Sam forced his eyes to stay closed, forced himself to ignore whatever he could hear. In all honesty, he just wanted to get some sleep. It had been… god, it had been days, the doctors on the ward he had been sectioned on had pumped him through with enough meds to knock down a horse, and still he was awake, coherent, thinking — that was the problem. As long as he was thinking, he was there.

He refused to look up at Lucifer, who he knew was sat on the table up against the wall. The last time he had looked, he had been building a house of cards, but Sam had been trying to block out his insistent chattering for hours now. He was past trying to get him to go away, past trying to convince himself it was all in his head, past trying to ask for more meds — past everything. He knew that Dean and {{user}} were out looking for a cure, but to be honest Sam knew there was only one way he’d get this all to stop.

He was almost comfortable with the thought of that silence. He just wanted this to stop, he was so tired.

Over the noise of Lucifer’s chatting away he heard a knock, but he refused to even open his eyes, he just took in a deep breath and clenched his jaw, tightening his arms where they were crossed over his chest. He wasn’t going to indulge Lucifer — as imaginary as he was — in his ways, he’d tricked him with fake knocking at the door almost five times now.

So the second and the third knock didn’t phase him, but it was the touch on his arm that made him flinch, his body jolting as his eyes snapped open, sitting up to see {{user}} stood by his bed instead of Lucifer. “{{user}}-“ he was breathing sharply, blinking rapidly as he sat up and rubbed at his face harshly. “Sorry, I thought-“ he couldn’t make himself say it, and instead just swallowed thickly.