He seemed to have stopped the shaking in his hands. He clutched at the notecards that he held there. He would not need them. He could just read from the teleprompter. He worried that he would fumble or, worse yet, become emotional. He glanced at the woman at his side. A celebrity in her own way. Her hair was cut into a bouncy bob. The red tresses fluttered about as she turned to him. She reached up to his cheek. "You ready, Dean?"

He looked out at the crowd that was just colors and blinding light and said, "No, but I guess that hardly matters." The music stirred up and they strode out to the front of the stage arm in arm. He focused his thoughts on unimportant things, the sound of her grey dress rustling with each step, the sound of clicking cameras, the slowly diminishing volume of the orchestra. When they had asked him to present, he had agreed without much thought. He hadn't asked what they wanted him to present. He hadn't cared. It would just be part of the job. It would be him promoting the latest film. Later they dropped him from presenting the best actress category and added him to this. He could have said no. He could have said that something came up and skipped the whole thing, but it felt wrong somehow. So here he was.

They stopped at the podium. It was clear glass, so no hiding would be accomplished here. The lights kept everything in abstract. He knew that the usual suspects were seated below. He had heard the requisite jokes about all of them. It was 1986 and the jokes felt like they could have been tossed out at the crowd a decade ago to the same effect. He shuffled his cards, then realized that he needed to shuffle them back into the right order. The orchestra became quiet. Charlie reached over and took his hand in hers. He looked at her then out to the crowd that was just colors and silence. He swallowed back the first word that the teleprompter told him to say. It slowed in its upward crawl of letters. Someone must have realized that he needed a moment. Then Charlie spoke instead.

She repurposed the opener to his speech to fit her, and he stood there at her side just listening to it. They were his words, words he had practiced over and over until he could do it without incident. It was easy enough when he was at home, but apparently he lost some of his skill now in front of the crowd. He felt her coming to the end of the introduction then. He felt her hand squeeze his. The lights dropped them all into darkness. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear. "Will you be able to do the second half?"

He squeezed her hand back and gave her a nod. He tuned it all out, the noise of the video, the music that accompanied it. He did not look back at it as he had been instructed to do during rehearsals. He knew even then that it would not happen that way. Time passed and also seemed to linger. He pushed his nerves into a tight box in his stomach. He let himself glance out over the crowd, not at their faces, but instead just over their heads. He did not want to see who was there, who was not. Their anonymity allowed him to have an imagination. Imagination allowed him an escape. He needed that more than anything now.

When the lights came up, he spoke. He delivered the speech of his lifetime. It was as he had planned it, minus the introduction. The silence that fell at the end was heavy. He let his eyes focus on the crowd a little. They stood and clapped. It was loud and long. He felt Charlie release his hand to run her arm around his waist in a sideways hug. They would be in the papers tomorrow. Hollywood's power couple. He could picture this moment covering the newsstands of every grocery store. He would have to avoid them. He wouldn't be able to handle it. They left the stage like this, her arm around him, his arm draped over her shoulder. The orchestra kicked up to play them off.

The night had been long and filled with parties. They went. They were obligated to do so. Actually, he was obligated, and Charlie was just kind. There were the questions at every stop, what are you wearing, when will we have a wedding, how do you feel about losing the best actor win? He never expected a win, so that question was not as harsh as it had sounded to Charlie. The other questions had canned answers, easily delivered. Charlie answered the what are you wearing question for them both with the word clothes. This always garnered a laugh. The wedding question was also played off with humor, each one taking turns with the canned jokes that they had developed for these occasions.

She was his publicist and his manager. He had known her since nearly the beginning. She had become more than that though. She was family. Their relationship was one of the few stable, constant, things in his life. He cherished her. She seemed to feel the same. They lived in the same house. Frequented the various shindigs that celebrities fell into. Most articles referred to her as his partner. Most articles referred to her, at the very least, as a romantic interest. She seemed to enjoy their attentions and played them up whenever she got the chance. Dean enjoyed her antics. He enjoyed them so much that he often went along with them. Tonight the antics were a distraction. They were a comfort and he would need them.

The first party had plenty of alcohol. He consumed much of it. She helped him navigate the seas of people and press. "Don't drink anymore. I won't be able to get you to the car. Plus, you gotta pace yourself. We have three more of these."

