Emily2696: Thank you for your reviews, they always make me smile!

SilverD15: Yes, I do plan on having Crowley come in and all the other amazing (and less awesome) characters. I wanna stick as close to the real storyline as I can with alternate one. And thank you for your reviews, they are much appreciated!

Chapter Twenty-Eight

We strolled into the phone company building like we owned the place, walking up to the young woman sitting at the front desk. She smiled politely at us, her eyes lingering on Sam and then Dean (a little too long.) I leaned against the counter, reaching out and snapping my fingers in front of her face to get her attention. Slowly she turned golden brown to me.

"Hello, pet," I said, smiling sweetly at her, "We need to speak with the man in charge."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said, developing a sarcastic polite tone and flashing me a skeptical look, "Who are you?"

Dean leaned against the counter, gently nudging me aside, and smiled brightly at the girl. She soaked it in, batting her eyes and flaunting his attention at me. I gritted my teeth, resisting the desire to smile. It stung, but anything between them wouldn't progress farther than a one night stand. Mine or not, I was the one who was leaving with Dean in the morning. Still, I had to step back and cross my arms over my chest to keep from smacking him on the back of the head.

"We are from headquarters, and we are looking to test some of your systems," Dean said.

"Alright," the woman said, tilting her head to the side, "You'll want to talk to Clark, then. I'll get him for you."

The woman picked up the phone on her desk and pressed a button, we waited a few moments before she said, "Hi, Clark. I have some people from HQ who need to speak with you… Yes, sir." The woman hung up the phone before smiling broadly at Dean, "Clark will be right with you."

She wasn't kidding. No sooner had she said those words did a tall, bald man in a dark suit walk out from around a corner. He smiled politely at us, walking over with his hand out stretched. Dean stepped for, clasping Clarks hand with his own.

"Hello," Clark said, releasing Dean's hand to take Sam's, "I'm Clark Adams."

"I'm True Stokes," I said, smiling when Clark held his hand out to me, glancing at the badge clipped to his breast pocket stating that he was the director of this building, "These are my associates, Samuel Campbell and Dean Raimi."

"Please to meet you," Clark said before tucking his hands into his pants pockets, "How can I help you?"

"We need a number traced," Sam said.

"Ah," Clark said, motioning with a finger for us to follow him, "You'll want to speak with Stewie. He's down in the basement."

We tagged along behind Clark as he walked us deeper into the building, around a few corners before we came to the opening of a staircase. With Clark leading the way we descended the stairs, making our way to the ground floor. I took a position next to Clark, with Sam and Dean walking behind us.

"We don't get too many folks from HQ down here," Clark said, glancing at me as he led us down the last few steps into the deep dark basement underneath the building.

"Yes, well, the main office mentioned that there would be a lunch," Dean said. I turned around to roll my eyes at him, catching Sam doing the same.

"I'm sure we could arrange something," Clark stumbled out. We reached the basement and Clark led us down a long hallway.

"Really, that's not necessary," I told Clark.

"Oh," Clark chuckling awkwardly, "The man you gentlemen, and lady, wanna be speaking to is right this-"

A fly whizzed past me, its wings buzzing as it got caught in Sam's hair. Out of reflex, Sam swatted at it with enough momentum to knock it away. I leaned away from the fly as it flew past me, nearly running into Clark. He placed a hand on my shoulder to keep my steady.

"I know," Clark said as I shrugged out from under his touch, "Sorry. Uh, got something of a hygiene issue down here, if you ask me."

"Stewie," Clark called as he made another flick of his finger for us to follow and we headed another few feet before reaching the end of the hall. Clark ducked into a room to the left and we headed in after him. A shorter man sitting at a desk jumped as we entered, turning to face us, "What did I tell you about keeping this place clean?"

The place really was a mess. Fast food wrapper were scatted about, judging by the stank they were several days old. With the nerdy action figures on his desk and the amount of porn on his computer, I'd say he didn't get out much. Stewie was dressed in a dingy striped shirt under a faded blue vest hoodie and cargo pants.

