[ untracable ]
by kHo

The first time it rings, Dean is sleeping and Sam picks it up.  He frowns at the blank caller id screen and wakes Dean up.

“The fuck, dude,’  Dean mumbles into his pillow, burying his head into it.

“You got a call, but they didn´t say anything when I picked it up.’

Dean turns over and glares at him while he hikes up the covers and curls into them.  “So,’ he asks, squeezing his eyes shut and frowning.  “And man.  Don´t answer my phone.’

Sam frowns once more at the phone and tosses it onto the floor.  “Whatever.’

*

The second time it rings Dean is in the shower and Sam picks it up.  The caller id is still blank.  He says hello five times and all he gets is breathing.

“Dean, do any of your ex-girlfriends have your cell phone number,’ he asks when Dean steps out of the shower, towel drying his hair.

Dean frowns at him and yanks his phone away.  “Seriously, dude.  Stop answering my phone.’

Sam rolls his eyes and stretches out on the bed.  “You know what´s strange?’

Dean pages down through his missed calls.  “Besides the fact that I keep getting anonymous calls?’

“I think it´s Dad,’ Sam says softly, looking up at him.

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Why would he go to the trouble of hiding himself so well just to call me out of the blue?  And not even say anything?’

Sam shrugs.  “I don´t know.  I just think it´s him.’

*

The third time it rings Dean is out getting McDonalds.  Sam watches it ring seven times before it rolls over to voicemail, and it never alerts him to a left message.

“It happened again,’ Sam says when Dean comes back, tossing him a bag filled with fries and a Big Mac.

Dean looks at him.  “What happened?  Your nightmare?’

“No,’ Sam says, laughing.  “The anonymous caller.’  At Dean´s glare he holds up his hands.  “I let it ring, Dean.  I didn´t answer it.’

Dean picks up his phone and scrolls through the missed calls.  Still no ID.  “It´s not Dad.  If it was Dad, he´d say something.’

Sam just nods and bites into his burger.

*

The fourth, fifth, and sixth time it rings, Dean misses it because he put it on silent.  He´s sleeping, damnit, and nothing´s important enough to wake him up at three am anyway.

“Who the fuck keeps calling me,’ he grumbles, punching down through his list and cursing at all the blank ID´s.  When Sam opens his mouth he glares at him.  “Don´t even say it.’

Sam grins.  “I didn´t say anything.’

Dean scowls down at his phone and goes to his address book.  

Dean has about a million ways to trace blocked calls, but not one single one of them get him that number.  

He pushes down the thought that no one but his Dad would know how to circumvent his system.

*

The seventh time it rings he and Sam are sitting in some random hotel in some random city, staring down at it.

“Aren´t you gonna answer it?’

“Nope,’ Dean says, propping his head on his hands and looking up at the television screen, overly colorized news anchors waxing philosophical over completely mundane everyday occurrences.  

He hates the news, would rather watch anything but the news, but fuck this person that keeps calling and doesn´t have the balls to announce themselves.

“But what if--’

Dean glares at him.  “Shut the fuck up.’

He hates the look of such raw need on Sam´s face, but he still didn´t pick up the phone.  This time he didn´t even bother to try to trace it.

*

The eighth time it rings, Sam is in the bathroom because Mexican takeout has never sat well with him.

Dean picks it up on the third ring and grits his teeth.  “I swear to fuckin´ God, you answer or I will hunt you down and shoot you in the forehead.  Point blank.’

“It´s about fuckin´ time.’

Dean´s heart thumps to a complete stop and it takes a laugh on the other end of the phone to get it started again.  “Dad?’

“Yeah.’  There´s a pause and Dean closes his eyes, tries to get his heartbeat to a somewhat regular pattern.  “Heard you were dead, son.’

Dean lets out a bark of a laugh and rolls his eyes when he feels the hope swelling through him.  “Yeah.  Shapeshifter.’

“That´s what I figured,’ his father says, and it´s the first time he´s heard from him in months, but it´s still the same.  Like they just talked ten minutes ago.  “Wanted to make sure.’  There´s another pause where Dean doesn´t know what the hell to say.  “Good to hear your voice son.’

“I´d say the same, except I can´t believe you´re actually calling me,’ Dean says, his heart still skitter-skipping around his chest with adrenaline, anger, and more than just a little relief.  “I guess it´s too much to hope that you´ll be joining us?’

“So Sam´s officially back is he,’ his father asks, and Dean laughs because of course he wouldn´t answer.  “It was good to hear his voice too.’

“Not that you´ll tell him,’ Dean says, feeling suddenly incredibly bitter.  Bitter like he hasn´t been since he was sixteen.  “Never thought you were a phone breather, Dad.’

Nice hearty laugh at that, and Dean´s missed that laugh.  As shit as their life had been, as hard and lonely and grueling, his father´s laugh had always made it feel like home.  Like some sense of normal.  “I just wanted to make sure you were alive, Dean.’

“Yeah, I know the feeling,’ Dean says, hating the way his voice goes soft, hating the way it feels like he´s two seconds away from crying.  “Cause I´ve spent the last few months wondering if my father was alive.  Not fun, let me tell you.’

“You have Sam now, Dean,’ his father says, and Dean could already hear the goodbye in his voice.  He didn´t even need to say it.

“Yeah,’ he says, looking over at the bathroom and wondering if the walls are thin enough for Sam to hear him.  “What´s a guy need his father for when he´s yanked his brother out of the only chance he´s ever had at something that might actually make him happy.’

“I have my reasons, Dean,’ his father says, and yeah.  This is it.  This is the goodbye.  “No matter what else goes on, know that.  I have my reasons.’

“Fuck your reasons,’ Dean spits out, his hands shaking when he looks down at them.  “Come back,  Dad.’  He closes his eyes and lets go of every ounce of pride he´s ever had.  “Please.’

“I love you Dean,’ his father says, and then the line was blank.  Dead air.  Nothing.

*

Sam walks out of the bathroom holding his stomach and sighing very, very loudly.  “Remind me.  Never Eat Chalupas.  Fuck my tastebuds.’

Dean looks at the floor, dropping his phone to the bed.  “Okay,’ he says, looking up at him and grinning.  He´d always been so good at that, grinning through all the pain.  “Never Eat Chalupas.’

Sam frowned at him, because he´d always been good at that too.  Seeing through all the bullshit.  “Who was on the phone?’

Dean shakes his head, the anger filling him overwhelming.  “Fuckin´ kids.’

“Kids,’ Sam repeats, sitting down on the bed opposite him, regarding him with cool calculation.  “And this bothers you?’

Dean looks him straight in the eye and flat out lies.  “Yeah.  I was hoping you were right.’

Sam shrinks then, right before his very eyes.  “So it was kids this whole time,’ he asks, the hope dying in his eyes.  “This whole time, it was kids playing a prank.’

Dean avoids looking at him and stands up, brushing off his pants.  “Yep.’  He turns and smirks at him.  “Don´t worry, I don´t think they´ll be calling back again.’

Sam looks up at him and for the life of him, Dean swears he´s still fifteen.  “It really wasn´t Dad?  You´re not just bullshitting me?’

“Don´t you think I wish it was,’ Dean growls, throwing up his hands.  “Remember, I´ve been looking for him longer than you have.’

He hates the look of despair on Sam´s face, but he doesn´t regret lying to him.

It´s so much better this way.  At least Sam didn´t have to listen to their father say goodbye again.

Dean will never forget.