"You know, all of this is crap. Sarah finds one drop of semen, and she automatically knows that Jesse is the one that killed Amelia? I don't buy it. You don't just find semen lying around like that, nobody ever gets that lucky," he spat out, angry at the television that hung above his hospital bed.

"It's a TV show, Dean," I argued, digging my spoon into the plastic container to get the last bits of lime jello. Dean hated it, so he always gave it to me.

"Whatever, they shouldn't put stuff on TV that's that out of wack. People could get the wrong idea," he continued to fight, but I didn't mind. At least he was around to fight with me.

I eyed him, and he shrugged with this eyebrows. He pushed away his empty tray, trails of disgust still outlining his features.

"I'm tellin' you, prison food is better than this crap. I don't even think they microwave it all the way. They just figure since everyone around here's dyin', they're not gonna care what they eat. They got another thing coming."

"Anything else you wanna complain about, Francis?"

"Hey, who's the cancer patient here?"

"Dean..."

I didn't like when he joked about it. Like it was something he knew he'd eventually muddle his way through. When, in reality, we both knew he wouldn't.

"Alright, alright. But what's it gonna take to get some decent food? A bacon cheeseburger, a piece of cherry pie... ugh," he made a peculiar noise and patted his stomach, a smug smile folding in his lips.
I shook my head, mirroring his smile. He would never change. But that was okay with me. I loved him just the way he was. High cholesterol and all. I stood up, taking on the role of Wonder Woman and standing over him, my smug smile turning to a grin.

"Ask and you shall receive." I hinted, leaning down to kiss his forehead before briskly walking out of the room.

The machine has 23 unheard messages. I know at least 10 of them are Emily, another 10, probably Sam, and the rest, possibly my former boss calling to see if I'm ever going to return to work.

I couldn't imagine facing the world again. Not without him holding my hand. Not without him giving me that push that I always needed to get through another day.

I couldn't do it without him. I wouldn't. And all those messages were were reminders that someday, I was going to have to.

Sam had left after hugging me and kissing me on the forehead, letting me know for the thousandth time that he was always there if I ever needed anything. He always did that before he left.

I return to my original, most used position of sitting on the couch with the television on mute. There's no doubt that they way I'm dealing with Dean's death is healthy, but it's the only way I know how. When my father died, Dean was at my side, pulling me along through the darkness. He always knew the right way to hold me to make me fall asleep, he always knew the right way to light up Bobby's life as to take emphasis off of his death. He got me through it all.

How would I get pulled through the darkness this time?

And this darkness wasn't the same darkness that had enveloped me in light of my fathers death. This was a new darkness, a strange darkness that seemed impossible to defeat.

The phone rings, and for some unknown reason, I reach out to answer it. It's my sister. Hearing her voice slows my heart rate, and I take a deep breath before I answer her worried inquiry.

"Im fine, Em. Really." I lie.

"Yeah, yeah, save that for someone who might actually believe it," she reminds me so much of my dad that it's scary, but also comforting. "Listen, there's a letter here for you. There's no return address, but on the back flap it says to open on February 9th. Which, my darling sister, is today. You want me to bring it over?"

I think about it for a minute and realize that I haven't showered in at least three days, and I haven't stepped foot into the fresh air in over two weeks.

"Uhh, no. I'll come get it," I reply, and I can almost hear her jaw hit the floor.

"Are you sure? I mean, you haven't driven in--"

"Yes. I'm coming."