Checkpoints for life. There was a concept Pike would be fully in support of. He'd have loved to have just offed himself the second he realized he was in a hell dimension and started over from the last checkpoint. Then he could've called in the big guns, namely anyone who would listen to him, and it would have saved so much heartache for him and so many innocent lives.
But there were no checkpoints for real life. There was just life, and dealing with life. He was doing that, at least in his mind. Others might not have agreed if they knew exactly why it was he would want a checkpoint for life, but they weren't going to find out. He made sure of that with the invisible stone walls he put up around himself. It was lonely, but it was how it had to be.
That's what he thought he was holding to, anyway. Pike was observant, but he was also painfully oblivious sometimes.
He'd brought a bottle of Jack and a spare glass with him. The old standby. It was one of the big bottles, the kind you paid $40 for and that anyone with reasonable drinking habits could finish in maybe a handful of weeks. He would finish the bottle in one night, two at the most. If he was human, his liver would be a wasteland by now, but demon healing meant that he could just keep right on damaging it and it would be fixed in, at most, a handful of days. He held the bottle by the neck and used two fingers to pinch the glass, leaving his other hand free to knock on the door to cabin 010.