Okay. My first Being Human fic. A one shot, set perhaps towards the end of Season Three, so a lot of supposition and guess work and interpretation. It was inspired by Seether's song of the same name, i seem to listen to them a lot when writing about Mitchell, the tone seems to suit him very well. All errors are my own, any mistakes are unintentional, just used to make the story go along. The characters of Being Human belong to the incredibly talented creators and writers. The original characters are my own.

All italics are Mitchell's thoughts. Please read and review thanks (and hopefully be nice :) )

Driven Under.

He's the silent one amidst the chaos.

Elizabeth watches him. The ward isn't nicknamed Bedlam for nothing. There's a restlessness here that sets a person on edge. They pace, they moan, they cry and they scream. It's unsettling to the unsuspecting but he seems oblivious to it all. He sits curled up in a battered old armchair and stares into space. He wears the required uniform of a white t-shirt and white pants but his feet are bare. The lack of colour makes him all the more noticeable, his dark curly hair, badly in need of a comb, his pale olive toned skin, the dark stubble.

"Oh, I see you've noticed him" Elizabeth turns her head sharply at Callie Fletcher's voice. The red headed nurse is smiling almost knowingly at her.

"Who is he?" She isn't going to deny watching him because of course she has been. Callie looks through the window at him.

"His name is John Mitchell but to all and sundry he's just Mitchell" she replies. Elizabeth tests the sound of his name in her head.

"What's his story then?" She marvels at just how still he is. Apart from blinking, he doesn't move a muscle.

"He was brought in six months ago after suffering an acute psychotic break. He was ranting and raving about wolves and bullets and lots and lots of blood" Elizabeth glances sharply at her and she smiles ruefully.

"I know, but you get all sorts of stories here, you just learn to humour them" she confides and Elizabeth looks back at him. It's difficult for her to tear her eyes away from him, beneath the stubble and the dishevelment, he's very handsome.

"And now?"

"Now he barely says a word. He's on enough Haloperidol to stun an elephant so I suppose that helps. He's okay, pretty much harmless, does as he's told" Elizabeth folds her arms.

He doesn't look harmless; in fact she could imagine that once upon a time he could've been very dangerous indeed.

"Did anyone check out his story? I mean about the bullets and the blood?"

"Why? For the most part, what the patients claim to be or have done are just figments of their imagination" Elizabeth sighs.

In his head he can hear screaming. He can hear people begging for mercy. He can see their eyes as wide as saucers and smell their fear. They're terrified of him. He's evil, a curse, a scourge on the human race. He's cared for a few people, loved less. He's alone now. No one comes to see him in this hell hole.

Someone's idea of a sick joke.

His eyes shift as someone new moves across his line of vision. He can smell her; her perfume is different, sweet almost. He watches her sit on the chair opposite. She smiles gently.

A new nurse. How many does that make now? He's lost count. There seems to be a new one here every day. He doesn't blame them, its hell in here. Someone's idea of a sick joke. The phrase bounces around his head.

"Hello John"

John? Who the hell was John…Ohhh…he supposes she means him. He hasn't answered to John in a long, long time, has to be close to a century now. He remembers his ma calling him Johnny, nobody these days would ever dare to call him that. He looks at her. She's pretty. In the past he's always been drawn to brunettes, but he supposes he could always go blonde. He almost smiles.

Almost but not quite.

"Callie says that you prefer to be known as Mitchell" she continues as if he's answered her. He blinks. His head swims a little. He's tired; maybe he can catch some sleep. He does sleep once in a while; he prefers not to because of nightmares, he has the most horrific nightmares. Whatever happy pills they're pumping into him doesn't stop them, which would be too easy, to be so zonked out on them that nothing penetrates his foggy mind but the moment sleep claims him then he's treated to nightmares of horrendous proportions complete with 3D surround sound Dolby stereo effects. His doctor has said that he's frequently found in the middle of his room screaming hysterically but he never remembers it.

He always comes to strapped to his bed.

