Authors Note: I know it's been hella long since I've updated. I've been contemplating future career paths and struggling with turning in work on time like 3 essays that can affect if I graduate or not. Usual teenage things :,p

Walls riddled with rows upon rows of novels and paperbacks. Tables pilled with encyclopedias catching dust. Any empty crevasse was filled with any sort of publication that the Winchester brothers could get their hands on. As avid readers, the Winchester brothers would often isolate themselves inside their house and read for hours on end. Sam preferred to read classic literature from Edgar Allan Poe and memoirs whereas Dean read the more from biographies and mainstream books. And the occasional comic book here and there. The two would mingle and experiment with different genres on occasion.

After Chinese takeout lunch, they hopped into their black Impala and drove to their favorite bookstore across town. The exterior was rustic looking, but polished. The small store was nestled between a show store on the left and prosperous pizza joint on the right, a place the Winchester brothers would dine at once in a while. To their luck, a driver of a red Mustang had just exited from a parking space that the brothers were more than happy to take. In between two large windows as a small, narrow path that led to an open wooden door. The soft sound of classical played throughout the bookshop. From the fluid expression of the piano, it sounded as if it were a piece from Chopin. Around the store were children playing with larger than life stuffed safari animals and young adults reading magazines on benches. An elderly couple browsed a non fiction section of the towering book of shelves. The light emitting down at the store made it seem as though it were a library worthy of heaven. As they were mesmerized by the store, both men were greeted by the cashier, Charlie.

A flaming redhead with an appetite for the fantasy realm, she's a best friend to the Winchester brothers. With her moms medical bills pilling up, she took up the offer of a part time job at the bookstore while being a game designer in her free time. The Winchesters pitch in every now and then with the bills, giving them the gratitude of a friend and VIP access to upcoming books not sold in most stores yet. Unlike most people, Charlie accepts the grown men's obsession for books, being an obsessive person herself. Her favorites include The Hobbit and Harry Potter series.

"Hey Charlie," Sam greeted. "Did you get new buttons?"

It was more than obvious that she had gotten more. She had hoarded pins of nearly all the characters from various fantasy books in the left and right side of her blue work vest. A thin grin was the reply. She pulled out a book from under the counter and handed it to the long haired man. "East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Delivered this morning."

Sam's eyes lit up. "Thanks Charlie." He smiled. "I've been dying to read this book. Your the best."

Carlie gave the I know right look. Sam walked away from the register and nestled himself in a bright red beanbag chair near a table filled with hand shaped bookmarks and heavily decorated journals. His favored spot.

"And for you," she dragged as she reached back under the counter, "A brand new book up for grabs." She had pulled out a hardcover novel and handed it to the brunette.

Dean hesitated. An unusual aspect for someone who loves books more than himself. When asked what seemed to be the problem, Dean explained, "The last time you recommended a book to me threw me and my brother in a state of depression."

"It was a popular book! How was I supposed to know it would have led to pedophilia and sparkly vampires?"

Dean shrugged. He couldn't fathom how horrendous the book was. Sure it had its good points, but the series crumbled with every new book. A weeks worth of reading was wasted on the series. As he flipped through the pages with his thumb, he asked, "What kind of books does he write?"

"So far he's only written about the supernatural. I haven't read any of his books yet, but I heard they were really good. And it's legit cuz my girlfriend read it and told me."

Dean glared at her and brought his eyes back to the smooth cover. The title, Supernatural, has been typed in lettering similar to that of chalk on pavement. The background was a pearly white cover. Two unusual markings were intertwined with one another under the title. A black, flame like shaped ring surrounded a five tipped star. Simple, but original, just like how Dean favored covers. He believed that covers with a myriad of objects make the book feel unorganized. He opened the book to chapter one and skimmed the first page.

It felt like a dish that had just come out the oven, waiting to be engulfed and devoured. Dean had taken a bite and wanted more of the delicious entree. The book promised a refined, crisp aroma. A piece of literature with a beginning as captivating and pristine as that should be read more thoroughly. He walked toward his brother and sat next to a blue beanbag chair on Sam's left. For the next hour, he had been completely engaged with the book. Even with all the rambunctious atmosphere of squealing children, Deans attention never once drifted away from the needle sharp letters. He didn't even notice his brother heading toward on other section of the store.

