Think Not

Sam taught himself not to think. It was a coping mechanism. He didn't think about the apocalypse, fraternal betrayal, a particular black-eyed bitch, Lucifer…

Dean tucked into biscuits and gravy. The waitress delivered Dean's coffee. Her diamond ring glinted in the sunlight, unleashing barricaded memories that hurt more than flayed flesh, snapping bone. Sam was assaulted by intense injustice of Lucifer taking Jessica's form.

He ran.

Dean appeared as he started to cry, releasing ping-ponging pressure.

"You hurt?"

Sam grunted in denial. He hadn't shared details of Lucifer's visit and never would.

"Her ring…it's `just like the one I was gonna buy Jess." Sam's shaking legs buckled.

"I'm sorry." Dean was stoic, but he was there.

Sam couldn't think of anything better.