"Sometimes I think it would be better if you were never here in the first place, man."

When Dean says it, he has no idea that it's the last thing Sam ever hears him say. Four years pass and Sam calls on Christmas and birthdays, but Dean never picks up the phone. He deletes the messages and blocks the e-mails. Cutting Sam out of his life is the easy part.

Realising that he can never let him back in, no matter how hard he wishes, prays, fucking begs, is the hard part.

After Jessica calls with the news, Dean tries desperately to get the e-mails back. His number gets blacklisted by his own phone company when he tries to retrieve the messages, to hear Sam's voice one last time. But he has nothing. All the pictures are gone. All the videos are gone. He deleted them long ago.

When he realises that there's no point in keeping his laptop if Sam isn't somewhere on it, he throws it in the pool and watches it crackle.

When he tries to go back to his mechanic shop, he remembers that Sam helped him buy it, and he just stops coming.

When he takes the Impala to go to the store and sees the initials carved into the back door, he drives into a barn.

He had been planning on buying rope.

The farmer tries to sue him for killing his prize pig, but the court deems Dean unfit to stand trial and sentences him to six months of in-patient therapy. It doesn't really help. He lies through his teeth to avoid jail and is released early for 'making progress' because all he wants is out. In the ward, he can't hurt himself. If he does, they restrain him. He can't overdose, he can't crash, he can't get high or go into the woods and kill things. Their methods of help consist of not dying, and he's not sure he wants that.

But when he finally gets home again, he almost misses the hospital. There were no real responsibilities there. People fed him, clothed him, didn't expect him to pay any bills or get the mail. Here he doesn't know why he's still alive so he acts like he's dead, except for the short bursts of anger and regret and pain with no name that overtake him like seizures when he's alone with his thoughts. So he buys some beer, gets his prescription, and takes showers that burn his skin and rack up the electricity bill that he can't pay.

He sleeps in the living room, his only company the television. He hasn't gone up the stairs in a month. He's forgotten what colour the ceiling is and every time he thinks about it, all he can think is that Sam had helped him paint that room long ago. So he tries his hardest not to think about anything. The beer helps.

The first time he hears the phone, he thinks it's the TV. His mind hardly registers it. But when he hears the same tone the next day at the exact same time, he manages to think maybe. It takes three more days of ringing at six o'clock on the dot for him to finally drag himself off of the floor and check the messages.

"Hello Dean. I apologize for not leaving a message sooner. I thought-… There's something we need to discuss. Please call me back as soon as possible."

He hasn't touched the phone in weeks and it's covered with a fine layer of dust, but the numbers he can make out send a hot, acidic feeling up his throat and make his stomach seize.

Castiel.

It's the last call he receives. It takes him another two days to acknowledge it, to fully wrap his mind around it, and three more days to pick up the phone. So he waits until six o'clock, takes one or two or ten Valium, and then dials the number. His fingers shake.

"Dean?"

When Castiel answers- actually answers- he has to put the phone down and stare at the wall for a few seconds, trying his hardest not to think about anything at all. When he's ready, he puts the phone back by his ear and speaks the first word he's said to Castiel in five years.

"Yeah."

Castiel is patient. He's slow and he's careful and he's tense. He asks how Dean is, but Dean doesn't answer. He then sighs, and tells Dean he's sorry. Dean snorts. Castiel doesn't comment, only pauses before he goes on.

"I told you we needed to discuss something," he says, and there's a thinly disguised sense of bitterness in his voice. "I assume you are aware of the terms of Sam and Jessica's will."

He is. "What does that have to do with anything."

Castiel pauses. "I have some bad news, Dean."

Dean waits because there's nothing else he can do.

"Jessica is dead."

Dean's mouth goes dry and he swallows.

"She took her own life," Castiel says gravely. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone but her death brings up a more serious matter." But Dean already knows what the phone call is about. With all this talk of wills and Jessica's death and seeing as how Sam was already gone, there's only one matter left unattended: Amy.

Dean hasn't even thought of Amy since his time at the psychiatric hospital. The last time he remembers seeing her was the day Dean last saw Sam, and it isn't a pretty memory. There had been yelling and angry words and cursing and she had been crying, so Jessica stole her away and took her into the backyard. All he remembers of her is a two year old with wet cheeks who didn't understand why her dad and his brother hated each other so much.

"I don't understand it either, kiddo. I guess some things are just like that."

They aren't words he's said, but rather words he wishes he could have said. Because her last question to him was why. Why Sam didn't like to talk about Dean anymore. Why Dean wasn't allowed to see her anymore. But instead of answering her, he had just gotten up and walked away because he couldn't stand to tell the truth. What Sam had done was something no child should have to know about her father.

"You mean Amy," Dean states dully.

"Yes," Castiel confirms, and suddenly his tone is different. Awkward, almost. "Amy's situation is. Complicated." Dean snorts again and the silence on the other line is disapproving. He isn't sure how he knows. He can just tell. "I don't see how this is humorous."

"I wasn't laughing because it's funny," Dean explains dryly. "So I guess you're calling because Sam never managed to mention to his lawyer that he fucking hated me so I'm still listed as Amy's guardian-in-case-of-death-or-suicide or whatever."

Castiel sighs. "Not exactly."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Please, Cas, do elaborate."

The name slips out, an old habit. The line goes silent. Dean stops breathing.

"Perhaps it would be easier if his lawyer were to explain the situation to you himself."

And just like that, they forget it ever happened. Neither of them wants to remember the time when Cas was the word, or when Dean's name was still spoken fondly on Castiel's tongue.

"Fine. Sure. Whatever."

Castiel gives him a time and a place and hangs up. Dean goes back to drinking and listening to the television. He tries his best to forget the appointment stuck to his refrigerator door. He doesn't want to think about responsibilities right now. Right now, he just wants to sleep and pretend like he's not going to have to be a father to a little girl whose real father Dean might as well have killed himself.

Right. I have no idea what I just wrote. I'm not even sure if I'll write another chapter. I probably will. Depends. Anyway. Wow. Sorry for feels and suffering. Bye.

Does anyone even read stories with character death?