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He’d just ride it out, then, until someone took him to a hospital or injected him with something that would make it all stop.

It didn’t matter if his episodes had never looked quite this realistic or elaborate.

Take that, Ms. Being Self-Aware Is Really Important For Your Road To Wellness.

Perhaps he should issue an apology to his last doctor. He was now following her advice, wasn’t he?

Is he scolding us? How dare he?

Of course, his moment of brightness wasn’t going to stop the voices from storming around his head.

We’ll let Melchom know. That’ll teach him.

But that means admitting we’ve been talking to him.

Ohhhh.

We’ll just keep torturing him when he’s not there.

Yeah, I like that! He works a lot, anyway.

Shit.

Dave scratched at his forearm. He didn’t want to find out what the high-pitched voices meant by torturing him.

“Or we can figure something out.”

He was definitely losing it, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t real anyway. There was no reason to incite the voices to get meaner. That was never good, regardless of how safe he might be.

What the fuck had he done to burn his hands, though? Was that a mind trick, too? Usually he got scratches because he tried to jump fences, or he threw himself at a bush, but… Unless his eyes were failing him—and he was doing his best to focus on his outstretched palms—his hands were literally scorched. He wasn’t even sure a stove would explain the carnage, and surely, someone would’ve stopped him before he could get away with that.

Panic tried to claw in again, but he shook it off.

No, this was all some delusion, some episode. He just needed to be patient and wait for someone to lock him in a ward. Then he’d have to fight with doctors who would want to increase his meds, but…

One thing at a time.

First, he needed to make it through the hellish maze his head had become as unscathed as possible.

What could you possibly offer us? No offense, but you’re a mess, human.

Probably the messiest human I’ve ever seen.

“Gee, thanks,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor. “This Melchom… he’s a stronger demon than you, right? Or, more powerful?”

He used to be King.

We’re just minions. Of course he’s stronger.

“So…” Thinking back to every TV show he’d watched, Dave licked his lips. They felt dry as all hell, pun absolutely intended. “There must be something you want from him, right? Something you can use to your advantage?”

Why, yes, negotiating with cowardly demons who didn’t even show their faces seemed like a bulletproof plan.

…Or not, he thought, when no answer came for more than a few minutes. He needed to focus on the conversation, though. Otherwise his brain wandered to other questions and existential angst like, did time run the same time in Hell, if he was there? He remembered a show where they said one minute on Earth was like a year in Hell, or something like that. But what if it was the other way around? Would people still be searching for him?

Would Jordan, or any of the coworkers he’d never quite succeeded at befriending?

All right, human. We want a lock of his hair.