#nervouswriter

imagine Dean Winchester hearing you play guitar.

You've been playing guitar for honestly most of your life, but you're still not comfortable playing in front of people. You have on a handful of special occasions over the years, but not many.  So you usually only play when Dean is away on hunting trips, he has asked you to play for him a few times, but you haven't worked up the courage yet. He always calls you when he is on his way home from a hunt, and since you hadn't heard from him today you figured you'd be safe to sit and play for awhile, without the embarrassment that comes with an audience. You went to your room and pulled the old case out from under your bed, and walked into the den. You had recently remodeled and put a big bay window in there, that looked out into the back yard, and that was by far your favorite place to sit and play. You sat the case down, and pulled the old guitar out, it had been in your family for years, passed down from one generation to the next. You loved that guitar in the same way Dean loved his impala, it was your baby. You began to tune it before you started to play. You started out with some songs you know really well, then began just playing around and making stuff up. That was your favorite part, just messing with the chords in different ways to make a beautiful sound. Anytime you play you kind of tune out everything else, that's most likely why you didn't notice Dean walk in.

Dean heard what he assumed was the radio as soon as he got to the door. He went ahead and opened the door, he wanted to surprise you so he was really quite about it, that's why he hadn't called you today. He saw that you wasn't in the living room, so he knew exactly where you would be, the den, in that bay window. He found it down right adorable how much you loved that thing. He noticed as he got closer that the music was louder and louder with every step he took. The thought crossed his mind that it might be you playing, but he wasn't sure, you never would play in front of him. He made it to the door way, and there you sat with your back to the door, and a guitar in your lap. Dean thought to himself, I've never seen something so beautiful. He decided to just stand there and watch you for awhile, which he did for about 30 minutes, and enjoyed every second. He loved how when you would finish a song, and must have played it all correctly, you would chuckle to yourself and whisper,"got it." His favorite part though had to be when you would mess up and stop playing only to look down and mutter," come on (Y/N) you're better than this," He loved how he could tell how much you loved playing, even though he could not see your face. You finished one last song, your fingers had began hurting from all the playing, and Dean could tell you were about to get up, so he began clapping his hands.