His fingers curl around his cell phone as he presses it painfully to his ear. He know this won't work, knows that it'll only suppress the pain for a moment at best. But he still waits and listens for the machine to kick on.

You've reached Jimmy Novak. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and holds it. I'm not able to come to the phone right now, but feel free to leave your name and number and I'll be sure to get back to you.

He exhales at the sound of the beep.

Their voices aren't the same, but it's better than nothing.

Dean closes his eyes and imagines the message in a deeper tone. Pictures a trench coat and tie folded neatly next to the machine. Because the angel would have probably kept the phone in his room, so he could be at everyone's beckon call.

"Please," he whispers into the receiver. "please, I can't do this anymore."

He hears a click. Then a breath.


"Cas?" The name leaves his mouth before he can catch it.

"No," Jimmy says, sounding a little sadder than he should.

Not of course not, Dean thinks. Jimmy's not him.

No matter how many times Dean calls – Jimmy will never be Castiel.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Dean chokes out.

"It's okay," Jimmy assures him. "I miss him too."

There's a pause and Dean is sure his heart has stopped along with the whole world. But Jimmy clears his throat.

"I meant what I said earlier, you know," he says. "when I gave you this number."

Dean tightens his hold on the phone and his stomach tightens on itself. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't trust himself to not drop to his knees and start begging for the angel to come back.

And Jimmy must know because he says, "I'll be over in five minutes. Same spot?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, same spot"

There's a click and the phone goes dead.

Dean lets it drop out of his hand as he lowers himself onto the hard wood of a park bench.

Like always, the memories flood back into focus. Dean can still feel the small breeze blowing words to his ears.

I'm not a hammer as you say. I have doubts. I have questions. I don't know what is right or what is wrong. Whether you passed or failed here.

Dean hangs his head, wishing that he could go back in time and just listen to Castiel speak. Actually freaking listen instead of brushing everything off like he had.

A hand rests on his shoulder, startling him slightly.

Dean refuses to look up. They may look the same, but it's not him.

It's never him.