No, healers couldn't quell the voices inside one's head. Ric could only empathize by imagining what it must feel like to have his morose thoughts doubled, tripled, quadrupled and then stuffed back into his head. The space available was bound to be too small and the results messy, not unlike a suitcase packed in a hurry. Even now he lamented his inability to command the kind of power that could be stitched together from out of thin air. To attempt soothing his young friend, he required prep time, reagents, and written direction. Caught unawares he was of no use to anyone.
Perhaps being down on himself was particularly ill-advised during such a time as the residual emotions might imprint themselves on Issac. Making it a point to switch his inner turmoil over to the mental equivalent of a smooth jazz loop, he urged, "Everyone can piss off." Uncharacteristically vulgar language for Ric, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Most people don't have an original idea in their heads; they're not worth allowing yourself to come to harm. I suspect it's easier said than done but try narrowing it down while I get us somewhere quiet. Hone in on me if you need to." Loosening his grip on how tightly shut he kept the door to his inner-most thoughts was a rare occurrence. Ric wasn't so arrogant to consider it some precious gift; he also wasn't sure what the last truly embarrassing thing he'd done was. If luck were kind, it would safeguard him against any teasing once Issac's sense of humor was again behind the reins.