"I can't do anything but attract attention there," mutters Johnny, dropping his hands and frowning at his feet. "Not from those people, at least not so far. I'm like a magnet for metaphysical assholes. I don't mean the way Gabe is an asshole. Like... monsters."

How else to describe them, really? Ugh. He wishes he could never sleep again.

"You know how many times I've died in one of those dreams?" Johnny says, with the same tone he would use to tell a complicated joke. "Five fuckin times. You know how many of those times I was murdered? Three." Two and a half, really, since Topher's memory of Gabriel only sort of counts, but he's sure as hell not about to go into that. "That's not counting any of the times I've been tortured or threatened with grievous bodily harm, barely avoided death on I don't know how many fucking occasions. And I haven't been here that long, as you know."

It's really not funny, not at all, but he laughs anyway.