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Dean died on a Thursday.
Castiel thought of it as a coincidence really, having used to be the Angel of that particular day. That, however, was a period of his life that Castiel liked to think of as a very long time ago - or, in some cases, as just a passing dream.
After the funeral Castiel finds himself avoiding the cemetery, excuses falling from his lips over phone calls, bleeding from his fingertips while he inks important letters. He wonders, sometimes, if maybe the reason he’s avoiding visiting Dean is because the hunter had broken his promise. As soon as this logical reasoning appears though, the thoughts are pushed from his head. Pain is easier to avoid that way.
The house is emptier without a companion. The grill is dusty, left untouched for far longer than Castiel would ever admit aloud. Sam still calls, still checks in on him, intent on making sure he’s doing alright. Unfortunately the man always has horrible timing, and catches the fallen angel during one of his hunts.
The voice-mails are there though, and those help with the deafening loneliness when simply calling Dean’s cellphone isn’t enough.