He flipped back around quickly to face his computer muttering, "Spam mail. Spam mail."

"Stewie Meyers," Clark introduced, "Mr. Campbell, Mr. Raimi, and Miss Stoker."

"I don't know how all this got here," Stewie said, furiously kicking at the porn sites popping up on his computer.

Clark stepped forward and flipped Stewie on the back of the head, getting his attention to turn around and face us. Clark smiled apologetically at us, "From headquarters."

"Oh," Stewie said, turning around in his chair, looking quite horrified. He crossed his legs, folding his hands in front of him.

"Give these good people whatever they need," Clark ordered.

"Yeah," Stewie agreed reluctantly. We Clark our nods of thanks as he left the room.

"So can I help you?" Stewie asked.

Dean glanced behind him to make sure Clark was gone before nodding at the computer, "Is that, uh, ?"

"No," Stewie said quickly as a woman on the computer said, "Ooh, me so horny."

Stewie flipped around to click off the pop up before turning back to face us. I smiled, "Does it get a bit lonely down here, Stewie boy?"

"Word to the wise," Dean said, "Platinum membership. Worth every penny. Huh?"

"And that's why I only use Sam's computer," I said, taking an exaggerated step away from Dean.

"Right, anyway," Sam said, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out the slip of paper he had written the ID number on and holding it out to Stewie, "Um, we're here to trace a number."

"Where did you get this?" Stewie asked, taking the paper from Sam to take a closer look.

"Off caller ID," Sam told him.

"Oh, no," Stewie said, glancing at Sam, "That's impossible."

"Oh, yeah, it's really not," I said.

"We know it hasn't been used in a few years," Dean said.

"A few years?" Stewie said, glancing back at the ID, "It's prehistoric."

"Kind of like that half eaten cheeseburger over there," I muttered, pointing at a pile of mold by the trash bin.

"Trust me," Stewie said, "Nobody's using this number anymore."

"Sure," Sam said, "Could you run it anyway?"

"Sure," Stewie said sarcastically, "Why don't I just rearrange my whole life first?"

"Alright," I said, stepping forward and taking the back of his chair to turn him around to face the computers. I leaned one hand on a clean area of the desk and looked at him, "Here's the thing, sugar, this place is a cesspool of employee-code violations and the amount of pornography on your computer could put Hugh Hefner to shame. So run the damn thing, because if you don't, I'll have you dragged in front of the comity board and you can explain to them what exactly they are paying you to do. Got it?"

"I'd listen to her, Stewie," Dean said, "It wouldn't be the first time she's done it. "

"Okay, whatever," Stewie said, pulling up a search box and typing in ARCHIVE before adding in the ID number, "Jeez."

"Thank you," I said, turning around to see Dean beaming smugly at me. I walked back to stand beside him, whipping my hand on my skirt.

"Holy crap," Stewie said as a bunch of phone numbers, dates, addresses and times appeared on his computer.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I can't tell you where the number comes from," Stewie said, "But I can tell you where it's been going."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as Stewie stood up from his chair as the sound of a printer getting to work filled the air, walking past us to the printer against the wall by the door.

Stewie pulled the freshly printed paper off the machine, "Ten different houses in the past two weeks all got calls from the same number."

Sam took the paper from Stewie, looking down at it. With a job well done, Stewie returned to his seat, "So are we done here? Because I was sort of busy."

"Right," Dean said, winking and pointing at Stewie with a knowing look. I crinkled my nose as I followed the Winchesters from the room.

We were silent until we were back into the safety of the Impala, Sam and Dean in their usual spots up front with me leaning over the back seat to get a better look at the paper in Sam's hand. There were about ten names in all; the one sticking out the most was the one that belonged to the banker.

"We should probably split up," Sam said, "We'll be able to cover more ground that way."

"Awesome, nine names so we each get three," I said, pulling out my phone to snap a picture of the list.

Dean scoffed turning around to face me, "You're not going anywhere alone, we have no idea what we are up against."

