Maybe there's nowhere specific to go. Maybe the point of it all is to be here, to simply face things for what they are. They've faced death and destruction before - well, mostly other people's, but their own too. It was just never this imminent, and strangely humiliating.

But that's not the way to go, either. He's feeling a little better, so he must be doing something right.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He'd walked away before, but he's never quite given up. Just handled things his own way. It's silly to think that he'd gotten this low now, probably.

Half leaning on the demon, he quiets for a moment. Thinking, over and over, about those things he was told, about how the cure works. Things you wouldn't want to confess. How difficult it really was to do. And he searches, properly, for one of those things. Takes a bit more effort than he's comfortable with, but he supposes that's the twisted irony of this whole thing in the first place.

"I have read that people come back, here. If they die." A beat. "Most times."

He shifts, with a bit of a grunt, still quite sore. "Not quite--miraculous ressurection, from what I understood. And not always true."

He hesitates then, not really looking at the demon. " It...pained me to imagine that not only could I succumb to this affliction, through fault of my own, in such a degrading, miserable manner I wouldn't wish on anyone else, but also that..." Another pause. He falters.

"...also that I would have been abandoning you here. In this place."

He looks at the wooden floors, hoping that, in the very least, this counts for something. It was significantly more difficult tto say than before.