It was an old guitar in a music shop. It hanged behind a shelf, half hidden behind boxes of strings.

You would find lots of second-hand stuff at this place, along with brand new, which is why Dean had come here. He didn't have spare money, yet spending only for the bare necessities was starting to take his toll. His soul screamed to get nourished too.

He had all this music playing in his head, from listening to the old, used tapes his dad had left in his car. He could teach himself to play, maybe.

The vendor was passionate about his job. He understood Dean's frustration and looked around for something cheap, even suggesting a keyboard. But Dean needed something to take with him, for when he would take a road trip to visit his brother Sam in California. Another luxury, that he was getting help paying for. His godmother, Ellen, had asked him to transport back a beer tap, that she had bought from a bar that was closing, in exchange. Dean knew she was using this as an excuse and he was grateful.

The employee was almost giving up, when someone interrupted rudely, asking for a spare G-string (which might have made Dean bit his lip not to chuckle... or not) and demanding to get it right now.

Dean raised a peaceful hand, he wasn't in a hurry, it was his day off. He got a grateful smile and was told to wait here, for a minute.

Five minutes later, the employee came back holding the guitar:

"I had forgotten about this one. There's no price tag on it, so..." He eyed the instrument critically, then said "Let's say 20 dollars, unless you want to change the strings?"

Dean scrubbed the back of his head and answered shyly:

"I... I wouldn't know if they would need to be, actually. Could you tell me?"

The man grabbed a stool, sat with the guitar and started strumming it. A soft, mellow vibration filled the shop. Both men smiled at each other.

Dean was handed the guitar with a:

"It sounds perfect, hope you have fun practicing. Don't hesitate to come back if you need pointers." Dean walked out, holding the grey-ish lump of wood like a treasure he didn't expect to find.

At the back of the Roadhouse, he sat and started playing. There were few patrons around and nobody seemed to mind the wrong notes or the awkward pauses. Ellen planted a nail in the backroom and told him to hang it there, that way he could play a little when he was on shift. Dean kissed her cheek and decided to learn a something she liked to thank her.

He came back with Sam, lazily driving across the states, stopping in empty fields at nights to look at the stars. One time he took the guitar case out and fumbled his way around a melody. Sam closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. After that, he asked for Dean to play every evening, even when they reached Lawrence and Dean's apartment, until he had to take his flight back to college.

Dean was making progress, slowly, by mean of pure stubbornness and lots of free time. He even went to a flea market where he found partitions to work on. He stored the most difficult ones and laid the others on the wooden floor, sitting crossed-legged not to hurt his back.

When he was working, pouring beers and washing glasses, he was thinking about it and he felt happy.

One night, he felt he was ready. He took the guitar and played a full song, singing softly along. The bar was almost empty expect for Ellen, her daughter, Jo, and their friend Bobby who was nursing a last beer for the evening.

One by one, they stopped whatever they were doing and walked over to Dean. When he looked up, at the end of the song, he started grinning, proud and fulfilled when he was startled to see someone else he didn't know.

It was a dark-haired man, with blue eyes that shone brightly against the murky bar atmosphere. He was looking straight at Dean, like he knew him, like he had looked for him.

Jo turned her head and spotted him:

"Hello sir, what can I get you to drink?"

The man kept his eyes on Dean, who was still mindlessly strumming the strings, answering:

"No thank you, I don't drink alcohol."

"Okayyyyy... Something to eat then?"

This time the guy looked at her, letting Dean marvel at his profile. The man was like a marble statue, perfect and smooth, begging to be caressed by Dean's fingers. Instead he caressed the guitar, not willing to let the moment go.

Finally, the man spoke:

"I have to present an apology. I did not intend to walk in here. I was, in fact, headed to my house when I passed by your establishment and suddenly, my legs led me there. I do not understand what happened but I am glad to have listened to your playing," he glanced at Dean "It is quite heavenly."

Dean blushed, embarrassed as he always was a the level of attention he was getting when he knew he was far from proficient. It felt good to receive a compliment uttered by that gravely voice, though, so he felt generous:

"It's okay, man. You don't have to buy anything... although you should, the burgers are the best of the town."

He winked at Ellen who smirked, got up and walked to the kitchen. Dean watched her go, then decided to take another risk and play a song he had barely worked on but liked a lot. He kept most of his small audience, including the unknown beautiful man, and, to be fair, he played mostly for him, for his beauty and the kindness he could read in his eyes.

But when he stopped playing, he saw him leave. Dean sadly took his guitar case and put it in his car trunk. He came back to finish his shift but Ellen raised a stern hand:

"You don't need to stay, it's a slow night, so you should get some sleep. I'll pay you anyway. Consider it a thank you for the little concert you just gave."

Dean nodded and turned around but Jo stopped him, handing him a piece of paper:

"This is for you."

'Castiel Novak 555-123-456' Dean read and his heart burst as he realized who it was from.

