Dean still felt bad about having to send Hanna home, but he would figure out how to make it up to her. It would be a careful balancing act, he knew, but he would figure it out. First he had to find out if there was anything to balance after all. After sending Hanna back through the floo, he gave himself a couple minutes to collect his thoughts, though they were still scattered. He made his way up to his office and poured a shallow glass of whiskey while he wrote himself a note to send flowers to Hanna in the morning, something colorful, though he hadn't any idea what blooms to send specifically. That was what the florist was for. A card seemed too risky, but he'd send an owl later in the day to reschedule their plans, if she still wanted to. He downed the whiskey in one sip and felt the booze running through is veins.

After settling that with a to-do list on his desk, feeling marginally better about having a plan of action, Dean finally made his way back downstairs to face the floo. This felt like a bit of a risk, having a conversation of this magnitude at the Dempsey estate where there were an awful lot of people around, but it felt like his only option. There felt like a time limit on whatever it was Don Juan had to say to him and Dean wasn't about to let it pass without finding out.

It had been almost twenty minutes since Don Juan had left and Dean worried he'd waited too long, but the few minutes to gather himself had been necessary. He grabbed a pinch of powder from the mantle, reaching for his overcoat as an afterthought before stepping into the flames and announcing his destination. He stepped out of the green flames on the other side, into the sitting room he'd only been a couple of times, already feeling out of place. Determined not to let it show, he straightened his shoulders and brushed the soot from his sleeves. For a lack of anything meaningful to say, he led with, "Sorry, had to square away a couple things." Mostly get his brain to function again, but he didn't need to admit that much.