"I got this. I can hold way more." He smiled down at her.

"No, you can't. Now ease up." She gave him the sad puppy eyes that he couldn't refuse. "Please, for me."

"Okay." He plopped a quick kiss down on her forehead and noticed that a journalist had snapped a shot of it. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Always for the cameras, huh?"

"Don't you know it." She smiled back at him as he said it. They made the rounds and left for the next party.

By the third stop, Dean was barely keeping himself upright. He leaned against the bar and gave the bartender a wave. "What can I get you?"

"Water." The bartender scooped some ice into a tumbler and splashed some water into it. "Thanks." Dean chugged down the liquid, hoping for a little sobriety or at least less of a hangover tomorrow. A man in a suit sat at the bar near him. He had a camera and a cup of coffee. "Long night." Dean decided to engage him in conversation. Charlie had gone off to God knows where. Might as well be sociable.

"You don't say." His voice was a New Orlean's drawl. He had a day's growth of stubble framing his angular cheekbones. His eyes were blue. There was too much familiarity in that color. Dean looked away and took a sip of his water. "Hitting the hard stuff, huh?"

Dean looked back at the man. "Yeah, I need to wash away the drinks from earlier." He reached over to the man. "I'm Dean."

He took Dean's hand, "I'm Benny." Dean shook his hand then sat down.

"What brings you to this party? You a producer?" He did not recognize Benny from any films, so he had to assume.

"Nah, I'm a journalist. I came looking for a story. Took some videos and photos. Got some pithy quotes. Been a good night."

"Ah." Dean started to stand up. A journalist. That's the last thing that I need.

Benny reached out and stopped his progress. "Sorry, I put you off by being a journalist, huh?"

"I just don't want to be quoted tomorrow. I am pretty much done for the night." Dean gave Benny's hand on his arm a pointed look.

"Look, I'm off the clock now. You enjoy your hardcore drink there and I promise not to quote you on anything." Dean felt his legs wobble a bit. He had consumed too much to be walking around. He sat again.

"Fine."

If he had known how things were going to go, he would have braved the walking anyway. Since he didn't, he stayed at that bar for over an hour. The next morning, he couldn't remember a thing that he had shared with Benny.

He lived in the desert, kind of. It was Riverside County, which hardly had a name that said cacti and sand, but it was a desert region none the less. He didn't want to live in L.A. He didn't want to live in the Hollywood Hills. So, when he chose his home, he picked one that was just a little removed from the hustle and bustle of his working life. Something about the arid landscapes appealed to him. The way that it never got too cold, the way that it was quiet, the way that it was unappealing to certain people, made this the ideal place for him.

He rarely had to entertain this far from L.A. which was a bonus. He rarely had someone just drop in unexpectedly. He could hold a certain level of expectations out here with just Charlie for companionship now. It was easy, somewhat. Dean rolled out of bed and stumbled over to his chair with the grey robe draped over the back. He had tossed it there the night before. He felt the pressure in the back of his head, a headache was building.

He made his way downstairs to the breakfast that he was sure, was already there. They would eat in the sun room. They always ate in the sunroom. Charlie was seated at the little round table, back to the window. They should rename the sunroom in the winter. They should call it the grey room or something. He thought this as he stepped over to the window and peered down at the wet desert landscape. The sky was solid grey drowning out what sunlight it could. It had rained the night before as they were driven home. He remembered that. He remembered Charlie worrying that the driveway would be washed out and that they might not be able to pass.

"How is the driveway this morning?"

"Still there, for now." She smiled at him. "How's your head?"

Dean took a seat across from her. "Could be worse." He looked at her newspaper, spread open in front of her. "We make the papers?"

"Yep. They liked my dress. They also liked your speech, a lot." She set the paper aside and looked at Dean.

"Hmm." He scooped up some eggs from the central serving dish on the table. Charlie picked up a wedge of toast and began spreading jam on it. They went through the motions. "They say anything about the next film?" He wanted to avoid talking about the speech. He was more than ready to pretend that it had never happened.

"Some speculation. There seems to be some theory out there that you are going to make a sequel. I'll try to squash that one."

"No more action. No more sequels. I'm too old for that shit, Charlie."

"I know." She got up then and came over to him. She pressed a chaste little kiss on his forehead. "You did great last night. I'm proud of you, Dean." She ran her hand up his arm and ended with a little squeeze of affection.

