The War had that same defining sound to it as the Apocalypse and so Sam decided it was best not to inquire, as he probably wasn't going to hear stories about Nazis and blitzkriegs. A bit of the fire had gone out of him though, with Crowley's words, if only because he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about and arguing wasn't going to do him any good. Especially when Crowley sounded so annoyingly sure of what he was saying.
"Fine. Lucifer." Didn't matter what you called him, in Sam's mind. He was still a fallen angel with a half decent piece of underground real-estate. "Him, yeah. I thought he would've warned me. My soul being his property and everything? He doesn't want to keep it in good condition?"
There was more to it than that, not that Sam would have admitted it out loud. The person he'd been dealing with in his own world hadn't been the real deal, so to speak, and Sam knew that much. But that didn't change what had happened or the fact that every reference to his real father had been torn out of his contract with the Devil. So sue him if the small part of him that suspected the Devil (or Lucifer, if they were going to split hairs) was his father had also thought that maybe he would have warmed him.
Not that it would matter, if all of this really had nothing to do with Lucifer.
Sam found himself pausing for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you know why people think the world is ending? What's going on?"