Dean Winchester could be a real dick sometimes. He knew that, and he could live with it. Sam liked to tell him that it was a defense mechanism (to which Dean simply informed his dear younger brother exactly where he could shove all that psychology bullshit), and if Dean was in a particularly introspective mood, he could admit to himself that Sam was probably right.

That didn't mean that he was going to change, of course. It just meant that if he was slightly more of a dickhead toward the weirdly attractive Castiel… Well, he knew why at least.

Almost as soon as Castiel had revealed himself in the elevator, the damn thing had stopped with a cheerful ding! and the dark haired man had swept through the still-opening doors before Dean could come up with an actual response. And that's when Chuck started laughing so hard he lost his balance and ended up doubled over, clutching his sides and leaning against the wall of the elevator. Dean didn't think it was so funny.

He was embarrassed. Yeah, he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew he should have just kept his trap shut, but what was he supposed to do? Apologize? Ha! No, instead Dean Winchester did exactly what he did best: got snarky. And if his attitude was a little unwarranted, he wasn't going to think too hard on that.

"What the hell is this crap about having a panel?" Dean demanded, as soon as he could get his publisher on the phone. Sitting in the hotel's lounge—yeah, that was the kind of hotel it was; one with a lounge—next to Chuck, he didn't even bother to lower his voice. All the convention goers were slowly drifting in still, but the different events and activities would be starting soon. He needed this issue dealt with and fast.

There was an annoyed sigh and then Ellen snapped, "You might've known about it if you'd actually been taking my calls the last few weeks."

Dean grumbled something about trying to meet deadlines and then said, "And who the hell is Castiel?"

"Look Dean, I'm in the car on the way from the airport," Ellen told him, sounding distracted. "Can't this wait?"

"No!" Dean replied petulantly. "If I have to be on a goddamned panel with the guy—"

"He's an up and coming writer and we're considering taking him on," she informed him, her voice thoroughly annoyed. "So be nice because you might be seeing more of him."

Before he could respond, Ellen hung up on him, leaving Dean holding his cell phone awkwardly to his ear, listening to a dead line for a long moment.

"Awesome."

He turned to Chuck, who had been sitting next to him the entire time, typing away at his computer and trying to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping.

"Did you know about this?" Dean demanded, tossing his phone haphazardly into his own computer bag. Chuck was sipping at an expensive looking and obviously alcoholic something, continuing to look busy with whatever he was writing while Dean nursed a black coffee.

Chuck shot him a look and said, "I would've had to have heard the other side of that conversation to know what you're talking about."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Castiel. That guy in the elevator. Ellen's thinking about taking him onto Harvelle Publishing."

If the shocked look on Chuck's face was any indication, he was as surprised as Dean was. If Dean were for some reason still unsure, Chuck cemented his surprise by saying, "I didn't think Harvelle was going to be taking any new writers on for a while, not after the Ruby Incident."

As a whole, publishing houses don't really require much interaction among writers. Authors tend to be pretty solitary and all they need to do is send their work, talk to their editors. It doesn't require that much face time, if any at all. Unlike other publishers, Harvelle Publishing House was a family business. Ellen liked to keep her authors close—she made them go to events like this convention every once in a while, and even liked them to work on anthologies or short stories together. It was unusual, but Ellen was good at what she did. Her authors were bestsellers.

The problem was when her writers didn't get along. Ruby was, in Dean's opinion, a Satan-worshipping psycho bitch, and she didn't exactly have very many flattering things to say about Dean in return. The worst part about it was that she had gone and broken his brother's heart, nearly gotten Sam fired from his own job, and then refused to attend any events for Harvelle Publishing. That might not have been enough for Ellen to want to drop her, but leaving the sequel to what had been a pretty promising book undone for over a year? That was the final straw. Being a bitch was one thing—losing money for the publishing house? That was a whole other.

It wasn't terribly surprising then, that Ellen had made it clear that they wouldn't be taking on any new authors for a while.

"What the hell?" Dean finally said by way of response. "What'd the guy do—promise to marry Jo?"

That got a short bark of a laugh out of Chuck, before he fell suddenly silent.

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean looked up at Castiel, who he could swear had not been standing there a moment ago.

Dean cleared his throat, embarrassment at once again being caught in the middle of making a joke at the other man's expense—seriously, was this going to become a tradition or something?—making him at once flustered and rather annoyed.

"Yeah, that's me," he said shortly, wondering how he could end this conversation right there.

Castiel continued to loom over them, shifting awkwardly and only adding to the tension that was so tangible it had Chuck taking swigs from that disgusting looking drink he had (not, of course, that it was too hard to make Chuck speed up his perpetual slide into drunkenness).

"Uh. Well, I was thinking maybe we could discuss briefly…" he trailed off distractedly, probably because of the death glare Dean was shooting him. "…about the panel?"

He coughed and Dean wondered if the guy was going to be persistent, despite Dean's very obvious I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here look.

"What's there to discuss?" he snapped, probably more harshly than he should have. As it turned out though, Castiel apparently had more balls than had at first been apparent. Looking as if he had had enough of Dean's attitude, Castiel stood a little straighter and let out a breath, as if to expel any nervousness from before.

"I simply assumed that we were both knowledgeable professionals, perfectly capable of preparing for a panel in cooperation," he answered smoothly. "But perhaps a short discussion is out of your grasp, in which case I'll leave you to your coffee and your drinking friend here."

He nodded to Chuck tersely before turning on his heel and once again giving Dean a view of his backside as he sauntered angrily away. It was a long time before Dean remembered himself and shouted out an indignant, "Hey!" Castiel either didn't hear him, or very pointedly chose to ignore him because he continued walking without a backwards glance.

It didn't take much longer for Chuck to start laughing again, nor for Dean to make a decision. He was going to get back at Castiel if it was the only thing he managed to accomplish during this convention.

Decision made, Dean pulled his computer out of its bag and began jabbing at the keys harder than was necessary.

"I hate that guy."