Dean pulled into the KAZS station parking lot in the dark of early morning, headlights cutting through the inky blue. His four hours of sleep were doing him no favors, and as he walked in he knew the station's space-age coffee maker would be the only ting keeping him alive this morning. 

If nothing else, waiting for the pressure boiler to heat up and espresso beans to grind gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. Only two more monthis til his contract was up, and he could renegotiate to move to dayside and maybe even get paid enough to move out of his brother's guest room. Only two more months and he could get to a market in the top 150 and get paid the same peanuts but get broadcast beyond northern Kansas and central Nebraska.

Grabbing his horrible coffee concoction from the driptray, he made his way to the bullpen to grab a rundown and bother whoever was in there. He brightened up seeing it was Cas, his favorite meteorologist.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said, leaning a bit too far into his space.

Cas didn't react. "Good morning, Dean. What does this sounding look like to you?"

Dean choked a little on his coffee. "Sounding?"

Cas sighed and turned around, rolling his big blue eyes. "It's when they send a balloon up and it measures air temperature and humidity."

Dean looked at the graph thing on Cas' computer. "It looks like a graph thing. And one of the lines goes up, and one of the lines zig-zags a lot?"

"That's what I was afraid of," Cas said. 

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

Cas pointed a long finger at one of the lines on the graph. "When the lines intersect, it means the atmosphere is unstable, and severe storms are more likely. The more unstable the atmosphere--"

"The more severe the storms," Dean interrupted.

Cas slumped a little. "Yeah."

"Has the National Weather Service said anything?" Dean asked.

"The Hastings office is monitoring it, but it's not even 6 a.m."

Dean looked at his watch. 5:47. Shit. "I gotta get on the desk. I trust your judgement though. Knock 'em dead."

With that, he gave Cas a rough pat on the shoulder and headed out to the studio. Billie, the floor manager, waved him over.

"You read the rundown yet?" She asked.

Dean glanced it over. In the A block, his rights were getting stripped away, in the B block a kid broke a fishing record with a Barbie fishing rod. At least in the C block he would get to improv banter with Cas before doing it all over again at 7 a.m.

"Remember to smile this time," Billie reminded him. 

Dean grimaced with all his teeth. "You got it." He walked backwards to take his place next to Jo behind the desk, clipped his lav mic to his blazer and put in his earpiece.

But the thing was, he could deliver all the vile news every morning with a smile. It was his job. Be careful not to alienate the geriatric ghouls who actually watch the 6 o'clock news, because it was his practiced neutrality or fuckin' Fox News. And as they came out of the B block into commercial, he didn't feel any more disillusioned than usual. And his favorite part of the morning was coming up: Cas. 

Dean could see him in the control room, sharing a heated discussion with Naomi the news director. However it ended, it meant Cas came into the studio in a mood. As he took his place in front of the chroma key, the reflected green light set his features into a sickly pallor.

Cas looked over at him. "Dean. As journalists, our job is to tell the truth, right? Even if it's inconvenient?"

Dean didn't like where this is going. "Yeah, man."

Cas nodded, having made up his mind. "You've been a good friend at this station. Thank you for your support."

"Of course, I trust you. Cas, what--"

Billie cut in. "We're back in five, four--

"Thank you, Dean."

"Three, ✌🏾, ☝🏾"

"I love you."