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This is Dean's other other cell. Leave a message.
"Hey man, sorry, when you passed me the number, I automatically dialed it. Here give me the cell back and I'll set it up for text."
Dean. The man in the gas station permits me to use his telephone. I am behind the carwash machine in Casper. Dean
"You're welcome dude. Hey are you one of those ex-heaven weirdoes? Nope? Well take care man. Hey have you somewhere to go? Are you alright? Hey come back. Well craptastic."
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The night the sky burned was a turning point in history. The silent majority, who went about their daily business oblivious to the supernatural, had the veil removed from their eyes. The reality of the universe was smacked in their faces. Angels landed in back yards, swimming pools, on mountains, in deserts, on ice caps and cruise liners. Everywhere across the globe the host was expelled to earth. By and large the host was pissed. Locked out of heaven, there was only humanity on which to inflict their rage. There were some angels who hid themselves, retreated to monasteries or forest glades, but their vast majority was anything but silent. The twelve angels who had landed on and around The Fiji Islands had banded together and staged a coup, making a seraph called Feyriel the first angelic head of state. Some governments curried favor with their new super powered citizens, while others declared war on the alien creatures. The United States took a middle road. Homeland security was on high alert. FBI files on known hunters were dug out of storage and shady lone men were approached by shady fed partners in roadhouses and cheap motels across the continent. At the same time Washington met with the self-assured angels who had appointed themselves as spokespeople for their brethren. There was a housing crisis as the angels demanded roofs over their heads. Some wanted the communities where they had landed to give them tribute, others wanted to help humanity and set up healing circles. Two countries in the far east had changed their calendars to Year One.
In an underground bunker outside Lebanon, Kansas, two brothers and a (former) king of hell, sat out the chaos. There had been a Prophet of the Lord too, but he objected to the demon being kept in the dungeon, and moved out. Kevin had only gone as far as Topeka, complete with three groupie angels who insisted on guarding him from other less groupie inclined angels.
Everyday Sam felt better. He gained strength with every sleep. He still coughed up a little blood. Some days he was dizzier than others. Overall he could be said to be on the mend. He had spent the first couple of weeks after the Fall from Heaven reading everything the Men of Letters had on penitence and purifying demonic influence. Then he progressed to some online research and had ordered a couple of giant psychology tomes from Amazon. Finally he felt ready. He began what Dean dubbed 'psychobabble crap' sessions with Crowley. First in the dungeon and then in the library. The dungeon was too damp and cold, presumably deliberately. Sam wasn't well enough to continue there, he told Dean. So Crowley, in his anti-demon handcuffs, was subjected to Sam-talk in more comfortable surroundings. Dean did not know what went on between them, but he trusted Sam.
When Sam wasn't watching, or psychoanalyzing, Crowley he was attempting the most profound role reversal of his life. He was trying to take care of Dean. There was no admittance of this situation on Dean's side, because there was little reaction to anything from Dean. Sam would have ganked something for one of Dean's meat patties but his brother hadn't cooked from scratch since that night. Dean could still get angry. Two angel reports segued into each other on one news bulletin. One on a lawyer who was smited in Chicago, followed by three female angels who had been living like feral children in Kentucky until the local pastor had led a group of parishioners to 'rescue' and take them in. Dean had spat with bile about the unremitting dickness of angels and the inability of ancient beings to take care of basic human functions.
Twenty one days after the Fall from Heaven, Aaron Bass called Dean. Hunters coming out into the open had led Aaron to check on the Winchester brothers. Dean politely enquired about the golem. Aaron said that he was an effective weapon against ex-garrison angels. After an awkward silence Dean enquired about Aaron's love life and was told that the golem just effective at stopping that. Dean had laughed and felt less weighed down. When he pressed End Call, Dean had a voicemail. He checked it but it was only a heavy breather. He tossed the cell in disgust and went to check that Crowley hadn't tried to get Sam to make a deal.
A text message arrived after Dean left his room. Although Dean had been retiring earlier and earlier, that night Charlie had called looking for help with her local angel interactions. They were on the friendly but autistic spectrum style of cherub, with a female cupid called Mariel who had taken a shine to Charlie. Dean scrubbed his mind of other thoughts and reflected on the people that he had in his life as he brushed his teeth and shaved for the first time since Sunday. The blinking light on his cell phone made him presume that Aaron had added a postscript. It was an unknown number...
Dean. The man in the gas station permits me to use his telephone. I am behind the carwash machine in Casper. Dean.
Muttering about angels not knowing how to sign messages. Dean moved faster than he had in three weeks. He tripped over his half-mast re-donned jeans as he ran to the conference room. The noise of his face plant alerted Sam. Dean was up, had snagged Baby's keys and his navy canvas jacket, and was headed for the door, when his brother caught him by the shoulder swinging him round.
"What Dean?"
"Huh?" Dean managed as he checked his pockets for his wallet and phones.
"You don't leave your freaking room except to eat and shower for three weeks, and now you are running out the door? Where the frigging hell are you going?"
"Casper."
"I believe there was a friendly ghost of that name." A very unwelcome snarky demon with a glass of Dean's Hunters Friend commented from the hall way.
"You're giving him alcohol now." Dean rolled his eyes.
"It helps him to talk." Sam shrugged.
"You are being played." Dean pursed his lips and decided to deal with that later. "I've got to go."
"You have got to be kidding me? It's nearly midnight. What is in Casper that is so important?"
Dean made it to the door before he turned his head back and gulped, "Cas."
It would take a normal road car eight and a half hours to get to Casper, Wyoming. Dean was sure the Impala could break seven. She did.