Chapter Text
An ethereal instrumental piece of music, similar to the theme on The X-Files, played over the airwaves as a pre-recorded voice declared, “We’re here because we believe in the strange… the unknown… the unthinkable. We’re here because we want to know the real story.”
The music faded out and the same voice spoke again. “Good evening. I am Dr Jacob Glaser and you are listening to The Real Story.”
At home, Dean Winchester groaned. This show had to be the biggest pile of shit on air, but at the same time it was the only thing bearable at this time of night. Mainly because Dean liked the guy’s deep, rough-around-the-edges voice that always sounded like he’d just woken up, but he’d never admit it.
"If you’ve got clear skies where you are tonight you can clearly see the constellation Orion high in the sky. The three brightest stars form what is commonly known as Orion’s Belt, and tonight I want to talk to you about the possibility of the Pyramids of Giza being built by early Egyptian astronomers."
Dean rolled his eyes. It sounded half interesting, but Dean would bet money on the Jacob mentioning aliens somewhere in the next two minutes.
"It’s not just the pyramids," Jacob was continuing, "for their location next to the River Nile resembles that of Orion’s Belt to the Milky Way. Just how did this ancient civilisation manage to build the pyramids? Did they make contact with an alien species?"
And there it was. Even though it was rubbish, Dean found himself listening. The whole pyramids and stars thing was interesting, but aliens? No way. He listened (and laughed) as Jacob discussed the pyramids being two thousand years older than many believe, and that there was a very good chance that aliens helped the Egyptians build them. When he asked for callers, Dean wasn’t exactly sure what made him pick up the phone and dial.
"What’s on your mind, caller?"
"I’m wondering exactly what a guy with a PhD in Religion and Science is doing running a late-night radio talk show on conspiracy theories revolving around the existence of aliens," Dean asked.
"We can’t just accept the facts that are presented to us by those in charge of deciding what is right and what is wrong – we need to question everything and find the answers that we believe to be true," Jacob told him. "I’m being open-minded."
"Yeah, sure," Dean laughed mockingly. "This coming from the guy who thinks the government found aliens on the moon."
The familiar sigh that Dean had gotten surprisingly used to hearing over the past few weeks every time someone brought that up followed, before, “I never said they found aliens on the moon – it was a robot head.”
"Yeah, like one of those Transformers? 'Cause you know, I think I've seen that movie, and it wasn't that good. Who was it, Sentinel Prime?”
Click.
Dean laughed. The guy had hung up on him. Actually hung up on him.
"Hello? Hello, are you still there?" he heard on the radio. "Sorry, folks – it looks like we’ve lost out caller."
Dean hit redial.
He sat on hold throughout two phone calls from people who wanted to share their opinions on other ancient sites around the world being built by aliens – the crazies – including Stonehenge, of all things.
Eventually, after Gary - a regular caller - had called in asking when he was going to do an episode on the mandroid invasion, Jacob's gravelly tones travelled down the telephone line.
“Hello, there. Do you have an opinion you’d like to share?”
"How about my opinion on radio talk show hosts hanging up on their callers?" Dean smirked.
"Uh…"
Dean could almost hear the guy blushing.
"O-kay…"
"It’s rather rude, actually."
"I’m sorry, perhaps I accidentally hit a button…" Jacob trailed off awkwardly.
Dean laughed. “Pathetic, dude. Pathetic.”
"How about you let me make it up to you?"
"What, you mean like dinner?" Dean asked, slapping a hand over his mouth as soon as the words had left his mouth.
"What?" Jacob exclaimed. "I was thinking more along the lines of you choosing the topic for discussion on our next show, or… Um…"
Dean was still staring at the radio, struck dumb by his own idiocy. Just because he liked the guy’s voice didn’t mean he’d like the guy. He was conspiracy nutcase, for God’s sake! He closed his eyes, praying Jacob was straight, or spoken for, or uninterested.
"Are you actually asking me out, or…"
Dean’s mouth opened and closed his mouth as he tried to say words that his brain hadn’t quite formed yet. “Yes,” he said eventually, squeezing his eyes tightly closed as if that was going to hide him from an embarrassing public rejection (even if there couldn’t be that many listeners out there).
"Well, alright," Jacob started slowly, "but you have to answer one question first."
"Fair enough," Dean said.
"Tell me your name."
Dean swallowed. “Sam,” he said.
"Alright, then, Sam. You’ve got yourself a date. Call back on this number when we’re off the air."
Click.
Dean groaned, letting the handset slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
* * *
As soon as the show ended Dean rang back before he could change his mind.
"Sam!" The voice on the other end was clearly surprised. "I didn’t think you’d actually— Hello."
"You thought I was going to stand you up?"
A muffled, embarrassed laugh on the other end made Dean smirk.
"I, uh… Thought you were just some drunk, crank caller," Jacob admitted.
"Drunk? Usually, but not tonight. Crank caller? I’ll admit, I was going to be."
"So what made you change your mind?"
"You hung up on me."
Jacob laughed. “So, uh, when do you want to do dinner? Assuming you’re still interested, that is.”
"If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have called back."
"True," Jacob conceded.
"How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "Why not?"
"Alright."
"Do you like pizza?"
"I do, yes."
"Because there’s this little pizza place just opened across from Sunnyside Park—"
"Yes, I know the place."
"Seven o’clock?"
"Yes."
"I’ll see you there, then?"
"Yes."
"You’re pretty easy, you now that?" Dean grinned.
"I don’t have much of a social life, I’m afraid, and I always work the late shift!" There was a burst of awkward laughter, and then Jacob said, "I’m sorry. That came across badly."
"No, dude, I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Yes. Wait!"
"What?"
"How will I know it’s you?"
Dean thought about it for a moment, and then smirked. “You’ll know,” he said, and hung up.