[Sam's head bows a little lower, bangs falling around startled, rounded eyes that slide into defeated slivers. He's not... He shouldn't be shocked, not with how far the world at large had fallen, but it leads a large, cold lump in his stomach that makes him all the more hesitant to eat... Thinking about home left him little urge to do much of anything.
Dean fed Cas to Croats as a diversion.
Sam, of course, blames himself.]
... I knew he'd died. Lucifer told me. Before you — found us.
[Lucifer knew too much at once. Had his demons and Croats pillaging and killing and dwindling down the population. That horrible day, Lucifer peeled the muffling cotton from his ears and let him hear the distant sounds of gunfire and death. He'd combed his hand through Sam's hair, let him feel it for a moment. A cool and steady comfort. Lucifer's always been gentle where he had no right to be. "It's okay, Sammy," he'd said, with his own voice. "It's okay. They won't suffer anymore, will they?"]
I, um... I...
[He'd ran a hand over a collection of roses. Sam knows because he felt the scratching of thorns, the pinprick of them as Lucifer plucked a rose loose. "He's coming, Sam. He wants to finish it." And then — the click of a gun being cocked. And Sam started screaming all over again, desperate for Dean to hear him just one last time —
("I had to, Sam. He wanted to kill us. Kill you. Don't you understand? Just like he let Cas die.")
At the kitchen table, Sam's eyes become a thousand yard stare into a bowl of stew. Everything goes muffled, like before, and his heart races in his chest as the spoon he'd been fidgeting with droops with the sudden slack of his hand. A throat under his foot, and he feels the reverberation of a snapping neck while he could hear a heartbeat of "no no no no"s in the sound of his own voice—]
cw: dissociation
Dean fed Cas to Croats as a diversion.
Sam, of course, blames himself.]
... I knew he'd died. Lucifer told me. Before you — found us.
[Lucifer knew too much at once. Had his demons and Croats pillaging and killing and dwindling down the population. That horrible day, Lucifer peeled the muffling cotton from his ears and let him hear the distant sounds of gunfire and death. He'd combed his hand through Sam's hair, let him feel it for a moment. A cool and steady comfort. Lucifer's always been gentle where he had no right to be. "It's okay, Sammy," he'd said, with his own voice. "It's okay. They won't suffer anymore, will they?"]
I, um... I...
[He'd ran a hand over a collection of roses. Sam knows because he felt the scratching of thorns, the pinprick of them as Lucifer plucked a rose loose. "He's coming, Sam. He wants to finish it." And then — the click of a gun being cocked. And Sam started screaming all over again, desperate for Dean to hear him just one last time —
("I had to, Sam. He wanted to kill us. Kill you. Don't you understand? Just like he let Cas die.")
At the kitchen table, Sam's eyes become a thousand yard stare into a bowl of stew. Everything goes muffled, like before, and his heart races in his chest as the spoon he'd been fidgeting with droops with the sudden slack of his hand. A throat under his foot, and he feels the reverberation of a snapping neck while he could hear a heartbeat of "no no no no"s in the sound of his own voice—]