The novel depicted the story of two brothers who had been born with the family curse to hunt monsters and demons. The travel across the states in pursuit of any supernatural occurrence that threatened individuals and could throw off the balance between Heaven and Hell. The reader sympathized with the older brother. Dean had grown to respect the character for being able to take care of supernatural beings while caring for his younger brother. Dean hoped he would only relate to the character personality wise. Dealing with demons and angels sound like too much of a hassle. Both physically and emotionally.

"Holy shit," he muttered after he closed the book. "I have to read the sequel." He rushed back to a startled Charlie and demanded for the second book.

"Sorry Dean, but he just published that book last month," she explained. "There's no telling if he'll make another book or not."

That comment shot through his heart. How could he be left with an ending as suspenseful and invigorating as that? How will the angels restore their wings? What happened to the brothers father? What'll happen to the older brother when he finds out that his brother in the Purgatory?

He whistled for his brother as a sign of their departure. Sam strolled around the corner of the health food section with an armful of cookbooks, novels and biographies. Sam checked out his items first.

Before Dean was able to checking out, the redhead add, "If your interested, he'll be doing a signing next Tuesday at 2. "

Deans face lit up. A chance to meet the fine creator of such a novel shouldn't be missed. Dean thanked Charlie for the information and dragged his brothers sleeve back to the car.

Once they got home, Dean had read the book again. And again. And again.

Dean read his book for what seemed the hundredth time. And with each conclusion, he would stare aimlessly at the authors portrait. A clean shaven man with his combed, jet black hair swept to the side. His fist gently rested on his cheek next to a toothy smile. He wondered what color the black and grey film was covering up. He predicted his eyes to be similar to the forest depicted in Novak's book. Vividly green with an explosion of deep brown. Or maybe even a honey brown color similar to the drinks the other brother in the novel is so fond of. The amber light from his table side lamp helped his eyes navigate the finely printed words of the short biography of the author under his portrait. Apparently, Mr. Novak enjoys watching movies, taking walks at parks and spending time with his cats. Every night, Dean would fall asleep with the book covering his face. And every morning, he would find the book resting on the table. He wondered if his brother had something to do with that.

A chill cloaked Deans body, even though spring had begun. He didn't mind at all. The long line had intimidated the anxious reader. If it hadn't been for the heavy traffic, he would have had his signature by now. Dean looked out of place in the line of youthful women of all shapes and sizes. In front of him stood a group of young women dressed in long, perky dresses with patterns of flowers and birds. They would often glance back at him. A 6ft man in a black hoodie with thick, rimmed glasses and a book clutched to his chest seemed odd. Dean had contemplated for nearly an hour on what to wear to the event. In the end, Sam had assisted him, telling the nervous man to go with simple clothing. Though he feared that he had gone too simple for a man as cultured as Mr. Novak.

The wait was anguish for Dean. His hear ran through a copious amount of scenarios in which he would introduce himself to the author. Should he start start with a handshake and a simple how do you do? What if he doesn't like physical contact? Maybe he's a haphephobic! In that case he might instead talk about the weather. But that's such a banal topic. Maybe he could talk about the underestimated combination of reading while listening to Smoke On The Water. Without realization, he had a few more steps in front of him. Three more people to go before he got his chance. His heart felt like it would crush under the pressure in his chest and sweat beads formed on his forehead. His trembling hands clenched on the book, a way he would have hoped to ease his stress. Two more to go. His Adams able bobbed up and down with every gulp. His knees felt like they were about to give in at any moment. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Should he just run out of the line and head to the Impala? One more.

The picture wasn't remotely close in capturing the authors aspects. His raven hair made in a way as though he had just woken up from bed. A dusting of facial hair covered his chin and cheeks. His jawline looked soft, yet firm at the same time. He had worn a white collared shirt with a loosely knotted blue tie. Dean had made eye contact with the author for what only seemed like a second, but it was enough for his nerves to melt onto the wooden floor. He was mesmerized by the deep sapphire eyes imprinted in his iris's. His eyes were beyond what he had imagined. It was a familiar color to him. Like the cool morning sky after hours of being consumed in darkness. Or similar to the ocean. Endless possibilities hidden in those eyes. The ends of his pink lips curled to a slight smile. Dean felt his throat clenching to the words he wanted to say. He took a raspy breath, and muttered, "Hello."

