"Don't worry, I want to make thure there ithn't anything or anyone down here to kill uth. Then we can make out," he added, trying to share in Sam's humor and ultimately failing. He couldn't even bring himself to laugh. He either had to be actually cheerful or half-insane with desperation.

"I wath flying when thome thort of power hit me. Lightning, thome mage'th blatht, I'm not thure. Then I woke up on the ground. My eyeth hurt, my clotheth were ripped and burned, and I lotht a shoe ath well ath time. I don't remember falling," he finished apologetically. The vessels around his eyes were burned the yellow of his blood, scoring his face with spindly lines. Retracing his memories to another person helped calm him.

The offer to help him up put a (metaphorical) fire under his ass. No way was he going to ask someone to help him when he was capable of standing. He felt along the step and scraped himself to his feet, fingers spread on the nearest wall.

"Altho I'm blind now, tho there'th that," he griped dismissively. "We have to go deeper, it'th too dangerouth out there. Go ahead of me. I'll be a meat shield if anyone catcheth you in the rear. It'th all I'm good for now. Am I thtill on fake fire?" He tried to sound like he was merely inquiring about the weather.