Maddison Winchester: Journal 7 {Supernatural} (Editing)

Of Grave Importance

April 22nd - April 24th, 2013

I had decided that after the dream I had about Dick Roman, I was going to stick to Crowley's plan. I knew what Meg said was probably true, but I also couldn't really trust her either. So, I met up with Crowley, and we mutually decided to up my dosage. I was feeling a lot stronger and a lot livelier because of it. Honestly, I was feeling amazing.

After picking up some fast food, we leaned up against our current car to chow down.

"All right, here we go," Dean said as he handed out our food. "Ya know... even though the world is going to crap, there's one thing that I can always count on... these things tasting the same in every drive-through in every state in our great nation." He took a big bite out of the taco he was holding. "Mmm."

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Sam and I checked our pockets, but Dean pulled out his phone and answered his call, "Annie?" (...) "A nice surprise. How you been?" (...) "Yeah. Us too. What's up?" (...) "Yeah. Sure. Where you at?" (...) "You working?" (...) "Near enough." (...) "1 o'clock?" He listened for a moment, nodded, and then hung up. "All right, let's finish up, we gotta meet Annie. She's got some of Bobby's books... wants to give 'em to us."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later the next day, we waited at a table in Pier Front Restaurant for Annie.

"Hey, get this," Dean said, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "Dick Roman is funding another archaeological dig. Guy moves more dirt than 'The Drudge Report.'"

"Well, any— anything on what he's digging for?" Sam asked.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think I would have led with that?"

Sam sighed and looked at his watch. "Annie's not usually this late, is she?"

"No, never. She's totally compulsive. I'll try her cell." Dean pulled out his cellphone.

"You know, uh, you know she and Bobby had a thing, right?" Sam smirked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I knew that," Dean said and paused for a moment. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Kind of a foxhole thing... very Hemingway."

Dean held his cell phone up as it rang. "Huh. She and I kind of went Hemingway this one time, too."

Sam shrugged, All right, well... that happens." He grimaced.

I shook my head as I went back to reading my menu. "Wow."

Dean held his phone to his shoulder. "What, you too?"

I rolled my eyes. "Please don't say yes."

Sam shook his head. "Look, it was a while back. We ended up on the same case. She was stressed." He shrugged. "I— I— I didn't... have a soul."

I dry heaved. "Nasty."

Dean nodded in astonishment. "That's a lot of foxholes." He hung up his phone. "She's not answering. Well, here's to ghosts that aren't there." He poured some whiskey from his flask into his coffee mug.

"You sound kinda disappointed," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. "Ah, it's better this way. I mean, even though I wish we could see him again, doesn't mean that we should." Then he and Sam clinked their mugs together. He looked up from his paper. "Are we being stood up?"