Prompt: Day Twenty-four, a song that you want to play at your funeral
Words: 731
Warnings: Fluff
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the remanding days let me know!
Humming silently you tuned the strings on your guitar. It had been one of the few things from your normal life you plucked away to take with you.
It was your constant reminder to enjoy every moment whether it was little or not. You had even come to cherish your life more since you began to work with the Winchesters. They taught you many things whether it was intended or not.
They saved you and took you in like family. Within them, you found a family, a life, and a purpose. Fighting monsters become a part of your fight to survive. It pushed you every day in every way.
Sam and Dean might not ever know, but they saved you.
And even after all of the chaos, it was moments like these that you enjoyed most. The three of you had stopped by Bobby's for a movie night. You weren't up for a movie and decided to kick back on the porch.
So here you were under the setting sun on Bobby's front porch. Your guitar was tuned and ready for your fingers to press against the frets and strum the strings. You swiftly pulled off your necklace and removed your pick. Dean had always teased that it was a part of your 'signature' look. Your necklace was like Sam with his long hair. However to anyone else, your pick was also like their flannel.
With the small plastic finally between your fingers you began to play a few chords. A small smile formed as you warmed up.
Sam was standing behind the screen door smiling and watching you. He always loved hearing you play. It was a weakness for him. And when you sang along to what you played? He'd melt instantly.
There'd been times you'd play, and softly sing one of the boys to sleep. You never minded. Anything to help ease them from their nightmares you were on board with. To you, it was the least you could do.
You began to pluck at the strings, the soft melody of Guns N' Roses slowly got louder. You were about to open your mouth to start the harmony, but Sam beat you to it.
Your playing stopped as you looked over your shoulder at him. The lengthy man stepped out from beyond the screen and onto the porch, taking his place next to you.
"Don't stop. Keep going."
You chuckled softly, "Had I known I'd be having an audience I would've rehearsed first."
Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled, "Don't mind me. Continue."
With a smile you started over; plucking the chords and humming softly. Sam smiled and started softly singing.
You smiled wider and joined in singing with him. The two of your voices harmonizing in sync.
Sam didn't sing often, but when he did he put his whole heart and soul into it. You always enjoyed the times he did sing. It always struck you in the right ways.
However the peaceful moment between the two of you was ruined. Dean decided to pop by the screen and join in. He sang obnoxiously loud and out-of-tune on purpose. A groan erupted from you as he began to cackle.
"Get outta here Dean! I gotta start over cause of you!"
"Oh boohoo! You love playing songs over and over!"
You shook your head, rolling your eyes and letting out a soft chuckle.
Sam smiled, "Well I guess it's a good time to ask as any...."
Your attention turned to the younger Winchester, brows furrowed in confusion. Your brow shot up in curiousity as you leaned forward a bit, urging him to elaborate.
"I want you to teach me. If that's okay with you of course."
You smiled, "Of course."
You handed the guitar over and began to explain things to him, starting off easy and even showing him the first few chords to the song you played.
Within a few weeks Sam had learned a lot. You'd teach him during your down times after hunts. You'd even wake up in the morning to find him practicing. However, one day you were expectionally proud of him. He decided to fiddle with the guitar during one of the drives to the location of the hunt.
Sam played Knocking on Heaven's Door with little mistakes while the three of you sang to the song happily.
What about a creative anon? 'Sam was shy about his taste in music; too many years of shutting his cake hole. But when he was concentrating really hard, focusing on a tricky translation or a piece of malfunctioning machinery, L could sometimes catch him singing in a soft, low tone. She'd sit very quietly, not wanting to break the spell, treasuring every fragile note as if they were pieces of Sam's heart.'
Why.
Did.
You.
WHO SAID YOU COULD
i am weeping
pieces of Sam's heart oh god i can hear it now, the unpracticed low vowels, the airy high notes he tries to keep quiet, the rumble of the comfortable bass, the sincerity of singing for no one, singing only because he wants to--
you are not forgiven, anon. you are not forgiven. [sobs a million years]
I'm not angry anymore,
Well, sometimes I am.
I don't think badly of you,
Well, sometimes I do.
It depends on the day,
The extent of all my worthless rage,
I'm not angry anymore.
I'm not bitter anymore,
I'm syrupy sweet.
I rot your teeth down to their core,
If I'm really happy.
Depends on the day,
If I wake up in a giddy haze,
Well, I'm not angry,
I'm not totally angry,
I'm not all that angry anymore.