"I'm Elizabeth, Elizabeth Powell; you'll be seeing me a lot around here. I'm new so you'll have to fill me in on who is who and what goes on in here, I'm sure you know everything and everyone" He would've frowned at her if he could. What the hell is she talking about? Doesn't she know already that he doesn't like to talk to anyone so what makes her think he'll talk to her? He narrows his eyes very slightly. She's pretty, she has lovely blue eyes, she kind of reminds him of someone he knew, he just can't think of her name right now.

Instead he looks away. He wants to sleep.

Elizabeth sits back in her seat as Mitchell unfurls his long legs and slowly gets to his feet. He pauses for a brief second as if to get his bearings and walks away. She watches him stride away. He hasn't said a word to her but she gets the distinct impression that he's weighed her up, made up his mind about her and dismissed her, all in under five minutes.

Impressive.

"He doesn't have a camera in his room?" Elizabeth looks at Simon in wide eyed shock. There are cameras in every patient's room. They can be observed and monitored that way.

"Why not?" Simon shrugs.

"Don't know but he went berserk the first time he saw it, completely smashed up his room and kept doing so til it was removed. He's the only one on the ward without a camera, same with his sessions with Doctor Barton, no video, not that he says anything to anyone to begin with…"

"So how do you keep an eye on him?" she asks curiously.

"Visual checks for the most part. He's one of the better behaved patients here, though it can get a bit noisy once in a while when he has one of his nightmares" He rolls his eyes. Elizabeth knows that nightmares are a frequent symptom of the patients here. In her old job, her nightshift duties mainly consisted of calming down hysterical patients caught in the grips of delusions, night terrors and other such horrors.

"They're bad?"

"Yeah, they're nasty. I wonder what goes on in that head of his sometimes for that to happen" he commented. Elizabeth takes a sip of her rapidly cooling tea and wonders too.

He lies on his bed. The mattress is thin; he can feel the springs poking into his spine. He shifts to get comfortable but it was a waste of time. At least he's allowed a bed with springs, there are patients here that will tear their room apart and use anything they can get their hands on to hurt themselves. He stares up at the ceiling. He blinks. There's nothing of him here and that was okay. He closes his eyes. He wants the oblivion. He wants the peace. Here he gets neither.

"You're dead to me Mitchell. We never met; I will never speak your name out loud again"

I miss him. He says that I saved his life when in reality, he saved mine. Oh sure he could drive me crazy when he went on one of his high strung rants but they were a part of him. It's taken a little while since that initial meeting behind the café but I'd trust him with my life. He keeps me sane, a little grip of reality when all around me everything is turning to shit.

I see Nina lying on that hospital bed. She's so pale, so still, so lifeless. I can hear her heart beating. I want to tell George that she'll be okay, well physically she will be. Emotionally, well that's another story all together. Their baby is gone. She found out my truth, the reason why I'm losing my mind and now I'm the one being rejected. I open my mouth to apologise, even though what happened to her wasn't directly my fault but he's judged and sentenced me. Guilty by association. I can't speak to plead my case. He won't listen to me anyway. His Nina has been grievously injured, he's beyond forgiveness or understanding and I don't blame him. Would I be under the same circumstances? No I wouldn't be. Our world to him is very black and white; he doesn't want to see the shades of grey.

He opens his eyes and realises that they're wet. He rolls onto his side and stares into the nothingness. He wonders what George is doing and whether he ever thinks about him. He thinks about him most days. He misses him. He blinks and then slowly sits up. He turns his head towards the open door. The only time the door is closed is when the lights go out. That's when he's locked in. That's when the real fun begins.

He eats mechanically and without tasting what's in front of him. It's something to do and he doesn't think about it. Elizabeth watches him. He's hard to miss, the calm within the storm that is raging all around. She's spent fifteen minutes convincing Lily that her potatoes aren't poisoned and really do taste nice and Malcolm just won't sit still and is disrupting the other patients. Simon informs her that this seems to happen daily with him. She sighs. She'll get to recognise their quirks and their habits and their tell tale signs soon enough but she hates being the new kid on the block.

