A/N: So it seems that links don't appear in full when the page is posted. Sorry. Have an extra chapter today to make up for it.

Chapter title from Blondie: Hanging on the telephone

"It's good to hear your voice, you know it's been so long If I don't get your call then everything goes wrong I want to tell you something you've known all along Don't leave me hanging on the telephone"

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPSNPNSPSNPSNPSNPSNPSNPSNP SNPSNSPN

"Concordia Fire Station. Lt. Carlos Alvarez speaking."

"Hello, yeah. Can I speak with Paul Kerry?" Dean realized he didn't know Paul's rank. He betted he was higher than lieutenant but wouldn't share in fear of being seen as boasting.

"Can I ask who is calling and what it is in relation to?"

"My name is Dean. I'm calling to speak with Paul on a…. It's a personal call." Dean bit his lip and leaned his head back against the window of the phone booth.

"Dean? Paul's pool playing Dean?"

"Yep, that's me."

"Paul isn't here. He is on personal leave."

"What?"

"He has taken some personal days and some time owed. It's not my place to say if Paul hasn't told you…."

"He's tried to, I mean, I'm away on a job and my cell got smashed and then my spare broke, and so yeah, he had left me voicemail."

"Right. Right Dean. Have you heard of Leslie?"

"Yes." This wasn't good. Dean closed his eyes and his grip tightened on the grimy telephone receiver.

"Well the piss poor excuse for a human being is back… You still there Dean? The junkie says he is a reformed character. Paul had us all come over for a chili and nachos night in his honor."

"Ok. Do you mean 'junkie' as an insult?"

"No man, the guy is, or was, a user. He was perma-fried before he vanished. Look Paul doesn't make friends easy. He's mentioned you as one. Gotta tell ya, man, we are all quaking in our boots at the idea of you and Paul teaming up for poker night… I guess you know now about the wastoid's reappearance."

"Thanks. I've lost Paul's cell number. It was on my busted phones."

"One second".

Dean ground his teeth as he waited. He found a scrap of paper in his jacket pocket and a pen in his inside one. He repeated the number back to the firefighter.

"That's it, Dean. You know he is in Concordia. Paul I mean. Gillian saw him at the back of their church yesterday morning. Leslie is staying in Junction City. Something happened after the chili-do. Paul hasn't been at work since. He could do with a friend. Just saying."

"I hear you."

"Good bye Dean."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dean sat across the bench seat of the Impala. The sun was low in the sky and he had parked her up close to the bunker entrance. He looked at the throw away cell phone in his hand.

What if it was another spell? Dumbass, of course it was a spell, but what if Crowley could spy on any phone they used. Dean grimaced.

Sam's logic was that the spell either A) worked on their known cells, B) would have worked on the phones they had when it was cast, making new phones safe, C) Crowley wasn't using a spell on their phones but had their numbers and had gotten hold of Chuck's books. In all cases using a disposable cell once was an acceptable risk. Sam had peeled off three twenties of his own money and sent him on his way.

The scrap of paper with Paul's number came out of his jeans pocket wrinkled. He smoothed it out and taking his courage in his hands dialed.

It rang. Dean waited.

"Look, I know you are just doing your job but my number is unlisted for a reason. I don't want pet insurance, or new windows or a set of limited edition bibles…"

"Paul."

"Dean?" Paul's voice dropped to whisper, "Dean is that you man? Are you OK?"

"Yeah, yeah man, I'm good. Peachy." Not really, Paul, Dean thought, I'm only peachy if the peaches are maggot infested and bitter.

"Are you home?"

Dean looked at the Kansas sky and half-lied, "No. I'm still on the job. It's proving to be a doozy. I… I wanted… my phones got smashed. I rang the fire station, guy called Carlos gave me your cell."

"Oh." There was pause. "So you didn't get my voicemails? Thank The Lord. I was drunk."

"I got them. Well up until the one about chili sauce being a metaphor for life."

Paul gave an attempt at laughter, "That's all of them."

"Cards on table, I'm not a guy for all the emo-crap, but something is going on?" Dean waited again. He could hear noises, like maybe Paul was fixing a drink.

"How is Sam?"

"The same, worse. We lost someone on the job. Someone we hadn't seen for a long time, but who worked with us once, way back. Hit him hard."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It is never easy to lose a comrade. This bounty sounds dangerous. Are you sure about sticking at it?"

"Sam…" Dean flicked a spot of dust off his leather jacket, "Yeah Paul. I'm sure. The end is in reach and countless motherfuckers will be taken out of the picture when we succeed."

"Good then."

"Yeah."

"So… Did Carlos tell you anything else?"

"Uh-huh. He told me Leslie turned up." Dean held his breath.

"I'm shot to pieces Dean. I can't. I don't know where I am, and I've ruined things before we even got to… I'm a mess and a fool and a shit friend." Paul's pitch rose and a tremble came into his words.

"Shush, shush, hey, stop it man. You want to tell me why you are beating on yourself." Dean braced his legs against the door and leaned back. He hoped Paul wasn't going to breakdown like on the voicemails, but the least he could do was listen.

"Leslie's back in Kansas."

Dean made a noise encouraging Paul to continue.

"So I met him in Salina for a meal, and you should have seen him, he looked good. Real good. Well and healthy and a bit different. He got his guyliner permanently tattooed and I ribbed him about it. It was like old times. He leaned across the table and plucked a grey hair from my temple, tutting at me. We were tense but it was good, you know. So I thought… stupid stupid… that I'd do a chili night."

