Pike had no clue what he was doing. Literally none. Oh, he'd had a plan. It was a good plan, a simple plan, one not even a retarded chimp could foul up. It had one painfully uncomplicated tenet: DO NOT TALK ABOUT HELL. It was easy, really. Talking about hell, the reality of hell, freaked people out. Even demon hunters, even people who had seen the worst of the worst, could rarely deal with the cold reality of hell as a place. To people topside, it was a concept, a vague image, or in some cases just a word. The idea that it was a real place, that people could be sent there against their will with absolutely no chance to so much as scrabble for purchase before the fall, was something most just could not handle. So his selection of people he could have talked to was sort of slim, consisting of exactly one person: Himself, in the mirror. And since he couldn't bear to look at himself in a mirror after what he'd done, that was out.
There was also the fact that even had he been able to talk to someone, most of the hunters out there would've just chalked him up as another monster and wasted him like the faceless extras in a GTA game. While he wouldn't have had a problem with that now, and in fact a very dark part of him welcomed the idea, back then he hadn't been quite as suicidal. By the time the pain had worn away what little resolve he'd had left, it was just easier to drift through life on the run rather than try to convince some hunter to kill him.
But now, that very precarious house of cards had come tumbling down. Some asshole with an ant farm decided to make everyone get all truthy, and the crap Pike had been hiding for years was now out in the open. There were good goddamn reasons he hid that stuff from people, not the least of which was stark and biting shame and guilt. But that hadn't mattered to the Head Asshole In Charge, all that mattered to him was that he got his petty entertainments. Pike wondered if Peterson realized he came on exactly like a little child cackling malevolently over a pile of marionettes. The image did not amuse Pike.
And now Claire was on her way to discuss the feelings they both had. The feelings Pike desperately didn't want. He didn't want anyone close. He was irrationally terrified of it, in fact. He was in the darkness in a way few could understand, and anyone that got close or tried to help him would just get dirty too. He didn't want that for anyone, least of all Claire. He was certain that he would hurt her, certain that he would ruin her in ways that she couldn't comprehend.
It may have seemed like little time for Claire, but for Pike it was an eternity. What seemed like long ago, he'd given up any pretense of working, and after some very violent tirades he'd managed to scare away the guests. He hadn't had to hurt any of them, but it had been a close thing. After awhile, he'd freaked them out by throwing the phone away from him and breaking all of his fingers. Apparently even they had enough common sense to know to stay away from the freak that was breaking himself.
By the time she got there, the fingers had already healed. Minor wounds like that didn't usually take too long. They were still heavily bruised, but he'd long ago learned how to function with that kind of pain. His patience, or maybe his resolve, had finally snapped and he'd been collecting his coat to leave when he heard her voice calling out. He winced and turned, not bothering to put the jacket down. "Yeah. Not sure if that's a good thing, but yeah. I am." He couldn't quite look at her in the eyes. Instead, he focused on a spot above her head.