They gave him drugs.

It stuck in his craw to take them, but the pain in his back was truly phenomenal and nothing he did could ease it besides Vicodin, so he gave in.

They knocked him out cold and gave him dreams.

Drake held his wrists so tightly the bones ground together, making him squeal. Then he gripped tighter, a wordless instruction to shut up.

“You need to learn to keep your pretty mouth shut. Unless you are told to do otherwise.”

Gabe had stared at the ground between his feet, held in place by arms far stronger than his small, emaciated frame could compete with. He blinked away tears.

“What’s your name?” Drake asked in a low coaxing voice.

“Dam- aaah!” the hands twisted. “Gabriel.”

“Good little angel. Now go eat.”

-8-

Gabe jerked awake, heart beating like a sluggish thing in his chest. He heaved a breath through a constricted windpipe, and leaned over the side of the hospital bed, the only thing preventing him from falling over was the rail. The drugs were still thick in his system so he could only feel the vague ache of pain in his back, but his body still convulsed and tried to throw up an empty belly.

Etienne was there in a moment.

“You ok?” he asked quietly.

Gabe wanted to roll his eyes and answer with a sardonic ‘obviously not.’ But he didn’t have the strength. Everything was gone in that moment; his strength, his bravado, the instinct that kept him alive. He was still the boy in the dream then, a feeble, voiceless thing kept in line with pain and threats.

He flopped back on the bed when he could swallow again, and breathe unencumbered. His heart flailed like a butterfly inside the cavity of his chest, and he raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes.

“Go away, Etienne.” He managed.

He was in the hospital, in the dark. He was twenty-five, not nine, and he could beat, punch and claw his way out of a fight any time of day. The dream had been an echo, likely brought on by mind altering drugs strong enough to dilute the pain of his unsuccessful murdering.

It was real, but in a different way. Not in a present way.

But the threat loomed, casting a shadow on his life. In that moment he couldn’t manage to be angry about it, but he hated the fear, so he tried to think of something else.

The curve of a smile cut into a face. The elegant flick of fingers in irritation.

His breathing calmed slightly.

“I need to get out of here.” He said into the gloom. Etienne was always there now, his current mandate for the moment was to watch over Gabe. Richardson would have heard he hadn’t died, and would be more than happy if he could smother Gabe with a pillow in his hospital bed.

“Doctor said another two days, at least.” Etienne's voice sounded thin and sleepy, and just a touch grouchy.

“I don’t care. I can’t stay here anymore. Get me out, or I’ll walk out and you’ll have to mop up the blood behind me.”

A disgusting sucking noise resounded in the small room as Etienne tongued his tooth gap. Then he heard Etienne get up and the room’s only door open and close.

-8-

They must have moved him when he had been knocked out by another round of drugs. He hated the groggy mist he swam through to get back to consciousness, and the wobbly edges of reality when he was there. It was like being drunk, but nowhere near as fun.

He woke with another nightmare tearing through his throat. Arms flailing in front of him, he pitched forwards, fighting something he couldn’t see. His walls shattered whenever he closed his eyes. Sleep was no retreat, but he couldn’t avoid it. The movement had awakened the pain in his back, and he worried that a stitch had torn, but he was still struggling in the emotional aftermath of the nightmare and couldn’t make enough sense of the waking world to check. He flopped back down on the bed, boneless and limp again.

A small whimper escaped his mouth and he hated it.

It took him another few minutes to realise he wasn’t in his own bed. This bed was too wide and sheets were black. Definitely not his bed, which only had a comforter thrown across it on a good day.

Turning his head, he saw Xero there, sitting at its edge, watching him with wide eyes.

Gabe closed his eyes, the un-tensing in his stomach muscles the only indication he had been terrified.

“Who’s Damien?” Xero asked softly.

Gabe met his eyes without hesitation. Reality was still an optional thing, everything still held a dreamlike quality.

“Someone from another life.” Gabe told him, voice still raw.

Xero picked up a glass of water and some tablets from the nightstand by the bed. “Here, for the pain.” But Gabe was already shaking his head.

“No. No more drugs... nightmares.” He whispered. Xero laid them aside.

“Very well.” He replied simply, without protest.

Gabe watched distantly as the older man’s hand reached towards him, a felt a knuckle touch along the side of his face. It came away wet. Gabe was crying, and he hadn’t even known.

“Will you be able to sleep? Without the pain medication?”

“Where am I?” Gabe asked.

“You’re in my guest room.”

Gabe didn’t process that beyond one fact; safety.

“I’ll sleep.”

He sank away again.