To Dean, heading east always seemed like heading toward civilization. Sure, there were plenty of cities out west too... but everything shrunk down and condensed the farther east you drove from the Rockies. Instead of vast stretches of plains and fields, pretty soon you were hemmed in by houses and yards. The landscape became busier, the developed areas more frequent. Yards got smaller, disappeared. The press of people became palpable.

He got off the interstates and tried to keep on the scenic byways for at least half of each day, but the final leg into the sprawl of New York City just about made him turn around and gun it back west. Dean forced himself to drive more slowly and patiently in the city traffic, trying not to feel claustrophobic about constantly having a box of vehicles around him. Baby was pretty enough that people seemed to understand why he was inching her around, and although every stereotype of city drivers told him he'd be getting sworn at and possibly fistfighting, a few people even let him change lanes with only annoyed hand waves. Still, by the time he reached the hotel and got her safely in a garage, he figured his blood pressure was a few ticks away from 'aneurysm'. Benny was right; he should have agreed to take a train like last time.

To de-stress, he allowed himself a rare night of indulgence. After unpacking and shaking out his nicer clothes onto hangers, he ordered a room service dinner and ate steak tips in bed in front of the television. He ended up watching a double feature of the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still (not terrible) and the remake of War of the Worlds (better). He thought for sure he'd spend the night tossing and turning, but three days on the road and the horrors of New York traffic apparently caught up with him because he was out a few minutes after turning in.

Dean awoke early, before it was truly morning outside his window, and spent a few minutes brewing coffee on the miniature coffee machine the room offered, gazing out over a cityscape already alive with lights and cars. It was a view so foreign that he might as well have been in a science fiction movie. He amused himself by drawing parallels to the Badlands and the Grand Canyon, imagining the roadways as winding rivers through which the passage of cars had slowly worn down the landscape of buildings to create deep chasms. It would be difficult terrain to navigate except by following the riverbeds, finding the occasional patch of green that indicated safer stopping points.

The coffee turned out to be pretty good, so he started making a second tiny pot while he organized himself for the day. His dress shirt and slacks still looked a bit wrinkled, but he found an iron helpfully hanging on the wall inside the closet and made a meditation out of smoothing the fabric and setting creases in the right spots. If it were up to Dean, he would have been in jeans and a flannel shirt, but his agent and his brother both seemed to agree that it was time to take the rustic image down a notch. He'd drawn the line at a jacket. He and Sam had compromised on a good quality heather green button down and charcoal gray slacks. Dean didn't dare put them on until it was almost time for Benny to pick him up. After tying the black dress shoes he'd brought, he ran his hands through his hair one last time and eyed himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt exposed without his ever-present leather jacket and brimmed hat. His reflection was a stranger. Deep breath in; deep breath out.

He met Benny down in the lobby—how many months…? Years? Had it been since they'd been face to face—and followed him out to the car hired to bring them over to Elysium. They were about the same height, although Benny was a little broader, and Dean easily kept pace with him. Benny was in his signature tieless black suit today, with a bright hunter green shirt open slightly at the collar. Dean privately thought the razor-edged, closely trimmed beard and goatee made him look like a sharply dressed movie villain, but if he were being honest, that was part of the reason he liked Benny. All southern charm or sharp edges, depending what was necessary at the time.

After they were in the car and heading over, Benny glanced across the back seat. "You ready, brother?"

It was slow going in morning traffic; Dean wondered if they could have walked there faster. "Ready as I can be, I guess… Any notes for today?"

"…Be nice."

"Nice," Dean mocked. "I'm always nice."

Benny tilted his head, stretching his neck. "Hmm, me too." Then, he turned back to Dean and smiled one of those shark smiles he saved for contract negotiations.

Dean sighed. "All right. I'll try not to get on Gabriel Shurley's nerves again… but I ain't promising nothing." He purposely played up his accent a bit at the end, making Benny's grin slide into something more genuine. Dean spent the rest of the ride people watching as their car crept through Manhattan traffic. A colorful array of inhabitants migrated along the dingy streets, not seeming to see a thing around them, eyes on some distant destination. It was like nobody in New York could agree what the weather was like—he spotted everything from tank tops, shorts, and sandals to a full arctic puffer jacket and knit hat. From his seat in the car, hemmed in by tall buildings along every avenue, he could barely catch a glimpse of the gray sky above them.