I turned my phone on him and snapped a picture of his face before he could whack my phone away, "When are you going to learn that I don't need protection?"

"True can come with me," Sam said, before Dean and I could launch into an argument about me being capable enough to be on my own. I stared at Sam wide eyed, taken aback by the fact he hadn't insisted on me riding with Dean. I was too shocked to argue, and to curious. I wanted to ask him why.

"Alright," Dean said, sounding a mix of smugness for winning the argument and shock, "Let's get you two kids a rental car."

I dropped back in my seat in the Impala counting the minutes until Sam and I where alone. Over the past several months he had thrown me at Dean every chance he got, leaving the room to get us alone time, even offering to be the one to run into a restaurant to get the food while Dean and I stayed in the car. It was possible that he just wasn't in the mood for an argument or he had something important to tell me that he couldn't tell Dean, but I couldn't help but feel like he was losing hope.

Dean drove to the nearest rent-a-car company, and using one of Sam's fake credit cards, the younger Winchester and I separated from Dean and took the bottom half of the list. Sam and I only had three houses we had to investigate. I waited a few moments of driving in silence to give myself time to gather my thoughts before I turned to stare at Sam. He caught me looking out of the corner of his eyes and turned his head to look at me briefly before putting his eyes back to the road.

When I didn't stop, Sam asked, "What?"

"Why am I with you?"

"What?" Sam repeated, scoffing in confusion.

"Why did you want me with you, instead of Dean?"

Sam shrugged, "Maybe I just wanted the company?"

I gave him a pointed look, "Sam, we practically live together. We see each other twenty-four seven. If anything you need time away from me, not one on one."

Sam sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, "I just don't see the point. It wasn't far for me to force you into that situation I did. Dean may not want to die, but I don't think there's a way to save him."

"Not that we've found yet," I said, trying to hide the fact that I was leaning toward the same thing, "Don't give up hope, Sam. Please."

Sam gave me a sad smile that was more for my benefit, but there was no promise made. We turned our attention to the case, needing something to drown out the thoughts of the minutes ticking by. The first two houses on the list held some promise, though none of the owners seemed like they wanted to admit what was going on. We stopped at the third house and Sam pulled out the list we had been given by Stewie out to double check the address.

"This is it," Sam said, stepping out of the car. I did the same, shutting the door as Sam locked it.

I straightened my outfit as we walked toward the modest yellow house, hidden by a tall shrub fence. I had to walk behind Sam to dodge a little boys bike that was lying in the middle of the walk way. We knocked on the door, only having to wait a few moments before a balding man in a sweater and glasses opened the door. Tucked under his arm was a little boy playing with a soccer ball. I smiled down at the kid, wiggling my fingers at him and earning a smile back.

"Hello, sir," Sam said to the man, catching my attention so that I turned to face the father, "We are from the phone company."

"Uh, we didn't call the phone company," The man said, looking at his son and snagging the ball from him.

"We are actually calling you," I informed him, folding my hands behind my back.

"See," Sam continued, "We've had a lot of complaints from the neighborhood."

"Complaints?" The man asked.

"Yes, sir," Sam confirmed.

"There have been a lot of reports on dropped calls, answering the phone and only hearing static on the other line," I said, as a teenage girl walked around the corner to stare wide eyed at us. She looked rather horrified, "Maybe even strange voices on the other end of the line."

"No, we haven't had any of that here," The man said.

"Nothing?" Sam asked.

"No," The man said, shaking his head.

"Okay, great," Sam said, "Just thought we'd check."

"Thank you for your time," I said, smiling at him.

"No problem," the man said, "Okay, let's go. Come on, Simon."

We turned heading back down the walkway. I said, "That girl looked like she knew something."

"Yeah," Sam said, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

I snatched them and skipped in front of him, smirking as I rounded the car to the driver's side. Unlocking it I said, "Think we should keep an eye on the house?"

"Nah," Sam said, smiling at me as we opened the car doors, "The best thing we can do is stopping this thing."

