Got this idea while watching 7x02. Idk how, but it just happened.
CONTAINS SPOILERS! IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED SEASON 7, DO NOT READ!
Starts somewhere in the middle of the second episode, and goes throughout the season, so I should be updating every week or so.
WARNING: Do not own Supernatural (If I did, Team Free Will would not be in its current position) or the characters, but I do own this storyline.
Summary: At first he thought talking to angels on phones was an absolute idiotic idea. But when it's all you have left, what else can you do? Collection of voicemails to Cas.
You Have Reached the Voicemail Of
As Dean placed the dirty trenchcoat underneith the thick layer of weapons in the trunk, he slammed it shut, promising to forget about it for a long time. He promised himself he'd keep Sammy and Bobby safe, no matter what. But then again, when had anything gone right in his life?
He almost smiled at the irony; how for a split second, you could think that things were gonna get better, that you were gonna get through this. But, just how life always seems to be, it turns on you, crushing your dreams and everything in its path in an instant. He gritted his teeth and took out his cell phone from his pocket to check the time. Eight fifty-six. Hah. Almost been nine hours.
Loosing Cas wasn't as hard as he thought it would be - then again, when he broke down Sams wall and popped open Purgatory, went on a killing spree and proclaimed himself God, he wasn't exactly one of Dean's favorite people. Deep down, though, he couldn't help but feel that empty void. 'No.' Was all he thought angrily. 'He deserved it. After all he did, why do you feel guilty?'
'Perhaps if we'd worked faster, we could have stopped Cas.' his brighter self thought.
'No. He was never gonna change his mind.'
'Maybe we didn't work hard enough.'
'Yeah. And maybe the Apocalypse was a tour through Candy Land.'
'He was still your friend.'
'No.'
"Great." Dean muttered to himself. "I'm talking to myself. No. We don't need another nutcase around here." He looked toward Bobby's house - the only thing that he had even slightly realized as home - and saw the hunter getting a beer from the fridge through the kitchen window. He growled inwardly. Couldn't life give them a break, just fricken' once?
Dean stomped into the house, his boots thumping loudly as he took each angry step. He glanced at Sammy, who was sleeping on the couch silently. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, peering at its contents. Beer, beer, beer, beer, half-eaten sandwich from the liquor store down the street, eggs, beer, jerky, something in a container that used to resemble soup, and more beer. His stomach growled. He didn't know how he could be so hungry at a time like this. The second time it growled even louder, and he slammed the door. What he wouldn't give for a nice bacon cheese burger.
"You alright, son?" Bobby asked the restless hunter, who was filing through his pantry. Dean didn't answer the elder man at first. He didn't want him to know how much he was sucking inside, but he didn't want to lie. Then again, better to lie then to let another hope down.
"I'm fine. I'm gonna... I'm gonna go grab something to eat. Want anything?" Dean asked, already heading for the door. Bobby, sensing the Winchester simply needed to be alone, said he'd settle for whatever he got.
With that, the hunter was out and jumped into his beloved Impala. It was the one thing that no one could take from him, it seemed like. It had been trashed and crashed so many times, but Dean always found a way to bring it back to its beauty again. He fired up the engine, its roar comforting to his clouded mind, and he drove opposite to the way of the town, just needing to take a drive. He imagined happier times; Sam and him singing to the same songs over and over, smiling, before the angels had gotten involved. Or even after, when Sam wanted to go his seperate way, and he brought an innocent angel to a brothel. His hands gripped the wheel like vicegrips, his knuckles turning pale.
When had life gotten this jacked up?
He pulled off to the side of the road, ignoring his stomach that was groweling furiously at him. He took out his phone again, this time not to check the time, but to delete a number. He doesn't know the odd reason he kept the angels cell phone number, but he knew he didn't want it anymore. Quite frankly, he didn't want much to do with the angel. He opened his phone, scrolled through the menu's, and found the contact list. The phone beeped everytime he pressed the down arrow until he got to Cas' name. He was just about to delete the number when something stopped him. No matter how much he willed himself to erase the blasted number, he couldn't. He just needed to hear his voice...
'No! Delete the fricken' thing!'
'It's probably not even in service anymore.'
'Exactly! Then erase it!'
'Well, let me ju-'
'No. Just erase the number.'
He pushed the send button, pressed the phone to his ear, and heard the dialing tone.
'What a fricken strong will I have.'
After thirty seconds, the mechanical voice spoke up. "Hello. You have reached the voicemail of-" and then he heard the voice he thought he'd never hear again.
"I-I don't understand. Wh-why do you want me to say my name?" Dean's stomach rolled into knots. He remembered the angel, totally smashed on liquor. His voice didn't hold regret, nor anger, nor have that meniacle edge to it. It was the innocent angel that was his best friend; his brother. It was the voice that told him that everything was going to be alright, even though everyone knew it wasn't, yet hearing it was a comfort.
Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore.
He heard the mechanical beeps as the angel pushed random buttons and almost missed the machine beep to signal the recording of a voicemail. Dean expected to hang up by this time, but he didn't. The words just seemed to flow from his mouth and couldn't stop. He cursed before he began. "Cas, you better not be fricken dead. Cuz' I swear, if you are, when we beat these Leviathans and save you I'm just gonna kill you again. That was some jacked up stuff you pulled, you know that? And don't give me that 'greater good' trash either. What you did was wrong, and I hope your suffering so fricken' bad over this.
"And Sam! Seriously, Cas? Sam? Do you know how broken his pinata is because of you now? I swear, if you were here right now, angel or no, I'd kick your butt. Do you know how screwed we are now? The Leviathans are doing God knows what with innocent randoms, and you just die? Couldn't you die like, oh I don't know, at a better time? We have no idea what we're fighting, Sam's marbles are dropped, Bobby and I are doing the best we can, and you're dead! Come on man! Can't just one thing go right, seriously?"
Dean paused, realizing he was yelling at someone who was dead, and hung up the phone. In doing so, he revved up the engine again, and drove to Bobby's.
"So what'dja bring, idjit?" Bobby asked as he saw Dean walk through the door. He didn't know how, but he looked angrier than he did before.
"Wasn't hungry." he replied lamely, his voice not matching his face. He then went into the fridge to grab a beer, and walked out of the kitchen to check on Sammy. The eldest man sighed.
"Glad you aren't, but I am."
How was that?
Please reply and read on!
~ILJA~