Title: I'm Reaching for the Phone
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean stares, wide-eyed, down at the small piece of paper in his hand. What is Sam doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #11: extrinsic.



Dean finds it by accident: a small rectangle with a ripped edge, stuffed in-between the pages of one of Sam’s books. Like it was quickly placed there and forgotten about. There’s a phone number scribbled on it, and Dean fully intends to just stick it back in the book and forget about it because, hell, Sam’s allowed to get a phone number in a bar every now and then without comment from him.

Except. Before he has a chance to put it back, he catches sight of the name.

Layla Rourke.

Dean stares, wide-eyed, down at the small piece of paper in his hand. What is Sam doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?

“Hey, what’s up?” Sam asks, frowning at Dean when he exits the bathroom. Dean turns on Sam, paper in hand, and irrationally angry.

“What are you doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number?” he asks, demands. Sam looks at him like he’s gone off his rails. He walks over to Dean and takes the paper from his hands. Which only pisses Dean off more. He looks down at it.

“I forgot I had this,” he replies, thoughtfully. “She gave it to me before we left Nebraska.”

“Why?”

“Dude, what is your problem?”

Dean snatches the paper back from Sam, who continues to stare at him in confusion. “Answer the question, Sam,” he says, tersely.

“Do you really want to know?” Sam asks, clearly more than a little fed up.

“Why the hell do you think I’m asking you?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “After I told her you wanted to say goodbye, which you did, even though you’d never admit it, I told her you were worried about her. She gave me that and told me to tell you I you could check in from time to time if you wanted. She gave it to me for you, man, and I put it in that book, and forgot about it. There. That’s what I’m doing with Layla Rourke’s phone number.”

Dean eyes him for a few seconds, then looks down at the piece of paper in his hands, the phone number written on it.

“Fine,” he eventually says, folding up the piece of paper and shoving it into his pocket. He could apologize for being an ass, but, well, he won’t. He thinks Sam somehow knows he’s sorry. He always does.

“So,” Sam says, falling back onto the bed. “Are you gonna call her, or what?”

Dean glares at him and says nothing.

*

They’re on the road, again, two days later, and Dean’s cell phone and Layla’s number are burning a hole in his pocket. He still doesn’t know what to do; he knows what he wants to do, but doesn’t know what he should do. Layla’s got enough on her mind, enough problems, enough things to deal with, without him inserting himself back into her life, no matter how short a time.

But, would she have given her number if she didn’t want him using it?

He’s played every possible situation in his mind, over the hours and hours spent staring at the road ahead. Sam’s asleep. Dean wishes he could sleep; he got maybe two hours last night.

He spots a gas station in the distance and decideds enough is enough. He pulls in rather fast, startling Sam awake with an abrupts stop. Sam sits upright quickly, looking around. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Gotta take a leak,” Dean lies. “Fill it up, would you?” He gets out of the car before Sam has a chance to say anything else. He vaguely remembers rounding a gas station very much like this one, calling John, what feels like three lifetimes ago. He repeats the process and leans heavily against the wall.

He pulls the paper out of his pocket and stares at it. Will she even be around anymore to answer? And if she is, what is he going to say to her? Hi, remember me, the guy who stole your chance at living, not once but twice? How’ve you been? He sighs, punching the buttons slowly. He stares at his phone for a long time, before pressing ‘send’. He’s realling doing this.

Shit, he’s really doing this.

Three rings and then, “Hello?” It’s her. He takes a deep breath.

“Hi Layla.”

A pause. “Dean?” she asks. She sounds surprised. Pleasantly surprised. Excited. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face. He closes his eyes and breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s me.”