Dean checked the front of his plaid shirt one last time before seating himself in front of the laptop and making sure everything seemed ready to go. His agent would be in his typical tieless suit, but he always liked Dean to wear something more rustic that went with his outdoorsy image. Benny had scheduled their virtual meeting with Inferno Publishing's editor to start at 11 AM, and it was only a few minutes til. Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to gather his thoughts and stop fidgeting.

His phone chirped with a text message from Benny.

Show time

Dean clicked to join, adjusted the angle on the camera, and waited for the video to load. Benny popped up side by side with the unfamiliar editor.

His first impression of Crowley MacLeod was that the man looked a little too classy to be interested in Dean's book. Of course, most publishing editors dressed in business attire, and in New York City, that was a lot more formal… But there was just something about the way Crowley sat, leaning casually to one side, hands folded on one knee in view, expression lordly. The man himself wasn't anything striking—older than Dean and Benny, dark hair balding, with the hint of lines starting around his mouth and eyes. He certainly had a presence though.

The video must have finally loaded up on MacLeod's side because his lips turned up in a reserved smile. "Mr. Winchester. Crowley MacLeod of Inferno Publishing. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person, in the virtual sense." MacLeod's voice was deep and smooth, accented from somewhere in the U.K.

Dean swallowed, wishing he had set a glass of water nearby before the meeting. "Same here, Mr. MacLeod. Thank you for seeing me."

"Please, Crowley. Your agent, Benny, and I have already spoken a few times this week, and I'm sure he relayed at least some of the discussions. Your manuscript is surprisingly well polished; I don't think we'll have more than a few high-level adjustments. After that, it will go through line editing and be ready for sales and marketing to prepare the way. I expect a release in perhaps… six months."

Dean blinked in shock. If anything, MacLeod was a man who got to the point. Dean could appreciate that. "That's nice to hear, M--Crowley…"

On screen, Benny's face remained neutral; Dean and he hadn't discussed the exact terms yet. That meant there might be a catch to something that sounded too good to be true.

Discussions continued for several minutes more. The gist of it was that MacLeod felt the book would be successful, and there were a few times he hinted that Inferno would be willing to commit to future novels from the author. They ended the call with the promise that the Inferno team would be in touch over the next few days to hammer out the final contract with Benny.

After they had all left the meeting, Benny called him back on his cell.

"So, what do you think?" Dean asked him.

"Could be good…" Benny hedged. "I'll want to see their final offer and conditions first."

"Seems a little too good to be true…"

"I'm guessing we'll see either a low advance or some commitment from you for first look on future works."

"You caught that too, huh? Seemed pretty interested in locking me in…"

"Might not be a bad thing, Dean. Can be difficult getting in the door sometimes, especially if multiple publishers have dropped you."

"Yeah…" Dean understood that Benny knew the business better than he did, but it seemed a mistake to get himself committed with people he barely knew.

"Well, you think it over. Will probably be a few days before I get enough to bring back to you for a real look anyway."

"Thanks, Benny."

Closing the line, Dean sat back with a sigh, tipping his head to look up at the ceiling for a moment. This was probably the point where someone else would talk over the events of the morning with someone they trusted. He thought about calling Sam, but it was during work hours. Maybe later.

He glanced out the window. The sun was pretty high by now, and today was still burning with late summer heat.

"Guess I should start working on some more blog posts…"

Dean was up before dawn the next day and outside as soon as it was light enough to see where he was stepping. He'd packed his backpack the night before, so all he had to do was toss in some cold water bottles and fill his largest travel mug with hot coffee. He walked out into the fields behind the house, eerie and washed out into gray in the faint morning light.

Before the sun had even peeked above the horizon, Dean had made his way to the northern side of the property and hunkered down under some trees above the pond. He hadn't spotted any deer on the walk, which surprised him, but he could see several dark shapes floating in the pond that indicated some ducks had probably spent the night. He listened to the buzz of nighttime bugs receding and tried to remain still besides swatting at a few mosquitos that whined too close to his face.

The sunrise could have been straight out of a painting that morning, bands of red-orange and golden, glowing fingers of clouds streaking under the fading blue of the evening sky. As the birds began singing and a slight breeze bounced the feathered grasses back and forth, Dean blinked a few times, his eyes wet. Every once in a while, he felt overwhelmed by the sheer miracle that was life on this planet. He pitied everyone still sleeping. They'd wake up in an hour or two and prepare for work, spend their entire days with their faces locked behind glass.

