The laughter is what shatters him. All the proof that Lucifer never cared is in that laugh that's like something coming off its hinges. With a sharp inhale, he scrubs the heel of his hand across his cheek to smear away a tear that falls loose.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He shakes his head, as if refusing Lucifer's confession. His spinning thoughts are having a hard time holding onto all of this. "You're...just fucking with me now. Is that it? The Devil isn't—"

Real. But there wasn't supposed to be any such thing as magic either, and that was very real here. He stares at Lucifer, trying to sift through everything he knows about him. His claim that he's an angel. His antipathy to people. His broken relationship with his father and family.

It comes to him like a stone crashing through glass. Oh, shit.