With you deciding to stay back at the motel while Sam and Dean went out into town to investigate. You decided to pass the time by playing some guitar, accompanied by some singing.

The Impala rolled into the motel’s parking lot, engine humming low as Dean put it in park.

“Well, that was pretty goddamn useless. Whole town was spewing a bunch of crap.” Dean said with a huff, shutting the car door behind him.

“Yeah, nothing concrete. Just a lot of rumors and ghost stories.” Sam replied, rubbing the back of his neck as they made their way toward the motel room.

As they neared the door, both brothers paused. Through the thin motel walls, a soft voice could be heard—gentle, melodic, carrying faintly on the evening air. The strum of a guitar accompanied it, a quiet tune weaving its way into the silence around them.

Dean raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his face. “Is that…?”

Sam gave a faint chuckle, listening for a moment before nodding. “Sounds like it. Didn’t know they played.”

Dean reached for the door, glancing back at his brother. “Well, I’ll be damned. Guess we found the most peaceful part of this whole screwed-up day.”