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The come across it on a hunt.
They’re tracking down some Vamps in this old run-down house and Sam and Cas are outside burning the bodies. Dean had done one last sweep of the house, but it was clean, and had taken a seat in an old, rickety chair in the corner of the room. He drops his machete on the side table, and leans back, letting out a sigh when he spots it. Nestled in the corner between the cold brick wall and the broken window, obscured by the shadows, was a guitar.
Dean reaches back, pulling it onto his lap. “Look at you,” he mummers to the instrument, grinning softly. “5 bucks says you’re outta tune.” He runs his fingers across the strings, prying music from its depths and cringes with a laugh. “Definitely. You owe me.” He teases and sets to work.
When Cas and Sam are done, they make their way back to the house to find what happened to Dean, but stop as they hear music floating out the broken windows. They’re quiet as the music lures them in, making sure not to disturb the atmosphere when they finally stumble across its source.
Dean sits in the chair, eyes closed, head back, strumming the guitar serenely as slightly out of time notes drift up from their wooden prison. They fill the air, and they just stand there for as long as they could without being noticed.
Eventually, Dean’s playing peters out, and Sam claps startling Dean to attention.
“How long have you been there?” Dean demands, embarrassment poorly masked by
rage.
“Long enough,” Sam says with a shrug, and it’s not meant to mean, but Dean huffs and drops the guitar on the chair as he stands.
“I thought it was very nice,” Cas admits, but Dean just shrugs. “I didn’t know you could play.”
“I can’t,” Dean says, defensive.
“C’mon. We should get going before too much longer.” Sam points out, and leaves, making his way towards the Impala. Dean starts to make his way after his brother, but Cas catches him by the arm.
“You should take it with you.”
“Why?” Dean asks, turning to face him.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself. Besides, it’s not like anyone is going to miss it.”
Dean seems to consider it and glances over to the chair. Cas releases him and looks between him and the guitar expectantly.
“Fine.”
He snatches it by the neck and walks away, but Cas can see that way he carries it, gently so it doesn’t break and smiles. Dean puts in the trunk and refuses to talk about it, but the drive back to the bunker is peaceful nonetheless.
——
It sits in the corner of his room and isn’t touched until Cas says something about it.
“Aren’t you going to play it again?” He questions, the three of them sitting around the map table with beers.
“I don’t know. Why do you care so much anyway?” Dean deflects
“It made you happy. You were peaceful.” Cas says pointedly, but Dean doesn’t react. “I like when you’re happy.”
Dean flushes a but, and Sam can tell when he’s not wanted. He mumbles an excuse and goes to his room, leaving them alone.
“Yeah?” Dean asks tentatively, now that Sam’s gone.
“Yeah.”
“So, what I’m just supposed to go and sit in my room and play because it makes you happy that I’m happy?” He grumbles.
“I’ll go with you.” Cas offers, standing to his feet.
Dean stands as well, taking a long swing from his beer before walking down the hall, the angel close behind. They get to his room and the settle on his bed, stiff and nervous.
“Now I gotta perform,” Dean says, nervous.
Cas leans over, pressing a kiss to Dean’s hair. Dean turns to face him, shocked, but is kissed on the lips, the guitar pressed between them. “There,” Cas says, pulling back and resting against the headboard. “Calming you down.”
“Tease,” Dean says, ignoring the rising blush on his face as he joins the angel, leaning back and relaxing, their bodies pressing together. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Later,” Cas promises.
Sam hears guitar music drifting down the hall and he knows.