As Soushi searched through the mail off to the side of the room, Castiel started to look for the mail slot that belonged to him -- or rather, to Michael Collins. He already knew there would be nothing there, but checking would be a better usage of his time than standing around waiting for Soushi to finish what he was doing.

Castiel hadn't completely forgotten, either. Those fake memories that had been implanted in him that one day were fuzzy by now, having faded more and more out of his mind over time. But he still remembered how Anna and Gabriel had been true siblings to him in this fake life, even if their names had been changed. (To what? He couldn't remember.)

Still, as expected, the slot labeled "Collins, Michael" was completely empty, and that seemed to be the case for Soushi as well. This room was likely just for show, something to give the more optimistic patients a sliver of hope, only to wrench it away from them again just as quickly.

"I haven't," he said in response to Soushi's question, turning to him with a small shrug. "I have seen other patients receive mail, though it's usually handed out by the nurses during the day." And that was only on the days when those visitors came in, as far as he knew. Castiel recalled Dean and Sam's visit to him and clenched his hand into a fist. Reclaiming them was still high up on his list of things to do.