Title: Until it Sleeps

Author: Black_Wingedbird

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Author's Notes: Inspired by 'Alas, Poor Fargo' by Arnie. Takes place just before Sam goes to college.

It wasn't that Sam didn't enjoy a good, all-American rock song, because he did. Guitar riffs and heavy bass and rolling drum solos were as patriotic as apple pie. But hearing the *same* Metallica songs over and over and over until they invaded his mind and cycled continuously in an evil subliminal mantra? That's where he drew the line.

And it wasn't that he didn't love Dean, either. God knows he loved his older brother. Idolized him, even. But there was something seriously wrong with the guy. All his music was on tape, because the '67 Impala predated CD's and their players, and Dean was not about to deface his piece of classic American muscle when cassette tapes were still available. In places. For a price.

In 1999, Metallica released a 21-song album, named 'S&M'. According to Dean, the album was priceless. Each and every song had instantly become Dean's favorite. The tape became his prized possession- and his security blanket. Dean had become nothing short of obsessed, and ever since that fateful day at the music store, Sam had listened to each song until his ears bled and his brain sprouted what had to be tumors. If he had to listen to 'Devil's Dance' one more time, it would be Dean who would be dancing.

And by dancing, he meant nursing a black eye.

So one afternoon, while contemplating the matter over a bologna sandwich, Sam came to a decision, nearly rubbing his hands together in a evil-genius sort of way. It was brilliant- simply brilliant, and he wondered why it hadn't come to him before.

Quite frankly, greatest single rock album or not, the tape had to go.

So Sam waited.

~o0O0o~

It was disappointingly easy, really.

They had been sent out alone, 100 miles south of home, while John Winchester headed east on his own hunt. It was a simple exorcism, and the boys preformed it without batting an eye. As a reward from the grateful young mother, they had been fed a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and fresh sun tea. Then, politely yet firmly, they took their leave.

Now, the Impala was a *monster* of car. The big-block V8 could go from 0 to 60 in six seconds, with a top speed of 130 miles per hour. But, weighing in at over 3000 pounds, the car only got ten miles to the gallon. Which meant it ate gas.

So when Dean pulled into the roadside gas station and got out to fill the tank, Sam jumped on his opportunity. He grabbed the box of cassettes, flipped through them quickly, and snatched the hated 'S&M' tape. He replaced the box exactly how Dean had left it, and then threw the Metallica tape under the driver's seat where it landed with a muted clatter.

There. Problem solved.

He leaned back as Dean opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, his back towards Sam as he silently watched the numbers rising on the pump.

Sam smiled to himself. Victory was sweet.

~o0O0o~

"Where's my tape?"

"What tape?" Sam watched Dean over the top of his geography book. Dean paced the room, overturning everything in his path.

"My 'S&M' tape! I can't go on the next job without it!"

Sam forced his eyes back to the text, although he could only see a jumble of letters and statistics. "I don't think it's that serious, Dean. You probably lost it in your room."

Sam suddenly found himself- and the couch he was sitting on- sliding across the carpet. "It's not in my room- I only play it in the car." Apparently not finding the missing tape under the couch, Dean moved it back and headed towards the kitchen.

They had returned home yesterday afternoon, and Dad was due home tomorrow. The third family member wouldn't join Dean in the search, Sam was positive. Dad had higher priorities. So utterly, Dean was helpless in his search.

"Guess you'll just have to live without it," Sam called after him, keeping his voice carefully flat.

Only a mumbled curse and the slamming of cabinet doors answered him.

~o0O0o~

"Ah-ha!"

Sam peered around the raised trunk lid after setting his duffle bag next to the shotgun. "What?"

Dean backed out of the car and straightened, holding a small plastic rectangle high in the air, waving it around triumphantly. "I found it!"

The secretive smile Sam had been wearing for the past three days finally fell. "Is that your tape?"

"Sure is! And we're gonna listen to it all the way to Tulsa!"

Sam was speechless.

~o0O0o~

The problem was, Sam decided, that he had hid the tape inside the car. It was too easy. They were hunters, after all.

So, nearly a week later, he tried again.

Dean pulled into the driveway, the headlights illuminating the side of their small, ranch-style home. The car shifted backwards as Dean placed it in 'park', then the engine went dead and the dark, silent night rushed up to meet them.

"We'll, we're home," Dean stated, running a hand over his tired features. "Looks like we're just in time for dinner, too."

Sam watched as a John Winchester-shaped shadow passed in front of the small kitchen window. He sighed. "Yeah."

Dean grabbed the door handle. "Well, we better get in there before it gets cold."

Sam fiddled with the straps of his backpack until Dean was well on his way inside. Then, he grabbed the box of cassette tapes, stole the dreaded Metallica 'S&M', and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket as he put the box back.

Then, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary, Sam followed his brother inside.

