Calling John Bonham (2 of 5)

A short story of Brothers Apart

Bowman returned ten minutes later, flying far less gracefully than when he’d left. Jacob raised his eyebrows at the sight; Bowman was indeed carrying something in his arms, something almost as long as his tiny body was tall. Jacob realized with a smile that it was a business card. “No shit,” he said as Bowman closed the distance between them.

“Ha! Now you gotta believe me, Dean said the numbers on it can be used to call him,” Bowman announced smugly, right before letting the card fall. Jacob had to fumble to catch it before it fluttered to the ground. He lifted it up, privately eager to see some confirmation of what Bowman told him.

“Bowman …” Jacob said, reading the card.

What now?! I got you proof and everything!” Bowman complained, taking a perch on top of Jacob’s head while they both stared at the name and phone number on the card.

“The name on it is ‘John Bonham,’ Bowman.”

“What?! But his name is Dean! Dean … Winchester!” Bowman protested, punctuating it with a small whap from one of his wings on Jacob’s head.

Jacob thought for a moment. It wasn’t likely that Bowman would have made up a name like ‘Winchester’ on his own. “Hey, I’ll still give the number a try, how about that?” Jacob dug his phone from his pocket, his eyes pointed upward even though he couldn’t see the sprite perched on him. “What do you say?”

The motel room was a peaceful sight in the morning after the Winchesters latest successful hunt. Slits of sunlight made it through the curtains Dean had drawn across the massive windows that bordered the front of their room, covered up so it would be safe for Sam to be out and about in the room if he wanted to be, and they wouldn’t have to worry about him being spotted by any curious onlookers, innocent or dangerous.

They’d had enough problems with dangerous humans in the past. No one wanted a repeat of Sam’s kidnapping.

Dean was lying flat on his back, slow breaths making his chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm. After so long spent with Sam, and having his pocket used as a bed when Sam needed a place to stay, it was habit to lie like that. The small hunter never asked, but Dean made sure he didn’t have to. Sam shouldn’t have to ask for somewhere safe to sleep.

Sam himself slept on his own bed, under the nightstand that stood between the two queen beds that made up their room. Dean had set it up when they got in, and until late the night before it was all but forgotten. A successful vengeful spirit hunt combined with a night of celebratory drinking resulted in neither brother hitting the sack until at least 2 am.

So the phone going off around 11 am found a room full of sleeping Winchesters.

Dean groaned, rubbing a hand down his face and blinking rapidly to clear up his vision. Normally he wouldn’t have such a hard time waking, as used to being constantly on guard as he was, but their night of celebrating had gone on longer than he expected, both brothers feeling the release of stress after such a simple in- and out- case finished.

He glanced to the side, sleepily groping on the nightstand table to grab his phone. It took a time or two, and he squinted as the number scrolled across the screen. He didn’t recognize it.

This might normally be the point where Dean would answer the phone and demand to know who was calling and how did they get his number, but his urge to growl at the caller was thoroughly thwarted by one simple fact.

He didn’t know how to unlock the new phone.

The damn thing was a smartphone, one of the first around. Sam was hyped up with excitement over having a phone that could connect to the internet without ever having to go on the computer. They could get directions, just like a GPS, and never have to open a map to find their way to the next town over. Sam would have a much easier time navigating maps on a phone a little bigger than he was compared to the mass of paper maps that could cover the entire back seat of the Impala.

Dean was still learning how to use the phone, and the friggin’ password wasn’t words or numbers like normal, but rather a design on the touchscreen that he had to swipe his fingers across and he didn’t have time for this shit.

As the phone reached the third ring, Dean swung his legs out of bed and knelt on the floor. Sam had programmed the damn thing, he could figure out how to answer it.

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