My head hurts. I hear voices: Famine’s insipid giggle.

Famine. Death. God.

God wants me dead.

I bolt up.

“Easy,” says someone to my right. Coach.

I hold up my hand, “...Gimme a minute.” I keep my eyes shut tight; they’re suspiciously warm, and my chest feels weird and light. I take the pill bottle out of my pocket and stare at it. This stupid bottle. I swallowed these goddamn pills for years -- I hated myself for being different, for being crazy.

But it was all actually real.

A thin hand snaps it up, and Famine uncorks the bottle to sniff at it. “Blech. Why would you willingly take this? Nope!” she flings them behind her head. I’m not even sorry as they clatter and spill onto the floor.

Coach leans down to pick up the now-empty bottle -- crushing stray pills beneath his feet along the way because fuck that shit -- and frowns at the label. “Take at first signs of schizophrenia?” he looks at me and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him truly angry. “You actually swallowed this garbage?” he half-shouts. “Since when have you been taking these? And why you didn’t tell me about it?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Yeah, well, who did you tell that you could see things that weren’t there?” I snap, and immediately regret it, bowing my head and apologizing.

That makes him stop, because he blinks. Several beats of silence pass before he finally sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know about you,” he says quietly, “but I think I’d want to hear everything that’s going on, and from the beginning.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “I -- what happened to your face?”

Only now do I notice there’s a bruise blossoming on his cheek that hadn’t been there before.

“That would be War’s fist,” Death says -- beneath the weariness I can hear a kind of parental irritation. “I do apologize again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Coach nods at her. “I’ve had worse.”

Death nods back at where I assume that red asshole went and says, “I would advise that, next time you happen upon War when he is angry, you keep a wide berth.”

My stomach growls loudly in the middle of the moment. “Sorry,” I grimace.

“Too many growls,” Famine tsks. “Can I please cook for them now?” she looks at Death.

“Famine is a cook,” Coach shakes his head. “How ironic.”

“Well, if you think about it, I’ve experienced the most food out of all the Horsemen. You should taste the things I can do with rice,” she winks.