"Thanks, Charlie. I couldn't have done it without you." He hoped that she saw his sincerity behind the look. "Do we have anything on the agenda today?"

"Not sure yet. I got a call from a reporter that wants to do an interview. He sounded intriguing, but I will need to do a little research first. I don't know his work all that well compared to the usual suspects."

"What made him stand out?"

"He wants to do a life story kind of deal. He isn't interested in just the gossip column dribble. He seemed to want a more compelling story." Charlie took a bite of her toast and washed it down with some coffee.

"I don't know if I can do a whole life story interview. I'd have to make up too much stuff." Dean gulped down some coffee too and considered all of the tall tales that had become part of the Dean Winchester canon. The backstory, the melancholy childhood, the losses, all of it carefully crafted from tiny truths into something just intriguing enough to keep the public's interest.

"Maybe you don't. Maybe this time, you tell the truth." She folded her hands in front of her and watched for his reaction.

"You know that I won't be doing that."

"I know. This is why I haven't scheduled anything with him yet." She walked over to the buffet table that stood along the far wall. It held the coffee and juices. She refilled her mug and Dean's then returned to the table. "I don't know why, but I think that he would do a good interview. The brief chat that I had with him seemed…" She paused, searching for words. "warm, inviting. I liked him."

"Hmm." Dean sipped at the coffee. "I trust you. Set it up if you think that it will help. I'm all for diving back into something. I need a project, a distraction. The sooner you get me set, the better."

"You sure that you don't need a little down time? I mean, it might help." She looked at him with concern.

"I've had enough down time. I've had a year of down time. I need to be doing something with myself. I'm ready for something." He was frustrated just thinking about all of the nothing that he was doing.

"Then I think that I will set it up. Maybe we can do this later in the week. Think about how you want to frame yourself. If it is going to just be more of the tall tale stuff, you might want to review the notes. You don't want to have to do damage control like we did after the Denver interview."

"I hear ya." He scooped up the last bite of eggs and stood from the table. "I think that I'll get on that now. Lord knows that thing is like a novel now." The notes that they had constructed over the years contained a detailed life story of Dean Winchester. It was almost entirely fabricated. He went to school in Kansas, true, but he didn't go to the prom with a girl named Rhoda Hurley. In fact Rhoda didn't exist. So many searches had been done on her that she should have existed. Some of his classmates, attention seekers, even claimed that they knew her. She was a transfer student that didn't make it into the yearbook. He even had a whole too bad she transferred again schpeel that made him look like a jilted lover. Everyone swooned and felt for him when he told that part of the tale.

He had other tales too. His mother was a saint that died when he was a child. His father was a saint that died when he was an adult. He hardly remembered his mom, so sainthood did not seem unfair for her. He did know his father though, and he hardly qualified as a saint. But he's dead now, so who cares. He did have a brother that could dispute everything if he so chose. Sam never piped up though. He let Dean spin his yarns. He laughed about some of them when they were alone, but mostly he just ignored them. That was just how Sam was. It was his way of being supportive.

Dean made his way up to his room and pulled out the notes. They were weighty and not his favorite reading materials. He carried them over to the window seat and began reading. It wasn't long though, before his thoughts drifted away from the notes and onto the past. He stared out into the grey world beyond his window. He caught hints of desert mountains in the distance. The rain was coming down harder now. The driveway would be a mess. He would likely not do the interview until the storm let up. Out here they did not last long. There were torrential rains, then the sun would break through and bake away the evidence. He could wait until then. Maybe then he would want to tell a better tale. A true tale. He looked down at the notes curled up in his hand and felt like that, for the first time, might be preferable.

The week passed and each day there was still rain. He thought that it would pass quickly. It was doing nothing for his mood. He had considered flying off somewhere, Mazatlan maybe. Nah, too many memories there. Dean and Charlie went through the usual motions. Meals were eaten together. Then there were errands into town. He was handed scripts. He read them and tossed them. He hadn't found the one that spoke to him yet. He reread his notes and prepared for his interview. No confirmation had been made until quite late in the week. Charlie told him via a note left at the breakfast table that she had headed out of the country for a few weeks. It would be quiet in the house without her. It was quiet with her, but that hardly was the same.

