A/N: Ah, John Winchester. So controversial. Written in my phone at 1 in the morning so please forgive any mistakes. Review please?
I held the cell to my ear and ignored the frantic beating of my heart as it dialled. Just as it was about to go to voicemail, it was picked up. And at that moment I realised I was an idiot. In several ways really but most prominently, at that point in time, because I hadn't planned what I was going to say and had no clue how to start this conversation. I started gnawing on the inside of my cheek as my stomach twisted and turned with apprehension.
A deep, ruff kinda of voice rumbled over the cell. It reminded me of the sounds volcanoes in movies make make when they're about to erupt. "Yes?"
I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. What the hell do I say?
"Who is this?" The voice sharpened noticeably and had an edge sharpened by evident impatience.
Thankfully, my voice reappeared albeit squeakily. "Is- is this John Winchester?" I manage to say shakily.
The voice practically reeled of distrust and suspicion. "Who's asking?"
I closed my eyes and dragged the final dredges of bravery from within me. "This is Jessica Moore." I take a breath, intending to expand and explain but the voice cuts me off.
"Sammy's girl? He alright?" Sammy again?The curiosity and concern was only partially hidden by the gruff nature of the voice. And how did he know who I was? Did Dean tell him? Did Sam?
"Sam's fine." I try to sound reassuring I still sounded terrified. I press on. "It's Dean I'm worried about."
There's a heavy pause that's moved behind awkward. When the voice speaks again it sound confused. "Dean? What do you have to do with Dean?"
"I'm sorry, is this John Winchester?" The things the voice knew mixed with the things it didn't was making me nervous. I was pretty sure Sam hadn't spoken to his dad but if Dean had told him about me then the voice wouldn't be asking what I had to do with him.
An impatient grunt that was dissected by the cell phone conveyed the voice's dislike for being messed around. "This is John friggin' Winchester. How do you know Dean? Is he there with you?"
I struggled to come up with a way to describe my relationship with Dean. "He phoned Sam. I thought it was my cell and picked up. We've been... friends ever since. And no, he's not here. I was hoping you'd know where he was." I surmised. A tinge of the desperation I'd been feeling for the last 16 hours shone through in the final sentence.
A whispered "Shit, Dean." was the only response.
"So you don't know where he is?" I asked without much hope.
"Last I heard, he was on a job not far from you." John informed me flatly.
I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "I know. I.. I stitched him up." I admitted
"What? He was injured? What kind of wounds were received?" The change in tone was humongous. He questioned with the voice of a man who was expecting to be answered and quickly.
"Yes, he was injured." I cast my mind back and tried to think how to describe the wounds. "It looked like he had been… sliced?"
That obviously meant something to John. "Shit." There came the sound of motion. "I'm on my way. Stay where you are. When I arrive, you will take me to the motel room." And with that John hung up.
I'm ashamed to admit, my first thought was like father like son. After that my thoughts turned to how John knew where I lived and Dean had been staying in a motel…
Oh crap. The Dad- He who shall not be named- was coming here.
TBC…