~o0O0o~

At 3:01 in the morning, Sam slipped out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen, keeping to the right side of the hall and away from the squeaky floorboards. He navigated around the couch and continued until his socks touched down upon the cool linoleum.

He walked slowly, shifting his weight smoothly from the ball of his feet to his heels as he moved. He was undetectable, just as his father had taught him to be.

Sam knelt down in front of the sink, pulled open the cabinet door, and placed the cassette tape in the very back, next to a packet of rat poison and a forgotten ice cube tray.

Grinning evilly, he tip-toed back to bed.

~o0O0o~

"Where's my tape?"

Sam looked up from his scrambled eggs and ketchup, blinking wearily in the bright morning sunlight. "What?"

"My flippin' tape, where is it? Have you seen it?"

Sam sighed and stabbed at a clump of yellow and red. "What tape?" It may be early, but he was still sharp enough to play dumb.

"The Metallica tape that seems to have grown legs and flown away!"

Sam furrowed his brows, chewing thoughtfully as Dean opened the microwave, glared inside, then slammed the door shut. "You mean walked away? Or else it grew *wings* and flew away…"

"Whatever!" Dean shot back, then stomped out of the kitchen.

~o0O0o~

Dean's knuckles were white around the top of the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead, bouncing his knee to a faster rhythm than the static-filled country song playing on the radio.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked.

"I'm fine," came the clipped reply. After a moment, Dean loosened up a fraction. "I just miss my tape."

And Sam almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

~o0O0o~

Dean was nothing if not driven. Once on a mission, it never went abandoned. He was relentless, like a starving dog with a bone, and his demeanor seemed to equal one as well.

Sam was watching- or actually, *looking at*- an instructional cooking show when Dean's shout startled him. He got up and stood in the doorway of the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

He was presented with a view of Dean's ass that had his head turning. Dean backed out, on all fours, from underneath the kitchen sink.

'It' was in his hand.

"Now what the Hell is this doing under here?"

Sam shrugged, trying to act like his world hadn't fallen down around him. "It's your tape, you tell me."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the dusty cassette. "You think Dad is messing with me?"

Sam looked at his brother incredulously. "Our Dad?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He sighed, and stuck the tape in his pocket. "Oh well. At least we're ready for the next road trip, right?"

Sam sighed too, only is was a quiet sound of disappointment and failure. "Right."

~o0O0o~

Okay, this was getting serious. It was time to take things to the next level.

Sam couldn't blame Dean, not really. They had both been raised to take in every detail, to snoop and prod and pry until they got answers. They were used to searching for clues. John had created two weapons, two resilient, tenacious, clever, alert weapons. They complimented each other in a way John had only hoped for- Sam had the brains and Dean had the brawn. Together, they were unstoppable.

But Sam wasn't feeling very brainy, as he sat in the passenger seat, helpless as the incessant notes of 'Master of Puppets' washed over him. It was the proverbial nails on a chalkboard, and it was slowly driving Sam crazy.

Dean, meanwhile, was bobbing his head in time to the rhythm, and looking very content.

Happy, even.

And it had to stop.

~o0O0o~

Sam approached John Winchester quietly, but making just enough noise as to not startle him. He'd learned that lesson at age 7; Don't sneak up on your dad while he's cleaning his gun.

"Dad?"

John looked up, his mixed expression showing part surprise, part confusion. "Sam? What is it?"

As Sam had gotten older and his views began running opposite of his father's, Sam had come to the man less and less about the trivial things. Dean had acted as a stand-in father when he was younger, offering protection and advice and entertainment. Sam was just as comfortable with his older brother now as he was when he was a kid. John, on the other hand, had hardened into a soldier- solidified over time as a means of self-preservation. He had shut himself off emotionally, save for his determination to find Mary's killer. Sam had no doubt that his father loved him, deep down, but John was always gone- either emotionally or physically. So Sam was used to not having a real father.

Or a mother, but that was a whole 'nother can of worms.

Sam stuck the tip of his finger into one of the holes of the cassette, feeling the hard plastic spokes. Dean would kill him if he ever found out…

"I need you to take this on your next hunt."

John raised one eyebrow in question as he looked at the tape in Sam's hand. "Isn't that your brother's?"

Sam glanced at the tape, then back into his father's hard eyes. "Yes."

John shook his head slightly, and went back to cleaning the gun in his lap. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Give it away."

John stopped and looked at Sam. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "I need you to get rid of it."

"Why?"

"Because I can't stand it, Dad! He makes me listen to it over and over again and it's driving me insane! I'm gonna kill him!"

That outburst earned him a raised finger, and Sam reflexively took a deep breath to calm himself. "You need to calm down, young man," John said coolly. "You're both adults. Ask him to listen to something different."