He got dressed and went through the motions of being alone. He felt it pressing on him from the walls decorated in paintings by artists that he didn't even know. He felt it pressing on him from the magazines on the table staring at him with his eyes. He felt it most especially when he laid down at night in the dark and had started leaving a light on just to drive away the demons. He took to drinking too, just at night. It wasn't much, but it was enough to numb him.

He dressed and made his way down to the breakfast that was likely waiting for him. His personal chef was neither seen nor heard, but boy did he cook. He had a housekeeper too that would take care of the other necessities. She took most of her direction from Charlie. They were both discreet and loyal to a fault. This was why he was surprised to find the sunroom occupied when he entered it.

"Excuse me. Who are you? Who let you in?" He stalked over to the table, a thin worry filled him as he made his way over. The face was familiar though.

The man stood from the table, where he had been helping himself to half of Dean's breakfast. "Sorry, I was told to make myself at home. They said that you would come down when you were ready, and that I shouldn't be concerned about how long it took." He made his way around the table to Dean and held out his hand to shake. "We met before. I'm Benny Lafitte."

Dean remembered him now from the last party. He didn't remember much else. Why is he here? "Nice seeing you again. Who let you in?"

"Oh, your housekeeper." He stepped back from Dean then and glanced over at the table. Dean motioned for the seat and the two of them sat across from each other.

"Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you here?" Dean started scooping up food for his plate.

"Charlie didn't tell you that I would be here?" Benny looked concerned.

"Uh, no."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I totally thought that this was all a go. I think that maybe I should just come back another day, when you are ready. I'm really sorry." Benny got up then.

Dean caught his arm and nodded back at the seat. "You might as well finish breakfast and tell me what this is about." Benny sat back down.

"I'm supposed to interview you." Dean rolled up his eyebrow and then got up to retrieve some coffee.

"Charlie may have mentioned the interview." He huffed out a sigh as he poured the coffee. "She didn't mention you by name though. I'm sorry about the confusion."

Benny let out a sigh then too. "God, I feel a little better then. I thought, great I just completely misunderstood the whole arrangement." Benny had a comfortable tone. It was warm and Dean felt drawn in by it. Maybe everyone from New Orleans had that effect."So, do you think that you'll want to do the interview today? I was thinking that we could do some preliminary stuff today and maybe the rest could happen later. Of course, I'm fine with whatever you want."

Dean took his coffee over to the window and looked down at the canyon below. There was small river forming in the crevice. It was flowing rapidly past his line of sight. Normally, it was dry there, cracked and empty. The rain, though, had changed that. The driveway would likely wash out today. He would need to be mindful of it so that Benny would not get trapped here. He returned to the table. Benny sat quietly waiting for Dean's response. Dean sat down again and looked at him. He saw something in him that seemed sincere. "Today works for me." The commitment was made. There was no backing out now.

Dean let Benny set up his cameras in the library. There was a well-lit corner that seemed like it would be good for the interview. There was a pair of chairs separated by a coffee table. Just beyond the chairs was a tall, floor-to-ceiling window. There were golden curtains framing it with green tie-backs. They gave the room and old world feel as if they had been dropped into a Renaissance palace. Dean shifted about in the seat as Benny adjusted the cameras. He planned to film continuously from multiple cameras, and then he would edit the footage together at the end. Dean didn't question it; he just accepted it.

He walked over to the window and looked down at the driveway. It was holding on against the rain. "We need to make sure to check on the driveway every now and then. I don't want you to get stuck here."

"I'm not too worried." Benny was fiddling with the last camera. "I've started filming now. Just so you know."

Great, now with the predictable questions: When are you and Charlie getting married? When are you making the sequel to the Righteous Man? He could almost do the interview himself. He waited for the inevitable, but was surprised by the question that came first. Benny didn't wait for him to sit down, and he didn't wait to finish with the camera that he was working on. He just threw out a question.

"So, how did you meet Cas Novak?"

Dean reached up and gripped the side of the window frame. It was stable. It would keep him from sinking. Why would he start with that question? Nobody started like this. Instead of answering, he responded, "That's a funny way to start. Did Charlie put you up to that?"

Benny looked up then with a raised brow. "No, I just...It felt like a place to begin. Your speech was moving. I think that people would want to know more." Once again, Dean thought that Benny looked sincere, so he accepted his words at face value.

