The paint on the walls of this set dressing is peeling away.
Tears are running down Sam's face. Not really, this face isn't real.
Lucifer (not really) sits across from him at Bobby's kitchen table (not really), with a sad but amused smirk on his face. He pushes the pistol cross the table toward Sam.
"Are we there yet, Sammy?" he asks. "You know where to aim?"
Hand trembling, Sam reaches out and accepts the cup of coffee his brother offers, not seeing the depth of pain and worry in Dean's eyes.
"Sammy?" Dean tries again.