Chapter Text
Dean Winchester owns the coolest vintage record store in all of Lebanon. If it was released in the twentieth century, he’d sell it irrespective of the type of music. Of course, all the posters on the wall and the music pumping over the speakers are only ever ‘70s and early ‘80s classic rock because that’s the music Dean loves.
Music is breathing to Castiel Novak. His taste is as narrow as Dean’s, just in a different genre. Castiel's favourite music is what his brothers describe as three chords and three minutes—punk in its many guises over the decades. But Castiel will try listening to most things once. If it was old enough to have been released on vinyl, that’s how Castiel prefers to listen to it.
That is why he’s been a frequent visitor to Dean’s store since it opened. Originally, he popped in out of curiosity. Then when he was staggered by the range and the good looks of the owner? Well, Castiel was hooked. He is now the proud owner of a few back catalogue items from favourite bands that he probably wouldn't have bought if it wasn't going to give him a reason to cross Dean's path, but whatever, it's not like he won't listen to them. Blue Oyster Cult’s Agents of Fortune is a bit of a leap, but Dean had waxed lyrical about it, so Castiel didn’t have any choice but to give it a go, did he?
Castiel was out of ideas of what he could be in search of next. Unless he opts for a second copy of Damaged just in case his current copy gets scratched or lost. It’s justifiable, probably. After all, Damaged is Black Flag’s, arguably, most iconic album. It would be a travesty if Castiel had to resort to listening to it digitally because something has happened to the original he acquired under dubious circumstances from Tower Records back in the day. Or maybe that should be the other way around and Dean should be listening to this new copy he’s about to buy and not the one that’s the product of his misspent youth?
Stupidly, he’d shared that dilemma with the oldest of his two brothers, Gabriel, who had a few ideas for him. All of which were to be considered as something of a Hail Mary pass if Castiel couldn’t come up with any better excuses on his own.
This is how he ends up back at Black Impala Vinyl the following Wednesday after work. Because he is apparently a creepy stalker, Castiel knows that hump-day is the slowest day of the week. Therefore it is the one day when Dean is guaranteed to be the only one working the evening shift. He's wandering the aisles with a copy of Celine Dion’s Let’s Talk About Love tucked under his arm. He’s covering as much of the album cover as he can because he's still not sure if he can bear the thought of being seen with it. It’s all Gabriel’s idea of a joke at Balthazar’s expense for hating that Titanic song. Gabriel is probably laughing at Castiel as well, seeing as he’s the dumb schmuck being it in the name of having another excuse to see Dean. Why did any of the suggestions his idiot oldest brother had thrown around have to be in stock today?
Castiel walks three laps around the store, staring blankly at the racks like he's seeking divine revelation. In a way, he is actually praying for some help from above a sign that he isn’t about to make even more of an assbutt of himself in front of Dean than he’s done every other time he’s been in Black Impala Vinyl. Castiel is clearly not in God’s good books. There is no burning bush. No choir of angels singing. There is certainly no big hand appearing from the heavens and a booming godlike voice telling Dean that Castiel is the one he’s supposed to be dating.
Castiel realizes he can’t put the purchase off indefinitely. So, he trudges up to the counter. He swipes a hand across the back of his neck, hoping that the warm feeling on his face is not it turning pink, as he places the album in front of the object of his fixation.
Dean is leaning over the counter, his attention focused on his laptop. He has a corner of his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his brows furrowed in concentration. Somehow, Dean manages to look unfairly hot without trying. He is dressed in his usual uniform of faded concert t-shirt and low-slung jeans, which leave enough skin exposed that Castiel finds it hard to drag his eyes away. Castiel thinks, as he wills the filthiest parts of his mind and body to behave, that Dean could probably wear a sack with a balaclava over his face and Castiel would find it distracting.
Castiel leaves his hand over the cover. Dean will have to look at it before Castiel can pay for the ridiculous Canadian screeching because each item is priced according to its rarity.
"Please tell me that isn’t for you?” Dean says.
He arches an eyebrow and opens those stupidly mesmerizing eyes wide.
Castiel tries hard not to stare at them.
“Dude?”
Yes, talking. That would be a good idea if he ever wants to get anywhere with Dean, right?
“No...not mine. I mean it’s not for me. My oldest brother and I are playing a prank on our other brother. Balthazar has an unnatural dislike for both Celine Dion and the movie Titanic.
Dean nods sagely.
“I can understand that—both the prank and the anti-Titanic feelings. My kid brother and I used to have prank wars when we were kids.”
Dean grins at Castiel. He has the most gorgeous smile.
Castiel imagines it’s for him, not memories of childhood antics with his brother. His stomach does a little swoop.
"Good. I’m glad this isn’t for you,” Dean says, tapping the offending album with his index finger. “I’d hate to think you’d suddenly developed a case of awful music taste. I’m not a fan of punk per se, but it beats this fruity stuff out of the water.”
"Thanks."
Castiel stumbles over the two simple syllables. Wow, this is going really well. He’s not great with people skills, but this is bad even for him! It’s Dean. Castiel can’t keep looking at him and focusing on anything else—he’s too distracting.
“Uh, it’s Cas, right?”
“Castiel but...er.... Sure, Cas works fine.” Dean had been gracious enough a couple of months ago to find NOFX’s Punk in Drublic for him. That’s how Dean knew Castiel’s name.
It’s Dean’s turn to do the awkward fumbling thing as he drops his gaze and picks at an imaginary hangnail on the side of his thumb.
“Are you doing anything after this?” Dean finally says after they’ve been standing in silence unable to look at one another while Creedence Clearwater pumps out Bad Moon Rising in the background.
Castiel’s heart stutters to a stop. Dean can’t possibly be about to say what Castiel wants him to.
“Nothing important. A bit of grocery shopping before going home to veg out.”
Dean picks up the Celine Dion, holding it carefully but also like he’s afraid it might contaminate him. He rings up the total, then slips the album into a plastic bag.
“It’s dead in here. Has been all day. I was, uh, thinking about closing early and hitting the Roadhouse for beer and burgers. I get that this is a bit out of the blue, but would you like to join me, Cas?”
Castiel’s world suddenly seems a hundred times brighter and in sharper focus.
“Yes, thank you, Dean. I’d like that,” Castiel says.
He mentally pats himself on the back for managing to say the two sentences, sounding like a normal, rational human being. Internally it’s a whole different picture. But he can hang out with Dean without making any more of a fool of himself, can’t he? It sure seems that Dean is as interested in him as Castiel is in Dean. Awesome!