Reality as he knows it is crumbling around Sam. It isn’t just nightmares it isn’t just flashbacks.

Hallucinations.

He can’t tell what’s real anymore.

A constant voice in his head is Lucifer, he sees him, he feels him there.

The little Lucifer in his mind lingers in the corner of his eye telling him he never got out of the cage. It’s all a hallucination.

When you confront Sam about clearly not being okay—sleepless nights, isolation, zoned out every waking hour.

You try to reason with him—why would Lucifer go out of his way to create a whole new life for Sam? Why not just beat him around the cage?

The way Sam looks up is heartbreaking. Bags under his eyes, cheeks hollowed from a loss of appetite, “As Lucifer puts it…” He swallows uneasily and stares down at his hands.

“You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.”

The way his gaze darts to his side you know he can see the slimy devil right now. You try to tell him that he must know that Lucifer isn’t real. He isn’t there.

Sam looks back up at you, dead on, eyes almost glossy as he speaks. “He says the same things about you.”