The screen door swung open with a creak, allowing Sam's massive frame to shove itself into the house. The fading sunlight spilled in behind him, turning his mane of brown hair to gold as he braced the door with his foot and stepped over the threshold. Crossing the kitchen, he dumped a pair of bulging grocery bags onto the worn countertop and placed a six pack of beer next to them with a thunk. "Dean, I'm back!" he called into the interior of the house. There was no answer, but Sam hadn't really been expecting one.
Sighing, he began putting the groceries away, half-hoping the noise might draw Dean out of his bedroom. Two weeks had gone by since the burial, and Sam had hardly seen his brother for the majority of it. Dean ate nothing, barely drank, and seemed to spend the majority of his time in a fitful sleep. Sam too was hurting, though to be honest he hadn't hunted with Cas in a few years now. The call had shocked him. The angel was one of those things he had always assumed would be around forever, probably long after both he and Dean had finally died. Yet, some monster or another had gotten him in the end – Dean wouldn't give any details.
They had buried Castiel together, out behind the house on the slope leading to the lake. Dean had wrapped his body in a burlap bundle. "You're the one who's always going on about being 'environmentally friendly'," he'd said gruffly in response to Sam's look. It was one of the only things Dean had said since Sam arrived. After the last shovelful of dirt had been cast across the grave, Dean had gone immediately into the house and assumed his current regimen, leaving Sam to mark the grave. He'd gone down to the lake and dragged out a smooth, white stone, and set in into the dirt. As far as he knew, neither of them had so much as glanced at the grave since.
Sam closed the refrigerator, keeping one beer for himself. He didn't want to go into Dean's bedroom, but he had to try and coax his brother out again. Every time he went in there Dean looked worse and worse, and every time it ended with Dean shouting and throwing things as Sam backpedaled into the hall and left him alone. There was just no getting through to him; something in him was really and truly broken. Still, Sam wasn't about to let his brother rot away to nothing in there. Reluctantly he grabbed a second beer and made his way down the hall.
Pausing for a brief moment outside the door, Sam took a breath and stepped in. "Hey Dean," he said, directing his attention to the motionless bundle of fabric on the bed and ignoring the mess around him. "How are you doing?"
"Fucking spectacular," came the bitter reply.
"I...I brought you a beer."
The bundle of blankets shifted and the back of Dean's head slipped out. "Thanks, but no thanks," he grunted.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, really?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted.
"Sam, I'm trying to sleep," Dean said.
"Right," said Sam, glancing around. "I'll just…leave it on the table here then, in case you want it."
"You do that."
Sam made to do so, but paused. "I hear there's a Cowboys game on today," he put forth hopefully. "I might turn it on, want to watch?"
Dean rolled over with a grunt and fixed Sam with a hollow glare. Sam desperately ignored the sunken cheeks and the lines on his face, trying to keep his expression neutral. "I'm tired Sam," Dean said. "Go away."
"Right then," said Sam, quiet. "Sorry." Dean rolled over again.
Giving the curled figure on the bed a last look, Sam set the beer on the table and left the room. Walking down the hallway, he cranked the cap off his own beer. He took a long gulp and sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter and wondering what more he could possibly do here. Perhaps this was it for Dean. They had lost people before, but Cas…Cas had been with them longer than anyone, and he had so clearly been Dean's best friend. Sam felt his heart sinking in his chest, and he took another swig of beer to drive away the sadness. He couldn't let himself fall apart, not with Dean the way he was.
Sam stood there for a long while, drinking and pondering the whole situation. Just as the last of the sun's rays were fading away, there was a sudden knock on the door.
He stood upright and set the bottle down, confused. Who could be calling out here? Suspicious, he moved over to the front door and placed a hand on the knob, pulling it open a crack. "Who's there?"
"I am looking for Dean. Dean Winchester."
Sam opened the door a little more to reveal a tall, slender man with bright red hair and sharp features. He was dressed in a suit, and appraised Sam with amber eyes. "Who's asking?" Sam demanded.
"My name is Pahaliah," the man said calmly. "I am an angel of the Lord."
Surprised, Sam pulled the door fully open and stepped into the space. "We haven't met before, have we?" he asked.
"No, we have not," Pahaliah said. "I was a friend of Castiel's, before he fell. I was so sorry to hear of his death. But, to be frank, he lasted much longer than I thought."
"Yes, well…that's nice," Sam said uncertainly, glancing behind him. "Why exactly are you here again?"
Pahaliah reached into the pocked of his suit and drew out a slightly yellowed envelope. "I have a message for Dean Winchester."
"Who from?"
Pahaliah raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry, but I am not permitted to give such information to anyone save for the addressee."
Sam gritted his teeth and held out a hand. "Fine then. Give it to me, I'll make sure he gets it."
"I really was supposed to give it to Dean directly," Pahaliah said, glancing behind Sam.
"He's sleeping right now," Sam said. "I'll give to him when he wakes up."
Pahaliah paused, but sensed Sam's irritation. "Very well then," he said, depositing the letter into Sam's outstretched hand. "Ensure that he gets it."
"I will," said Sam, taking hold of the letter. "Goodbye then."
"Yes, farewell," said Pahaliah, turning on his heel. Sam closed the door as the angel disappeared with a faint whooshing noise. Frowning, he brought the letter to his face, directing his gaze to the writing on the surface of the envelope.
In the event of my death, deliver to DEAN WINCHESTER.
Frozen, Sam stood there for several long moments.
He didn't know what to do. Clearly this letter could only be from one person, but could Dean even handle reading it? He debated the idea of reading it himself, but he knew Dean would be pissed if he found out. There was nothing for it. Unable to think of another option, he slowly turned and walked away down the hall. "Dean! You've got a letter!" he called.