"You invited me." Dean interrupted, a bit of his surprise evident.

"Of course. I told Leslie that I wasn't a monk but there had been no-one until recently. He… Sorry Dean, he asked if I'd fucked you, and I told him we hadn't gone that far yet… I'm sorry, but I had to be honest…"

"Yeah it's OK." It wasn't OK, not at all. Dean wasn't at all OK with his thing being dissected in explicit detail with Paul's seemingly jerk-ex.

"… He said he hadn't done more than date a few times, and it had felt wrong. So the get together... some of the guys and Gillian and her husband, and my brother Peter. It was good. They were standoffish with Leslie at first, and I think Peter gave him a dressing down, but it was… good. Leslie slept on the sofa…. I got up Sunday and I came into the room and Leslie was tossing two pills into his mouth and I saw red…. I didn't tell you before, but he is an addict… He told me he was clean and there he was… like the early days when things went screwy… it started with prescription meds… I tackled him and I… Jesus Dean… I stuck my fingers down his throat…"

"Geez."

"Yeah. He scrambled away from me. He looked at me as if I had assaulted him. I'd never. Dean honest to God. I had never hit him, even when he was crazed on uppers and beating his fists against my chest, I'd only held him back." Dean could hear Paul take a swallow of whatever poison he had poured for himself. From the gasp, Dean suspected the Irish whiskey. "He said they were headache pills and he got his bag and pulled out the pack. They were. The type you buy at any gas station or grocery store. He told me that I didn't trust him. I mean, it's not that I didn't trust him, but there he was in front of my eyes taking meds."

"Maybe you can't trust him?"

"But I do." Paul's voice was low, "but he doesn't trust me now. I hurt him."

"That's not… Did he say he doesn't trust you?"

"No. He said he was sorry. Sorry for everything, but you know it is a bit late for that. It wasn't his fault. None of it. At the start he stepped up the meds to keep his pain from me, to protect me in his twisted logic. He thought that keeping his troubles, and inner demons, from me, would keep me from harm. All that happened was finally after months of torture, he was gone. Into rehab and then time in a clinic. He hated it and he hated not having control over his thoughts and I know he blamed me for leaving him there."

"You did your best for him. Sounds to me like you couldn't have done more."

Paul heaved a sigh, "I'm putting all this on you, and you have your own troubles. Do you mind if I finish?"

"No, Paul man, I wanna hear the end of the story, you can't leave it there." Dean replied in a more upbeat tone than he felt.

"When he came home, things were strained between us but I thought we were working things out, but then he left, you know, to find himself. It worked, I think. I mean he is clean and sober. He looks healthy…"

"But…?"

"How do I repair things with him? How do I show him that I'm not angry with him? I mean, yeah, I am angry with him for leaving me and all, but not so angry that I don't love him. I love him, Dean. I still…"

Freaking super. Paul was sobbing down the phone. If he was there, Dean could clap him on the back, maybe hug him tight, but down the phone with words, he was stumped.

"… you still there Dean?"

"Yeah, man. I'm listening."

"What would you do?"

"What?" Someone was seriously asking Dean Winchester for relationship advice?

"I want to know. Really what would you do? I haven't seen him since then. He didn't return my calls. He always was the sulky child in our relationship. Do I go to Leanne's, his sister's? Do I wait for him to come to me? What do I say to him?"

"I dunno, be honest?"

"Tell him I'm still sore about him leaving and I don't want to hear his apologies? Or that I'm so glad he is still alive and not dead in some junkie squat? Or that none of it matters because he found his way back to me and I need him as much as he needs me?"

Dean gulped. "Ah, the last one."

"You don't mind. I don't want to hurt you Dean. I'm not that kind of guy, I wasn't using you…"

"Freaking hell, Paul. I know that. I know."

"I'd like you to meet him. You know, when your hunt is done."

"Yeah, maybe. He would hardly want to meet me."

"But he would. He does. I told him about you, and about you and Castiel."

Dean bit his lip. He held it back. He didn't think the small noise from the back of his throat could be heard down the cell.

"Dean?"

"Paul." He couldn't get another word out.

"Is everything alright? Did you get news of Castiel?"

Dean took a moment and closed his eyes again. "It's complicated. I can't…"

"OK, this isn't a PJ party. We aren't teenage girls sharing marshmallows and mutual soul bonding."

"Or braiding our hair." Dean chuffed.

"Or pondering vajazzling and watching Beaches and Titantic."

"Don't even mention Titanic, dude. You OK Paul?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"For what, I did nothing."

"You listened. You are a good friend, Dean. I mean it."

Dean kind of choked up a bit. "Thanks, you too."

"You gotta go now, don't you?"

"Yeah. Back to check on Sammy."

"Stay safe Dean. I'm praying for you."

"Stop!" Dean blurted at the top of his lungs.

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't pray for me. This is going to sound like the wackiest thing I've ever said to you. But don't pray for me. Please. Don't ask God or Angels to watch over me, or anything. Don't mention me in your prayers. Don't ask for some celestial power to listen to you. Please. Please do this for me."

"OK. That is wacky, but I can respect someone's beliefs. I won't light any more candles to St Michael for you."

Dean laughed. It was a bit manic and bitter but he was grateful, frigging happy that Paul had been praying to Michael, not angels in general out on some broad width celestial loud speaker. If the cage-locked douchebag was the only one receiving Paul's pleas, then maybe Naomi would never learn of Paul's connection to him.

Sonvabitch Crowley, freaking witch Naomi, the sooner they got those gates closed the better.