I started a new fic because I'm not happy unless I have thirty irons in the fire at the same time.

The place was called In My Time of Vinyl, an odd name to be sure, and it was a simple, two window store front with the name painted in an arch on the glass door. The greenish wood surrounding the glass was in dire need of a paint job, but warm yellow light beamed from in between the posters plastered sporadically on the inside of the panes. Red and blue neon from the tubes that lined the inside of the glass lit the water soaked pavement below. It was pouring down rain the day Castiel Novak found it, and he ducked in just to get out of the wet.

A bell jingled merrily, and he was pleased to find the shop warm and cozy, with the faint smell of musk and leather drifting over the stacks arranged throughout the space. The sound of a flute being played in a manner unfamiliar to him bounced off the walls, and a deep voice yelled "be right there!" from somewhere in the back.

Taking a closer look at the store's merchandise, Cas saw crates and bins full of vinyl albums. The inside of the store didn't appear to have any rhyme or reason as to how the albums were stocked; there was stuff everywhere, and the lack of organization hurt Cas's soul. He walked over to a table full of bins and gingerly sorted through them. Titles by Eric Clapton were mixed in with Frank Sinatra, Ravi Shankar, and Metallica. He couldn't imagine how the proprietor found a thing in the place.

Old posters covered damn near every wall, with framed pictures of rock stars on stage at various venues. A glass counter held a spinning turntable and an old cash register, and the modern day iPad sitting next to it seemed extraordinarily out of place.

Rock 'N' Roll in buzzing neon script dangled from the ceiling, casting the counter in a blue glow. Shelves lined the wall behind the counter, filled with more bins and odds and ends. The inside of the counter held various types of rock memorabilia, including a broken guitar, several guitar picks, concert posters, and torn ticket stubs. A pristine electric guitar with a scrawled signature sat on the very top shelf, beside a framed picture of two dark haired men grinning at the camera.

"Hey! Welcome to In My Time of Vinyl, what're you looking for?"

Cas turned towards the sound of the voice, fighting to keep his jaw closed as he caught sight of the man.

His hair was green. Bright green, except for the very tips, which were dyed an inky black. He had big black circles in his ears - stretchers, Cas thought they were called - a silver hoop through one nostril, an eyebrow ring, and a heavy silver ball through his bottom lip.

Even with all that, Cas could see how lovely he was. His eyes were just a shade or two paler than his hair, and freckles seemed to cover every inch of his skin.

"I'm sorry, but it was cold and wet, and my car broke down. You were the only place open."

The other man's face fell slightly, but he covered it with a big grin. "Mi casa es su casa," he declared, spreading his arms wide.

Cas noted the multicolored designs inked on his arms - he'd mistaken them for long sleeves at first - and the ratty t-shirt with gabba gabba hey! emblazoned across his chest. His jeans were torn, but his smile was beautiful. "You sell records here?"

"Yup," he grinned, waving his arms expansively. "Classic vinyl. Everything from Plant 'n' Page to Robert Johnson to Glenn Miller, and I've even got some modern artists in here. Vinyl's hot, dude. Nothing beats that crackly hi-fi sound. I don't care for the perfect, pristine, studio engineered glossy stuff."

"I don't even have a turntable anymore. Got rid of it half way through college."

"Oh." This time, when the man's face fell, he didn't bother to hide it. "So you really just need somewhere to chill until the rain stops."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"No worries. Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to go back to cleaning. Holler if you need anything. Name's Dean, by the way."

"Castiel," Cas smiled, holding out his hand. "But everyone calls me Cas."

"Nice to meet you," Dean said, shaking his hand. "Seriously, make yourself at home, poke around, whatever."

"Alright."

Dean tossed him a saucy salute and disappeared into the stacks. Cas stared out the door, frowning at the absolute deluge creating rushing rivers down the sidewalk.

The music caught his attention again - it was manic flute playing. He'd never heard anything like it. "Dean? What are you listening to?"

"Jethro Tull!" Dean called from somewhere. "It's called Locomotive Breath."

"Huh. I think I like it."

Dean's head popped around the corner, the skin around his eyes crinkling with his wide grin. "Awesome!"

"He feels the piston scraping. Steam breaking on his brow. Old Charlie stole the handle and the train it won't stop going. No way to slow down."

"Do you have this on CD? I'd like to hear more."

"Uh, no," Dean said apologetically, coming back up towards the front. "I only sell vinyl in here. It's kinda my thing."

"Oh."

Dean shuffled his feet and fiddled with a silver ring on his finger. "I uh, I have an extra turntable. You could borrow it, maybe."

"You don't even know me."