Elysium House was inside a bland stack of offices that seemed to take up an entire block. They took the elevator up to the fifth floor, where a set of frosted glass doors were emblazoned with the Elysium logo—an orange sunburst rising over a green hill with blue waves along the left shore. The older woman manning the front desk passed them off to a younger assistant with dark terracotta skin in a black pencil skirt and blue blazer, who she introduced as Indu. Dean tried one of his friendly smiles, but Indu just raised her eyebrows in a harried fashion and directed them to follow her to another set of elevators down the hall. She walked him and Benny up to a conference room on Floor 8. Inside, Gabriel Shurley waited with an older woman, skin the color of cream with an impressive mane of red curls that fell almost to her waist.

"Rowena MacLeod." She held out a hand, as if to shake, but when Dean reached forward, she lifted his hand in hers and held it. "I'll be sales lead on your project. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Winchester." Her accent sounded Scottish to Dean. Brown, cat-lined eyes flicked downward and back up in a slow perusal before she loosened her grip on his fingers.

"Dean's just fine, ma'am." He felt himself flush as he reclaimed his hand, slipping into 'aw, shucks' mode like a bad habit.

"Then 'Rowena' it is!" She gave him a playful smile and batted her eyes.

"While we're on the topic, let's go with 'Gabriel' for me too," Shurley cut in. Dean tensed up at the glance—almost a glare, actually—sent his way before Gabriel met Rowena's gaze and something unreadable passed between them. Gabriel motioned to the table, sweeping the uneasy exchange aside, returning his face to the business mask Dean recognized from their first video conference. "Rowena and I would like to take you through our revised sales plan…"

This wasn't Dean's favorite part of the publishing meetings—honestly, no meetings were his favorite—so he sat back and let Benny take the lead for the most part, following along. Watching his agent's face out of the corner of his eye, it seemed like the changes were all good news. When the Elysium team wrapped up their presentation and took a break, he stepped aside with Benny to digest.

"They can't do much about the budget at this point, but they're upgrading where they can," Benny told him. "Trade paperback release, full cover redesign, up front spot in the sales materials sent out to reps and bookstores… You're still going to have to do the platform work, and a lot of it."

"Why the changes?" Dean asked, resisting the urge to grab some free coffee from their single-serve pod machine. He was getting jittery enough about meeting the rest of the team—namely Castiel Novak. He'd tried to keep his mind off it all week, but with it looming in the immediate future, it was becoming all but impossible.

"Guess you impressed them." Benny's smile this time was softer, but it reached his eyes.

Dean turned his head as Gabriel opened the door to the conference room, stepping aside to allow Rowena to enter.

"So, I think we're wrapped up with the business end of things," Gabriel said when they had crossed the room. "I'll get someone to take you down to marketing to meet the rest of the team, and the remainder of the day will be coordinating with Dean for platform ramp up. Benny, you're welcome to stay or go. I'm sure Rowena can answer any followup questions you may have."

Benny shook his head. "If anything comes up, I'll give you a call, but the plan looks good to me." He glanced at Dean. "Do you want me to stick around?"

Dean figured Benny had other clients and didn't need to sit through a bunch of social media discussions. "Naw, I'll touch base with you later, give you the rundown."

"Excellent," Rowena cooed, surprisingly gleeful. "I wouldn't want to miss this little team meeting for the world." Dean caught the way Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Rowena; she simply smiled brightly in return and spun to lead the way out of the conference room. "Come along, then, let's get the introductions going…"

Dean gave Benny a final nod and then let Rowena lead him back to the elevators. They went down two floors and made their way along a hallway where one side was all windows halfway up, showing a bustling, open floor filled with computer workstations beyond.

The instant Rowena stopped in front of a door labeled 'Conference Room M2', Dean's stomach flipped, and he had to remind himself of the pressed clothes he was wearing—that he looked almost respectable that day, that he looked like a writer. Rowena opened the door, stepped through and then to one side, and Dean followed, taking in the burnt orange wall paint and the three people gathered around the conference room table who had turned to regard him with interest.

Sitting closest to the door, there was a petite, pale young woman in funky clothes with red hair to her shoulders; she bobbed her head like a bird and flashed him a tentative smile. Along the far wall, an even younger Asian man in a baggy dove-colored shirt with short black hair and shadowed eyes examined Dean warily, mouth expressionless. The man beyond Rowena on the left was older, dressed like an office professional with a blue patterned tie. This, Dean realized, had to be Castiel Novak.

