She realized she hadn’t looked up yet. It seemed like the thing to do and though normally that would be enough reason to make her look down all the more determinedly, pointlessly contrary as always, she couldn’t see the point in that now, in any kind of refusal to be controlled. She looked up at Sam, “I tried...” she started but trailed off, unsure of where she was going with that, and shrugged a silent mixture of apology and resignation instead. She knew that Dean being gone would be harder on Sam than on her (and she hadn’t really even reached the stage of processing where she was actually dealing with the fact that he wouldn’t be there any more, that she might never see either him or her version again) but she couldn’t think of anything to do next except let her gaze settle a little to the left of Sam, let her mind sluggishly attempt to catch up if it could get there without too much help from the rest of her more power to it.