"Sorry, it was just unexpected. I tend to get the same types of questions at each of these little interviews."

"I can imagine. If it helps, I could ask you the usual questions first to put you at ease." Benny smiled over at him. Dean walked over to the seat and considered his options.

"I would rather not, if that is okay with you." He smiled back, and like that some of his barriers fell away.

"So, then would it be okay if I asked you to tell me about how you first met Cas Novak?"

"That seems reasonable." Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and calmed his breathing. He had to decide pretty quickly which narrative path he was going to take.

"So, most stories that I have heard, said that you two first met on the set of Righteous Man. Is that right, and what was that like?"

Dean smiled as he began his answer. It was a wry smile that seemed a little insincere. He looked out past Benny to the window. The rain was picking up. He could feel his heartbeat drumming hard in his chest. He wondered if the mic would pick up the noise of it. He returned his gaze to Benny and laughed a small laugh. "Now that is a funny story."

The set of the film Righteous Man was humid to say the least. They were knee deep in sludge that the crew had made that morning for a fight sequence. Mazatlan was going to be hot today. It was already hot. Dean gripped the railing of the riser that lined the sludge. It had a platform attached to it that the cameraman would utilize during filming. They were waiting on Dean's co-star, Cole Trenton. He was a too full of himself dick, Dean thought. He could put up with him though. He had put up with worse. He was starting to get irritated though. The longer they had to wait for Cole, the longer Dean had to spend in the sludge. It was not pleasant.

This was going to be their first scene together, and if this was how it would all begin, he was not looking forward to the next four months together. He heard the shouting first. "You fucking ass. You think that this is cheap, flying your ass out here? You think you can just dictate whatever the hell you want?" Zachariah was storming after Cole. Cole seemed like he was not concerned. He just kept walking. Zachariah was supposed to be directing the scene. He normally had a calmness that bordered on being a little creepy. Now he just looked unhinged. "You think that you'll do this, and there will be no consequences don't you? Well, screw you, Cole. I will see to it that you never get a gig again." He was shouting at him. Cole finally turned around.

"Do what you want. I never wanted to be here anyway. My agent made it happen, and frankly I'm done. You go find someone else to take the part. The movie is shit anyway. I quit." Cole was calm. His words though, set Zachariah off again.

Dean turned to the stunt man that was waiting near the edge of the sludge, and reached out a hand. "Might as well pull me out. Looks like we won't be filming this scene today." The man was going to cover the stunts for Cole. He didn't quite look like Cole though. He had longer hair that was a little wild, a deep brown. He had a similar build though, muscular arms and a six foot tall body. His face was angular and stubbled. He had deep blue eyes that caught the light in an amiable way. He reached down to Dean and gripped his arm with one hand and his opposite hand with the other. "God, this stuff reeks like hell. Thanks man."

"No problem." But before the man had fully pulled Dean out, he lost his footing and they both fell back into the mess.

"Damn it. God. Sorry, man. Shit." Dean was apologizing through a mouthful of the gunk that splashed up into his face. The guy that was rather neat and tidy before was more of a mess now than Dean had been. His hair was plastered back with mud and his face was a splattered canvas of browns. The guy tried to trudge to the edge to pull himself out. It was slow going and awkward. Dean started laughing.

"You sound sorry."

"I am. It's just…" He laughed again and tried to stifle it. The man was holding his arms up out of the muck in a slight chicken posture. "Well, you kind of look ridiculous. Sorry."

"Your sincerity is astounding." He scrambled up out of the muck and turned back to Dean. He huffed out a sigh and reached back down to him.

"Seriously, you are helping me again? This can't end well." Dean smirked and the mud on his face crumbled off a little.

"Well, I can't get any messier. Come on." Dean grabbed his hand and the man reached down with his other hand and pulled him up more successfully this time. They didn't know that they had an audience. Zachariah was watching them. He stomped over.

"Why are you getting out of the sludge?"

Dean was confused. He glanced past Zachariah to the guy that had just helped him out then back. "Seemed like we wouldn't be filming today. Looked like you had lost one of your principles."

"I always have a back-up plan. Next time wait until I give you the all clear." He stormed off then and called back, "My set, my rules. Play your part."

