Everything hurt so much.

As Mike began to wake up, he was surprised just how sore and weak he felt. Everything was pounding in pain as he groaned and looked around. Micky was sitting beside him, shuffling his deck of cards as Mike blinked his eyes to adjust to the light.

"Morning," Micky said with a grin. "Or…welcome back? I don't actually know what time it is."

Mike groaned and turned his head to the window.

"It's dark," he whispered and Micky let out a laugh.

"Yeah, it's always dark outside. 'Cause we're not outside."

Mike frowned at him and Micky let out a sigh, pushing the cards into his pocket.

"Welcome aboard the train! We're glad to have you, Mike, but that's just the way it is here."

Mike groaned and attempted to sit up, only to be knocked back down after a wave of pain and fatigue.

"You alright?" Micky asked, going over to him and rubbing his hand on his back.

"Yeah, just–OW!" Mike yelped and Micky quickly pulled his hand away.

"Did I hit a tender spot? I'm sorry if I did."

"No, no," Mike said with a sigh. "That just hurt."

Micky frowned and nodded, understanding Mike's situation. They were all in pain, whether they felt it or not.

"That's another thing…the pain," he whispered darkly. "It gets better…just like everything else, you begin to ignore it after the first few days…"

He sighed and shrugged.

"For me," Micky continued, "it was my chest. Felt like someone had put a 10 ton brick right over my heart…it hurt whenever I tried to breathe or even speak."

Micky grinned, but it wasn't out of joy.

"'Course now that changed, huh?" He said, laughing at his own joke.

Mike frowned, feeling sorry for him. Micky must've noticed this because he smiled and waved him off.

"Don't worry about me, okay? You might not believe me, but it gets much better the longer you're here. You get used to the pain and the voices, you get used to eating and drinking, and it eventually becomes just so natural."

"It's weird," Peter said from behind, causing both to jump up.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to intrude, I just heard you and—"

"It's okay, Peter," Micky said, smiling at him. "Now, what's weird?"

Peter took a shaky breath before going toward them.

"I barely remember anything…" he whispered sadly. "I-I don't know. I know you and Davy were here longer than me but—"

"It's okay, Peter," Micky repeated. "Just breathe."

"I hardly remember anything before getting on the train," Peter said like he was confessing a sin. "I can't remember…anything, really. Is that bad?"

"Neither can I," Mike muttered, looking up at the ceiling. He remembered he had a wife and son and he remembered that he was living in California…he played the guitar, he knew that. But that was only because he brought it onto the train with him. If it wasn't on the train, as well as his family photos, he wouldn't have remembered anything about his life.

Micky smiled and let out a sigh.

"That's another thing that'll get better. Believe me."

"NO!" A voice screamed from the back of the train. They all turned to see Davy curled up in a ball, shivering.

"N-nothing…ever…gets…better…here…" Davy whispered weakly. He winced in pain and recoiled deeper into his ball. Micky frowned and took off his coat, draping it over Davy.

"O-o-only…worse…"

Davy groaned and closed his eyes, only to drift off to sleep. Micky lets out a sigh and turns to the other two, who both have similar expressions of shock and horror.

"I-is Davy gonna be alright…?" Peter asked worriedly.

"I'd like to think so, yeah," Micky said, flashing a quick smile. "He just had a rough night is all."

"Yeah, rough night, huh," Mike scoffed.

"What's that about?" Micky frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Looks like he had more than just a rough night to me," Mike said, cringing as he sat up and made his way over. Peter quickly rushed to his side to give him extra support.

"Well, I said the pain gets better with time," Micky said, looking down. "I meant that. It's just with Davy…well..."

He sighed, unsure of how to explain it.

"The pain will get better unless something changes—"

"Yeah, unless it doesn't," Mike muttered rolling his eyes.

"Like, for Davy, they, uh, they switched his medicine because the one he was on until now was only causing him more problems…"

Micky felt so…awful. He should've kept his mouth shut. He remembered when Davy had told him, the night where both of them had shared their secrets and their sins to one another. And the promise those strangers made to one another, to never tell. Here Micky was, desperately trying to still hold onto that promise.

Mike frowned and looked over at Davy as he whimpered in his sleep.

"No no no…" he whispered, shifting around

"Poor Davy," Peter said sadly. "I wonder what he's thinking about..."

Micky sighed and nodded.

"Yeah…" He said, looking down at Davy. Good thing he was already dead, or else Davy would've killed him for telling them that anything was wrong.

"But, Mike," Micky said, looking back up at the Texan. "I think you're gonna be alright."

"The first few days will be like…" Mike muttered, repeating the phrase everyone had been telling him. Micky smiled and stood, walking toward him.

"Welcome to Hell, Mr. Nesmith," he said, voice breaking slightly and tears filling in his eyes. "How may I help you?"