Maybe Harry couldn't kill himself, but that doesn't mean he couldn't hurt himself.

Surprisingly, you're not actually allowed to set fires in Hell, and there aren't any pre-existing ones either.

Harry dried himself off, still upset about his unsuccessful attempts at ending his afterlife, and reached to open the mirror cabinet.

Inside was a bunch of medication, Advil, Tylenol, all that good stuff.

He didn't buy those, though.

He didn't buy anything in that house, actually.

It was already furnished when the elevator dropped him off there, it was like it was waiting for him to arrive.

He hadn't stepped outside of his front door that was currently bolted.

The heart attack that almost came on last night when he turned around once he was done throwing up the pills he'd tried to overdose on and a guy with glowing red eyes was standing right behind him was enough to never leave the door unlocked again.

He said his name was Zayn, and that he was sent to welcome the new demon.

'Welcome' was a strange choice of wording.

He had gone over the rules that applied in Hell, not much different than Heaven but still shocking.

You're not allowed to set fires, rob anyone or anything, hurt anyone, and you definitely can't kill anything.

Oh, and it's impossible to die or kill yourself, Zayn had said, to which Harry gave him an annoyed look.

Zayn advised Harry to bolt his door and close his windows because 'not everyone likes the rules' before leaving.

Now, Harry pushed aside the bottles of healing drugs and grabbed a lighter that he'd managed to snag from Zayn's bag of items he'd confiscated earlier when he set it down.

He sat down on the cold tiles of the floor and pushed his pants down.

He'd never done this before, but he figured there was no time like the present.

So he positioned the lighter by the inside of his thigh and he burnt while he cried.

Harry laughed a short huff when he realized that he was burning in Hell, quite literally.