[Sam just stands there like an overgrown kid in the principal's office, his face tipped down, the thumb of one hand worrying at the skin of his wrist almost painfully. The message never fails to make his stomach fall into his feet, shoulders stiffened almost defensively, like he has to brace himself for the impact. The voice that speaks is cold and loveless and has given up on him — it was the moment he'd decided to walk into that church and never walk back out.
Kamikaze himself into Lilith and save the world, as his one last decent deed. Like some twisted, unnatural version of Sir Galahad — descending instead of ascending, though, once his eyes fell on the Holy Grail.
He gnaws his lip.
Glances up at Dean — and Dean doesn't verify the words. And not for the first time since he'd arrived here, he's deeply troubled. Deeply confused. And tired. He just looks tired; it's a trend. Kind of like a mask you buy at Party City for Halloween. Tired Man, $20.00, just some plastic manufactured with a stretchy string on the back. Overpriced as fuck.
... Ah, yeah. Words aren't easy, suddenly. He's dumbstruck.]
But... In the panic room, I — you said...
[Wait, did he say? Or was that a hallucination? He was there, he vanished, but Sam was burning with fever and barely coherent at the time. He's not sure. And suddenly, he's not sure of Lucifer's words. Words he'd taken to heart, because he had the message as evidence:
Dean looks at you as a monster now, Sam.
He used to care about you. Not now. Not like how I care you, Sam.
Lamely, with decayed faith in the words, he says:]
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Kamikaze himself into Lilith and save the world, as his one last decent deed. Like some twisted, unnatural version of Sir Galahad — descending instead of ascending, though, once his eyes fell on the Holy Grail.
He gnaws his lip.
Glances up at Dean — and Dean doesn't verify the words. And not for the first time since he'd arrived here, he's deeply troubled. Deeply confused. And tired. He just looks tired; it's a trend. Kind of like a mask you buy at Party City for Halloween. Tired Man, $20.00, just some plastic manufactured with a stretchy string on the back. Overpriced as fuck.
... Ah, yeah. Words aren't easy, suddenly. He's dumbstruck.]
But... In the panic room, I — you said...
[Wait, did he say? Or was that a hallucination? He was there, he vanished, but Sam was burning with fever and barely coherent at the time. He's not sure. And suddenly, he's not sure of Lucifer's words. Words he'd taken to heart, because he had the message as evidence:
Dean looks at you as a monster now, Sam.
He used to care about you. Not now. Not like how I care you, Sam.
Lamely, with decayed faith in the words, he says:]
... But it was you.