Her first words, he could handle. Hell, there was something comforting about her voice, something that he guessed was probably some angel thing, or maybe it was just a female thing, he wasn’t sure, but it was good, and he felt himself relaxing even while he was telling himself not to let his guard down - there was no way to know she was really what she said, that she wasn’t here to hurt him.
He wasn’t sure he cared, if she was, though.
And then she kept speaking, and hearing her say his brother’s name - hearing anyone say his brother’s name, anyone at all, anymore, because it didn’t matter who said it, it was still a reminder that he was dead, gone, that it was his fault, he’d failed Sam - hurt like someone had just stabbed him in the gut, all the air was gone like he’d just been punched, and he pulled himself in tighter, shoulders rounding like he expected to be hit at any moment, expression wavering between emotions (a soul-deep grief, an almost feral rage, panic, confusion) while he tried to pull himself together and fight back the tears that were burning his eyes.
He didn’t know how he still had any left, he’d been crying so damn much, since...
“He’s dead,” came out without his permission, because he wasn’t going to tell her, he wasn’t going to trust her until he had proof, but it hurt too much, he didn’t really know how to keep it from coming out, and even though his voice was rough and thick, there was a thin wobbling quality to the words that was pretty embarrassing, and he spun away, hands over his face like he could scrub away the emotion there, brush off the grief and be strong for just a few more minutes, but all he really did was wipe away the tears that had fought their way out.