There was a book somewhere in Bobby's basement, but they had yet to find it. It was a tiny thing, but Bobby had guessed that it might have information that would lead them to the ghost that had been killing young men just outside of town. The book's small size made it difficult to find however, and after an hour and a half of searching for it, the three hunters still had not found it.
Dean stood up from where he'd been searching a low bookshelf. He took a step backwards and tripped over a loose floorboard, barely catching himself before he fell.
"Sonofa – hey!" He knelt down and lifted up the board. "I found something!"
Sam and Bobby both looked up and walked over. Dean pulled a small wooden case from the space under the floor. "My god," murmured Bobby, "I'd forgotten about that."
Dean opened the case. Inside was a small wooden instrument. It was scratched and the strings were loose, but, for the most part, it was undamaged.
"Bobby?" Dean asked. "You played the fiddle?"
"Used to. Years ago." Dean pulled at one of the strings. Bobby took it out of his hands. "Don't. You'll break it."
"Can you still play it?" asked Sam.
Dean grinned. "Can't see you being much of a fiddle player."
Bobby glared at them. "Course I can play it."
Both brothers waited in anticipation as he tuned up the strings and rosined the bow. Then he began to play.
The tune started out slow and mournful. It was rough at first as Bobby's fingers became reaccustomed to the steel strings. The tune sped up. It was dark and minor, but it had a pwer to it, and a pulsing rhythm that came as Bobby relaxed and his fingers found their old patters. It was bitter and resentful, but it was also excited and carried a deep strength.
Then the music changed again. It was loud and joyous. Bobby played as if he didn't have a care in the world. Sam and Dean were both tempted to stand up and dance though neither did so much as tap their fingers. Suddenly the happiness was gone and it was minor again, this time with more anger and bitterness. Then it was slowing down, rising in pitch and volume and intensity to a crescendo and one last piercing, haunting note.
Sam and Dean were left dumbfounded as silence filled the air. "Told you I could play," said Bobby as he placed the fiddle back in its case and lay it on the table. "Now let's find that book."