For a moment, Dean's imaginary version of Castiel clashed with the real thing. Bobby had said Castiel was younger than Gabriel, but Dean still hadn't been prepared for a man nearly the same age as he was. Castiel's well-defined brow and jawline conformed to Dean's caricature, but his skin was smooth and barely lined, the washed out beige of someone who spent little time out under the sun. His dark hair, cut short, swirled in irregular waves, giving it an untameable quality. He had a prominent straight nose, a full mouth, and a tiny cleft on his chin that broke up the round contours of his face. It was his eyes, however—their intense and hopeful gaze—that captured Dean's attention and caused attraction to flutter up below his sternum.

Castiel was staring, not at all hiding his curiosity, and Dean couldn't look away. He kept waiting for Castiel to say something, complete the transition from phone calls to physical presence, but Castiel seemed to be struck speechless. After a few more seconds, Dean felt his cheeks warm. The look Castiel was giving him was… well, if this were a bar, Dean would have stopped surfing, offered to buy him a beer.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught the motion of the younger redhead raising her eyebrows, and he broke himself free from the stalemate, inhaling and ducking his head to glance over at Rowena. She was watching him with a teasing smile that would have made him flush beet red if he hadn't firmly shoved his embarrassment down and locked his expression into neutral. Even so, she raised an eyebrow at him before lazily turning back to everyone at the table.

"May I introduce our author, Mr. Dean Winchester." She waved a hand in a flourish toward him. "Dean, this is Charlie Bradbury, marketing lead specializing in social media…"

The young woman at the table nodded her head, giving him a cheerful wave.

"…Kevin Tran, who will be taking your manuscript through copyediting once you've completed the initial content edits…"

Kevin bowed his head solemnly.

"…and, of course, Castiel Novak, who you've spent a great deal of time speaking with over the last few months."

Castiel did speak then, husky voice rumbling up from his broad chest. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Dean."

Oh. Dean's breathing went shallow, and his clothes suddenly felt too tight. Or maybe that was his lungs. He spent a moment schooling his expression again, only able to acknowledge Castiel with a nod. That was going to be trouble.

His eyes turned to Rowena again, prompting her to move on, but she just met his look with a wide-eyed prompt of her own. Dean would have sworn she was enjoying watching him flounder around. He cleared his throat, turning back to the table and focusing on Charlie instead. "Glad to be here… Looking forward to working with you."

Rowena stayed for a bit after they were seated, going over the timeline for continuing the manuscript edits while having Dean begin the platform ramp up. That would lead into the start of Elysium's own marketing and publicity, with Charlie coordinating and acting as liaison. The team appeared to be well acquainted; they were constantly exchanging glances that Dean struggled to interpret. Kevin was a closed book, his face moving between thoughtful and neutral; Rowena seemed to be in a constant state of mild amusement. Every time he dared to venture a glance at Castiel, he found the other man staring at him. Up close, his eyes were deep blue. Dean was increasingly grateful for Charlie, with her 'I’m not antisocial, I’m just busy reading' t-shirt and friendly, effusive demeanor. She filled in the awkward silences, kept the group attention from constantly settling on Dean. Unlike the rest of the group, her every thought flashed across her face in microexpressions, something Dean found reassuring.

"Well, I'll just leave you with these two for a while," Rowena said finally, sweeping her hands out to Charlie and Castiel. "Castiel, I trust you can manage the schedule until our end of day group meeting?"

Castiel nodded, and Rowena and Kevin made their exits, Kevin giving Dean a last hard look on his way out. What was with that? Quiet fell, and Castiel and Charlie both turned to look at Dean. He shifted a bit in his seat.

"So… what's on the agenda?" he asked, clamping his hand onto his thigh as he tried to quell the urge to pull at his shirt collar.

Charlie perked up. "Oh! Sooo much stuff. I have some great ideas for your Facebook feed, and you really need to get your Instagram going more with all the photos you post. And we need to do some practicing with live stream, because you totally have the presence for it…"

"I believe we have some photos scheduled for one o'clock," Castiel reminded her.