Mitchell lifts his head once his plate is empty. He sees the new nurse across the room, sitting beside Malcolm, making sure he sits still enough to eat something but he never does. The size he is, he could do with losing a couple of stone. He gets to his feet and takes his tray back to the bench with the others to be taken away, one of the few that actually do this. He turns and heads back to his room. He keeps his head down; his eyes are trained on the floor. It doesn't do any good making eye contact with the patients here. They seem to know that he wants to be left alone and don't bother him.

Annie, my Annie. My soul, my salvation. I want her to be my salvation. She's my strength when everything is lost. She looks at me like she doesn't recognise me any more. George has told her what I did back in Bristol. She understands now why we had to leave in such a hurry. I don't want her to hate me; I couldn't cope if she hated me. I confessed to Lia that I had wanted her to like me; I want Annie to love me. I want to love and be loved.

I have no-one.

Elizabeth has been working at the ward for a couple of weeks now. She's becoming familiar with the patients and their quirks. Mitchell still remains a mystery, an intriguing mystery. Simon tells her not to get too invested in him, others have tried and failed. He doesn't take part in any group events, he doesn't talk, and he doesn't look at anyone for any great length of time. All that anyone knows about him is that his name is John Mitchell and he's originally from Ireland. When he'd been first admitted, raging and raving, his Irish accent had been clear. He's retreated into virtual silence since then. If he isn't in the day room then he's in his own room, he doesn't venture very far. Nobody visits him, not that many of them do get any visitors but no-one is interested in this man at all.

It's getting late and this is her first night shift. She's done them before at her old place and knows what to expect. They spend the hour before lights off settling down the patients, doling out the necessary medication and making sure that it's taken. Some take pills, others have injections. She helps Callie with this task, doling out the tiny paper cups that hold the variety of pills, watching the patients take them with practised ease. Mitchell waits in the line, silent as always. She hands him his little paper cup and watches him toss the pills down with a mouthful of water.

"I need to check you've taken them" she reminds him quietly. Obediently he opens his mouth and allows her to check. She nods and he walks away to his room.

It's quiet. Elizabeth does a quick bed check and amazingly enough most of the patients are sleeping and the ones that aren't there yet are quiet. She's aware though of how quickly that situation can and does change. Everything can be in uproar as quickly as it takes the time to cough or sneeze. Her shoes don't make a sound as she walks along the corridor. She pauses by Mitchell's room and peers through the glass partition of his door. He's sitting on his bed, his knees pulled up, resting his chin on them. He lifts his head and he looks at her for a moment before he lowers his head to stare at the floor again. She watches him for another moment before continuing with her bed checks.

I felt the snap go off in my head. It was the strangest of feelings. For weeks I'd been struggling to keep everything together and also to appear as normal as possible which given what I am, was quite an achievement. Everything was piling down on top of me and I was beginning to suffocate beneath the weight of trying to be someone I wasn't sure I could be, fighting against something I didn't want to be but had no choice in being and also the guilt of what I had done back in Bristol. Something had to give and I guess it was the sight of those detectives walking along the path towards me. The threads began to unravel at that point. I spent days avoiding the issue, grabbing at the escaping threads and trying to hold it all together. Who was I kidding? It was only a matter of time before everything got too crazy, too intense, just too… much.

The moment of realisation, when I saw her holding that book in her hand, oh God, I thought I was going to be sick. It was the look of utter condemnation that did me in. I always knew Nina regarded me warily, she was never comfortable with how close George had been to me and plus the whole vampire thing. It was like she finally had the excuse to be rid of me in her hand. Behind her Herrick had stood, protected, triumphant, the master manipulator at his most victorious. It was that smirk on his face that had been my final undoing.

I don't know what happened or even how it happened but something went off in my head. And Nina was the one who paid the price.

He lifts his head at the spear of pain that lances through him. His head is swimming with the effort to fight against the sleeping pill he'd had to take but he feels the weariness overpower him and he decides to give in to it, just this once and he hopes that his sleep is dreamless.

Elizabeth is catching up on notes when she hears the first moan. She checks the clock and sees that it's close to midnight. She listens but everything seems to be quiet and still. She goes back to her notes but five minutes later she hears the same sound again. Bearing in mind what Simon has told her about Mitchell and his nightmares, she makes the decision to go and check on him and she looks to Callie.

