He woke with the light burning through his closed eyelids. He didn't exactly have a headache he decided, he just had the impending tightness that meant it would be here any time now. Muffled fragments of the past few days intruded on his thoughts and he tried to press his eyelids further shut. The cold of the concrete under him was beginning to soak through his jeans and jacket and he suppressed a shudder.

"You're awake then?" The voice was dryly amused and he struggled to place it.

Nothing, a complete blank. He remembered tipping, that endless moment between sanity and psychosis, the place he turned from himself into someone much darker. But beyond that, just fragments, things his mind shied from. Bad, it must have been really bad this time. He rolled onto his knees and retched as his head and stomach both screamed protest at the same moment. His wrists hurt, his arms burned, and the bile flowing out of his mouth tasted of blood. Very bad.

"Hey now." Hands caught him before he toppled over onto his other side, his body shuddering. The touch brought more pain to the surface, was there any part of him that didn't hurt in some way? The agony in his legs and back seemed to answer him with a loud no. For a brief instant he saw a dark face in his minds eye, and fists, big dangerous fists. It was gone as quickly as it came but it had set him shivering violently.

"Damn, it's going to be ok you know" The voice was full of concern now. He bit back a moan when they picked him up, his body hanging over their shoulder as they carried him in a fireman's lift. Why couldn't he remember them, why were they helping him, what the hell had happened after he broke? The jostling as they walked made him whimper in pain, despite biting his lip hard trying to keep it in.

Another snatch of memory, the reek of spray paint and blood, a dark alley, blackness and death. He felt bile fill his mouth again, and swallowed the blood filled acid back. How long had he been gone? What had he done? The answers didn't want to surface from the dark corners where his brain had hidden them. Sometimes they never did, the deeds too dark for his rational mind to accept. At least he assumed that's why he couldn't rustle them to the surface.

He felt them stepping sideways before he could stop them, and he screamed in agony. The sound made no noise, like a silent ghost of thought sucked into the weirdness that existed between this step and the next. It was warmer here, wherever they'd stepped to was dry and warm and smelt of summer. He could feel the heat of the sun beating on the black leather of his jacket and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the vicious glare. Summer, oh this was bad, really bad, if he was where he thought he was, then they were one of them. He wished he had the strength to struggle out of their grip but his body was just one big slab of unresponsive protesting hurt. He wondered if they'd stepped just to incapacitate him, or if they were going somewhere specifically. The glare eased, and the sun stopped super-heating his back, cool shadows brushing his face. He risked opening his eyes, taking in the fabric of their sweatshirt and the long legs in blue jeans. They were walking over a mosaic of broken tiles, the clean white long since turned grey and filthy with dust and time. He twisted his head to see the columns of concrete he'd expected. His heart dropped and his stomach tightened with fear.

They couldn't be taking him there, of all the places. What had he done? He shuddered again, unable to help the rapid fear pulse of his heart beating against the cage of his ribs. Please, anything but that, they'd sounded so nice, sane even. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a tear drop from his face.

"Nearly there" The cheerful enthusiasm filled his mouth with blood as he bit through his lip. The coppery warmth slid across his tongue and he had another flash of memory. Tall and thin, narrow eyes and pinched features with eyes that burned like coals. He shook his head, blood spraying across the floor staining in slow spreading drops. They took him through an arch, and up a long flight of steps, the corners of each tread littered with dust and dead leaves. His head banged against their back with each upwards jerk, and his eyes swam and blurred, tears prickling the edges of his vision. If he was stronger, he pushed the thought away, he was in no fit state. Whatever happened next, he would survive it, no matter how bad it was, even if it stole years of his life he would escape in the end. He always did.

They entered a room, and he was lain carefully on a soft mattress. Everything was white, clinical, he shut his eyes, not wanting to see their face. The face of betrayal. Even if they didn't know what they'd done, and he doubted that, you didn't know about this place without knowing what it was. He felt fingers probing his hurts, his ankle grinding under the gentle hands, the pain a jolt that sent him back into blackness.