“He didn’t say he’d need us.  I figured I’d look at the internet for our next job.” When the toast popped up, Sam slathered both pieces with butter and jam, and gave one to Dean.

Dean bit into the toast. It tasted sweet and reassuring, and cleared out the aftertaste of blood and ash. This is reality, Dean thought, strawberry jam and Sam’s strong coffee.

Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he said, “I have a job for us. I, um. I had a prophetic dream.”

Sam’s expression was serious at once. “You did? What did you see?”

“I saw a guy get murdered in his apartment. Name of Joseph Temple.”

“By what? Werewolf? Vampire? Ghost?”

Dean shook his head. “By two ordinary guys. They looked kind of like Mafia by way of Central Casting, but there wasn’t anything supernatural about them.”

“Then it’s not a job for us.”

“I know, but, this guy — he had something important, it was stolen, and we have to get it back.”

Sam was watching him, his eyes both worried and skeptical. “And you got all this from a dream?”

Dean drank his coffee. “Castiel was there,” he said finally. “Castiel came to me in the dream and told me about this guy and the thing they took.”

“But he didn’t tell you what was stolen or why,” Sam said, frustrated. “Helpful. Does he come to you in your dreams a lot, Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Not a whole lot, and yeah, some information wasn’t forthcoming, but we’ve got enough to start with. We have his name, we know he was murdered in his apartment, and that one item was stolen and they left the gun behind. We can find it, Sammy.”

Sam shook his head and went to the table where he’d set up his laptop, muttering about unhelpful angels.

Dean finished his coffee, not unsympathetic. “I’ll know his face when I see it.”

Sam was already typing. “Can’t you summon Castiel or something and ask for more details?”

“Oh, sure, do you have the spell for that?” Dean said and got up to put more bread in the toaster. Sam’s eyes flicked from the computer to Dean, and he shook his head ever-so-slightly as he searched. “Comment, Sammy?”

“Nothing, Dean.”

“The air smelled sweet,” Dean said. “Not a town with a paper mill.”

“Oh, that helps.” Sam scanned the screen, then muttered, “Take a look at this,” and turned the laptop toward Dean.

“What?” said Dean and moved closer to read the screen.

“Joseph Temple, murdered in his apartment last night, one item missing.” Sam tapped the laptop monitor — the website of the Bethlehem, Pennsylvania Morning Call showed an article with a photograph of the murdered man, taken in better times. “Is that him?”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. He’d only caught a glimpse of Joseph Temple, but he knew that face, square jaw and merry eyes and all. He looked like a guy Dean would like to have a drink with. “That’s him. I guess the smell was just my imagination.”

Sam looked up at him, then back at the article. “Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, is the home of Just Born Candy.” At Dean’s blank expression he said, “They make Peeps.”

Dean laughed. “Peeps! Awesome. I love Peeps. We gotta pick some up while we’re there — it’s that time of the year.”

“God, you only celebrate holidays for the candy,” Sam muttered. “We’ll get you your Peeps.” He said in a more professional tone, “The article doesn’t say what was stolen. The police aren’t releasing details. Why wouldn’t Castiel tell you what was taken?”

“It was small and grey. But most mystical objects are more than they appear to be, right? Anyway, the important thing is getting it back.” He straightened up and went back into the living room to grab his jacket. “C’mon. If we get on the road now we can be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Wait a second, Dean,” Sam said, following him. “This isn’t hunting — this is just an ordinary crime. And if we interfere with the Mafia — dude, we will get slaughtered.”

“I don’t know if they’re Mafia,” Dean said tiredly. “They were just two guys in suits. Hell, sometimes we’re two guys in suits and nobody thinks we’re Mafia. I’m surprised we’re not taken for Mormons more often, really.”

“I am not reassured,” Sam said slowly, as if Dean needed it explained in small words, “at the notion of chasing hired killers. We’re hunters. This isn’t hunting.”

“It’s a mission, Sam,” Dean said, annoyed by his tone.

“And you’re going to just trust Castiel, Dean?”