curt was too busy planning what he and his passenger (I’m Moon, like the moon in the sky) were going to do once they got to D.C. Part of the itinerary seemed to be protesting outside the White House. Sam never quite understood what Curt and Moon planned to protest. He didn’t think they did either.
* * * * *
During Free to Be You and Me
Although the bar is close enough to the highway to get some drifters, most of the clientele are regulars.
There’s David, who’s an out-of-work mechanic (out of work for three years, Darryl confides in Sam one night while David’s in the can, and Darren makes the tippy-drink gesture). David’s there pretty much from open to close, hunching over in his barstool and nursing beers unless a reasonably attractive woman happens to come in, and then he’s all over her until she (inevitably, happens every sing le time) shoves him off and retreats to the other end of the bar or leaves. Sometimes, at last call, David buys Sam a shot and tells him with wet eyes that the bar is like home.
There’s also Jimmy, who immigrated alone from Ireland forty years ago and still has an accent. Jimmy comes in at six on Tuesdays and Thursdays and stays until close. He nurses one whiskey every night until someone takes pity on him and buys him another drink. It’s a bad move, though, Sam knows from watching, because it means they’ll have to listen to Jimmy bitch about his ex-wife (ex meaning they divorced forty years ago, but that doesn’t stop Jimmy from complaining about her still today). Around midnight Jimmy always finds a few quarters and puts “North to Alaska” on the jukebox. Sam has no idea why. But if Jimmy has enough change, he’ll put it on repeat. When once a young girl made the mistake of reminding Jimmy they’d already heard the song, Jimmy got downright nasty. “I like this song, and I’ll play it to my heart’s content, and you can get out!” he’d yelled. Tom was the bartender that night, and he’d had to reassure the girl she was more than welcome to stay.
* * * * *
At the end of Sam, Interrupted
“Are you with me?” Dean asks. “Come on, man, are you with me?”
“I’m with you,” Sam says, even though he’s not, not totally, because he knows that’s the right answer to that question.
They get in the car and tear out. Neither of them has much to say - what do you say after an experience like that, anyway? Eventually, though, Sam feels that niggling gotta talk about it feeling in the back of his mind. It’s funny really that even after all the group sessions and private sessions and whatever sessions (What did Dean call it? Oh, yeah, getting “thraped,” that was a good one) Sam can even possibly still feel the need to talk more. But he does. His mind is chanting, Gotta talk, it’ll be good to talk, talking is therapy - not like their therapy, like real therapy, it’ll make us feel better.
“Dean -”
“No, no, no,” Dean preempts, and he reaches for the radio. Sam smacks his hand - he can’t help it; he’s still pissed at Dean for something (nothing, really, it’s just rage, Sam is a person full of rage). Dean glares at him and reaches for the knob again, and there’s a mini scuffle of flapping hands and flicking fingers. “What part of ‘cram it down’ don’t you get?” Dean finally growls.
There’s another hand scuffle, which escalates into pushing and shoving and the horn accidentally getting blown twice before there’s a silent truce. It’s actually Sam who turns the radio on. It’s just static, so he flips up and down the dial in search of something that he and his brother can agree on.
* * * * *
Right after The Song Remains the Same
When Castiel finally wakes up, they pack up their stuff and head out. There’s not really any reason to keep moving, since they don’t have any new leads on anything apocalypse-worthy, and since Michael (past-young-Dad-Michael, and that’s just creepy) has made it pretty clear he’s going to get Dean one way or another.
Sam is fucking tired of everyone thinking they can get Dean. Dean’s his own person, damn it, not some pawn to do everyone else’s bidding.
Besides, he’s Sam’s brother.
They’re all pretty quiet in the car. Because Castiel nearly died sending them back in time, Sam thinks for a few seconds he might offer him the passenger seat. But he quickly remembers that Cas got to sit there for two months while Sam was off “finding himself,” as Dean now calls it (Sam prefers to think of it as “suffering hell on Earth,” but okay), and hops in without regret. He died, too, after all.
