A month later, Dean was back in California. He still hadn't been able to get John to answer phone calls, so he was finding his own hunts for now. Which at least made it easier when he needed to make a trip to Palo Alto for a tuxedo fitting.
He and Sam had just finished doing just that when it happened again. Sam had gone a whole month without another vision, and Dean had started to hope that Sam was right – that it had just been connected to Max and that now that Max was gone, they'd gone, too.
But here he was in the middle of a sunny California street, trying to drag his brother the remaining few feet to the car so that he wouldn't have to lay him down on the hot concrete.
About that time, his phone started ringing.
He cursed and ignored it, maneuvering Sam in his grasp so that he could open the Impala's back door. He dropped his brother onto the bench seat and started calling his name, slapping his cheeks, wishing he knew how to bring him back. He got his phone out, ready to call 911 again if he needed to. He didn't think he'd need to, but last time Sam had had a vision, he'd dislocated his shoulder. Dean wasn't going to take any chances.
About the time his phone signaled that he had a new voice mail, Sam came to. Thrashing and screaming.
Screaming Jess's name.
His sudden bolt into the upright position knocked Dean back and the phone from Dean's hand. Dean absently glanced down at the display, meaning to grab it and get back to Sam.
He did a double take when he saw what it said.
Dad.