He thought of Sammy in Topeka. He was probably doing the same thing as all those other office cattle. Dean had to try to get his brother outside on the weekends once he moved out here… even if he had to lure him out with beer.

Eventually, Dean's legs were getting cramped from his position under the tree, so he pulled himself up and let the feeling tingle back through them before starting a circuit of the property edge. There was a narrow trail there, although it wasn't quite as well used as the mown paths, and he stopped occasionally to trim back branches or clear vegetation using a pair of hand clippers he'd brought in the pack. He didn't hurry. Even though it was getting warmer, he had his hat and sun protection on and plenty of water. It would take as long as it took.

Sometime around midmorning, when had rounded one side of the property back toward the house and then started up the other, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He'd silenced it. Pulling it out, he saw Benny's name on screen. He shrugged and pressed to ignore the call without picking up. Wasn't like there'd be some sort of literary emergency; it could wait.

He didn't think of it again until the afternoon, when he had returned from sprucing up the trail, showered, and made himself some lunch. Picking up the phone again, he checked and found Benny had left him a voicemail.

"Dean, give me a call back when you decide to come in from the great outdoors. Got an interesting development for you."

He pressed to call back. Benny picked up after a few rings.

"Had half a mind to let you leave your own message," he told Dean as he picked up.

Dean grinned and held back a laugh. "Hey, sometimes I am legitimately occupied."

"Tell that to someone who doesn't know you well enough to know you were probably out staring at your duck pond…"

"Hey, ducks are legitimate." Dean tried to sound offended on the behalf of the waterfowl. He heard a huff of laughter over the connection and counted it a win before Benny continued.

"So, you're not going to believe this, but I got a call today from the office of another editor at Elysium."

"...To what, offer condolences?"

"No… He wants to talk about the manuscript."

Dean paused and thought for a moment. "...Is that something that happens?"

"Not really." Benny sounded as bemused by the turn of events as Dean was. "I can't remember it ever happening in my long career, to make a point. And, the editor is Gabriel Shurley."

"Shurley. As in Chuck Shurley?"

"The very same. One of the owner's sons."

"Damn... How? Why?"

"I didn't get the details yet, as they just called to arrange a meeting. I'm going over there in person tomorrow."

"You ever worked with this Shurley before?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I've never worked with any of the Shurleys personally. First time for everything, I guess."

"Is this guy… I mean, what's his specialty?"

"Very eclectic but namely diversity—new cultural voices, LGBT+…"

"...That's not really my book."

Benny didn't disagree.

"So… what does this mean for the Inferno deal?"

"If I were you, I'd hold on making any commitments yet. You turn down a meeting with one of Elysium's acquiring editors, especially son-of-the-owner level, you're burning a bridge."

"All right, let's see what they have to say…"

"Talk later, Dean."

After the call ended, Dean stared vacantly at the background on his phone, not really seeing the Little Colorado River Gorge. What did some diversity editor want with his novel? Sure, the timeline was more current than his last, but it was still pretty traditional action and suspense. Maybe the gay characters had caught his attention?

Dean got up and walked on autopilot to the back bay window, watching the grass move back and forth in the wind for several long minutes, trying not to think.

"Thinking is the mind killer…"

Not actually the quote, but one Dean found true in life anyway. He finally shook his head and decided to take the Impala out for a drive. She'd been cooped up long enough.

Benny hadn't been able to get in to see Gabriel Shurley until later the next day. Dean tried to keep busy, but there was only so much work he could do on the property before everything was set for another few weeks. He called Sam to start figuring out the plan for moving his brother's belongings out of the apartment in Topeka and then began boxing away the shelves of books in the office that soon would be converted into a bedroom again. He didn't mention what was going on with the book, and Sam didn't ask.

Finally, he heard back from Benny. They were going to have a video conference with Gabriel Shurley the next morning. Benny still wasn't able to answer all the questions spinning in Dean's head.

"All he would say is that some folks on his team liked your last book and that he thought this manuscript had potential."

Potential for what? Dean wondered as he lay in bed in the dark.

Morning came too soon, and Dean had an extra cup of coffee on top of his typical three to make up for it. By the time he sat down in front of his laptop for the second make-nice meeting that week, he couldn't seem to stop jittering his knee or tapping his fingers on it.

Just breathe, man. Breathe.

