He grunts, gritting his teeth as the needle pierces his skin. It hurts more than he thought it would, though considerably less than it would of if he didn't have all that whiskey in his system. His fingers curl into the pillow, giving him something to grip that isn't the imaginary throat of the demon that did this to him.

"About what, how I ended up mortal and falling apart in the first place? Messed up, like I said—" A grunt, a hiss between clenched teeth. Doesn't hurt nearly as bad as the time his father had to reset his shoulder after he fell from a horse shortly after his thirteenth birthday. "Stopped a worldwide apocalypse, but damned the entire city of LA in the process. HelLA's more like it these days."