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"Can you pick me up please?"
The voice had started speaking almost a full 10 seconds after Dean had answered the phone, but he knew better than to hang up after a period of silence. Too many times he himself had had nothing left in him but the energy to hit Sam's number. It had saved his life on numerous occasions. The voice was soft, and quiet, maybe a little scared, but there was an air of familiarity to it. Dean wreaked his brain, trying to remember the inflection in each of the tones of voice of the new hunters who had come over from the Apocalypse world, but there were too many of them.
It was late, almost 2 in the morning, but Dean hadn’t been able to sleep properly since Michael. He had been going to sleep when Sam and the rest of the hunters did, to avoid worrying them, but would re-emerge when he was sure they were all asleep, a tumbler of whiskey and a pile of lore always awaiting him. Cas had walked in on him a few times but was tactful enough not to say anything. He was pretty sure Cas was close by somewhere anyways – he liked to spend time in the library when it was quiet, and not full of strangers. Dean knew the feeling.
As Dean walked over to the ‘war table’, on which was a whiteboard that Sam had placed to jot down where each of the hunters were sent off too, he asked "Who is this?"
More silence, and Dean scanned the board; Sam's jerky writing in fluorescent green dry erase marker was smudged, but he could make out the names and locations. Only three hunters were out now, and all were within an hour's drive.
"Hello?" asked Dean again, heart beating a little faster.
"This is Dean Winchester, right?" the voice slurred the question.
"Yeah, yes, it is. Talk to me kid, are you alright?"
"I hit a tree," said the voice. "With my car."
"Car crash? Shit, did anyone see? Did someone call the police?" Dean's mind was racing. Most of the hunters from Apocalypse world were minors, and the amount of weapons and paraphernalia in those cars would at best get them suspected of devil worship, and at worst, arrested and charged for juvenile weapons possession. Neither were good options.
"It's a service road, no one saw it," mumbled the voice, after a pause.
"Did you hit your head?"
"I think I hit my head," repeated the voice.
Dean swore. "What road, kid? There are like 9 back roads by the Bunker."
"Bunker? I'm - I'm in Indiana."
Dean wiped his hand down his face. Indiana was over 8 hours away, 6 if he pushed it. "Indiana? Jesus. Hey, kid, can you give me your name?"
"I was drunk," started the voice. "Mom was mad, and I was drunk, and -"
By now, Dean was pretty sure that this was nothing more than a wrong number, but the Bunker was silent, and the thought of hanging up on a young, possibly injured kid, seemed like one of the worst things he could do.
"- and it's dark, you know? I hit a rock, I think, and it was spinning and bit. I hit a tree, and the steering wheel. I'm bleeding a bit."
"Your head is bleeding?"
"Mmmhmm."
"Do you have anything that you can use to put pressure on it?"
"A sweater?"
"That works," said Dean, starting to pace around the war room, making laps of the table. "Put pressure on it, okay? And don’t fall asleep. Are you still in the car?"
"I got out. In the movies, you know, they explode."
"Smart kid," said Dean. "Can you tell me anything else?"
"I hit my head and I fell asleep, or passed out, and then I woke up and got out of the car. And my head was so full. I knew things."
"You knew things?"
"I remember you," said the voice. "I remembered everything."
Dean stopped. The kid didn’t say anything else, and the Bunker was quiet, save for the electric humming of air systems, and the ticking of the clock. There was a small thought in the back of his mind but he pushed it back, denying the possibility. After a second, he let his curiosity get the best of him.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Ben,” said the voice, and Dean felt his heart stop.
“Ben?” he choked.
“Yeah, you know? I remembered you, Dean. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I forgot you. And then the car, and I was awake, and I couldn’t call Mom, she’d be so mad, and all I could think of was you. And I remembered your phone number, because you always said I had to call you if I was in trouble. I think you meant about the, the monsters, but –”
Dean blinked, and for a second, the only thing he could think of was how grateful he was that he hadn’t changed his main cell number in the past 8 years. Had it really been that long? Ben must be almost 17 by now, and Dean closed his eyes and he could Ben as 9 years old, helping him with the Impala.
“But I need help, and I just wanted to know if you could pick me up,” said Ben.
Dean swallowed, and then answered, “Yeah, yeah kid, just um, hold on, okay? And stay on the phone.”
“It might die,” said Ben. “I forgot to charge it, I’m sorry.”
“It won’t take me long to get there, okay? Just keep talking to me, Ben. Tell me where you are, describe it, okay?”
Dean moved his phone away from his mouth, but kept it close to his eye, only half listening as Ben spoke, while trying to figure out the fastest way to Cicero.
“ – the tree has a dent, I guess. My car does too. You can’t really, really see where one of them ends and the other begins,” Ben was saying softly in Dean’s ear. “Hey Dean?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“There’s a car coming.”
Dean exhaled. Thank God. “Good, that’s good Ben. Let them help you, okay?”
“Are you gonna come here?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. The car stopped,” said Ben.
“Okay,” whispered Dean.
“I’m gonna hang up,” said Ben softly, and Dean wanted to cry out, wanted to tell him to stay on the phone, but then Ben spoke again before the line went dead. “Please come.”
Dean was on the road less than 20 minutes later, a note to Sam written in fluorescent green dry erase.