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Donna was freezing her bottom off and she was finally desperate enough to call. She kept trying to soothe herself by thinking of something more embarrassing than running out of gas in January on a Minnesota back road but she couldn’t come up with anything. SHE, of all people, should have known better. But she’d been making her way back from a successful hunt, was full of energy, and singing along at the top of her lungs to Shania Twain. She had hoped someone would drive by that she could flag down, but no one came. Now her fingers were going numb and she was starting to get genuinely worried. It was time to call Sam. Bitterly she thought “This’ll give ‘em something to talk about”. She dug out her phone. There was one bar of service. It was worth a try. The phone rang and she heard a scratchy Hello.
“Sam. Howareya? I got myself in a bit of a pickle and I need a big favor from you.”
“Hello? shsksdhsk Donna shskkhsskdfihss Hello? You need pickles?”
Oh golly. So much static. This was going to be a challenge.
“Sam! I’m stuck in the snow in Minnesota. I need a rescue.”
“You want skshshshshs pool cue?”
“What? Why would I want a pool cue? No, Sam. I need help. I need help!”
“A needle?”
“Sam! I am freezing my tits off!”
“You’re kshdfhkhshhsskkss coldest hits? Donna skshhsllkkslss mean?”
The call dropped. Donna silently cussed at Sam for making her upset enough that she’d said the word tits to him. Well he was gonna be no help. Maybe Castiel would answer a prayer. Hopefully his celestial service would be better than her AT&T.
Sam sat for a second staring at his phone. Well that had been weird. Maybe he would ask Cas to pop over and check on her. He shook his head. What the hell was a Coldest Hits?