Dean shrugged then and turned to the man that had helped him out, "My name's Dean by the way." He held out a hand to shake; it was covered in mud.

"Cas, Cas Novak." He took Dean's hand in his and the mud squished between their fingers. That was how they met. That was how it began.

Benny was smiling at the story. Dean spun a good tale. He had not told this story before. No one ever really asked. No one was ever really concerned with how he had met Cas. They had been in a few films together, and most just accepted that they met on that first film set without caring about the details. Benny picked up a glass of water from off of the table and took a sip.

"So, you were friends from the start?" Benny set the glass back down and watched Dean's reaction.

"I don't know if I would say that. I think that he tolerated me. I may have been a little annoying. Frankly, I was completely annoying. I don't know why he put up with me." Dean smiled again with the memory. "It was lucky that I met him then. He got me through some tough times."

"What do you mean?" Benny's question was quiet, inviting confidence.

Dean looked at him for a moment, gauging him. His response sounded calculated. "Everyone needs a friend when life turns dark. Cas was that for me. I haven't always been the happy guy that you see here today. Just ask Charlie." He smiled. He felt himself dropping into the canned lines. The notes that he had read the night before shuffled up to the forefront of his mind.

Benny shifted in his seat. He seemed to grow uneasy. "If you need a break for a bit, I can shut off the cameras."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Why do you think that I need a break?"

"I've got a pretty good sense of you Dean. I've watched your interviews, the ones for the rags and the fluff pieces. I'm not sure what I did to push you into that space, but you certainly went there. The story you told before, was not like that." He waited. Dean didn't respond. The cameras still rolled. "So, like I said, I can shut them off if you need to take a break."

"Maybe for just a bit." Dean got up and stalked out of the room. He heard Benny getting up to shut off the cameras as he slipped out the door into the hall.

He walked to the kitchen and asked the chef for a snack. A little tray of sandwiches materialized moments later. He helped himself to the beers in the fridge, hoping that he wasn't being rude by stretching out his time away from the interview. He didn't want to go back yet. He was actually thinking of calling it done when he heard a noise behind him. Benny had walked into the kitchen. "You hungry?" Dean asked.

"Not terribly, but if you are, I can join you." They took the tray of sandwiches and the beers to the dining room and sat down to eat.

"Sorry about before." Dean tipped back the beer and then casually set it back on the table.

"You didn't do anything. I just don't think that you realized that I am not like the other people that have interviewed you. I wanted to set the record straight, so to speak." Benny picked up his beer and took a short pull from the bottle before setting it back down.

"I don't know much about you. What makes you so different?" Dean asked the question with genuine curiosity and that tone made the question acceptable.

"Well, I use to work for the New York Times, but things happened and that came to an end. When I got the gig at Rolling Stone, I'm afraid that I didn't lose my journalistic integrity. Only now, I have to apply my skills to music and movie stars. I get to have a little freedom in all of this too. I produce a written article for them and the video piece, I get to market elsewhere. I've had a decent number of pieces run on MTV. I've been lucky. Occasionally, I get to focus on something compelling, a real human interest piece." He looked steadily at Dean, and Dean could feel the gaze dipping into him a little. "When that happens, I feel like I have found my little slice of heaven."

"So, this here is you slumming it a little? Doing your time on the fluff interview until you can take on something more compelling?" Dean began munching on one of the sandwich wedges. Benny picked at the edge of another.

Benny popped a piece of bacon from one of the B.L.T.s into his mouth before answering. "I don't think that this interview will be a fluff piece unless you make it one. I hope that you won't. We've already heard you answer all of the usual questions about your relationship with Charlie, the films that shaped you, and the loss of your parents. I think that I want to give the audience something a bit more real."

"Are you saying that those stories weren't real?" Dean felt irritation rising into his throat. Although he knew that Benny was right, a lot was fabricated, Benny didn't have anyway of knowing it. Thus Dean was angry.

"You don't need to be upset. I'm just saying that I'm not here for a fluff piece. I'd like to see another side of you. Charlie said that you want to get away from the action films. She said that you were hoping for a solid dramatic role. You even said so much at the party the other night. This interview could help you gain the kind of notice that leads to those roles." Benny stopped then and seemed to assess the effect of his words on Dean.

"I don't like being called a liar." Dean graveled out.

"I don't think that I ever did that." Benny replied, quiet and soothing.