"Come on, Romeo, call him and ask him out. He's a cutie and he really seemed into you."

Dean waited a few days, gathering the courage to call. He half-hopped the man would turn up at the bar again but the strange occurrence didn't repeat itself. He was so nervous, he didn't play at all, trying to remember, instead, the exact shade of blue in Castiel's eyes.

Finally, he took his phone and typed the number, tapping at the table as he waited.

"Castiel Novak speaking."

"Oh, hey! Humm... My name is Dean and..."

"I am sorry, but I don't talk to strangers on the phone, nor do I wish to be sold something or be converted either. Good-bye."

Dean hurriedly spoke

"Nonono, you gave me your number, remember? I was playing the guitar and..."

"Oh..." There was a pause and a laugh, coming through the phone line. The man's tone changed immediately "It's true, I didn't know your name and yet you had me entranced. How is that possible?"

Dean blushed, glad Castiel couldn't see him:

"I have no idea, but maybe we could discuss it... somewhere? I know you don't drink, but... a restaurant or something?"

"Actually... I'd rather do something more unconventional. I do not go on dates often so I always try to find something really enjoyable."

Dean smiled. Castiel had a very formal way of talking but he didn't seem stuck up:

"What do you suggest?"

"How about going fruit-picking? We could go to an orchard?"

"I like that idea. I could bake pie afterward. You like pie?" The tone was nonchalant, but Dean awaited the answer with trepidation. Castiel didn't disappoint:

"If it's well baked, it's a very agreeable dessert, indeed. Will you bring your instrument along or don't you want to take it outside?"

So, they met at a nearby farm and went to get peaches in neat little handwoven baskets. Castiel had long delicate fingers that he wrapped around each fruit as if it was very fragile. Dean didn't pick much. It was his turn to stare.

They talked, sharing details about their lives. Cas (as Dean soon called him) was an astronomer at the university of Kansas, just a few streets away from Dean's place. Dan confessed he loved looking at stars even though he didn't know their names and Cas proposed to teach him:

"That way I can spend a few evening with you?"

"Only a few?" Dean asked, disappointed. Did he misunderstand and Castiel just wanted to be friends?

Castiel put his basket down and twisted his fingers:

"I meant, that's another good excuse to spend time with you. We did agree this was a romantic encounter, didn't we?"

"When you say it like that, I plan to have much, much more with you, Cas."

They grinned at each other. Dean had brought a picnic basket along with the guitar. Cas bit at his sandwich and let out a moan of satisfaction:

"Did you prepare all of this?"

"Of course." Dean was surprised to see the look of admiration on the professor's face.

"I can't cook to save my life. Nor can I play nor sing. I wish I had your talents."

"Well, I wish I had gone to college, like you and my brother... Are you sure you don't want to date someone more like you?"

"You are like me, Dean. You're sensitive and kind, talking with you is easy."

They ate peaches for dessert and Dean dared brushing Cas' chin with a napkin where the juice was dripping down. Castiel looked at him and smiled.

Then Cas asked Dean to play. After the first song, he asked for another, not letting go until Dean had exhausted his limited repertoire. So he asked Dean to start again. When Dean looked at him wearily, Cas bent down and kissed him on the lips. So Dean played on and on.

One year later, they went to the Ellen's bar to celebrate the memory. Dean played for the crowd that had gathered at night and listened to him in rapt attention, so much so that Ellen suggested a music night every week, where Dean could entertain customers. Castiel looked proud as hell, hugging his boyfriend fiercely and whispering:

"Told you you were the best."

He had stopped begging Dean to play all the time once they had started seeing each other too often, but Dean still took some time, every evening, to strum a few chords to make Cas smile, especially after a stressing day with his students. They were living together in Castiel's house where Dean did all the cooking and maintenance so that he didn't feel that things were uneven financially.

They sat at the bar, Dean, with a glass of scotch, Cas with a soda can, sharing a plate of fries on the counter, musing about their relationship:

"I still wonder how come you ended up here in the first place. Did you hear me play from outside?"

Cas shook his head:

"You weren't playing very loudly. I don't know... It seems your playing has a soothing effect on people around you. I thought it was because of your choice of songs but lately..."

He blushed and Dean hid his smile. Sometimes, Cas was too adorable for words but he didn't always like being told so.

"Yes, Cas?"

"I know I'm a scientist so this is silly, but I would say there is some magic involved. Either from you or the guitar, or maybe from the two..."

Dean gaped. He had noticed the quiet atmosphere around him every time but he thought it was because he was surrounded by loved ones.

He looked at Castiel and kissed him softly:

"If this were the case, then I'm glad it was you that the spell worked on. You're very magical in your own way."

Castiel rolled his eyes but kissed him back.

When they walked home that night, with the starts above their heads, that he could all name now, Dean reflected that, whether Castiel was right or not was not important. Music had transformed his life and brought him love and self-respect. He took his man's hand in his and wished for their relationship to last always.