"Yeah, well, you look like an honest dude." He waved a hand at Cas's outfit. "Suit, trench, look like a tax accountant."

"Accountants can be corrupt."

"What?" Dean grinned as he caught Cas's expression. "Oh, funny guy. Ok. Well, if you don't want to borrow mine, you could probably get one on Amazon on the cheap."

"Hmm. That's a thought. Yes, I think I'll do that. I'd like to purchase this album, then."

"Ok!" Dean's face brightened. "Let me find another copy."

"I don't know how you can find anything, to be honest. You don't seem to have much of a system going here."

"Yeah," Dean laughed. "My brother would agree with you. But I find what I need." He ducked down another aisle, humming along with the song as he worked. "Here we go," he called a moment later. "Jethro Tull, Aqualung, released 1971. This is some good shit." Dean held the album up, showing Cas the cover with it's depiction of creepy looking old man. "Listen to the whole thing at least twice before forming any opinions."

"Alright." He followed Dean to the counter. "So if I'm buying a turntable, what other albums would you suggest? Maybe I could buy two or three more?"

"Oh, dude. Yeah. Um," he scratched at his hair. "Houses of the Holy, definitely. Shit, I could sell you all Led Zeppelin, but let's mix it up. Houses of the Holy," he picked up an album with what looked like naked children on the cover. "Gotta have some Hendrix." This one was a yellow album with three men on the cover, Are You Experienced? in bright purple lettering. He pulled out another one with what looked like an oddly shaped cake on the cover. "And the Stones - Let it Bleed. Gimme Shelter is a fuckin' awesome song." Dean laid all of them on the counter.

"Alright, how much?"

"Really, just like that? Gonna take my word for it?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Dean seemed to think about that a moment more before reaching under the counter and pulling one more album out. This one featured a big, black car, with a beautiful blonde woman laying across the hood, and the word Mary in script over the car's roof. "Try this one. Let me know what you think."

"Alright. How much?"

"Um -" Dean stared down at the five albums on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, $40?"

"Is that an answer or a question?"

"Yeah. Huh, $40."

Cas frowned. "Is that what they're worth?"

"Well, I mean - yeah - y'know -"

"What are they worth, Dean?"

"About $80-85," he muttered.

"Alright," Cas pulled out his wallet and counted out five twenties. "That should cover it."

"Dude -"

"I don't want to hear it. It's $20 an album, which seems fair for vintage albums in top condition, plus you let me hang out in here while it rained. Take the money and bag my albums."

"Ok, ok," Dean raised his hands in surrender. He put the bills in the register and wrote out a receipt, then bagged the five albums. "I put a business card in there, in case you know anyone who wants some tunes, plus I wanna hear what you thought. Alright?"

"Of course." Cas picked up the bag. "Thank you for this."

"No, man, thank you. Seriously." He smiled, blushing slightly, before turning to look out the window. "Oh hey. It stopped raining. Not that you have to go, I mean, you can stay as long as you like."

"I appreciate that, but I do have somewhere to be."

"Ok. Come back any time." Dean was still smiling but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I will. I'm sure I'll need more music."

"Definitely. You'll be hooked on Zep in no time, trust me."

Nodding, Cas turned to head out the door, but stopped and looked back. "You know, there is an album I'd like to have on vinyl."

"Yeah?" Dean's face brightened.

"Yes - you'll probably laugh."

"No, I won't. Promise."

"Ok - in college, I dunno, but I was really into Counting Crows. I'd love to have August and Everything After on vinyl."

Dean frowned thoughtfully. "Not sure I have it, but I could get it for you within a week. If you wanted to come back Friday -"

"I'll be here."

"Awesome."

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, and Cas felt a spark, one he hadn't felt for a long time. His cheeks heated slightly, and he stared down at his bag of records. "I'll see you Friday, then," he said softly, before backing up towards the door.

"Friday. Ok." Dean braced both hands on the counter and leaned towards him, a soft smile on his face.

"Ok."

He made eye contact with Dean again, blushed harder, and escaped through the front door.

Two days later, a large shipping box showed up on Cas's doorstep, and he spent the evening putting together his new turntable, hooking it up to his existing stereo system.

Looking through his meager collection of albums, he chose Houses of the Holy first, since Dean seemed to be a big Led Zeppelin fan. Google had told him the shop's name was a play on words, based on a song off the band's Physical Graffiti album.

The first song was upbeat. The rhythm reminded him of riding in a car down an open stretch of highway, slowing to a comfortable cruise as the singer came in.

Cas lay on his couch with a beer in just his boxers, letting the music sweep over him. He did as Dean requested, listening to the entirety of the album twice.

