Daniel breathes out a gusty sigh and, having no idea what else he's supposed to do, takes the cup with visible reluctance. It's coffee. It smells like coffee. Dream-coffee? Why does that even matter? Why is Satan bringing him coffee.

"I was," he says dryly, raising his eyebrows pointedly. He's always been blessed with a profound lack of a filter when it comes to incredibly powerful beings that can snap his neck with a look, but in the veil of a dream his already tenuous grasp of self-restraint seems to have failed him completely. "And you, what, just figured you'd pop by again and check in?"