"You're kidding me right? This aint funny Sammy".
Sam glared at his brother while holding out the phone. The line was crackling. John Winchester, if it was John after all and not some idiot crank who'd got their number and googled enough on them to know Daddy dearest had passed on; was still on the line.
"I'm not kidding Dean. Dad's on the phone. He wants to speak to you".
Dean's fingers clenched tight on the steering wheel. All he'd wanted ever since Dad had died was to hear his voice again. To hear the gruff grumble tell him to quit bitching and drive. To hear John tell him for the thousandth time the Impala was no good for hunting. But now that he might really be on the end of the phone Dean found he couldnt take it. And not just because he was driving, the road stretching on empty and endless as the evening came in. Because he was scared. Because he was scared crapless that it might not be John. Sammy wasn't too good at picking up prank callers. For a law student, he was way too trusting of the people around him. But Dean had heard enough prank calls, hell he used to keep a whole schlock of them back before he kicked high school for good, to know that sometimes the joke turned malicious and nasty. What if someone knew about Dad and they'd called just to stick the knife in?
He couldnt take that chance. Hope was already winding its way around his heart, poisonous and draining. If he took the phone and some kids voice began to laugh at him, then the remnants of his sanity would up and skip off into the night. Then again, he couldnt tell his baby brother he was scared of something.
"Give it here" he snapped, holding out his hand for the phone, making a right and taking the object Sammy held out like it was a burning coal.
"Hey...asshole..whatever kind of trick you think this is, it isn't funny. So go call someone who gives a damn" he barked, slamming the phone closed.
The call ended with a sharp click. There was only silence coming from the Nokia Dean threw back at Sammy. His brother caught it, stared at it, then Dean.
"What the hell? That was Dad Dean! Dad!"
How could Dean just hang up on him like that? Sam took one more look at his brothers' face, the handsome lines folded into an expression that told Sam not to speak another word. He stared out the window fixedly. Dean hero worshipped Dad, then the guy calls and he hangs up on him? Something was wrong alright. Firstly a dead guy calls and then the dead guys' son hangs up on him. Sam felt like he was missing the connection. Couldnt understand anything. Besides the obvious fact the dead don't normally make phone calls. Why was Dean behaving like this? Normal people maybe, normal people threw phones when dead men called, but the pair of them were hardly normal. Last week Dean was flirting with a vampire, a member of the undead, yet he'd thrown the phone away from him when it contained the voice of his dead father. Sam ran his hands through the messy brown mop of curls. He just didnt get it.
"Dean? What was that all about? You knew it was Dad" he said softly.
Dean banked a hard left and focused on getting the car straight again for a few long hard moments as he considered what to say.
"No. No Sam, I don't know it was Dad. Could just have been some crank kid calling us. Remember that time that freaky girl got our number and wouldn't shut up calling? How do we know this isn't the same kind of thing?"
The words he desperately wanted to admit to his brother hung unspoken in the air. Because I'm scared it isn't Dad. Because I need to hear him so badly. But dead people don't come back Sam. They don't. They're dead, done and dusted and gone and no amount of tears you cry into your dashboard when you think your baby brothers' asleep are gonna bring the guy back. But of course, Dean didn't say any of that. He glared at Sam like this was all his fault and jabbed at the radio one more time. Metallica grew to a crescendo until Sam wanted to scratch his ears out. Glancing across at Dean once more, he saw his brothers' hands clenched so tight they were white round the wheel. A muscle in his jaw twitched over and over, almost hypnotically. Dean was blinking hard and staring anywhere but at Sam, fixed on the road like the white lines might suddenly go psychedelic on him. Sam bit his lower lip. Something had Dean spooked. Besides the obvious dead father phone call. There was something big brother wasn't telling him.
"Dean..." he started. Big brother held up a hand and refused to look at him.
"I don't wanna hear another word Sammy okay? Not about Dad. Not about feelings or hey bro, somethings' wrong okay? We got a hunting gig down in Texas and we're headed that way" he said.
"You've got issues" Sam replied after a moment. It didn't take a genius to work out Dean was touchy on the subject of Dad.
"I'm a young guy with no girlfriend, no women, no home and a job that means I spend all day trapped in an admittedly awesome car with my brother...hell yeah Sammy I have issues" Dean replied, the firm lips finally cracking into a smile. He chuckled to himself. Issues. He wished he had issues. Dean had great thumping headaches and screaming terrors. Issues would be a piece of cake.
"Funny" Sam cracked, sliding down further in the leather seat. He would have brought his feet up on the dash but he knew Dean would freak if someone so much as besmirched the beloved Impala. He'd done it once and Dean had threatened to dump him on his ass.
"I mean, you have Dad issues. Someone mentions the guys name you run a mile. This might actually be a call from him and you hang up? " Sam threw his hands up in the air.
Dean let go of the wheel with one hand to hit Sam one across the shoulder. "You ever think it might not be Dad? What if it isn't? What if we get our hopes up and it isn't?" he asked, finally saying it.
What if he's all I want to see and its' just some kid? Dean screwed his eyes shut, never a clever thing to do when you're driving but hell Dean was running on empty. He couldnt take one more disappointment, one more budding hope and then wham! Your life sucks once more.
Maybe it was because he had his eyes shut or maybe it was because he was trying so hard not to think, but he missed the figure stood by the side of the road.
He missed the figure walking into the middle of the road, missed Sammy's "For the love of...." beside him.
Opened up his eyes, blinking hard. Too late he caught Sammy's exclamation. Too late he realised there was a figure stood right in front of the Impala.
A figure with a very familiar expression on his face. All grizzled whiskers and heavy dark eyes, arms folded and a raised eyebrow quirked Deans' way. Beaten up leather jacket and jeans slung low on his hips. A t shirt that had seen better days.
John Winchester.
Forgetting everything he'd just said to Sam, Dean couldnt slam the car into park fast enough, the wheels skidding on the tarmac as he brought the Impala to a stop just before. The buckle on his seatbelt held and then almost snapped open as Dean fought impatiently with it. He couldn't look at Sammy, couldn't look up again at the man stood in front of them, fighting with the seat, the door, stumbling on the road as he got out of the car, wanting to run.
