The heavy bunker doors creaked open as Sam, Dean, and Castiel stepped inside, exhaustion weighing on their shoulders after days chasing a nest of vampires in Oklahoma. The sound of their boots echoed off the Men of Letters’ stone halls—until all three stopped in unison.

From somewhere deeper in the bunker, a faint, muffled melody floated through the quiet. The gentle strumming of a guitar, steady and practiced, threaded with a voice singing low but clear. It was soft, but enough to reach them through the silence.

Dean frowned, tilting his head. “Uh… you hear that?”

Sam’s expression shifted into surprise, then recognition, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Yeah. That’s… music.”

Castiel stood still, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he listened more intently. He inclined his head toward the hallway leading to the library. “It’s them.”

The Winchesters exchanged a look. They’d almost forgotten—for all your skill as a hunter, your love for music and art was just as much a part of you as salt and silver. While the three of them had been out bleeding and fighting, you had stayed behind this time—holding down the bunker, keeping busy, maybe even keeping sane.

Dean huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Figures. We risk our necks in Oklahoma and they’re back here playin’ house concert.”

Sam shot him a look, though his voice was warm. “Come on, Dean. Let’s just… see what they’re up to.”

The three of them started toward the sound, boots quieter now as the chords grew clearer. The music filled the bunker’s halls, a rare softness in the middle of their hard lives. For a moment, even Dean seemed to relax. And when they reached the doorway, they found you—guitar balanced in your lap, fingers moving with ease as you sang, completely unaware of your audience.