What's the Frequency, Sam?

FanFiction is having trouble publishing my story for some reason. I'm gonna keep trying until it works.

Sam and Dean opened the door to their father's lock-up in Black Rock.

"Why are we back here, Sam?" asked Dean.

"Maybe there's something in here that can help," said Sam. "Any weapons or information that Dad kept to himself."

"Really?" said Dean, looking among the shelves.

Sam walked along one of the back shelves, searching it. "You never know…" He stared at the bottom shelf.

"What is it?" asked Dean, heading over to him.

"Isn't that Dad's old HAM radio?" asked Sam.

Dean crouched down on the floor, looking closely at it. "Yeah…I think so." He pulled the radio off the shelf and stood up. "I haven't seen this thing in, like, twenty-five years. He used to let me talk on it sometimes. Mom kind of enjoyed it."

"She did?" asked Sam in confusion.

"Yeah, she used to get on it a lot, talk to people," said Dean. "Never really knew who, though."

"Should we take it with us?" asked Sam.

Dean frowned at him. "Why?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know…might be useful."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever floats your boat. Me, I'm gonna search for actual weapons." He set the radio down on a table.

Sam watched Dean move off to search the lock-up, but Sam walked over to the radio, running his hand over it. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that he should take it with him. Ten minutes later, Dean headed back to the door of the lock-up.

"Nothing," said Dean. "Let's go."

"Nothing?" asked Sam.

"Well…" shrugged Dean, reaching into his pocket, "this…" He pulled out a necklace with a pendant of angel wings hanging on the chain.

Sam stepped closer, frowning. "Why would Dad have a necklace?"

"It was Mom's," Dean told him.

Sam looked up at Dean and back at the necklace. "Mom's?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "That whole 'angels are watching over us' thing. She wore this thing every day. It was in the back with all of our stuff."

Sam nodded, staring at the necklace.

"Here," said Dean, tossing it at him.

Sam caught the necklace, looking up at Dean.

"You hang onto it," said Dean, walking past Sam.

Sam put the necklace safely in his pocket and grabbed the radio with its microphone, following Dean out to the car.

*****************************************************SPN****************************************************************************

Dean walked into the motel room with a bag of takeout to see Sam fiddling with switches on the radio.

"Are you seriously still messing with that?" asked Dean, closing the door.

"Yeah," said Sam. "I think I almost have it." He flipped a switch, and static began coming through the radio's speakers. He pulled the microphone towards him, pushing the button. "Hello? Anyone there?"

"Dude, who still uses those things?" asked Dean.

"Hunters, for one thing," Sam muttered, turning a dial to get a different frequency. "Hello? Is anyone on the air?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Man, quit messing with that thing. You gotta check this out." He headed to the window, glancing up at the sky. "It's the aurora borealis." He looked over to see Sam still messing with the radio. "Dude, rare cosmological event happening right now."

"They're not rare," said Sam. "They happen around the fall and spring equinoxes. And they're not cosmological; they're astronomical."

Dean frowned. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Cosmology deals with the universe as a whole," Sam explained. "Astronomy deals with the study of celestial objects, such as planetary phenomena."

The radio whined as static spurted from the speaker.

"Zero…L…"

Sam pressed the button on the microphone. "Hello? Are you there?"

Static whined before a voice came through the speaker.

"Hello?" said a woman's voice. Her voice sounded so soft and melodic.

"Hi," said Sam. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," said the woman. "I can hear you. Where am I getting you from?"

"New York," said Sam. "What about you?"

"Kansas," said the woman. "Born and raised."

"Huh," said Sam. "Me, too. Except for the raised part."

Dean rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen area to eat his food, leaving the bag with Sam's food in it next to the radio.

"Really?" asked the woman. "We got any other things in common?"

"Well, I don't suppose you like sports?" asked Sam with a chuckle.

"Actually, I do," said the woman.

"Really?" said Sam, honestly surprised.

"Yeah, I'm kind of a tomboy. My mom and dad raised me to be tough. I ended up watching sports with my dad a lot."

"What's your favorite?"

"Um…I guess that'd be football."

Sam smiled. "Did you catch the game Monday night?"

"Oh, yeah. That was some nice offense."

"Tell me about it. It's looking like they might make it to the playoffs."

"Really?" She sounded confused. "I wouldn't think so. Game ended up pretty even."

Sam frowned. "They won by six points."

"What game were you watching? They tied."

Sam decided to move on from that subject. She was probably talking about college football or something. "Right. Well, one of 'em is bound to win the Halas Trophy this year."

Static overcame the speaker momentarily, but Sam tuned the radio a little.

"Halas Trophy? What are you talking about?"

Sam frowned. "The George Halas Trophy…the one they give to the NFC champion."

"Since when do they give out a trophy?"

"Since 1984…" said Sam, frowning as he listened to this woman. She must not really be that into sports if she doesn't know about that…

"Oh, really? 1984, huh? And why do they call it the George Halas Trophy? He's the coach of the Chicago Bears."

"Yeah, two decades ago. He kind of died."

"Oh, sure, he died. When did that happen?"

"October 31—" Sam began.

"October 31st? You're saying…and he's…"

Sam adjusted the tuning on the radio. "Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?"

Static overran the speakers, so Sam turned the volume down a little and grabbed his food from the table, heading over to where Dean was.

"So, did you find your damsel in distress, Romeo?" asked Dean through a mouthful of burger.

"Very funny," said Sam. He sat down on the table, opening up the bag. "You know, it was kind of weird…"

"Weird, how?" asked Dean. "Weird, as in, there's a giant dog monster living in my fridge?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he pulled his salad out. "For someone who's a football fan, she apparently doesn't watch the NFC."

"She doesn't?" asked Dean.

"No," said Sam. "And she knew who George Halas was—you know, the coach of—"

"Chicago Bears," Dean finished. "I know."

"But she didn't know that he had died twenty-four years ago," said Sam. He frowned, realizing what the date was. "Twenty-four years ago tonight, actually."

"So, she's not a die-hard football fan," shrugged Dean. "Big deal."

Sam looked over at the radio, frowning. "Yeah…I guess…" He went back to his meal, but had a weird feeling in the back of his mind.

Neither of them noticed the aurora borealis beginning to disappear in the sky overhead.