The loss of Ellen and Jo isn't shocking. Everyone is struggling to live; plenty are dying anyway. But regardless, it puts a lump in his throat that he needs a moment to work around.

"I can tell it has been wild," Sam says, voice soft and brimming with sadness. "Turned you into a Croat, and everything. Careful not to shoot yourself."

He chokes on a laugh.

"At least I can die sooner or later knowing everything about you that mattered died already." He shucks on the pack more, starts walking out too, too awake and in pain to try to sleep through Lucifer tonight. It isn't unusual. He doesn't have Dean's car, but he'll painstakingly travel until his feet are raw, because that's the status quo. "Bye, Dean."

He figures by the time he gets there himself, Dean'll be long gone. This is probably it. He'll save his tears for when he's out on his own in the night. The old Dean probably would have been joking if he called Sam a sap. He would give anything to fix it.

But Dean just sees a freak, someone who's not his brother. He doesn't give a fuck about him anymore. Makes carrying on a hell of a lot heavier. Makes breathing thick and difficult, like his head is swarming with bees, stuffed with cotton. There are pictures of his family in his bag, burning holes there.

One foot in front of the other.

Don't break down yet.

People need help.