A/N: Hey all, time for another update! This one is short, but inspiration hit me last night and I thought you guys deserved something to get you through the winter slump. It's a teeny ficlet set after the events of Swan Song and season 5. Hope you enjoy! If not, send me a narwhal and we'll talk about solutions to global warming and the latest episode of SPN. It'll be grand! Stay crazy- I like the company. -R.

"You've reached Dean Winchester. Leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone."

Dean? It's Bobby. I was just calling to see how you're doing-you know, after everything. I'm out in Dayton right now on a rugaru case, but if you need anything I can… oh, balls. Just don't drink yourself into a coma, okay? I'll talk to you soon.

"Dean Winchester. This is the cell you call if your ass is on fire and you can't find an extinguisher, so it must be important. I'm not here, so call someone else."

I'm about ready to light your ass on fire, boy. It's been a damn month! Where the hell are you? Call me back."

"This is Dean's other, other cell so you must know what to do."

I'm fixing to kill you. Are you alive? Anybody home? Cas showed up twice at my house by accident and won't tell me a damn thing about you, he just stole some spell books and went poof, but let me tell you something: your pet angel is not my responsibility. Next time Scooby shows up on my doorstep I'll shove some rock salt in his ass and tell him to pass it on.

"Dean Winchester. If your name isn't Sam, this is a wrong number. If your name is Sam, you need a haircut."

"This is Hector Aframian, and if you're calling about my credit card I'm not available. Like ever. Bye!"

"Hey, you've reached US Marshals Tyler and Perry, leave a message…"

"Nigel Tufnel from All National Mutual…"

"Father Simmons of B.A.B Christian ministry…"

"You've reached Agent Bonham…"

"Agent Page…"

"Doctor James Hetfield…"

Silence. A dead end. Bobby hung up the phone.

"This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message. If you're calling about 11-2-83, please page me with your coordinates."

Cas stopped coming and I'm running out of numbers. It's been almost a year since…since it all went down. Sure, it's a little bit late and I'm a little bit drunk, but I had to try this number one more time. I can't lose you again, Dean- it was hard enough the first time. The first few times, actually. Jesus, you boys used to pop back up again like daisies. How times have changed, huh?

I drove up by your place a few days ago, saw you and Ben playing in the yard with a Frisbee. He's a cute kid, and a dead ringer for you, but I won't ask a question I don't want to hear the answer to. I thought about stopping in, catching up, but the thing I want to tell you has to be said in person. That and… Well, never mind. The thing is, I'm glad you got out of the hunting life. That kind of work, it wears you down after a while and I never wanted that to happen to you. I didn't want you to end up like your dad. Or like me.

I was glad to have you when I did, and if you getting out means I never see you again I guess that's just how it has to be. Do one last thing for me, though, son- do right by that boy. Teach him how to fix a car and ride a bike. Teach him how to stand up to people when they act like asshats. Go to every game and school play- let him be a kid because it will break your heart if he never gets that chance. Keep him safe but not stupid. Be proud of him.

Don't think I'm not still pissed at you for ignoring my calls.

Balls. How the hell do I delete this?

TWO YEARS LATER

"This is Bobby Singer's phone. You should not have this number."

Bobby…I'm sorry.

Silence.

A dead end.

Dean hung up the phone.