Alec's brows raised quickly. A library, filled with tomes boasting subjects that were entirely foreign to him. And a war room? Okay. Seemed like serious business. "What's the uh, war table for?" he asked as he slipped into his assigned chair and grabbed hold of the promised glass of whiskey at last. "I didn't know hunting the supernatural was such a large-scale business."
"Six zero-" But then there was Dean, turning around with a notepad and silver pen in hand, and he suddenly knew - not Ben. Any X5 worth their salt wouldn't have need of a little notepad or a telephone and address book; they just remembered. The only reason Alec even carried one around was to brag about all the phone numbers he got from all the hot chicks in bars. But [...] "Wait, what?" People didn't [...] ask him him that kind of stuff. And people generally didn't [...] look out for him? Max did, on occasion, but she was the sort to complain about it. A lot. And suddenly, there was a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. It ached.
"I'll be alright, dude. I'm always alright. And oh it's six zero-" He relinquished his hold on his glass, and reached for the pad and pen instead, jotting down the numbers quickly, and sliding the pad back to Dean.