"Sam-" Rose started, before being predictably interrupted by Sherlock. She sighed heavily. Was the detective seriously bringing up John when they were about to get their brains gnawed out?

If ANYONE needed to talk to Sam, it was Rose. She hadn't seen the younger Winchester in days, and Lucifer had been in her head, and it was his fault, and he didn't even know because-

Then, a pause, as she looked him over.

...It clicked in her head, and Rose felt all sorts of stupid. Sam had been here. Trapped. His disheveled, scraped-up appearance explained it all. Smiling, she let her anger dissipate. The girl tuned out Sherlock's rambling to toss her arms about Sam's waist.

"Hi," Rose said, finding nothing else.

The sound of a zombie hitting the floor broke her out of the moment. She looked to see the detective was okay, followed by Eric. Lastly, forgetting how bloodshot her eyes were, she returned her focus to Sam. "Let's go," she said, as if he wouldn't notice.