He has to get that pipe away from him. First and foremost, that's gotta be his goal. Jesse's spent more than his fair share of time beaten and bruised and laying in a hospital bed, and he's not about to start that record fresh here too.

The problem is getting there. Talking a janked up, scared dude out of his one weapon while there's supposedly a monster stalking around outside. Predictably, Jesse hears none of the hallucinations that Finch is hearing right now. Not that he doesn't have his own drawbacks going for him right now, these little whispers like Finch is talking about. His own psychosis, whacked out as of late, whatever. But it's not a monster. He knows it can't be a monster.

But the similarities make the hairs on his neck stand up.

"I think you know why I can't see him," Jesse approaches Finch again, carefully, slow and calculated steps inward. That's how he's gotta play this, honestly. This Jesse isn't crazy. He's just on a metric fuckton of product. "That's all right, man, you just gotta be my eyes and ears. Hah? Think ya can handle it?"