He thought of holding his breath and then making a slow exhale to take a shot with a rifle, then looped through the action in his mind until he got a message from Benny telling him to join.

Gabriel Shurley wasn't like Dean had pictured. He looked younger, for one, so much that Dean had trouble gauging whether they were around the same age or not. His face was dominated by a large, straight nose and light brown eyes; Dean noticed lots of laugh lines but none from frowning. It gave him the impression that Shurley was good humored, although right now he appeared to be sizing Dean up as seriously as Dean was examining him.

"Mr. Gabriel Shurley, may I introduce Dean Winchester."

"Dean, great to meet you." Shurley's voice was a slightly twangy tenor crafted into an overpoweringly neutral Midwestern radio accent. It seemed hilariously suitable for a New York accent though, and Dean had to frantically stomp down the smirk that threatened to pop up with an image of Gabriel Shurley breaking out in stereotypical mobster speak.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Shurley." Dean croaked and then cleared his throat.

"Ack, Gabriel, please. There's enough Mr. Shurleys at Elysium; we don't need more."

Dean nodded and glanced at Benny for help.

"Gabriel, I think Dean is pretty curious about your take on the manuscript."

"You're probably wondering what the heck an editor focusing on LGBTQ+ slash BIPOC slash social justice leaning speculative fiction wants with your man versus nature suspense novel, right?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Benny confirmed.

"Well, I think it's obvious. Look at your characters. Your story is littered with queer rep, and I have one hell of a substantive editor who took a read through and is pretty sure you edited down from the original cast."

Dean raised his eyebrows. He had, actually, reverted several characters to more traditional character tropes. In Bobby's words, he didn't want to smack his readers over the head with so much it detracted from the story.

"And, if you were going to strictly market your book to the survivalist crowd, I can see where that would be useful," Gabriel continued, pulling an understanding face. "But if, say, you wanted to cross-market in LGBT fiction or even change genres totally, we'd want you to ramp some of that back up."

"What are we talking?" Dean asked, frowning.

Gabriel seemed to take in his expression and get more serious again. "I'll be straight with you… We're talking major rework. My substantive editor wants you to take a step back, unedit for the conservative America market, and then work with you from there."

"You want me to rewrite it as LGBT fiction? I mean, I get that gay representation is important, but this is really an action plot here."

"No, it isn't." Gabriel's tone bordered on patronizing, and Dean bristled. "If it was an action plot, you wouldn't have half the scenes you do about the characters' internal dialogue. And all those long, sweeping scenery descriptions? Also a 'no'. This book is not just an action book. Yeah, you have action. But you also have heart. You have environmentalism. You have real, three-dimensional characters with their own motivations and relationships with the other characters." Gabriel spread his hands, asking Dean to disagree.

"So, what, I background the avalanche and dangerous supply shortages and spin up a gay love story?" Dean laced his fingers together and set them onto the edge of the laptop to keep from waving them around in exasperation.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and openly almost put his face into his palm before recovering and sitting up in his chair. "No. We aren't asking you to make it centered on telling a queer story. We're asking you to take a good story and put more diversity into it, put more realness into it. Let it be more than just an action and adventure novel."

"How do you even sell that?" Dean blurted. If there was one thing he'd learned from working with Bobby, it was that you always had to remember who you were selling to and what they would want in a book.

"That's our job to worry about. More specifically, our sales and marketing teams. But trust me, people are tired of the same old characters in the same old situations. People want to be able to pick up books and see people like them doing more than just being different."

Dean frowned. He didn't quite get it, and he wasn't looking forward to completely rewriting a story he thought he'd had wrapped up.

Benny was keeping his face pleasant, but Dean could see a warning in his eyes. He belatedly realized that digging in and making Gabriel Shurley explain himself probably wasn't the tone he should have been striking here.

Gabriel tilted his head and gave Dean a sympathetic look. "Listen, I get it. We're asking a lot. But I told my team that I'd try, so here we are. I think what you have to ask yourself is whether you're happy just churning out wilderness thrillers for a certain type of person. Hey, you could make a career of it, and nobody would blame you." Gabriel shrugged. "I'm offering you a chance to write a different kind of book. If that interests you, have Benny here give me a call back."

Benny thanked Shurley for his time, and they all logged off. Dean's phone blared almost immediately, and he answered Benny's call before the word 'smoke' got out.

"Dean… That was some defensive crap you just pulled."

Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah… Yeah. That was weird."

"Well, now that that's over, I can tell you that they gave me some indicators ahead of time, and I also got Inferno's finals nailed down. The advance from Inferno is bigger, and they want minimal editing input. The catch is that they want an option on your future works. Elysium's advance is smaller, but the royalties are higher across the board. No restrictions on future work, although you know that I'd tell you to shop them with the last publisher first anyway, in most cases."

Dean tried to process it all, but his head just couldn't wrap around it when Gabriel Shurley's words were still playing on loop. "What do you think?"

"Well, you know me, Dean. I always say take the bigger money, which in this case is apt to be Inferno, unless this thing really sells with whatever audience Elysium is trying to spin it into."

"...I need some time to think."

"You got it, brother. Take a day or two, but don't let it go past the weekend."

"Thanks, Benny."

After hanging up, Dean looked around his silent house, out the front windows at the yard that stretched down to the empty road, and then down at his phone again. He pulled up his messaging app.

Hey, you got plans tonight?

Sam was free after work, so Dean made the drive to Topeka again, under the guise of officially celebrating his brother's last week before the transfer to Kansas City. He asked Sam to pick out his favorite restaurant, and after some coaxing, they ended up at some sort of organic bistro where Sam ordered a salad with more types of lettuce than any one bowl had a right to. Dean was able to get a chicken dish that didn't seem too weird; it was actually pretty good.

"So, what's going on, Dean?" Sam asked after they had been eating for several minutes.

"Like I said, just wanted to give you a send off. Figure next week you'll be too busy wrapping up loose ends and packing." He flashed Sam a closed-lip smile.

Sam's eyes narrowed, his lips quirked up, and then he shook his head. "No, there's something else."

The two of them had grown up together and neither one could really get something past the other, although Dean liked to think he had the better poker face. "Well, maybe I did want to get your take on something too," Dean admitted.

Sam raised his eyebrows and turned his head, inviting Dean to continue.

"So, turns out the book has two different offers on it."

"That's great! ...Right?"

"Yeah, just not sure about either of them. One, I get better money up front, but less percentage if sales earn out. Plus, the publisher wants first dibs on anything I write in the future." Dean twisted his mouth in distaste. Despite what Benny said, it felt like a big difference to him to have to give Inferno every new manuscript. "Second one, less money up front, so I only cash in if the book does well."

Sam nodded slowly. "What did Benny say?"

"Go for the better money." Dean shrugged, then shook his head.

"...But you don't want to give up your options on the next books?"

"Yeah… That, and the other editor wants to take the book in a different direction, different market. I do this second book in the same market as the first, I'm locking myself into that."

"You could always branch out later though, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean frowned down at his half-eaten chicken breast.

"Listen, end of the day, you gotta do what's right for you, Dean. Go with your gut." Sam put his hand on the table and looked down as he absently tapped his fingers on the surface. "If there's one thing I know, it's that sometimes, you can't logic your way out of a feeling."

Dean had a good idea what Sam was talking about; he thought about Ruby and all that she'd put Sam through. He nodded, and they sat in subdued silence for a moment.

"Guess I'll sleep on it," Dean said finally, just to get the conversation moving again.

"Give me a call… Any time." Sam gave Dean an insistent look.

If there was one thing Dean knew, it was that he was never going to call Sam during work hours. Still, he gave a noncommittal nod and tried to get back to eating. In the back of his head though, he was still hearing the voice of Gabriel Shurley.

...Are you happy just churning out wilderness thrillers…?

It kept echoing, through dinner, through the drive back to Olathe, through several restless hours in his bed, until Dean finally got up and walked through the dark house to the bay window. The moon was over three-quarters full, and the fields were sharp lines of shadow and silver light. He threw on his coat and boots and walked out the back door, following the mown path until he was surrounded on all sides by rustling grass and whirring, sluggish cricket song. The more staccato rattles of cicadas punctuated the droning every so often.

Dean stood in the cool air for a good long while, letting his thoughts circle around the sort of story he wanted to write, the sort of story he wanted to live. He thought of moments with Sam, his mother back in Lawrence, even his long dead father, juxtaposed them against every moment he'd spent alone, the good and the bad. Tried on possible futures, felt them out.

His hands were cold and slow to grasp the door handle by the time he had his answer. Dean crawled back into bed with determination, and this time, when he shut his eyes, sleep found him.