"I'm sure he's a good man." Sam offered softly, not oblivious to what Viktoria must have relived right in front of him, only because he was trying not to think about how he understood her all too well. At least to an extent. When bad things happen to people, Sam always heard how awful it was; feeling like you were on the outside, looking in. That they had no control, and that they were removed from the situation until it was time to deal with the aftermath. Sam would never say it, not in a million years, but he thought those people were lucky. It would have been a blessing to feel like he was out of his own skin. That way, he wouldn't have felt the blood, the reverberation of bones breaking. He wouldn't have had to look anyone in the eye as he took their life.
Please, please, take what I have, just don't hurt me.
For less than a split second, Sam thought he couldn't breathe past the knot in his throat. He blinked, coughing again, while rasping out an apology. Once he could breathe again, he cleared his shoulders and forced a quick smile that quickly turned genuine as Sam forced himself to change gears. Viktoria was miles ahead of where his mind was, and he needed to catch up. Now wasn't the time. "Seriously? The guy drank whiskey like it was water."
Sam's gaze followed Viktoria's. If it wasn't inappropriate, and he actually felt like laughing, he would have. It was almost as priceless as the wordless exchange she had with Dean the night before. Right on cue, Sam turned his attention back to Viktoria as they both looked away from the nurse. "It's okay, seriously. I've had worse. They friends of yours? If you get the chance before I do, please tell them I said thanks. I don't really remember them, but.." He trailed off, gesturing to where his anti-possession tattoo used to be before he dropped his hand back to his lap. "Well, Dean and I.. we're not really from anywhere, I guess. There isn't much to miss." Which wasn't true. Just because they hadn't been 'from' anywhere anymore, didn't mean there weren't things Sam didn't miss. Like late night drives, greasy diners, Dean's off key singing, the occasional road trip to somewhere normal. Dad. Ellen. Jo. Bobby. Jess. Dean. "How about you?" He redirected. "You miss Russia?"