"I know. I don't know--rrrgh."

Silence: there's no ground for his foot to meet when he bends a knee and stomps. His hands move, gripping fistfuls of his own hair as he sits up, snarling, "Because that's a clear answer! I know, I don't know -- which one is it, you moron? Fuck!"

One can't say fits like this are uncommon or caused by excessive mental stress. One can, however, question the precise location of excessive mental stress on the Aggressively Advanced Psychological Issues echeladder.

"Okay," he adds when it passes, ruffling his head to return his hair to its natural shape of what a fucking mess, turning to face Dave. He's still sitting. Now he's staring. (At least he's moving?) "Okay." Again. "I know this isn't. I know we're not in the medium anymore. I know the whole 'it had to happen that way' excuse in all of that already and I'm not talking about that. I mean everything you've seen or what you know. Like... what kind of lives does everybody have? Jade and John. And Rose. It might not be great but they're not totally fucked, right? Something usually happens, I know, and it goes to shit and that usually happens at the end."

And if they die, they die quick.

"But..." Somewhere in here, he's stopped looking at him. "Before that it's mostly fine, right?"