"Just going to check on a patient" she tells her in a low voice and her colleague nods and goes back to her own report writing.

Elizabeth does another tour, checking on the patients and seeing that for the most part, they're sleeping as peacefully as possible. She pauses outside of Mitchell's door. He's lying on his bed, his back to her but he's restless. He's muttering under his breath and twitching. She takes a step back as he suddenly sits up.

I can hear them whispering to me. I often hear their voices but they're worse at night when I have nothing to block them out. They're the voices of the innocents, the victims. They tell me their names, how old they are, the day that they died. I know this already so I don't understand why they have to keep doing this to me, I know already. They stay with me during every moment, sometimes I think I see them out of the corner of my eye but when I look, there's no one there.

"Mitchell…." The tone is quiet and musical. I freeze. I want them to go away. Oh please, just go away and leave me be.

"Look at me Mitchell…" the same voice tells me, still with that sing song tone that scratches along my nerves. I don't want to, I really don't want to but the voice is insistent. I turn my head and I see her standing by the door. It's Lia.

"You thought you'd escaped from me you naughty boy" she walks towards me, wagging her finger accusingly. I can't answer, I'm too scared.

"Pretending to be crazy so they'd lock you up in here, I would say that's a stroke of genius but we come and go in here as we please as well" she stops in front of me. She stares at me contemptuously.

"We can just as easily take you here as anywhere Mitchell my boy" she warns me, her tone becoming harder, crueller. She touches my face, her fingers digging into my chin as I try to pull away.

"You're ours do you hear me? You'll never be free of us!" she hisses.

"Go away, leave me alone" I whisper.

"Sorry, can't do that" I look at her

"What do you want from me?" I demand. She tilts her head to the side and smiles coldly.

"You John Mitchell, I want you…there are twenty lost souls waiting for you, for their chance at retribution. Do you think that just because you're in here, we're going to give up and go away? Think again"

Elizabeth watches him curiously. She can see his lips moving as though he's having a conversation. A lot of the patients do that, talk to themselves but the way his eyes dart around, she gets the impression that he's scared. It's then that he catches sight of her watching him and he quietens. That reserved air about him resumes but he doesn't lie down. Instead he pushes himself backwards to that he's sitting across his bed, his back against the wall. He pulls his legs up beneath his chin and wraps his arms around his knees. His chin goes down and he's staring at his feet.

Now look what I've done. I've got that nurse all curious about me again. Don't think that I haven't noticed her watching me. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my knees and hope she takes the hint and walks away. I'm okay; I'm fine, just a bit restless. It happens. I lift my head just a touch, enough so that I can peek without being really obvious and she's still there. Didn't that other nurse tell her about me? I look down again and close my eyes.

Elizabeth unlocks his door and opens it a fraction.

"Is everything okay Mitchell?" she enquires in a soft voice. As she expects, he doesn't reply. She ventures into his room. She walks across the small space to his bedside and flinches when his head comes up. His face is bathed with shadows but his eyes are wide. For a moment they stare at each other. Slowly she sits down beside him.

He moves his head to the side so that he can see her. Her hair is fastened back and he can see her pale white throat. He stares at it; mesmerised, imagining he can see the pulse beating against the skin. He can hear it; he can hear all of them. How easy would it be for him to just lean across and nip her? sink his teeth into that soft, wonderful skin? The sounds fill his head, echoing, rushing, overwhelming. He drags in a deep breath and closes his eyes. He turns his head back to rest his forehead on his knees again.

Elizabeth hears the sharp intake of breath and sees him look away. For a moment she thought that he was going to say something, his stare had been intense, almost unnerving and there had been such a look of…longing in his eyes, but instead there was his dismissal. It stings a little bit but she keeps forgetting that this is Mitchell. He doesn't interact if he can help it. She goes to touch him but stops herself. She lets her hand fall into her lap instead. After a moment of silence, she stands up and leaves him be.

I lift my head when I hear the door close and the lock turn. The nurse has gone but Lia is back beside the door, watching me, waiting for her moment.

Dawn is breaking and her shift will be over soon. She stretches her arms over her head and yawns. So far it's been a quiet night; a couple of minor disturbances and that has been it.

