The letter had caught him on his way out the door. Dean was to attend a work function tonight and act as a translator at large around the room. He'd been specifically chosen for the evening and not going was really not an option.

He was going to be in a veritable heap of shit when he got back to the office next.

After hastily scribbling a note to a colleague, begging to take his place and to his boss about some made up emergency, Dean flooed to the given address, just remembering his overcoat an afterthought of the winter air. The handwriting was too familiar and he had nothing to go on, which wasn't good. Dean however, had a historically bad track record saying no to Dempsey. It set his teeth on edge and left a queasy feeling in his stomach and he would never have been able to get rid of it had he not gone.

The floo landed him in some unfamiliar pub, in Galway, he recognized the town at least. The map was terrible and he had to wonder just what state of mind it was he would find Don Juan in when he managed to decipher it. It took longer than anticipated, but by the edge of the lake, he hadn't quite expected to find Dempsey wedged into a tree, drinking his way through several bottles of liquor. "Dempsey?" He questioned, cursing his dress shoes on the rough terrain. If he'd known he was going on a scavenger hunt, he might have thought to change.