[SPN] voicemails
It was the last number she’d had in her phone for one Dean Winchester before he all but vanished from existence. She knew he wasn’t dead, she hadn’t felt that sick feeling in her gut, that pain that comes along with her fringe ability. Bobby Singer had confirmed he’d been alive last he saw him, as well. However, she was unsure if the cell number she had would even still be in service, would even be a phone he still kept. But it couldn’t hurt to try.
It rang four times before bouncing to voicemail. A brief ‘This is Dean, leave a message’ was before the beep and she was silent, unsure of what to say.
“If you still have this phone, it’s Poe. Call me, please?”
A week without a call back and she tried again, reaching the voicemail again.
“You don’t have to call me back, but can you keep this number active? I just want to be sure you’re okay and alive. I miss you, I love you.”
That’s how she kept tabs on him. Calling up the number every now and then to make sure it was active, thought she rarely left a voicemail.
Four months after the apocalypse had been averted, she left a voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Poe. Um. I’m pregnant. I thought you’d want to know.”
Six months later, she rang the number again and left another message.
“It’s a girl. I named her Emily Mary Winchester. She’s got your eyes and your freckles. I hope you’re doing okay, you’ve been gone a long time. I’m living in Colorado now, I’ve got a great big house in the country. You can come home whenever you want, even if you need to leave again. I love you, Dean. Stay safe.”
It had been such a struggle to not break down on the message. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to guilt him into showing back up, that was the last thing she’d do. But it was so difficult to wonder what he was going through without his brother, what a mess he likely was. Even a mere year later.
Every couple of months Poe would call and leave a short message. A little about her, a little about Emily, a little news that she’d picked up around. She figured it didn’t hurt for him to have another venue of information, either. She was doing her best to help him out without being overwhelming.
It went on like this for another year before there was the loud rumble of a muscle car in her driveway and a road-weary man standing on her front porch.