Dean kept stripping down until it was just the dress shirt and pants, all tossed haphazardly in the nearby armchair. He flopped heavily onto the sofa, picking up his own whiskey. Unlike Dempsey, he took a deep, settling swig, letting the whiskey sit on his tongue for a moment. Trying to get his head on straight for whatever this conversation was going to be might be tougher than anticipated, but he was going to try.

"You are hardly difficult to keep track of." Dean barely contained the chuckle. He'd kept loose tabs on Don Juan over the years, but it had never been all that difficult, most of the time the information found him and he didn't even have to try. "What came of it?" Dean prompted, feeling like he was only getting a portion of the story. Dempsey didn't have to tell him, obviously, but Dean suspected he had to get something off his chest at the very least.