"Hello," he responded. His voice relaxed and deep. A gravelly tone was implanted in it. But a with soothing sensation.

Dean couldn't find any word to say. His mind was as blank as a white page an author would leave after the conclusion of a book. He could feel his face hotter than humanly possible as he stuttered to scoured for a single word in his head.

"Are you alright?" The author asked, growing concerned for the sweaty man.

Dean was tripping on his own words. His lips fumbled to keep up the thoughts and words he had wanted to speak.

"Pardon?"

"I... I think your books are marvelous," he blurted out. The words left his mouth as if on their own. The more he spoke, the more he was able to articulate to the man. "The way you were able to depict the brothers in times of distress while being able to deeply care for each other is astonishing. Truly tantalizing. Unlike the other authors, you've clearly shown it in a way where it was easy to understand, yet it wasn't bluntly out there. Like a well organized symphony. And the character development is purely orgasmic and the plot is incredible."

Did he just say orgasmic?

While Dean tried to recover from the slip of his tongue, the author had curled into himself. The back of his hand had covered his mouth as he emitted breathy laughs. Small dots of tears formed on the corners of his eyes, which he had wiped away with his index finger after pulling himself together.

"I don't believe I recall a time where I've heard that type of commentary," he giggled. "It's unique."

"I just stating the truth." He had hoped someone would come out from the crown and tape his mouth shut to prevent him from speaking such nonsense. But seeing how lively the man sitting in front of him looked soothed him. It reassured him that there's nothing wrong with speaking how he truly felt toward him. "A-And I hope to read more of your works, Mr. Novak." To have finally said those words relieved the tension felt in Deans body. Even more when he heard the soft giggling of the blue eyed man.

"You know. I wasn't planning on writing the second book until much, much later. But you've changed my mind on the matter," he stated.

Dean couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Really?" He asked. Mr. Novak nodded. He had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation. This was probably another scenario he had conjured up in his mind and he was still lying asleep in bed. Dean asked the woman behind him to pinch his arm, which she did. That was when he realized he couldn't possibly be asleep.

"I must say. I've never met anyone as as you," he said. "Tell me. What's your name?"

Deans mind went blank for a moment. Then he blurted his name in a stutter, louder than usual. He could sense that the man was taking a likening to his tremulousness. The author extended his arm and asked for the book Dean is clutched to his chest. The blame man handed him the book. The short brush of their fingers sent a shiver down Deans spine. Dean watched in awe as Mr. Novak delicately forged his signature under the title of the book on the first page. The author paused for a moment, gazed up at the spectacled man, averted his eyes back down and continued to write, a close lipped smile plastered on his face the entire time. Deans lips trembled to a smile as Mr. Novak handed him the book. It felt as though his left shoulder had dragged his body away from the bearded man. He thanked Castiel as he walked away from him, nearly bumping into the frustrated woman behind him. Dean hurried out of the store and dashed toward his car at the end of the street.

He opened the door to the drivers seat, closed the door as he entered and slammed his forehead to the top of the steering wheel. A short scream emitted from his clenched mouth. He began to experience the full throttle of embarrassment. How could he have let himself be overwhelmed by shyness and awkwardness? This was his only chance to meet the man who had and he blew it. He took the distress hard, cussing at himself and slamming his head repeatedly on the wheel. He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. But at least he got what wanted. He looked at the cover with much more ease than before. Even with having Novak's signature and meeting him face to face, Dean felt that it wasn't enough to satisfy him. He wondered why he didn't feel the joy that the women exiting the bookstore have engraved in their faces. He felt like there could have been more between them. Something beyond the confines of a trilogy. He sighed as he slammed his erubescent forehead with the book.

He opened the book after taking some relieving breaths. He looked down at his newly signed signature in his book. His face felt as hot as how and his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe what he had just read. He was in such disbelief that he even went as far as to fog his glasses and clean them. A large, trembling smile formed as he re-read the sentences. In bright blue, cursive letters, the author wrote:

Dean Winchester

Thank you for your support

-Castiel Novak

If you are free tonight we should grab a bite to eat and chat. Call me.

913-XXX-XXXX