Dean laughs and lifts a hand, but he lets his hair lay where it's fallen. "I was trying to look presentable," he says, "You know. Like a serious student," but he feels a bit easier now, less tense for his laughter.

And the truth is, most days he feels too comfortable getting my hands dirty. This feels like a step towards something cleaner, if Dean can just avoid fucking it all up.

"She, huh?" he murmurs, and looks down at his own sword. He doesn't know its name yet, but every so often he feels...something stupid, no doubt, and Dean shrugs it off. "Because you're a she?"