"No way have you worked for the phone company," a girl said, halting Sam and I in our tracks as we turned to face the teen. She had her arms crossed over her chest, a determined look on her face to hide the fear in her eyes.

"Sure we do," Sam said, turning his back to me so he could give the girl his full attention. Her eyes drifted to me, but her main focus was on Sam. The connection between them was clear, and I remained silent to allow Sam to do his thing.

"Since when do people from the phone company drive a rental, or wear cheap suits?" She asked.

I bit back my response that my outfit was not cheap; it had cost the same price as three of Sam's. Sam scoffed, "Yeah? Well, maybe we're all keeping secrets."

"Why'd you ask my dad if we heard strange voices?" the girl asked, again her eyes drifted to me before returning to Sam.

"Why did you hear something?" Sam asked.

"No," the girls said to fast.

"My mistake," Sam said, "Thought maybe you did."

"Well, I didn't, okay?" The girl snapped.

"Okay," Sam said, "Sorry to bother you."

The look of determination melted and the fear in eyes was even more evident, but there was something more. There was sorrow in the way she held her head, her arms wrapping around herself as if they could form a cocoon for protection. Sam glanced at me and I nodded, slowly he turned back around.

"You know," Sam said softly, "If you did, then I would have told you that I've been right where you're standing right now. Hearing things, even seeing things that couldn't be explained. Maybe we would have been able to help out a little bit. Anyways…"

"Hey, wait," the girl said, stopping Sam as he made a move to get inside the car, "Maybe- Maybe I've been talking on the phone, with- With my mom."

"Your mom?" I asked before I could stop myself, "Why's that strange?"

"She's dead," the girl said softly, "Like, three years now dead."

"How often does she call you?" Sam asked.

"A few times," the girl said, "It started a week ago. I thought I was, like, crazy or something."

"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure," Sam said, "And you're gonna have to go with me on this, okay? You're not crazy."

The girl chuckled, relieved. She stared down at her feet, not knowing what else to say. Not that anything was really needed. Sam stepped forward, pulling one of his business cards out of his pockets and holding it out to her. The girl reached out and took it, flipping it over in her hands.

"This has my cell number on it," Sam informed her, "Call it if you ever need anything, day or night. I'm Sam by the way, and that's my friend True."

"Okay," the girl said, "I'm Lanie."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said, "We got to get going, but I'm serious, call us whenever."

Lanie smiled, before turning and walking back toward her house. Sam turned around, his eyes falling on me and I smiled at him, "You sure have a way with kiddies."

"Shut up," Sam said, rolling his eyes as he got into the car.

I did the same, starting the car as I shut the door. I put the car into drive and started to pull away from the curb before saying, "I'm serious, and you are really great with people."

"So are you," Sam said.

I laughed, "I'm great with guys 'cos they want to impress me, with other people I just flounder like a fish on water."

Sam laughed, but whatever response he had was cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. He checked the ID before answering the phone, "You're on speaker."

"Stiffs are calling people all over town," Dean said.

"Yeah, we noticed," I said, flipping on the turn signal as I headed back toward the motel.

"I just talked to a grandmother who's having phone sex with her husband who died in Korea," Dean said.

I busted out laughing, "She didn't use hand gestures to demonstrate this, did she?"

"Ew," Sam said, causing me to laugh harder, "You really had to go there?"

"Completely rocked my understanding of the word necrophilia," Dean said, disgust clear in his tone.

"Any idea what's going on, then?" Sam asked.

"Beats me, but we better find out soon," Dean said, "This place is turning into spook central."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "All right, we'll meet you back at the hotel."

"Yeah," Dean said and the line went dead.

I smiled, "What do you think 50's phone sex sounds like?"

"I don't want to know," Sam said, trying to hide his own smile.

Sam and I arrived back at the hotel before Dean, giving us enough time to dress in our civilian clothes. I ducked into the bathroom to pull on a pair of torn jeans and long sleeved black hoodie with a large pocket over the abdomen. Once Sam had called that he was dressed, I walked into the main room to pull on my boots on as Dean walked into the room. He looked from Sam to me, his face twisted into a serious freaked out look.