“You still with us, Cas?” he asks, because he’s not entirely unsympathetic to his friend’s suffering.
“Sure,” Castiel replies dryly. “All four of you.”
Dean gives a little laugh at that. “Hang in there, man. A few more hours, and you’ll be back to normal.”
They all mentally cringe at Dean’s choice of words, since Castiel will never be normal again. Normal for him is being all bad-ass, and now, because he’s riding along with Dean (Sam’s just the unwanted free gift with purchase), he’s losing mojo and friends left and right. Sam feels awful about the choices they’ve all made that have led them down this path. But he doesn’t know what other path they could be taking at this point.
Dean throws the car in reverse, reaches for the radio, checks the rearview, and pulls out.
And, no fucking joke, Rush’s “Freewill” echoes throughout the car.
Sam blinks hard, then looks over at Dean, who doesn’t seem to notice anything’s up. Sam twists in the seat to get a look at Cas, wondering if a symptom of a sick slightly-fallen angel might be radio whammy. “Did you do that, Cas?”
“I’m sorry.” Castiel looks utterly miserable. “I seem to be losing control of certain functions of this vessel. I can open a window if it bothers you.”
Dean starts laughing, really laughing, and it’s infectious, and soon Sam is laughing, too, and he forgets all about the music.
* * * * *
Unspecified time after The End
Dean is inside a Chinese takeout place - he left Sam in the car, which he’s been doing a lot these days, as if Sam can’t be trusted to get food and come back safely without accidentally giving his body over to Lucifer - when Sam hears the chorus to “Ride, Captain, Ride.” Without its mythological context, he realizes, the lyrics at face value are pretty funny. His horny brain constructs a scenario involving a pirate’s costume, the Loveboat, and two gay porn stars that gives him the first laugh he’s had in weeks.
When Dean comes back to the car with a brown paper bag wrapped in a plastic one (why do Chinese restaurants always do that, it’s so wasteful), Sam leaves the radio playing. Dean sets the food on the seat between them, adjusts the volume, and puts the car in gear. Sam holds his breath, although he doesn’t really know why. A minute later, Dean says, “Kinda makes you wonder what that mystery ship they’re riding really is.”
* * * * *
Immediately before The Third Man
Sam has one fist on his cock, steadily pumping, and the other hand is tracing circles over the pink stubs of his nipples, rubbing up and down his thigh, ghosting over his own hip and the trail of hair that descends from his navel. But it’s no use. No matter how he touches himself, it still feels like he’s the one doing it, and that’s not what he wants right now.
With a frustrated grunt, he jerks up from the bed and pulls his jeans on. He tucks himself in carefully, finds the nearest t-shirt, and throws it over his head. There was a bar on the corner that looked promising.
It doesn’t take him long to find someone. She wants two hundred, even though she could easily ask for more. She looks clean, she’s pretty enough, and her lips are puffed up like goddamn pink marshmallows. They’re going to be a huge step up from his own hand.
He takes her back to his motel room and instructs her to strip. She does it with a look in her eye that’s clearly intended to tease him. It doesn’t. It just makes him wonder if he should tell her to get lost and wait for Dean instead. Maybe he can convince his brother, who’s so glad to see him resurrected, that it’s okay, this is how brothers help each other, it’s just because they’re so glad to be reunited, it doesn’t have to mean anything. But Dean’s with Lisa now, and Sam’s not sure how great their relationship is, but he knows that Dean is saddled with enough guilt (about pretty much everything) to fill the Grand Canyon. He could probably talk Dean into sucking him off, but then he’d have to deal with some epic bullshit fallout. The girl’s just easier.
The next morning he pushes himself through his morning workout. In between sit-ups and push-ups and pull-ups, he catches the occasional “gitchy gitchy ya ya” from the bathroom. Although Sam fucking hates that song, it almost makes her fond of her. He can appreciate a good sense of irony.
