Bring a Song and a Smile for the Banjo

This is a vignette set in the Strange Angels' verse, written in response to the Connect challenge at the spn-het-love community on Livejournal. The piece does read better with knowledge of the 'verse under your belt. It is a companion piece to "Come On, the Rising Wind."


Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Dean/OFC


He'd never admit it – not to Sam and especially not to her – but he loved listening to her sing.

There were other noises she'd make, a strangled snort whenever she thought something was funny and the way she'd snore with one hand flopped right against her nose like she was trying to hide it; embarrassed about calling attention to herself even in sleep. Anyone with a dead language fetish would probably fall to her feet in worship because the girl could translate 'you suck giant green donkey dicks' three different ways, making it so pretty that you'd thank her for it when she was done.

The gasps he could pull from her, all the tiny little moans when she bucked against him, were enough to keep him going for hours. Her cheeks would flush and she'd whisper about how Dean Winchester was the best damn thing to ever happen to a lonely little red haired girl and that he was the bravest man she'd known and how she wasn't much but she was his between breaths, a soft litany of everything you'd expect a walking chick flick like Charlotte Anne Webb to say when she was staring down into your eyes and punctuating every word with a push of her hips and a kiss along your jaw line.

But none of that compared to the way she sang.

She sucked.

The first time he heard it, a screech coming from the bathroom screaming something about extra sugar and extra salt along with some freaking hip hop beat, he'd thought it was just the song. Anyone would suck singing that crap. The second time, though, she was lying across the back seat of the car using her duffel bag as a pillow; the bottom of her cast tapping against the opposite door and keeping perfect time to every song she massacred on side one of Physical Graffitti. By the time side two rolled around, Sam was white around the eyes and Dean realized he was going to hear that off-key caterwaul every time someone played "In My Time of Dying" for the rest of his life.

And she knew she sucked.

But that never kept her from trying.

She told Sam that music was in her blood and she told him that her daddy woke her up every morning singing Creedence in the kitchen while he cooked breakfast and she'd smile whenever he popped in Chronicle. She did her best to sing under her breath, usually just mouthing the words in a patter that was mostly talking, but there was one song that she couldn't resist – a big old grin whenever a familiar guitar hook roared through the car. She'd take a deep breath when she heard it and let loose with a howl that was escaping from the belly of a beast.

Maybe he encouraged it at first because it pissed off Sam but there was something infectious about her smile and there was more hope in that little off-key warble of hers than the Winchesters had known in a long time. The only thing he could do was turn up the volume as loud as they could stand and bellow right along with her.

Sometimes, he wouldn't even laugh at Sam when Geek Boy gave in and sang, too.


A/N:

This is a companion piece to "Come On, The Rising Wind." For some reason, my Strange Angels muse is inspired by all of the surprise spnhetlove challenges going on right now. The title does reference "Up Around the Bend." I think it's their theme song at this point.

The song Dean refers to about extra sugar and extra salt is "Birthday Cake" by the incomparable Cibo Matto.

Physical Graffitti is, for those who don't know, a Zeppelin album.

Chronicle is Creedence Clearwater Revival's compilation album.