"We need to talk," Dean said, slamming the door shut before gathering up a change of clothes and disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam and I shared a look, and he sat down on the bed. I joined him, feeling like to teens about to get a lecture from their father, to wait the few moments it took for Dean to reemerge from the bathroom dressed in his usually getup. He paced in front of us a few times before flopping on the couch to pull on his boots.

"The suspense is killing me," I said.

Dean glanced up at me, tying his boots, "I got a call from… From Dad."

Sam stiffened beside me. I looked from one brother to the other and back again, "And by Dad you mean…?"

"Our father," Dean said, rising to his feet and pacing again.

"Dad?" Sam asked, shaking his head with disbelieve, "I mean, Dad? You really think it was Dad?"

"I don't know," Dean said, looking spooked again as he paced back and forth in the hotel room, "Maybe."

My mouth hung open as I tried to think of something to say. It made since of course that if other people were taking to their dead loved ones, then so could we. The thought was actually kind of horrifying. After everything that had just happened, I didn't think I was mentally prepared to speak with the dead. I imagined getting a call from my own father and a shiver ran down my spine.

"Well, what did he sound like?" Sam asked, pulling me back to the present.

"Like Oprah," Dean snipped, turning to face his brother, "It was Dad, he sounded like Dad, what do you think?"

"What does Dad sound like?" I muttered at the same time Sam threw up his arms and said, "What did he say?"

"My name," Dean said, pacing back toward us. He didn't look at me, so I wasn't sure if he had heard my comment or not. Most likely my presence made this even harder for him to talk about, everything I knew about their past had come from Sam. Dean attention was focused on the one person who understood him.

"That's it?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, the call dropped out," Dean said.

"Why would he even call in the first place?" Sam asked.

"To order a pizza?" I said sarcastically, "Why is any ghost in this bloody town calling people?"

"Exactly," Dean said, turning away, "But if other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said, shrugging.

"Okay, so what if…?" Dean asked, sitting down on the bed on the other side of Sam. I had to lean forward slightly to see him as he continued, "What if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back?"

"You answer," I said simply.

"What do I say?" Dean asked.

"Hello," Sam offered.

"Hello?" Dean demanded, and Sam shrugged, "That's what you come back with? Hello?" Dean scoffed and got to his feet. Walking toward the door he snatched up his jacket, he turned back around to glare at Sam, "Hello?"

Dean opened the door and left, pulling it shut behind him. I turned to Sam, "Well, that was fun."

Sam sighed, "We should try and figure out why these ghost are calling people."

I scrunched up my face at the thought of research, "Awe, do we have to?"

Sam patted my shoulder, "Yes."

I groaned, but stood with Sam, dragging my feet as I followed him to the couch and plopped down. Sam plugged in his computer and handed it to me before getting on to Dean's computer. For three hours we buckled down, searching for clues, but couldn't dig up a damn thing. My eyes kept drifting toward the door, unwanted worry seeping in at the fact that Dean had been gone for ages.

I figured he just needed time, which I would have happily given him, but the fact that we were on a hunt investigating a death had me on edge. The least he could do is text to let us know he was okay. Granted he could take care of himself, but that wasn't the point. Plus I really didn't want to do research. I was a few agonizing seconds away from informing Sam I was going to hunt his brother down when the door opened and Dean walked in. Relief washed over me, but I also wanted to smack him for ruining my escape plan.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

"After three hours, we have found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here," Sam said.

"Wow, you'd think a Stanford education and high-school hookup rate of 0.0 topped by a Van Helsing would produce better results than that," Dean jested.

Sam chuckled, "Hilarious."

"Just tell us what the hell you found," I snapped. I grabbed the pillow beside me and chucking it at him.

Dean caught the pillow and reached into his pocket, pulling out some paper, "You two kids were just looking in the wrong places."

"And what are the right places, Dean?" Sam asked.

"The motel pamphlet rack," Dean said, tossing his paper in front of Sam, "Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Tomas Edison."

