#winchester?

Dean flipped the page of what was his father’s journal, looking for something, anything, about what kind of monster had the tendency to eat the livers out of people and then scalp them for their hair. 

There on the following page, jumping out in dark black ink, was a phone number. He didn’t recognize it, not immediately and he bent down to study it closer. There was a name written in pencil above it, faded and worn, but still legible; your name.  

“Son of a bitch.” Dean started. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed in the number, shaking his head at himself as it rang. How could he have forgotten about this? He had promised to call you when he had made it back but with everything going on at the time he had forgotten.

“Man, she’s gonna be pissed.”

 laughter can't

 but I know right!?