Sam wanted to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum, but John Winchester had never tolerated that kind of behavior. "I *tried* asking him. He says it's his car and he picks what we listen to."

"Then I suggest you buy yourself some headphones." John began reassembling his gun.

Sam glared at his father. "Please! Just take it with you and give it to someone else. I'm not asking for much here, just one little favor." Sam took a breath, steeling his nerves before spitting out, "You owe me."

John closed his eyes and set down the gun, very quietly.

Sam winced.

"Alright," John relented, finally looking at Sam. "Give it to me. And don't say a word."

Sam shoved the cassette in his father's hand before the older man could change his mind. "Thank you," he breathed, as a smile crept over his face. "I tried getting rid of it myself. It's like the damn thing is undying. It keeps coming back."

John raised an eyebrow, turning the tape over in his hand. "You sure it isn't?"

Sam gulped.

He hadn't thought of that.

~o0O0o~

"Where the *Hell* is my tape?"

Sam hid his smile behind his calculus book. "What are you complaining about now?"

A pillow whizzed through the air and landed against the TV stand. "My damn Metallica tape is gone *again*! I can't believe this!"

Sam was jittery inside with barely suppressed triumph. He hadn't felt this way since his first hunt. "You seem to be misplacing it a lot."

"I'm *not* misplacing it!" Dean shouted as a dictionary flew through the air, pages fluttering, and landed at Sam's feet with a heavy thud. "How could I misplace it under the sink?"

"Dude, watch were you're throwing shit."

"Why don't you get off your ass and help me look for it?"

"I'm studying."

"Unless it pertains to ESP, you're wasting your time."

The words stung a little, but Sam swallowed the pain. "Stupid me- here I thought school was important."

Dean was feeling all the coat pockets as they hung on the wall, oblivious to anything other than the hunt for his music. "Not in our lives, little brother. Now get up and help me!"

Sam sighed and because he knew they'd never find it, he rose to help.

~o0O0o~

"Dean! Sam! Mail call!"

John Winchester closed the front door behind him, tossing his keys on the small table just inside the front door. He shuffled through the envelopes as he moved towards the kitchen.

Sam rose to follow, more because he was simply obeying the short-handed order than having any interest in the mail. A few seconds later, Dean appeared, red-eyed and sulking.

"Here," John said, handing a single white envelope to Sam. Then he turned towards Dean and held up a small padded envelope. "You been ordering shit online again?" he grunted, then tossed the package to Dean.

Dean caught it and blinked, looking down. "No."

John took the rest of the envelopes- some of the red-stamped 'Past Due'- and tossed them in the trash. "You better not let me catch you doing that again. I had to get a new credit card last time."

"Yes sir," Dean sighed, turning his back and heading towards his bedroom as he tore open the package.

And Sam should have known.

Because really, what else could it have been?

Dean stopped, his shoulders straightening and his head rising. He brought the object closer to his face, then yelled, "Sweet! Look- it's my tape! How cool is this!"

Sam tried to fake a surprised smile. Well, the smile was fake anyway. "Who sent it to you?" He glared at John, who raised his eyebrows helplessly.

"You remember Katie in Davenport? She says her neighbor gave it to her. She dubbed it and thought I'd like to have it!"

"It can't be *your* tape," Sam said.

"It is!" Dean held up the case just inches from Sam's nose. "See? That's where you scratched it when you stepped on it."

Sam pushed Dean's wrist down. "So it is," he grumbled. "How did it get in Davenport?"

"I have no idea. Weirdest thing."

Sam grunted. "Yeah, weird."

Sam watched as Dean headed to his room. Seconds later, 'The Ecstasy of Gold' was rattling the walls.

And his temples began to throb.

~o0O0o~

If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.

And by God, he wanted it done right.

Sam's mouth was watering as he clenched his teeth around the flashlight protruding from his mouth. In the shaky light, he finished writing the zip code of the address to an old friend in Reno. Then he capped the permanent marker, grabbed the flashlight and swallowed, and stuffed both items under his pillow.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

~o0O0o~

Two days later, Dean came home with a black eye and a bad temper.

"What the Hell happened to you?" John asked, grabbing Dean and pushing him next to the kitchen window. Sam followed.

Dean was still panting as he ground out, "Nothing. I'm fine."

John tilted Dean's head into the light. "Cut the crap and spill it."

"David stole my Metallica tape. I tried to get it back."

Sam's stomach flip-flopped.

John let go of Dean and moved to the freezer. "I take it he didn't return it?"

"Yellow-bellied coward tried to tell me he didn't take it. I know for a fact that tape was in my car when we went to the movies. Now it's gone."

John retrieved a package of peas and pushed the freezer door shut. He eyed Sam as he walked back to Dean. "I hate to think of what David looks like."

That earned a smile from Dean as he pressed the bag to his face. "I think I got the point across."