She emerges looking pretty pulled together for someone who didn’t sleep at all and hasn’t taken a shower and was fucked within an inch of her life. She eyes him hungrily. Sam likes that she’s still interested, but he’s ready to move on with his day and kind of wants her to just leave.
She gives Sam her phone number. She wants to sleep with him again - for free. Not irony, then. She’s just an idiot. Because a.) Sam has no desire for a repeat because surely for her it would mean something, and b.) if she’s going to start giving it up for free, she’s not a good enough businesswoman to be doing this in the first place. After she leaves reluctantly, he balls up her number and throws it away.
Dean’s on his way.
* * * * *
Right after Clap Your Hands If You Believe
It’s not as if Sam is intentionally trying to be mean, but come on. Kidnapped by fairies and then arrested for a hate crime? This is the kind of shit that always happens to Dean - never to Sam - and it is funny. And fucking Styx is mostly fucking awful music, this song in particular, and Sam can’t help but laugh. It comes out deep and throaty, and it makes him sound like sex on legs.
“What’s so funny?” Dean grumbles. It’s pretty much his default setting these days. He doesn’t look over. He’s still facing the rack of salty snacks, trying to choose between the barbecue chips and a miniature can of Pringles. Sam knows he’s not going to like the barbecue chips. Lay’s are too sweet, and he prefers a tangier regional brand that they can’t get in this part of the country, and he always tries the Lay’s anyway, and he’s always disappointed, but that’s Dean, never learns his lessons. And he might like the Pringles, but he’ll get those little green flecks stuck in the crevices between his teeth, and Sam will be the one who has to look at it all day. From where Sam’s standing, they’re both crappy snack choices.
“I thought that they were angels,” Styx continues, “but to my surprise, they headed for that starship and headed for the sky.”
That’s all it takes for Sam to completely lose it, right there in the middle of the Speedway. His mind is conjuring up images of Castiel and his douchebag friends on the bridge of the starship Enterprise, only instead of invisible angel wings, they all have sparkly pink fairy wings, and they’ve got Dean strapped down to a stainless steel table (probing table), and they’re getting ready for some kind of big celebration (not a gay one, though, because Dean commits hate crimes). Sam sputters with laughter again, which makes the cuts and bruises on his face hurt, but it’s worth it.
Dean’s shoulders rise in tension, but he’s still looking at the rack of trans fat-laden snacks like it holds the answers to life’s deepest mysteries.
“You know,” Sam can’t help point out, “the longer you stand there looking at chips, the more of the song we have to listen to.” He leans forward until he’s right near Dean’s ear. “Come sail away, Dean.” Dean flinches, so Sam pats him consolingly on the shoulder, because he’s been paying attention to all the lessons about empathy. “You don’t need anything anyway. I think you gained a few pounds over the last year.”
Dean trails Sam out of the mini mart, empty-handed, muttering curses under his breath for some reason Sam doesn’t fully understand.
* * * * *
During Like a Virgin
Sam is awakened by a loud thumping around three. Apparently it wakes Dean up, too, because Sam can hear him tossing and turning before finally mumbling, “Go in the bathroom if you’re gonna jerk off, Sammich.”
“It’s not me, Dean.” Sam’s a little hurt that Dean thinks that after everything they’ve been through he’d just jerk off one bed over, their first night back together, but he gives Dean a pass since he’s half-asleep.
The thumping continues, and it’s pretty clear now that it’s the sound of the headboard next door banging up against the wall. It continues for another few minutes, and then there’s a loud groan - it sounds like a pig being slaughtered - and finally, just when Sam thinks he’ll be able to get back to sleep, an offkey baritone starts singing, opera-style, “Like a virgin, touch for the very first tiiiimmmmeee! Like a viiiiirgin with your heartbeat next to miiiiinnne!”
Dean heaves a huge sigh. They sit up simultaneously. “Want to get a drink?”
