He only calls her once.
The number has a Texas area code.
It's in his contact list under (?) because Bobby never told him who it belonged to and now he's dead and Dean remembers his promise to keep it, keep it and never call it unless you have to and you'llknowwhenthat'llbeyoucurioussonofabitch.
Bobby's only been dead for a few days now, but he doesn't know what else to do and Sam suggested calling his "people". Jodie was the only one he could think of off the top of his head, but she already knew and Dean could almost sense the blame in her tone. It could have just been the guilt he felt overlapping her words and the fact that they (the town? Other hunters? Who?) had already scheduled a funeral and you both are invited-but Dean will never go (where else can you go?), his hunter's pyre will have to wait. I want a revenge that willneverend. So he calls. (?)'s voice is higher pitched than he imagined and she sounds just about as old as Dean feels, which must make her around 103.
"Who is this? Hello?"
He can't speak for the first few seconds and wonders why he ever thought to do this. "My name is Dean. I'm-" (lost? helpless? falling?)
"This is a private number. You shouldn't have this number." (?) cuts him off, but she's not unkind. More like an aggravated Mother doling out a gentle warning.
"I'm a friend of Bobby Singer, and.." He can't say the words. He doesn't even know if this strange lady wants to hear them. Maybe she'll cry, maybe not. Maybe she'll throw a goddamn party.
The other line stays open and Dean counts the breaths he needs to calm himself. It's something of a meditation exercise that Cas taught him once and fuck, he can't go down that road again-counting up all the ones that are gone and where do angels go when they die or do they even dieatall? Seconds turn into minutes and the inside of the Impala seems closer than ever, the wet highway stretches out beyond where he can see. Maybe he's back on the axis mundi and this is all just some crazy fever dream he scratched up from the bottom barrel of his brain.
Maybe in some weird way, this chick gets it-gets what his hesitation is about, because she's letting the quiet pull out between them more than any patient person should. There is silence, and then there's Silence. What he wants to tell her is that he thinks this is the end of him and that it's scary, like A LOT scary (frightening. down. to. his. bones), but that gets choked back along with a river of tears and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to drown right now.
"Dean? Are you okay?" She actually sounds worried. "I mean, I did warn Singer this number is only for emergencies."
"Yup." Don't say my name. You don't know me. Please don't hate me. I think maybe I love you a little bit, but that can't be because everything I love falls apart or goes away or dies and what'sthedifferenceanyway.
(?)'s question is unexpected, he actually is surprised she's talked to him this long. "Do you keep your promises, Dean?"
"Yes." The truth is all that's left to him. "Yes, I do."
"Then promise me you'll delete this number." Well, you can't charm every girl on Earth, Dean. (Do angels count?)
"Okay." His throat is sore from holding back, but if he were to speak in more than one word sentences, he fears that it will never stop.
"And Dean?" Maybe she'll stay on the line, tell him a story, give him a reason to hold on…"If you decide not to follow my advice…Don't call me again unless Bobby Singer's dead and the world's about to explode. Definitively."
She hangs up on him abruptly, before he can numbly respond.
"Sure."
He memorizes all ten digits.