Reach Out and Touch Someone [Dean, Sam, Adam]

[ADAM MILLIGAN]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][atrb=style, padding-right: 10px;text-align:right; color: #bab8a2; text-shadow: 1px 1px 2px #000; width: 300px; padding-bottom: 65px;] It was weird, it had been almost a month and Dad hadn't called him back. He didn't call on his father often, he hadn't even talked to him since high school graduation almost a year ago. But the very few times that Adam had ever called on John, his father had answered within a day. The only exception was the time his sophomore year of high school when that guy had been hanging around Mom way too often. He called Dad, left a message, and thirty-six hours later the big black Sierra Grande rolled into town. Dad stayed two days, they went out to dinner one night and talked baseball. Any time he tried to ask about the dude that kept calling his Mom John had deflected, but after he rolled back out of town Trevor never showed his face again. So four weeks without even a voicemail? Weird. Worrisome. Adam called home but Mom hadn't heard from him, no big surprise there. He was of the not very strongly held opinion that his Mom and Dad still hooked up sometimes when John came through town, but he'd never really looked into it because...ick. Parentsex. He didn't want to know. He'd patched things up with Petey; a month was plenty long enough for Janis to get caught blowing her ex in the back seat of Pete's car. So all was well on that front, Pete was currently getting roaring drunk every third night and had sworn off women forever and ever. Unless Elena wanted to give him the time of day, but in any case things were fine between Adam and his best friend. Unfortunately that didn't deal with the Dad issue, and Adam debated for a long time what to do about the lack of communication. It shouldn't even have bugged him, if he hadn't called about the Pete thing he could have gone another year or more without seeing his father, but the lack of communication was making him twitchy. He thought long and hard about it, debated back and forth. And eventually he pulled the box down from the top of his dorm room closet and dug through it until he found the hardback copy of Moby Dick that John had given him when he was fourteen. There was an index card tucked between the pages, the ink fading after only a few years but still perfectly legible. "I don't want you to tell your mother about this." His father had been growing a beard right then, short and heavily salted with gray among the black. It was the first time Adam had ever thought that his father looked old. "This is only for emergencies." He'd tapped the corner of the lined card against the dust jacket of the book, looking at it because Adam had always had trouble keeping his eyes unrevealing when he looked directly at his father. "What is it?" "It's the number of--somebody who can help. If something ever comes up and you can't reach me, you call this number. It might be a message, forwarding you to a different number, but you'll route through eventually." Adam shook his head. "I don't understand." His Dad had nodded, done that thing where he reached over and gripped at the side of his neck. It was John Winchester's only way of touching his son, the only real gesture of affection he had. "Hopefully, you'll never have to. But if you're ever in trouble, or you need me and you can't find me, call this number and help will come." He'd almost blown it off at the time. His Dad said some pretty weird shit sometimes, especially the rare times he'd gotten really drunk. But he'd remembered, and now he dialed the number on the card, hesitant but he'd been worrying about this for weeks now. As he'd been warned, the first number led to a message with a second number on it. The second to a third. But the third led to a voicemail box and Adam cleared his throat nervously at the sound of the beep. "Hello, uh, Dean?" Dad had never even given him a name to go with this mysterious number, so Adam went with the name on the outgoing message. "This is Adam Milligan, John Winchester's son. I'm trying to reach him and haven't had any luck. If you can, could you have him call me? Or maybe call me back with how to get in touch with him? My number's [phone], he should already have it but just in case. So...thanks, and talk to you soon I hope." He hung up his cell with that awful feeling nearly universal to the moments after leaving a voicemail that he'd sounded like an idiot. But what's done is done, and hopefully this guy would get back to him with Dad's new number or whatever, Adam could have one of his annual conversations with his father, and then life could all go back to normal.

[DEAN WINCHESTER]

Dean had been sitting behind the wheel of his beloved '67 Chevy Impala with the windows down and blaring a bit of the tape that was currently in the car's tape-player. He had been tapping the steering wheel in rhythm to the song playing and bobbing his head as well. To anyone passing by the car he would have seemed quite odd, but Dean needed something to do to pass the time while he waited for his brother to get back from the errand he had to do at the local library. Sam had told him that it would not take to long, but it already had been twenty minuets since Sam went in.

If Dean had to guess he would say that Sammy might have run into some bookshelf filled with all sorts of old books on lore. He knew that if you gave him a book he would probably never put it down again, which might also explain why Sammy was such a little encyclopedia of weird. Knowledge was all good and dandy but Dean really wanted Sam to get his ass out of there and back to the Impala so that they could grab something to eat as he was starving.

In the middle of a particular awesome drum solo Dean barely heard his phone ring. With a sigh he reached over and turned down the volume on the music so that it became very soft background music. He pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket and looked at the LED screen to see why it had rung. He noticed that there was a message about a new voicemail. He flipped open his voice and went straight to the message. Leaning back he listened carefully to the message that was left. The more he listened to it the more his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what he was listening too.

When the message had ended he stared dumbly at his phone as if it would give him any clarification about what he had just heard. He heard the Impala's door slam shut and looked over to his right to see his brother sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Dude, I just got the weirdest message." he told his brother as he pressed the keyspads in his phone to replay the message and handed the phone over to Sam so that he could hear the message for himself.