"Right, for the print marketing. So, let's see…"

The morning slipped by before Dean knew it. Charlie bounced from one topic to another, rambling about social media algorithms one minute and her favorite Star Wars actors the next. She and Dean fell down rabbit holes discussing best scifi book-to-movie adaptations—she thought The Martian, but Dean was firmly in camp Blade Runner—and the biggest renaissance faires in the U.S.—Texas, apparently, although Dean had only ever been to the one in Kansas City. He was pretty sure he'd been bulldozed into saying he'd go to one in Minnesota next fall.

Charlie demanded they all order in for lunch, dragging Kevin, Castiel, and Dean to a table in the marketing lunch room. They drew inquisitive stares from the other denizens, most of them looking more like hipster interns than serious publishing house staff. Kevin, Dean discovered over lunch, had a personality that was fifty percent sarcasm and thirty percent deadpan one-liners. There had to be another twenty percent something hidden under there; he and Charlie got along easily enough, where Dean wouldn't have thought it possible. Castiel hovered on the periphery, a constant, distracting presence. He resisted Charlie's attempts to get him engaged in their discussions, only occasionally throwing in an errant fact or correction in his forthright fashion. Mostly, he seemed to be studying Dean. At first, Dean felt self-conscious, glancing away or ducking his head, but as the day went on, he realized Castiel didn't seem to be judging him or demanding anything. A few times, Dean saw him regarding Charlie or Kevin in very much the same way for a moment. Castiel Novak just seemed to be… intensely focused, for lack of a better description. When he gave something his attention, that meant one hundred percent.

Dean felt disappointed when Castiel left him in Charlie's hands that afternoon; he found himself wishing he could have had a one-on-one meeting with the editor, explored their rapport in real life. The next few hours were a blur of activity though, leaving little time for reflection. He was put through posing for photos, lessons on planning and taking short videos, suggestions for engaging more viewers and getting comments and reactions. He found himself exchanging numbers with Charlie and taking down tasks to complete over the next few weeks online. It was massively different from his first book, where he'd had to do most of the publicity himself with minimal guidance. Between her and Benny, Dean thought he'd probably have a social media empire by next year.

Returning to the big, quiet conference room up on the eighth floor was a relief. This time, the entire team was around the table, sans his agent, and Dean was struck by the strange mix of people, from business power players Gabriel and Rowena, to work-a-day Castiel, to young Charlie and Kevin. No, it wasn't just the range of people… it was the dynamic at the table too. Meetings like this with Bobby had typically been a bunch of managers in suits and sometimes their underlings in business attire, with a very clear separation in roles. Here, they all seemed to trade off taking the lead on different topics. Dean didn't see a lot of deferential behavior to the senior employees, and Gabriel, who had struck Dean as a 'boss man' type in their solo conferences, sat back and listened, face occasionally slipping into something more subtle and revealing, until everyone had said their piece.

"Okay," Gabriel chimed in when it was clearly time to wrap up, "everyone knows what they're going to be doing on this project. Dean, Benny should keep you in the loop on the final release schedule." He paused, examining Dean's face. "The manuscript is good… This could be really big. But we've got to get the sales and marketing right. It's not as simple as playing to a niche or two now. We're going for a bestseller."

Dean felt a thrill run over him, like spotting an animal he'd been tracking for days. He'd never thought for a moment that something of his might ever get that high profile. He swallowed. "I'll do my part; just point me in the right direction."

"We got this," Charlie affirmed. "Go, Team We're Here and We're Queer!"

Queer? Dean turned to her in shock, mind spinning for a moment, wondering how she possibly could have guessed that after a few hours.

Noticing his look, Charlie amended, "Uh, and honorary members Rowena and Dean," her face collapsing into an apologetic grimace.

Only him and Rowena? That meant… Dean scanned the table.

Maybe it was the way Charlie and Kevin looked absolutely the same, no big deal. Or how Castiel's eyes were on him, clearly watching to see how he reacted. Or Gabriel's silent, challenging stare, almost daring Dean to respond badly. "Um… no honorary needed. For me," he mumbled, nerves keying up as he realized what he was doing. Across the table, Charlie blinked and tilted her head, eyebrows pinched. "Uh, I'm bisexual," he clarified.

There was dead silence for a moment, and Dean felt himself start to sweat. He flashed back to a similar moment in Mary Winchester's carpeted living room, the shock and dismay that had flitted across her face.

"Well then, I suppose I'm still the token ally," Rowena sighed dramatically. Charlie grinned, and the tension broke.