“Yup.” They’re out the door before their diva can fumble his way through the verses.
* * * * *
During Frontierland
Because they’re absolute dorks, they get dressed together. Sam knows it’s not normal. But Dean is so excited about a chance to visit the Old West that his enthusiasm is rubbing off. Sam knows better than to let him see that, though, and dutifully plays his part. If he acts excited, Dean will just tone it down, but if he acts serious and annoyed, Dean will amp it up, and it’s been a hard year, and Sam likes seeing Dean so giddy.
The shirt Dean picked out for him fits a little too snugly, and he wonders if Dean doesn’t know his size anymore or if Dean bought it small on purpose. He’s kind of hoping the second one, especially since Dean is stripping out of his clothes without seeming embarrassed or modest. It’s such a far cry from that first night after Sam woke up, and it’s an indication they’re back to being brothers like they used to be. Sam holds onto that fact for dear life, feeling pleased and smug and eager.
Until he looks in the mirror and realizes he has big flowers on his shoulders. Then he understands: Dean’s excitement about seeing him change is because he’s intentionally picked a shirt that will embarrass Sam. This is a prank.
“I look like an idiot,” Sam gripes. “I’m literally the yellow rose of Texas.”
“You have to tuck your shirt in,” Dean responds, as if that will make it all better. His black shirt is equally snug, and it shows off the muscles in Dean’s shoulders and back.
Sam does as instructed, his giant belt buckle showing out. “It’s worse this way.”
“No, it’s not.” Dean adjusts Sam’s buckle - which, okay, Dean’s hands are right there - and then pops the hat on Sam’s head with a clucking of his tongue that Sam imagines as the punch line to an expression like, “Get along, partner” or something.
“I’m wearing my jacket,” Sam decides. “You can’t stop me.”
Dean shrugs. “It’ll be cold. You’ll need a jacket.” Then he reaches back into the bag and pulls out an honest to god blanket-poncho thing that looks like it belongs on one of those offensive statues of the Mexican dude drunk under a sombrero. It has to be a joke.
Dean pulls the blanket-poncho thing over his head. He then makes a disappointed noise and then leans toward the mirror to smooth his ruffled hair back in place. “Awesome. I gotta hit the head. I’ll meet you downstairs?”
“You just want to make an entrance,” Sam accuses.
Dean doesn’t deny it. He just turns in the direction of the bathroom, whistling “Back in the Saddle Again” as he goes.
It’s going to be a long day.
* * * * *
During The Man Who Would Be King
So, yes, there’s Eve, the Mother of All, and they need to stop her, but they will, Sam knows they will, because they stopped the apocalypse, the big finish, they can do anything. In the meantime he and Dean are rock solid, and Dean’s been acting goofy like he hasn’t in years, maybe since they first hit the road together, and Sam’s working really hard on his straight-man sidekick routine, because it’s the best way to bring out the goof, even though he mostly just wants to laugh along, not roll his eyes, because he loves this Dean. So, yes, there’s evil in the world that is once again threatening humanity, but if Sam can objectively assess things on a microscopic scale (as in, the Sam and Dean show), things are going really well.
Until they’re not.
Learning that Castiel has been, for lack of a better way to put it, cheating on them (Dean) is real blow.
Bobby takes it in stride. He loves Castiel, Sam knows, he has a lot of affection for the dorky nerd angel, but Bobby hasn’t stayed alive this long because he’s easily duped or because it’s easy for him to forgive and forget.
It’s worse news for Sam. He’s hurt Cas betrayed them (and maybe accidentally-on-purpose forgot his soul, Cas’ response to that inquiry wasn’t reassuring at all), but he’s more hurt on Dean’s behalf because he knows what Castiel meant to Dean. What their relationship meant to Dean.
But Dean won’t talk about it when Sam tries to get him to. He just insists they keep working on a way to track Cas down, to get him to stop, because they can reason with him, Dean knows they can, and Sam wants to believe that’s true for his brother’s sake, because Dean has so much goddamn faith in the people around him, and the people around him (Sam, Castiel) keep shaking that faith, over and over.