He could definitely see himself becoming a Led Zeppelin fan. Cas listened to the others over the course of the week, enjoying them all as well. Friday, he left work and drove over to In My Time of Vinyl, intent on picking up his Counting Crows album and possibly a few more that Dean would recommend.

"Be right with you!" called Dean from the back of the store.

"Hello, Dean. It's me, Cas," he called back.

"Oh! Hold on, man, let me grab your album."

"Alright."

Cas poked through some of the records stacked on the counter. There were several more Zep albums lying there, and he was sure what they were listening to was them as well. He'd listened to Houses of the Holy enough times over the course of the week to easily identify Robert Plant's voice. Cas closed his eyes and swayed slightly with the music.

"You like? It's Zep. All of My Love."

"Mmm, it's nice. I would like a few more of theirs, I think."

"Cool, I can do that." Dean came up beside him and sat the Counting Crows record on the counter. "I did have this. Just didn't know it. Went through everything this week looking for Madman Across the Water and tripped over this."

"Madman Across the Water?"

"Yup. Elton John. It's fantastic."

Cas opened his eyes and smiled at the other man. "Sounds like one for my burgeoning collection then."

"Huh. How is it that you've never heard of this stuff? You look like you're my age."

"I'm thirty-eight."

"Yeah, ok. I'm thirty-six. So we're close in age."

"I was raised on classical music. My parents were very religious and didn't approve of rock and roll. We weren't even allowed to listen to Christian rock like Petra or Steven Curtis Chapman. Hymns were acceptable, but not if they were recorded by people like Elvis or Johnny Cash."

"Huh." Dean's brow furrowed. "That's pretty effin' strict." He smiled. "So now you're here, making up for lost time, right?"

"Indeed." Cas picked up the Counting Crows record and flipped it over, smiling at the familiar song list. "You were right, you know? There's something very soothing about that slightly crackly sound, and listening to the sound switch from speaker to speaker."

Dean's face brightened. "Ah, you've been bitten, my friend."

"Indeed. Now, why don't you add to my affliction? Enable me."

Dean barked out a laugh. "Alright. Well, Madman Across the Water is a definite. How many do you want?"

"Six or seven."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Sweet." Dean dropped a copy of the Elton John LP on the counter. "Come with me. Let's see what we come up with."

"I was wondering, because I couldn't find much online about them, but that one album you gave me, Mary? By Winchester's Rifle? I'd love to have more from them."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Dean turned to look back at him, an unreadable expression on his handsome face. He ran a hand through his green hair and fidgeted a bit. "Yeah, uh, they only put out that one album."

"Oh. That's a shame. I really enjoyed the singer's voice, and it was clear that he was madly in love with the real Mary."

"Yeah. They were a husband and wife team. Mary was actually the only song she didn't write. From what I understand, she didn't want it on the album, but it ended up being the only song that got any kind of recognition for them."

"That's a shame. The whole album is wonderful, although there is definitely a disconnect between Mary and the other songs on the album."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, not meeting Cas's eyes. "So, I think you need some Blue Oyster Cult," he said abruptly, changing gears. "Everyone should know Don't Fear the Reaper."

"Ok," Cas said, rolling with it. "My friend at work suggested the Beach Boys, but I don't know if I've got the album name correct. Pet Sounds?"

"Yeah, that's it. It's a damn good one, probably their best. And I want you to get Led Zeppelin II." Dean plucked an album from a crate. "And you definitely need The Beatles, but do I give you their first, or their best, I dunno. Fuck it. Rubber Soul and Abbey Road. One of them." He darted around the shop, retrieving both LP's.

"I'll take both."

"Dude, Cas, that's a bunch."

"I said six or seven. That's seven right?"

Ticking them off on his fingers, Dean counted. "Crows, Zep, Beatles times two, Elton John, BOC, Beach Boys - yeah, seven. Cas, that's like $140. You sure you want to spend that much?"

"Yes, Dean. I'm sure."

"Ok, man." Dean carried the albums up to the front. "So, I was thinking," Dean said, laying the albums on the counter as he walked behind it. "I feel like a jerk 'cause I should have offered to fix your car last week. I'm good with cars. I was just nine kinds of distracted and -"

"There's no need to apologize. It was the dumbest thing, to be honest. I ran out of gas. Seriously, I'm an idiot."

"Nah, happens to the best of us." He put the albums in a bag and handed it to Cas. "So, uh, that's $135."

"I thought you said $140."

"Nah, bulk discount."

"If you're sure."

Dean grinned. "I am." He took Cas's money and made change in the ancient register, handing back a crisp $5 bill. "So, uh, you come back any time, ok?"

"Definitely. I'll be back next week. You'll have to pull some more albums out for me."