"Are you out?" Gabriel demanded, looking thoughtful.

"Uh, not officially, no… My family knows, but wasn't really a good reason to do the public thing." And a bunch of reasons not to, Dean thought to himself.

Gabriel seemed almost annoyed."You should be." Rowena shot him a look of disapproval, which he returned with an imperious glare that made her raise an eyebrow.

"No one has to be." Castiel spoke with more force that he had all day, drawing everyone's attention. "That decision belongs to Dean, and we all know the importance of that here."

There were scattered nods, and glancing at his cousin, Gabriel's eyes softened. "You're absolutely right… but Dean, I would like you to consider it."

"Now, this is in no way meant to put any pressure on you," Rowena ventured, doing her best to look kind, "but if you would like to before the book release, it should be done sooner rather than later. Too close to the release date, and it will look like some sort of publicity stunt."

"That is the opposite of 'no pressure', Rowena," Castiel growled. Next to him, Kevin failed to suppress an amused smirk.

"Unfortunately… she's right," Charlie claimed. "People are really cynical about stuff like that. Of course, it doesn't mean you can't make the announce later, just that if we're going to do an official thing, it would have to wait a while after the book is published."

Castiel's unhappy glare wasn't directed at her, but at the table. Dean knew that feeling.

"I'll think about it… try to make a decision in the next couple of weeks," he told them and meant it.

The table lapsed into quiet, and then Charlie spoke again. "Well, since we're sorta on the topic, and you already went first…" She raised a hand. "Lesbian." Her green eyes turned to Kevin hesitantly.

He nodded in agreement before absentmindedly eyeing his hands. "Aro ace."

Castiel's eyes darted to Dean before returning to the table. "Gay asexual."

"Cishet ally." Rowena tilted her head almost apologetically.

"Pan through and through," Gabriel declared, completing the round. When he turned to Dean, his eyes held a glimmer of mirth. "Probably not the way you saw today's meeting ending…"

Dean shrugged, giving the table a wry smile. "I try not to think that far ahead." It was weird, but sitting around with Castiel and a bunch of virtual strangers, just having outed himself, he felt… okay. Was this what 'safe space' felt like?

His one regret, as they reached the close of the meeting, was that the schedule hadn't managed to include a talk with Castiel. The other man agreed to walk him down to the lobby, and after Charlie and Kevin got off at their respective floors, Dean and Castiel had a moment to themselves in the elevator. Castiel turned to Dean almost immediately after the doors closed. Dean brought up his head and shifted so they were facing one another head on for the first time.

"Dean, this should go without saying, but coming out is a big decision. I hope you will make the choice that's right for you. Ignore Gabriel, and Rowena, and even Charlie, who is very well meaning but possibly a bit overly optimistic—I just don't want you to feel pressured."

The wide open, earnest look on Castiel's face made Dean chuckle, look away. That and the traitorous tingle that buzzed across his nerves as the other man addressed him directly. Jesus, Winchester, get a grip. "Cas, I'm not some teenager who's going to give in to a bit of peer pressure. It's… I'll be sure."

Castiel's mouth slanted, and his brow furrowed slightly, creating tiny creases over sloped eyebrows. If he'd tilted his head more, he would have looked like a confused puppy. The elevator chimed and opened on the Elysium's main floor, and Castiel sighed and turned to exit. Dean trailed after, his steps sluggish. Soon, his manuscript would get passed off to Kevin, and there would be no more reason for him and Castiel to be in contact. The thought made his stomach lurch.

"Uh, hey… " He rubbed the hair at the nape of his neck out of habit, then dropped his hand into his pocket to stop fidgeting. Castiel turned and raised his eyebrows in expectation. Dean swallowed. "It's been really great having you as an editor," he drawled. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but at the last second, he second guessed himself. This was a professional relationship, after all. He shouldn't get clingy about it.

Castiel nodded, looking around the lobby. Then, he abruptly focused on Dean again, blue eyes holding his face. "I know there won't be much more editing for me to do… but feel free to keep in touch, Dean."

The words were a lifeline; something in Dean's chest eased. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, you too."

He left Elysium House feeling light one moment and panicked the next, his mood shifting over and over as the hired car returned him to his hotel. He hoped he could be what these people thought he could be… The only thing he felt sure of, at that moment, was that it was going to be a long, pensive drive back to Kansas.

