Disclaimer: All things Winchester are not mine...in fact probabaly the only thing I own in this story is the iPod...and even that is a little iffy.

Author's Note: This is a little oneshot I wrote ENTIRELY on impulse. Thanks to JJ Phoenix for her amazingly quick beta, she has allowed you to read this the day right after I wrote it. I hope you enjoy!

Motel Room, Indiana:

"Morning, sunshine." Sam's all too bright voice penetrated Dean's lovely dream of blondes, leggy blondes, chesty blondes—

"Dean, move your ass, we need to head down to that one construction site to question the workers before another one goes missing."

"Mmph." Dean rolled over to glare at the clock on the bedside table, the moment he saw what time it was he switched his murderous look to Sam, who was already dressed and staring at him expectantly. He resisted the urge to rip the cheap alarm clock out of its socket in the wall and throw it at his geeky, dumbass, stupid, freaky, beanpole (Dean's mind ran out of adjectives) of a brother who was looking at him like HE was the crazy one and that EVERYONE else got up at…

"Sam, it's FOUR-FREAKIN-THIRTY! What the HELL!?!?"

Sam shrugged infuriatingly. "Construction workers get up early, Dean. Hunting freaky assed spirits waits for no man. I'm gonna go grab some coffee, since Mr. Grumpy Puss here could obviously use some." Sam laughed as he dodged the pillow that Dean flung at his head and walked out the door.

Dean groaned to himself as he burrowed back under his covers, longing for his missing pillow, no matter how lumpy it was. He struggled vainly to return to blondes, lots and lots of blondes, but after a few minutes he growled in frustration and kicked the covers off of himself and rolling out of bed. Another growl of irritation followed a few minutes later as he discovered he was out of clean shirts. Crankily he padded over to Sam's bag, muttering about how Sam should have done the laundry, seeing how it WAS a woman's job… And of COURSE Sam would have clean shirts, being the girly freak that he was, AND he had used fruity scented detergent…Dean stored that one in the back of his mind for later. Oh yes, Sammy would pay for not washing Dean's shirts and then forcing Dean to borrow one of his sissy fruity shirts with merciless insulting from Dean.

Dean dug through to the bottom of the bag, hoping to find some shirts that had not been washed with the fruity shit when his hand contacted something hard and cool. He pulled out…an iPod?

"Oh my God, you've gotta be kidding me Sammy." Dean chuckled. He really had to go through his brother's bag more often. God only knew what other embarrassing crap he could find to hold over Sammy's head later.

He stuck his hand back in, and came up with a college psych textbook, as he turned it over in his hands a picture fell out. He picked it up curiously and examined it. It was a picture of Jess. Sam had his arms around her and they were laughing at the camera, laughing at each other, laughing at the world. Here, obviously, were the remnants of Sam's college apple pie life. His chest tightened as he saw how happy Sam looked, and he couldn't help but feel as though he were intruding on something private, breaking the peace on that happier time in Sam's life. He set the picture aside and poked randomly at the iPod.

"Why the hell do they make these things so damn hard to work?" After lots of cursing and plenty of stabbing at the hapless buttons on the music player, he finally got the thing on. He popped in the earphones and waited for the wussy strains of…

AC/DC?

Back in black
I hit the sack
I've been too long

I'm glad to be back I bet you know I'm...
Yes,

I'm let loose
from the noose
that's kept me

Hanging about
I've been looking at the sky
'Cause it's gettin' me high
Forget the

Hearse 'cause I never die
I got nine lives
Cat's eyes
Abusin' every one of them and

Running wild

Dean picked up the photograph again, a smile now working its way across his face, and he realized that the photo had a back, was in fact 2 photos taped together back to back. And as he flipped the picture over, he felt a strangely tingling warmth spread through him and he grinned even more broadly. On the back was a photo of a 12-year-old Dean, an 8-year-old Sammy, and John Winchester, all looking just as happy as Sam and Jess had on the other side.

Dean heard the doorknob turn and he quickly threw all the items back into Sam's bag, shoving them to the bottom and coming up with a shirt clutched haphazardly in one hand.

Sam rolled his eyes at the sight of his brother. "Dean, aren't you ready yet?"

Dean straightened, matching his brother irritated huff for indignant sigh. "Well, maybe if someone would do his kind, loving older brother's laundry instead of his own all the time and not force said wonderful brother to go digging around for a clean shirt."

Sam snorted. "Maybe you should do your OWN laundry, ever think of that oh brilliant and wonderful brother of mine?"

Dean grinned. "Sure, Sammy, that'd probably safer considering the pansy fruity crap you wash your shirts with." With that he brushed past Sam into the bathroom, smiling secretly from ear to ear.

He could hear Sam's annoyed mutter from behind the door as he grabbed all of their things and walked back out the door with them.

When Dean finished dressing and was ready to go he hopped into the driver's seat of his baby and turned on the engine. The familiar sounds of his favorite rock instantly blared through the speakers, and Sam rolled his eyes (again) and leaned over to turn the volume down.

"Dean seriously, do you ever listen to anything else?"

No Sammy, I don't, and neither do you. He smirked at Sam and replied with his usual "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!" and pulled out of the motel parking lot. He turned the music up until it was just bearable. Sam sighed and glanced out the window, watching the scenery fly by.

The car was filled with contentment, and a strange sort of peace, as the music that had unknowingly connected them even when they had been so far apart pounded to a driving beat, the eternal theme song for their whacked out, crazy lives. The background music for what had been, what was, and what was yet to come.

Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
Well I'm back in black
Yes I'm back in black

Hooo yeah
Ohh yeah
Yes I am
Oooh yeah, yeah Oh yeah
Back in now
Well I'm back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back
Back in black
Yes I'm back in black

Outta sight

The song lyrics, obviously enough, are from AC/DC's Back in Black. It's not mine either. Geeze, what DO I own? -looks around-