"Hmm. Sure sounded like it."

"I said that I wanted to hear something more real. There's a difference."

"I don't see how."

"Well, even a true story, once it has been told too many times, tends to become something strange, something more like a caricature of its original self. In the many celebrity interviews that I have done, I have noticed that the common tales that they tell, feel false. They aren't lies or anything like that, but they feel like it. The best stories, the ones people really want to hear, are the fresh stories. The ones that haven't been shined up with spit and polish to create an image. The real stories that come from the heart, or the gut, depending on where you store your soul." Benny smiled a little wry grin across the table.

Dean leaned back in the seat. "I don't know if I have many of those kinds of stories."

"I think that you do, but that no one has bothered to ask you for them in some time." Benny leaned in and rested his arms on the table. "Mind if I ask you about Zachariah?"

"That ass? Ask away." Dean huffed out a near snort and looked off at the far wall behind Benny. There was a large mirror there with a gilt frame. It was gaudy. Charlie had convinced Dean that it would be a good purchase for the dining room. It would capture the lights nicely. She had said. It did, but he still didn't like it. He wasn't much of a fan of mirrors. He didn't like seeing himself. His reflection stared back at him. He was carefully put together today. His hair neatly arranged into the slightly slicked back golden brown spikes. The grey that had just started showing up a couple of years ago, was colored out. He could see the lines forming at his eyes even at this distance. All the age, on display. His facial hair seemed intent on growing rapidly today. He had shaved in the morning, but he could already see the shadow of it gracing the plains of his jawline.

"So, Zachariah was a tough director to work for, if the rumors are true."

"That's an understatement." Dean returned the gaze.

"You worked on a couple of other films before working with him." It was a statement; everyone knew Dean's film history.

He responded anyway. "Yeah, I had a soap opera that I was on before. That was during my adorable teenager phase. I did some modeling. You know. My first manager did alright by me. He got me a part in this indie film. It was called The Hunter. It did well overseas. I remember doing a press junket over in Japan, and whoa that, now that was wholly unexpected. I mean, I couldn't even leave my room without a body guard. Back home, I was like practically a nobody. Over there, though, I was all kinds of famous, like overnight."

"So, what made you leave your original manager?"

"Oh, he didn't really know what to do with me. We just got lucky landing The Hunter. He was kind of looking to get out of the whole thing. He retired after I left. Luckily, I met Charlie, and she changed the course of my life." Dean sounded wistful.

Benny didn't follow that path though. "So, this all took you down a path that landed you on the Righteous Man set?" Dean nodded and Benny continued. "What's always gotten me was, given Zachariah's reputation, why did he decide to pull in an unknown commodity for a starring role? I mean, he already took a calculated risk when he put you in the role opposite Cole Trenton, but to replace Cole with Cas, seemed like it should have been suicide."

"It should have been, and he'll take all the credit for making Cas into a star. He had nothing to do with it though. Cas did that himself." Dean shifted about in the seat and added, "You see Zachariah was in a bit of a bind after Cole walked off the set. I mean, one day he was full on invested in this thing, the next minute, he is hating the whole industry. Never did find out what happened with him. You know, like, why the sudden shift. Regardless, though, he left so late in the game that Zachariah was going to have to fly home for a new round of auditions or he was going to have to resort to more desperate measures. As it stood, he chose to give himself a couple of days to figure it out. Turned out that that was all the time that was needed for me to see potential in Cas Novak." Dean noticed that Benny had pulled out his notepad and jotted down a few things.

"Sorry, it's just that I want to remember the stories that you tell. A few notes will remind me of the details later."

"Would it help if we went back to the library before I launch into another story?"

"It would. If you don't mind. If you are more comfortable here though, I can take notes just as effectively." Benny's lip curled up a little into a slight grin and his pen stayed poised over the notepad.

Dean got up, snagging a last sandwich wedge to toss into his mouth. "No prob." He mumbled around the mouthful. Benny got up and followed him out and back to the library.

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AN: So I got a little plot bunny stuck in my head. Here is the first part of it. I know exactly where it is going. I just need to type up the rest of it. Hope you all like it. I posted some of it on Tumblr, and I have to admit that I didn't really go back over this for editing purposes. Hopefully, there is nothing too grave here. I just needed to put it out there.