Kol didn't know what to say, what to think, what to do. How did you handle that sort of thing anyway? And what was worse was knowing that it could so easily become a reality. Because Moriarty knew, meant everyone knew, meant Lucifer knew and oh, for fuck's sake, how easily could he make it happen if he just wanted to? The idea of Hell, of the rack, of the torture, it had all been just that. An idea. Now... Now he'd seen it and he didn't know what to do with it.
He sat there, staring at the wall, at the floor, at nothing in particular, trying to find a way to process it, to compartmentalize it, but he was coming up empty. He couldn't shove it down, couldn't suppress it, couldn't lock it in a box and forget about it. He took the bottle when it was offered, downing a rather large gulp of it. Funny how he barely even felt the burn of the alcohol, even that didn't pull him out of his own head.
Not until he spoke again did Kol manage to actually look at Crowley. He was practically begging Kol to say something, do something, react, and somehow the ancient vampire just couldn't find it. "Dunno what to say." which was a rarity for the overly chatty Original, he always had an opinion, a smart remark, always had something to say. "Should've listened," was his bitterly mumbled admission, a wry smirk gracing his lips devoid of any humor, a shake of his head. "Maybe one day I'll stop being so bloody stubborn."