"The gent' who inventor the telephone?" I asked.

"Keep reading," Dean instructed Sam.

Sam scoffed, opening the brochure and reading in silence. He smiled, looking up at Dean, "You're kidding."

I snatching the brochure from Sam so I could read what big news Dean had managed to find. I raised an eyebrow, turning my attention to Dean, "Anyone up for a history lesson?"

Gathering up our things, we filed into the Impala and drove the ten minutes to the local Tomas Edison exhibit. Like the gentleman he was, Sam paid for all three of us and we joined the next group. Our tour guide, a woman in her late twenties with long wavy brown hair dressed in a black suit, strolled up to us with a too big smile plastered to her face.

"Hello, everybody! I hope you're all as excited about this tour as I am!" The guide said, looking at each of us in turn, "Let's get started!"

The guide led us from room to room, giving us fascinating facts about Edison, telephones, and other historical facts about the area. It wasn't a bad tour, and Sam seemed just as interested as me to learn something new. Dean was just bored.

"And we're walking," the guide said, leading us into another room, "And here we have one of the museum's most unique and treasured possessions: Thomas Edison's 'spirit phone.'" The guide quoted with her fingers. "Did you know that Mr. Edison, while being one of America's most beloved inventors was also a devout 'occultist'? Ooh."

"What's with the quote-y fingers?" Dean whispered.

"He spent years working on this, his final invention," the guide went on, "which he was convinced could be used to 'communicate' with the 'dead.' Pretty spooky, huh?"

"That is a little wired," I whispered back to Dean.

The guide checked her watch, "And we're walking. We are walking. We're walking."

"We are not walking," I sing-sung after her as the group left the room with the Winchesters and I lagging behind.

"And we're not touching that," The tour guide said as she crossed into the next room, "And we're walking. And stop."

I looked that the pile of metal, it looked more like a record player then a phone. It had a box foundation with all kinds of bits and bobs I couldn't begin to know what they were for, and a large metal amplifier. Sam pulled out his EMF and hovered it over the Spirit Phone, but not even a blimp lit up.

"Anything?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "Nothing."

Dean looked at me, "What do you think? Ever heard of anything like this?"

"Well, from the sounds of it it's basically the same principle of an Ouija board," I said, shrugging, "Gives the ghost a way to communicate with the living. I have no idea how it works, though."

"Honestly, it kind of looks like an old pile of junk to me," Sam said.

"It's not even plugged in," Dean said.

"Yes, because we all know that ghost can only use electronics that are plugged in," I said, nodding sarcastically.

"Yeah, maybe it didn't work like that," Sam added.

"Okay," Dean said, "Maybe it's like a radio tower, you know? Broadcasting the dead all over town."

"Could be," Sam said with a shrug. It was a good idea as any.

"Well, the caller ID is one hundred years old, right?" Dean asked, "Right around the time this thing was built."

"But why would it start working now?" Sam asked.

"Maybe they didn't even know how to use it," I offered, "I mean, we don't."

"As long as the moldy are calling the freshes, it's the best reason we got," Dean said.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam muttered, looking at the phone.

"So maybe it really is Dad," Dean said.

Silence descended around us. I cleared my throat, "We should probably focus on how to stop this thing from calling out."

"How?" Sam asked, "Like you said, we don't even know how it works."

"Salt and burn would be my go-to," I said, looking to Dean for his thoughts. His eyes where glassed over, his focus on the spirit phone, oblivious to anything other than the fact he could speak with his father again. I placed my hand on his arm to get his attention. His eyes turned to my hand then to me, "It's been a long day, maybe we should get some sleep."

"Right, yeah," Dean said, moving away from me.

I shared one last look with Sam, who was doing a better job of separating himself from this then his brother, before following Dean from the museum. After putting a few more useless hours of research it was decided that we would get some sleep. I ducked into the adjoining room and crawled into bed, shimming out of my jeans after I was safely under the covers. Curling into a ball, I laid in silence for only a few heart beats for slipping into the sweet abyss of sleep.