Jess had taken to letting him sleep in until the alarm went off. Though they'd never talked about it, he knew it was because she could tell that waking up hurt. When he was asleep, everything felt normal. When he woke up, he remembered that he was now the last Winchester. As such, he didn't appreciate being awakened at eight in the morning; especially when his alarm was due to go off in more than an hour. As soon as he answered the call, he knew it wasn't going to be a good day. "Hello?" "Sam Winchester?" It was a woman that seemed vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to place. After he had made some sort of affirmative sound, she continued. "I now you probably don't want to talk to me, but…" The voice trailed off for a second. "Oh, my god. It's only eight there! It's two in Paris, I completely forgot about the time difference." With that information, he was able to figure out who must be calling him. Why, of course, was another story. "Yeah, it's early. Why are you calling?" He didn't really have the patience to be polite right now. "Cas hasn't answered my phone calls. It's been going to straight to voicemail since Wednesday. I just have a really bad feeling. Have you seen him?" Now that he thought about it, she sounded a bit different than he would have expected, though he hadn't really ever thought about meeting her. He only vaguely remembered their wedding. "Not since the funeral. If I see him, though, I'll let him know you called." Sam shook his head and then thought. "Have you called Gabe or Balthazar?" Meg snorted. He hadn't thought Cas would marry a woman that snorted. "No. I thought that my husband's lovers brother would know where he was better than his family. Of course I called them." Sam hadn't known that she knew, but he didn't really feel like working through those complications right this second. "I'll let him know, bye!" He didn't want for her to acknowledge the dismissal, just hung up and grumbled into his hands. As he showered, he began to understand what Meg had meant about having a bad feeling. If Cas had gone back home, Balthazar would know, or Gabe. So, he wasn't answering his phone and he was still in Lawrence. What would be the reason behind that? Where would Cas stay if it weren't at one of his cousins? Dean's house, of course. Sam was angry that Cas couldn't just take care of himself, and instead made it so that Sam had to deal with his mourning and with trying to find the asshole who caused it so his damned wife wouldn't worry. Jess was already gone so he didn't have to worry about telling her he'd be back, so he just grabbed his coat and keys then set out. Dean's house was only ten minutes from his, and he guessed it was alright that he'd have to go there now. He needed to clear out the house sooner or later, and if he did it now, it was less likely it would become some impenetrable fortress in his mind. When he pulled up, Cas's car sat in the driveway, though it had less snow on it than the others on the road. He must have left in the last day or so, so he had turned his phone off on purpose. He was preparing an angry tirade in his mind after he saw the cracked window of his brother's office. As soon as he walked in the door, though, his gut turned to lead. There was no warmth to the place. Cas must have turned off the heat sometime since he got back for it to have gotten this cold. He could see his breath fogging the air in front of his face, temporarily blocking his view of everything. After he looked past his breath, things got worse. The house was a disaster. Had someone broken in? But the door was still locked. This level of destruction made no sense without a break in. Sam couldn't wrap his mind around it. A solitary pad of paper was on the dining room table, and his bad feeling got even worse. When he read it, his heart started racing and an acidic sting clawed its way up his throat. "Cas?" He yelled and got no response. Somehow sure his bad day had gone to the lowest levels of shit he'd ever seen, Sam walked toward the bedroom. He had no idea why, he just knew that that was where he was supposed to go. When he opened the door, his mind stopped and refused to think. Even years from now, he knew he'd never be able to voice the things that he saw. He would never be able to describe the way Cas looked on Dean's bed or the broken state of his body or the smell of blood and bleach. The only thing he could think of were the words he'd spat out. He had told Cas it was his fault that he was burying his brother. It was Cas's fault that he was alone and everything had gone so wrong. He would have to live with that guilt, but he made peace with the knowledge as he called 911, only wondering what he was supposed to say to anyone in Cas's family. How could he tell them that he had killed himself? Should he say it was an accident? The thoughts didn't stop cycling until Jess met him on the porch right before the paramedics wheeled Cas's body out, covered in a sheet and burned into the back of Sam's mind for the rest of his life.