They arrived at the publisher's house at three in the afternoon, Dean having made a stop at the local Walmart in order to change into something more, as he said, 'professional'. Castiel allowed Dean to choose his clothing, ending in a plain black suit, white dress shirt and a blue tie that, no matter how hard the Angel tried, refused to go straight. For comfort purposes, he left the jacket unbuttoned as well as the topmost button on the shirt despite his lack of necessity to do so.

After exiting the car, Dean came along to his side so as to confer with him. The Angel had to admit, Dean 'cleaned up rather well'.

"All right, what's the plan?"

"We…tell her that she has published the work of a Profit and she will tell us where the Profit is."

"You serious?"

Dean silently beckoned him closer, first buttoning the shirt completely before continuing.

"You're gonna walk in there and tell her the truth?"

"Why not?"

The Righteous Man had moved onto his tie now, straightening the infernal thing with ease. It still managed to marvel Castiel exactly how much he had lost in Limbo, but he was grateful that he still had moments like this.

"Because we're humans-"

"De-"

"-basically and when we want something really, really badly – we lie."

His ensemble was corrected at last, mirroring the way Dean wore it himself, but Castiel still did not understand what he was trying to say.

"Why?"

"Because – that's how you become President."

The winged man began walking towards the building then, the black overcoat billowing behind him as Castiel sped his gait to keep pace.

Dean was surprised at how easy it was to convince the Publisher that they were journalists wanting to write an article about the book. She just rambled on and on about how brilliant it was and how amazing it was as she led them into her home office.

"All anyone wants to read anymore is that romance crap. Dr. Sexy, MD? C'mon, puh-lease. But who knows, maybe a good review might put the publishing back on track in time for the sequel."

"God, I hope not."

It slipped out of his mouth before he even realized he was saying it. Freezing when he saw the look the publisher shot him, he smiled sheepishly and thought quickly.

"I mean, it's such a standalone book; really a one hit wonder, you know?"

That seemed to appease the psychopath for the time being.

"The characters are so amazing, aren't they? So sad, strong and brave. The best parts are when they get hurt. Like in Chapter 15 when Dean has to give up the Djinn's perfect world to be with Castiel; or Chapter 28 when Castiel is crying for Dean as he starts feeling that severe pain from the bond they share."

Dean tensed at that, this instant being the first he had ever heard of it. Why hadn't Castiel told him when they were still separated in Limbo, before the wall fell and fucked everything up? Why had he never been told about this apparent 'bond' and how it somehow affected his friend? He didn't look at Castiel then, but he knew that this was something that he was going to talk to him about if it was the last thing he did.

"If only real men would go to such lengths for one another. How many real men are so loyal?"

"Real men?"

He was really starting to hate this entire situation. First Angels, then Demons and now Profits? He had not signed on for this. At least this weirdo had the decency to look slightly apologetic.

"No offence; how often do you kill yourself for someone you care about?"

Was she really gonna go there? Seriously?

"I'm dying on the inside right now."

Oh man, if looks could kill. Yeah, that was a lot funnier in his head.

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

Yup, his foot? Firmly planted in his mouth. She was sitting behind her desk now, her face incredulous as Dean tried to think of a way to dig himself out of the hole he had just buried himself in. Why wasn't Cass jumping in? Dude shouldn't even let him speak at the rate he was going.

"How do I know you're legit?"

"Oh, trust me – we are."

Yeah, that was totally convincing. Not sarcastic sounding at all.

"I don't want any smartass journalists badmouthing my boys."

Dean inwardly cringed; Really? Her boys? Then Castiel stepped forward, apparently coming to save the day.

"Test us. I assure you, we are fans of the highest caliber."

Castiel did not know where the idea stemmed from, simply that it caused waves of relief and gratitude to pour off Dean. Apparently he had done well. The woman appeared to weight the merit of the request for a moment before she replied.

"Alright, that sounds fair. What car does Father Christopher drive?"

Dean was faster with answering.

"1967 Chevy Impala."

The winged man seemed particularly proud of his answer as the woman nodded and then proceeded to pick up the speed with which she asked the questions.

"January 24th?"

"Dean's birthday."

"Day of the week they met?"

It was a simultaneous reply that ended in exchanged looks for what Castiel assumed was entirely different reasons.

"Thursday."

"What is the color of Castiel's true face?"

"Cosmic latte."

Castiel practically whispered the final answer, the words almost painful as he remembered the poetic way that Carver Edlund had described him and the fact that he would likely never return to that form again; not so long as he remained unwelcome among his siblings. He looked the publisher in the eyes then, watching as she judged their answers. Finally, she reached for a piece of paper and pen.