"Really?" Dean looked nothing short of surprised. "I mean, albums are a lot of money."

"I know, but I like the music you're introducing me to, and I enjoy coming in the store and seeing you. It's nice."

"Yeah?" Dean's expression was sweet, maybe a little shy. "You barely know me."

"We could change that. I know a place nearby that has incredible burgers. I'd love to listen to you tell me more about the artists you like."

"Uh, wow -" Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I um, I don't close for another hour."

"Oh. Well, I have a couple of hours. I could just hang out again, if it's ok with you."

"Yeah, sure, that would be cool."

"Great! Anything you need help with in the meantime?"

"Not really. You know what? I can close a little early and I'm nine kinds of hungry. Let's go get that burger, Cas."

Dean ordered a big, juicy bacon cheeseburger with extra onions, and when it came, he politely asked the waitress to bring him more onions. He grinned across the table at a bemused Cas. "What can I say? I love onions."

"I can see that." Cas looked down at his own bacon cheeseburger loaded with extra pickles. "And I clearly have a pickle problem."

Barking out a laugh, Dean reached over and snatched one off his plate. "Yes, you do. You ever have fried pickles? Holy shit, those are good."

"No, I haven't. I should try them."

"When the County Fair comes around, we should go. Fried everything. Even fried Snickers bars. It's killer." Dean munched his stolen pickle contentedly. The waitress stopped by with a plate of onions, and he thanked her with his million watt smile before loading almost all of them onto his burger. Dean gathered the mess in his hands and took a huge bite.

"How on Earth will you even taste anything but onions?"

Grinning around a mouth full, Dean mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said," he swallowed, "onions make the burger!"

"If you say so." Picking up his own burger, Cas happily dug in, moaning around the explosion of taste on his tongue.

"Got some serious happy sounds going on over there."

"These make me very happy," Cas smiled, before going in for some more.

A companionable silence fell over the table as both men destroyed their dinners. Fries and onion rings were pushed into the middle, a silent agreement to share, and they both picked from the plates with grease and meat juice dripping from their fingers.

"Man, you weren't kidding." Dean leaned back against the booth, rubbing his stomach. "That was one of the best burgers I've ever had. How have I never been here? Lived in Sioux Falls a long time, and this place is less than a mile from my store. I really don't get out much!"

"They're new, if it makes you feel better. Less than a year old."

"Huh. That would explain it. How's the pie?"

Cas grinned. "Heavenly."

"I'll be the judge of that," Dean smirked, but that smirk was replaced by a look of ecstasy the second the first bite of apple-caramel pie hit his tongue. "Oh, mannnn," he moaned. "So good."

"Who's making happy noises now?"

"Ssh. I'm have a pie-sperience."

"You're a dork."

Dean closed his eyes, a look of contented bliss spreading across his features. "I just love pie so much."

"I can tell."

The waitress brought their bill not long after that, and Dean pulled his wallet out. He counted out his half of the bill, frowning slightly while he did. Cas noticed his wallet was empty after, but maybe Dean just didn't carry much cash on him.

"That was awesome," Dean told him, as they left the restaurant. "I'm going to be full for two days."

"Indeed. However, we were so caught up in our meals, we never talked about music."

"Shit, you're right." Dean turned and grinned at Cas. "Well, I guess you'll just have to come back to the store."

"I'd love to," Cas looked down at his watch and frowned, "but I have things I absolutely have to do tonight."

"But it's Friday -"

"I know. And I want to stay, but tomorrow is my Saturday to work."

"What do you do?" Dean blushed. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking?" They'd been walking the whole time and stopped in front of the store.

"I'm an assistant bank manager. The other assistant and I switch every other Saturday, and tomorrow is mine."

"I thought banks closed on Saturdays?"

"Most do. Ours is open limited hours. But it's getting late now, and I still have get my things ready for morning. I could come back Friday?"

"Ok," Dean said quietly. He unlocked the door to his store, and Cas didn't miss how his shoulders slumped.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." He turned back to Cas, a smile glued on his face. "Let me grab your bag and you can get out of here. One sec."

Dean left Cas standing on the street in front of the store, reappearing a moment later with Cas's bag. "Here you go," he said cheerfully, his tone a little forced.

"Dean - are you sure -"

"I'm fine. Seriously, man. I'll see you next Friday and I'll have a bunch more stuff picked out for you to root through, ok?"

"Alright. Goodnight, Dean."

"Night." Dean stepped back into the store and shut and locked the door before pulling a shade down over the glass.

Frowning, Cas walked to his car, casting one last look back at the store before sliding into the front seat.

He didn't see Dean standing in the window, watching him drive away.