Ben knows that Cole is right. He's always right about things like this. He knows people, the way they hurt and heal and survive, and sometimes don't. There's no denial he can make that would be anything other than petulant and short-sighted.

(Ben had watched his family do all of that. Silent and unseen, he had been there to see the shock and horror turn to grief, turn to various forms of amending their memory of him, tailoring it to suit whatever narrative they needed. He'd seen it hurt less and less for them to talk about him. He'd seen them move on without him.)

Cole's rightness that Ben would make it through doesn't make the thought of losing Cole hurt any less.

"......yeah. But I would really rather not have to. So... if you can. Be careful with yourself, for my sake."

He pats Cole's hair, unbothered by the grime, just grateful his friend is here and safe and that things had not been any worse than they were. He doesn't want to let Cole go, to move from this spot, afraid the next doorway would lead to some fresh horror, that if he lets Cole out of his sight he'll be taken back to the Pit and left there, trapped, alone.