Her heart jumps when she hears the thumping. It sounds like someone is trying to get out of their room. She and Callie exchange worried looks.

"I'll put money on that being Mitchell's room" Callie comments as they both get to their feet.

They hear his screams and begin to run. Two other nurses, both male, join them. Elizabeth gets there first.

Mitchell is throwing himself against the door. His eyes are wide and staring and he's screaming to be let out, for someone to help him. Elizabeth fumbles for her keys but manages to unlock his door as he throws himself against it again. She catches him and they both tumble to the ground. He's heavy. He turns his head and he looks at her and her heart stops in her breast.

His eyes are pure obsidian.

It lasts for a millisecond maybe but it scares her. He blinks and the blackness has disappeared as the two male nurses grab his arms and haul him off her. He looks at her; it's as if he knows what she's seen. He then turns his attention to his captors and he struggles violently and they have a real problem keeping hold of him.

"Are you okay?" Callie breathes and for a moment Elizabeth looks at her. She nods briskly and gets to her feet. Her shoulder aches slightly from the contact with the hard tiled floor. She feels mildly breathless. She looks back at Mitchell. Simon has him pushed against the wall, Neil has his arms securely behind his back and Simon is talking quietly to him as the doctor on call appears. He doesn't seem surprised to discover that his patient is Mitchell.

They inject him with something that knocks him out and Elizabeth watches him being wheeled back into his room and lifted onto the bed. His head lolls to the side as he's strapped in.

"He'll be out for a good few hours yet" Callie tells her but she can't take her eyes off him. She wonders what the deal was with his pure black eyes.

She sits in the cafeteria and stares at the table surface. Her shift is over but she can't sleep.

"Here. You look like you could do with this" A cup of tea appears in front of her and she lifts her head and smiles into kind blue eyes. She wraps her hands around the cup and absorbs the comforting heat.

"Thanks George" she tells him in a low voice.

"Busy night?" she rolls her eyes a little as she lifts the cup to her lips and takes a drink. It's strong, unsweetened with just a little bit of milk. The cafeteria is deserted at this time of the morning.

"Not so much, just towards the end, patient knocked me clean off my feet" she confides. She looks across the table at George Sands, a new friend she's made here at the hospital. She knows that he's a porter here and they struck up a conversation of sorts just a couple of weeks ago, just as she was about to start her first shift at the psychiatric ward. The first time she'd seen him, he'd been standing by the doorway, just staring in with a sad, haunted expression on his face.

"No harm done I hope?" she shook her head.

"No, apparently he does this a lot, has night terrors, I was on the receiving end of this one, hazard of the job"

"Who was the patient or are you not allowed to talk about them?" She knows that the other staff members talk about the patients like they're characters in some funny cartoon strip, though she feels they're laughing at them and not with them. It's not their fault they're in there in the first place.

"His name is John Mitchell. He never speaks to anyone but once in a while he has these horrible, screaming nightmares" she tells him and then closes her mouth, she feels like she's betrayed something. She looks across at him.

"Apart from the nightmares, he doesn't say a word" She wonders at his expression. He seems so desperately sad all of a sudden. She takes another sip of her tea.

"But I wonder about him"

It's my fault he's in there. I watched him become completely unhinged in a short space of time; I should've seen it sooner. What kind of friend am I not to see my best friend struggle with his sanity, with his humanity? Why couldn't I have just sat him down and asked him straight what was wrong. The truth is that I was a coward. I had this brilliant new life set out in front of me. I was going to be a father; a truly splendid miracle that I never ever thought would happen to me and that was all that I saw, all that I chose to see. Why couldn't I have just stepped away from that for a moment and looked at my friend and seen what was going on inside of his head? I knew we had to leave Bristol in a hurry, something inside of me told me what had happened, what he'd done but it was like a light turning off inside my head. I had other things to think about. If I had taken the time to listen, would he be here? Who knows? He's my best friend in the world, who has saved me more than once. He has listened to me, offered advice and yeah, pissed me off but he was my friend, forever in my corner.

And I miss him.

FIN.