It was fairly normal for music to bleed through the walls of the bunker, quavering down hallways and reverberating off of the thick walls. It was loud and expressive and so very Dean. To Cas, it made the bunker feel like home. Often the music would lead to Sam yelling in some way or another to just turn it the hell down but Dean was never one for taking orders about the volume of his music, no matter where it played. Or when. This music, however, was unlike the usual tunes and songs. The light echo of guitar strings flowing sinuously down the hallway. It was a difference that made Cas look up from his large book and out in the direction of the melody. Sam rolled his eyes from across the table.
"Always with the music," he muttered. The tall Winchester went back to reading but Cas stood up, following the sound of guitar strings. The bunker was huge. Big enough that he still didn't entirely know his way around. There were multiple floors, even, to try to learn and it was overwhelming. But it was simple enough to follow the distant sound of the guitar. Cas's curiosity increased as the volume of the playing did.
Down a set of stairs, through a hallway, and around a corner, Cas found Dean. He stood just out of sight, leaning his head around the door carefully. Dean sat on a stool in the middle of an empty room, probably built for additional storage back in the Men of Letters days, with a guitar on his lap. One leg was up, resting on a support bar near the bottom of the stool, while the other foot rested on the floor. He was facing away from the doorway and Cas permitted himself to lean around the door just slightly more.
Dean's hands moved softly, barely touching the strings, but the sound was incredible in the large, concrete room. The echoing walls provided acoustics Dean probably wasn't even aware of. In all likelihood, he had come to play here because he thought he wouldn't be overheard, but the empty room just made the sound carry even further.
Cas didn't recognize the tune that Dean played. Carefully notes that he picked from the strings with precise finger movements. His hands were dancing along the music like it was second nature. It was mesmerizing to watch. The tune faded in and out like Dean was jumping from song to song and his head nodded along just slightly in varied rhythms. His left hand adjusted itself constantly, moving up and down the neck with grace as he changed chords. Cas was about to alert the Winchester to his presence when Dean thoroughly surprised him.
"Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad," Dean's voice was soft. It was quiet and low, like he was hiding, but his words came out honey-covered. The song was slowed down from its original tempo, if Castiel recalled his first time hearing it play in the back of a crowded bar once upon a time. It was smooth, almost akin to a lullaby.
"…you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better," Dean continued on throughout Castiel's thoughts, entirely unaware of another presence in the room. Cas was enthralled. He had heard Dean's attempts at singing before, but they had almost always been in some sort of joke and were never very good, but now his voice was smooth as silk and soft as the strum of his fingers on the guitar. Cas tried to take a step forward to listen more but stumbled slightly, making noise enough that Dean rapidly cut both his playing and singing short, turning to look at Cas wide-eyed.
"No, please don't stop," Cas urged. He cursed himself for interrupting. Dean looked like he was about to put the guitar down.
"I just… I found it in one of the storage rooms," he fumbled for words. "I haven't played in years. Not even that good." He stood and Cas put a hand out.
"Please keep playing," he begged. Dean looked at him for a moment before carefully taking his seat again and placing the guitar across his lap. It was an old acoustic, Castiel wouldn't have had the slightest idea what type, but it was golden and fit against Dean's body perfectly. The neck was stained a darker brown, with the frets gleaming out against the wood. Even the strings were shiny and bright, like the whole instrument had been cleaned before Dean had begun to play. Dean carefully looked down, avoiding Cas's eyes, when he started playing again.
It was hesitant. More so than before, but his fingers still danced elegantly as the music began again. He refused to look up. And he wasn't singing, just playing random strains of tunes. Cas allowed him time before carefully asking.
"Would you… sing again?" Dean looked up at him, fingers slowing. He cleared his throat and slowly nodded. His fingers picked up where Cas's entrance had cut him off.
"Don't carry the world upon your shoulders," he sang. He hummed a bit of the backup tune and his left hand adjusted itself a couple of times. Throughout the entirety of the song he refused to meet Cas's eyes, and Cas refused to move even slightly, afraid he would embarrass Dean further and that the playing would stop. At the song's conclusion, Dean looked up at Cas, timid and wary.
"You play beautifully," Cas said. Dean snorted softly. The whole room echoed everything, though, so even their soft conversation was amplified.
"It's just some stupid hobby I used to have," Dean said. He stood up, the guitar swinging down to be held in just his left hand. He was trying to make himself look comfortable and uncaring. Cas took a step forward.
"No, it isn't stupid," he said. He was so close to Dean's space. The guitar was nearly touching him. It hung in the air where Dean still held it in one hand. Dean's eyes flickered around the room, refusing to meet Cas's own.
"No good," Dean muttered.
"You're very good," Cas countered. The guitar swung slightly. Cas could still hear the echo of Dean's voice around the room. The words pulsed through his body. His veins were full of Hey, Jude. "Play me something else," he said. Not a request. He tried for a firm voice. He wanted to hear Dean sing again. Dean sat carefully down. Cas had to step back in order for him to swing the guitar back into place. It felt like a delicate dance, Cas trying not to make Dean flee before he could hear him perform again.
"Any requests?" Dean asked.
"As long as it is you," Cas said. Dean looked up at him, red tinging the skin on his neck and cheeks. He thought for a moment and then played a note. And then another. And his fingers began their dance again.
"If the sun refused to shine," he began, taking a shuttering breath inwards, "I would still be loving you. When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me." His voice grew a bit stronger when he took a breath inwards. With every word, Cas drew just slightly closer to his figure, sitting, one foot up on the stool, arm draped over the guitar. His voice choked to a stop and Cas crossed the last space between them, leaning down into a kiss. Dean's lips were every bit as soft as his voice, just as careful and strong. It was like meeting mouths with music itself, and a thousand tunes at once erupted into existence, all at the gentle touch of lips. Dean returned the kiss eagerly, leaning over the guitar with some difficulty. He tried to balance the instrument without the use of his hands, as they reached up and towards Cas's face. Cas pulled away slightly with a smile.
"Perhaps the guitar could be set aside," he said. Dean's smile grew stronger, less timid.
"Best idea you have ever had," he grinned. When the guitar was set aside, they drew together again, and the kiss tasted like a song.
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