Dean thought through three days of driving and two more days at home before Sam noticed something was amiss and started giving him the side eye, like he was going to open an investigation or something.

"What's up?" his brother asked for the third time that day. Each time he tried to put more 'subtle' emphasis on it, throwing Dean the soulful eyes routine.

"Uh… making a salad, Sam." Dean kept slicing radishes, enjoying the way Sam sighed audibly. "Gotta eat healthy…"

Sam leaned next to him on the counter, looking into the bowl he was filling. "You know, in the old days, you would have called this 'rabbit food' and teased me about growing ears… "

Dean smirked, recalling the bucktooth face he used to pull, wiggling his nose from side to side at Sam. He hadn't made a single salad in this house before Sam moved in.

Sam continued when Dean didn't respond. "Sometimes, I think of you like you were back when we were in school, but… you're different now. I mean, half the time, I'm not even sure what you're thinking. Like old you, I would have known, but now… Dean, you can talk to me. You know that, right? We're not kids any more, and you don't have to keep trying to… I don't know, protect me, or whatever."

Dean snorted. "Geez, Sam, I'm not dying or anything. Just got some stuff on my mind."

"Like what?"

Dean tipped his head, considering. He'd have to tell Sam anyway, might as well be now. "…When I was in New York last week, I talked to the publisher about being bisexual. They want me to come out publicly."

Sam inhaled sharply, held it for a second before releasing. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Dean pushed the batch of vegetables onto his chef's knife to slide them into the salad bowl. "I'm gonna do it." He checked Sam's face and saw his brother's eyebrows shoot up for an instant before Sam firmly clamped them down.

"Whatever you want, this is your decision. …You've thought this through? You're sure?"

Dean frowned, knowing whatever he got from Sam, he'd be getting ten times that when their mother found out. But there were reasons. He tried to explain. "...The last time I was in jail overnight, oh, about ten years ago now, remember how I got there?"

Sam's face dropped into a grim frown. "…Bar fight, right?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Wanna know what the fight was about?" He kept his eyes on slicing bell peppers into strips. "I overheard these guys at the table behind me… laughing about how they beat up some guy in town they thought was gay. Jumped him when he was walking down the road." The rage rose up in him again just remembering that night, they way one of them had cackled after describing how he kicked the guy in the face. Dean stopped moving the knife, looked over at Sam. His brother was staring in quiet horror. "You remember Derek Hill?" he asked.

Sam blinked at the topic change, then looked up in thought. "Yeah… he was a year below you, right? Baseball team?"

"Until junior year. Then a rumor got around that he was gay. Some of the guys harassed him so bad he quit." Dean swallowed. "A few years back, he committed suicide—read about it in the paper. …That next week was when I came out to you and Mom." The bell pepper lay on the board, still half whole, but he set the knife down flat, rested his hands on the edge of the counter. "You know, I knew what I was by then, in high school… I never said shit to him… but I never defended him either. Never offered him a word. Just kept my head down, let those bastards bully him…"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Dean, you were just a kid…"

Dean leaned forward, then tilted his head so he could look up at Sam. "There's kids out there now, Sammy. The world may be different, but it ain't that different—and it won't be, unless people stand up and make it. Way I see it, I owe a debt."

"Dean…" Sam's eyes were getting shiny, and Dean blinked, looked away at the wall.

"My mind's made up, Sam. I ain't seventeen and scared anymore. High time I manned up and took on some of the work for a change." Sam's hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him. When he looked back, Sam was nodding down at the countertop.

"All right," Sam choked out, giving his shoulder another pat. "I got your back."

Dean cleared his throat, picked back up the chef's knife. "All right." He sliced the pepper and started working on a cucumber. Sam stepped away to check the pot of rice on the stove. "Oh, had one more thing on my mind," Dean added.

Sam turned in disbelief. "…Yeah?"

"Yeah. My next book. Thinking about having the main character be an FBI agent." He raised his eyebrows at Sam. "Got myself a good real world fact checker."

Sam laughed. "Do you now? You gonna pay him?"

"Maybe, Sammy… Maybe." Dean grinned and glanced at the salad before motioning his knife at it. "I hear he likes plenty of green."

Sam groaned and threw a potholder at him. Dean let it bounce harmlessly off his shoulder, snickering. You had to take your fun where you could get it.