In short Dean’s not handling this latest plot twist very well, and all the joy and mirth drains from his interactions with Sam until Sam’s left holding nothing but an empty shell of what was their relationship. Two years, ten months, sixteen days since -
* * * * *
Alternative Version of "The Hardy Boys and the Haunted Bowling Alley"
On the way back to their motel, Dean falls quiet after a few minutes of grumbling about spending three hours wearing rented shoes and listening to crappy synth pop (“Relax” and if that’s not a sign, nothing is, but Dean didn’t flip the fuck out, so Sam tried not to either). That’s what Dean says, anyway, but Sam knows he enjoyed himself for at least part of the night. (If Dean’s actually upset, it’s not because he hates ’80s pop; it’s because he turned out to be a lousy bowler.) Sam is quiet because he appreciates the silence, especially after the noise fest that was Awesome ’80s Night.
* * * * *
Alternative Version of the School Case
Sam makes an appointment at the school for a Friday morning. He tells her secretary (administrative assistant, Dean) that he just moved and is looking for a new school for his daughter. The assistant tells him rather unkindly that the Woodland Academy isn’t the kind of place he can just decide to send his kid to, that they have a waiting list and admission requirements. Sam, just as snottily, tells her he knows, after all, the place was recommended by the headmaster of the Prescott School, where his daughter is currently attending. He adds that he wants to interview the principal (she’s called the headmistress) to see if the school is good enough for little Lizzie. The assistant tells him to be there at ten-thirty.
He’s all dressed for the interview at ten-fifteen. Dean is lounging on his bed, staring mindlessly at the TV, when Sam emerges from the bathroom. Dean gives him a cursory glance and a whistle.
“You just going to sit there watching TV all morning?”
Dean turns the TV off, throws the remote aside, and gets up. “Kids in danger.” It sounds as if he’s reminding himself, not Sam. “I thought I’d go to the library and get some research done. You want me to drive you to the meeting?”
“The school library probably has more info than the public one,” Sam points out. “You should just come with me.”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to have the kid,” Dean grumbles, and now Sam understands that it’s the cover that’s bothering him. Well, that’s just petty and too bad. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have tried to get a job there or something instead -”
“Because it would take too long to get a job interview, Dean,” Sam snaps. “Screw it.” He reaches for his phone, calls the school, and cancels the appointment. Then he throws Dean’s suit jacket at him. It lands on Dean’s head. “Get dressed. We’re federal agents hunting down a child molester.”
* * * * *
Before the soul-merge
At three years, two months, and fifteen days, things are generally much better than they were after the last time there was caring and sharing. They put down a revenant in Joplin, Missouri. Dean holds it down with a steak knife jacked from the local Biggerson’s (I told you those places were creepy having been trumped by Dude, they now have a pie bar. It’s like a salad bar, but for pie). Sam drives their silver blade into it. In the process Sam gets a rather large gash on his forearm that Dean is convinced is going to go septic if not properly taken care of. They go a drugstore and separate, Sam off in search of Neosporin, Dean in search of magazines. They meet at the checkout a few minutes later. Dean has two tabloids, a bottle of root beer, a Vitamin Water that’s probably for Sam. Sam has the ointment and a bag of miniature candy bars that was on sale and that he knows Dean likes.
As they wait in line, Dean thanks Sam for the chocolate, pops a Mr. Goodbar in his mouth, wads up the wrapper - and Sam grabs it out of his fist before he can throw it on the ground. He takes it over to the trash can by the exit with a pointed look (See, this is what we do with our garbage).
“Let me take you home tonight,” Dean smarms, echoing the song, and the cashier giggles, as if Dean is serenading her personally, and completely misses (but Sam doesn’t, Sam sees it, fuck yes) the wink that Dean sends Sam.
* * * * *
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