"Thatta boy," John said, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

Sam ducked his head and went to his room.

~o0O0o~

"Sam! Get this mess off my kitchen table!"

Dean smirked at him, the bruising on his eye having faded to a sickly green color, and he grabbed the remote as Sam abandoned the couch and came to collect whatever it was that was in his father's way.

The sounds of a wrestling match filled the air behind him as Sam entered the kitchen and approached the table. At his place, a soggy, torn, and scuffed package sat upon the table. He picked it up curiously, his fingers chilling from the wet paper, and instantly recognized his own handwriting in the center of the brown paper, under the red 'Undeliverable' stamp. The rest of the ink had bled out into an unintelligible blur.

"Un-fucking-believable."

"Watch your mouth," John snapped, hitting Sam on the meat of his shoulder with the wooden spoon he was cooking with.

Sam rubbed away the sting absent-mindedly. "It came back. I *told* you it was demonic."

He held up the package and John studied it thoughtfully. "You still messing with that tape? I checked it, Sam. It's not demonic. It's just your bad luck." John's eyes widened in realization. "Wait a minute- I thought David-"

Sam saw the spoon raise threateningly and he darted away, tossing the package on Dean's lap before locking himself in his room.

~o0O0o~

Sam laughed as he tossed the tape onto the cookie sheet. Dad and Dean had gone to Wichita and wouldn't be back for hours. That gave Sam plenty of time to execute his master plan.

This time, he wouldn't fail.

~o0O0o~

Sam and John watched, stunned, as Dean uprooted a potted Cast Iron plant, heedless of the black potting soil and pearlite littering the carpet around him. His mutterings were mostly unrecognizable, but every so often, a string of obscenities could be heard that would make a sailor blush.

"Sam, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Sam shuddered at the deadly calmness of John's voice. Wordlessly, he followed his father into the kitchen.

"Yeah?" he asked cautiously, eyeing the older man for weapons.

"Have a seat," John replied, taking one himself and motioning for Sam to do the same.

Sam sank into the wooden chair, wincing as Dean ruthlessly emptied out the end-table drawer onto the floor.

"Talk."

Sam squirmed. "Well, there's not much to say."

"Start with where the Hell is his tape."

Sam looked at the table, grateful for the distance between them. But he couldn't stop the smile when he remembered the disc of foul-smelling goo. "I melted it."

"You what."

Something shattered behind him, and Sam winced again. "In the oven. I melted it."

John ran a hand over his face. "Why?"

"To be sure he'd never get it back."

"Damnit Sam! You're 18! Why can't you act like an adult?"

Defenseless, Sam could only stutter. "I… he… *every day*, Dad!"

John shook his head. He rose, and Sam tensed as the older man walked past.

"I'm going out," John said over his shoulder, too calmly. "You are to clean up your brother's mess, understand?"

Sam turned and watched his father grab his keys and leave without even waiting for Sam's belated, "Yes sir."

Then Sam looked into the living room and sighed.

~o0O0o~

The next morning, Sam and Dean were sitting side by side at the table, each with a bowl of Fruit Loops before them. Sam picked through the colors, eating all the red ones first. By the time he was done, Dean was on his second bowl.

"Dean?" John called a moment before he appeared. "Here. I got you something."

Dean looked up from the plastic bag John had thrown on the table. "I didn't hear you come home last night."

"Then you're slipping."

Dean nodded once in understanding and reached for the bag. He pulled out a cellophane-wrapped cassette tape and grinned. "You got me a new one?"

Sam shoved a huge, dripping spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chewed loudly.

"Well I can't have you tearing up my house," John replied gruffly, making his way to the refrigerator. "You're running around here like a madman. The neighbors were complaining."

Sam glared sidelong at his brother as he realized Dad never admitted to doing anything nice *just because*. There was always something in it for him. Tangible rewards were few and far between, though, and Dean's happiness was blinding.

"Awesome! Thanks, Dad! Hey Sam, check it out!"

Sam hunched over his bowl further, averting his gaze. "Cool."

"I should put this thing on a chain and wear it around my neck," Dean mused, turning the tape over in his hands.

"I don't think there's a need for that," John said as he took his place at the head of the table. "No one is going to touch it again, right Sam?"

Sam recognized a threat when he heard one. "Right."

John jerked his head in acceptance. "Good. Then I can finally get some peace and quiet in this house again."

Dean got up. "I'm gonna get a shower. And I'm taking this with me."

Dean left, already humming 'Enter Sandman'. Sam ground his teeth together.

"I mean it, Sam. That tape is off-limits, understand?"

"Yes sir."

Sam sighed as his father began eating his own cereal. Sam stared into his bowl, pushing the soggy 'O's around with his spoon. He really meant it, he wouldn't touch the tape.

At least, not until Dean found a new favorite.

END

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