"His name is Chuck Shurley. He's a genius – don't piss him off."

"They approached the house with trepidation…"

Chuck went through his mental list of descriptive words before finding the best suited one.

"The ramshackle house…"

He still couldn't believe his brain was being so persistent about this. Sure, he'd tried to write himself out of the original draft…only to have another fit and find it not only rewritten but expanded upon. This whole thing was getting –

A loud knock on the door made him jump, only remembering in that instant that he hadn't shaved in weeks, still wearing the underclothes he had used as pajamas the night before. Oh well, maybe it would deter them. Walking to the door, he addressed whoever was on the other side as he unlatched the lock.

"Look, I don't –"

The men on the other side were huge, both easily six feet tall and wearing cheap suits. The taller one looked annoyed, his companion staring at Chuck like he could unlock the secrets of the universe.

"Uh…can I help you?"

Mr. Angry face was the first to respond.

"Yeah, my name's Dean, this is Castiel, and you've been writing about our life."

Oh God, not more of them. Without replying, he slammed the door in their faces and went to replace the lock only to have them knock more insistently. Pulling it cautiously open, he gulped as he noticed that the angry one only looked more annoyed now.

"Look, it's always great to meet fans, but I strongly suggest you guys get lives."

He went to close the door again, maybe call the police if they kept knocking, but 'Dean' is as fast as he looks when he grabs the door and shoves his way in.

"Hey, you can't-"

"Yeah, I can."

Oh man, he seemed a lot more menacing when he was in motion. Chuck silently hoped he wasn't shaking too violently.

"You see, we have lives – you've been publishing them to the world at large."

He was stumbling farther into his house, anything to put distance between himself and the rabid fan.

"I-Is this a misery thing? Did Frank set you-"

Oh, the other guy was in the house now. Oh God, please don't let this be it.

"Look, I'm just a starving author! The book is just fiction!"

Chuck is not proud of the noise he makes as, out of nowhere, 'Castiel' was grabbing him by the elbow and firmly leading him out the door.

"Hey, how did you – what are you – stop!"

The man was silent s he all but dragged him across the front lawn to a…Oh, these guys were dedicated.It was just like he imagined, the 1967 Chevy Impala that Father Christopher drove. Despite a little dirt, she was magnificent. Mr. Quiet wasn't just showing it to him, though; the man pulling him towards the trunk as Mr. Sour face hurriedly opened it.

"What are you –"

Then it was open and all at once Chuck was really sure that he was about to die. He had only ever seen an arsenal akin to theirs in action movies, but there was no way that all of those were props…was there?

"Are those…"

"Real?"

Finally the dark haired one spoke, his piercing blue eyes meeting his own smoky ones.

"Yes."

Then the other guy was talking, gesturing to each item within.

"Real guns, rock salt – Cass even had some journals and books in here."

"Look, this is really impressive, but you guys need help. It's not real, it's –"

Blondie slammed the trunk then, growling as he turned to face the terrified author. Chuck jumped at the noise, tried desperately to get farther away. Oh God, oh God –

"Please don't kill me!"

Did he say that out loud? Oh shit. He turned to run but Blue Eyes was there again – how was he moving so fast? – His hand on Chuck's arm as he lead him back into his home.

"No harm will come to you, Chuck Shurley."

Oh God, the gravel tones were not comforting. These guys were freaking pretty boys with the demeanors of hired mercenaries. He was really gonna die, wasn't he? The two lead him back to his house, pulling him in before resetting the latch. Then the other guy, Sir Pissed-A-Lot, was taking off his trench coat. Chuck kept his mouth shut as he struggled with it; seeming to have more trouble than any normal person should when removing an article of clothing. What was happening?!

Then it was off, huge pearl colored wings ruffling and stretching as the man groaned in relief. Chuck didn't know why his eyes were drawn to the holes in the suit where the man had clearly modified the suit for comfort, his brain not wanting to register the idea that these foreign appendages actually attached to the man somehow.

"Finally; today has really done a number on me."

Chuck didn't remember when, but he was on the floor and he had forgotten how to breathe. The dark haired guy – Castiel fucking Christopher – looked down at him, his eyes bearing amazement as he searched for something the author wasn't sure he possessed. Dean was smirking now, his wings fluttering lightly in amusement as he crossed his arms.

"Hi, my name is Dean Winchester and this is Castiel Christopher, former Angel of Thursday. You've been writing about our lives for a while now and we'd like to ask you a few questions."