A new story, but don't worry - I will complete Lagrimas, I promise. This is angsty and full of hurt/comfort although I'll keep it not too graphic in the whump dept. It's not primarily an S/J romance piece but you know me - it'll probably creep in there sometime (so be warned if you don't like ship). Enjoy!

He whimpered in pain and distress. He didn't know where he was, barely knew who he was. He'd lost all track of time, not knowing the month, the day or the hour. All he knew was this bare room, with nothing but a toilet and a thin blanket.

They brought him food and water, but it wasn't regularly, so he couldn't keep track of days. There was no natural light, just a bare bulb high in the ceiling which shone all the time. He'd taken to pulling the threadbare blanket over his head just so he could get some rest.

He didn't even get much of that however. If they didn't come for him and take him to that room, they played music and loud, discordant noises all day long. He knew – at least at first – that it was a common torture technique. It was done to exhaust him, to wear him down, to break him. He was pretty sure it had worked.

He didn't know what was happening anymore, but he did know that he was not the same person he had been. Yes, he was broken, his mind almost gone. He'd lost a great part of himself and no longer knew what he was. There were days he wondered if he was still a human being.

They were coming. He heard the footsteps and the voices he'd come to recognize, although he didn't know their names. He whimpered again, and huddled into the corner, pressing himself into it as if he could disappear. The door opened and he heard a laugh. He knew then he could never disappear. This was now his life.

"Look at him now! He's nothing but a scared little baby! Come on baby, time to go."

He shook his head wildly back and forth and pushed himself even deeper into the corner. He pulled the blanket over his head. Maybe they wouldn't notice him then.

He felt hands – rough, angry hands, pull the blanket aside. He looked up in terror at the two men who had caused him so much pain and couldn't help but begin to cry. The tears streaked down his face, causing the men to laugh again. As one reached down to grasp his arms he tried hitting out – all that got him was a slap across the face. That ended his defiance. After that he allowed the men to lift him and drag his filthy body across the floor.

"God, he stinks", one of his tormentors commented.

"Yeah, we were told not to let him bathe or change clothes. That's fine except he didn't have to put up with him. I don't suppose this one'll last long anyway and then we can just burn everything."

"I thought he wanted him left alive?"

"Maybe, although he's so far gone now I don't know what good it will do. I think he's pretty brain damaged already."

"Yeah – I have a feeling that may have been the idea. I think he wanted revenge and killing our guy here would have been too quick."

The voice laughed again. "Well, this certainly wasn't quick. I'm just surprised the poor bugger lasted as long as he did. God, he was a tough bastard."

"That he was. Oh well, it was more fun for us. I wonder how long they want us to keep this up?"

"Don't know and don't care. As long as we get paid – and we can have some fun doing it – I'm happy. Okay, here we are my precious. I hope you're looking forward to some more fun!"

He could feel himself being led into the room; the place of terror and pain. For a third time he whimpered as they lifted him up onto the table and strapped him down. Now he realized he did know where he was – he was in hell.

By the time he was dragged back to his cell he was unable to make a sound. His throat was raw from screaming and there were no tears left. He could no longer think clearly. Strange images swirled around in his brain but he could never settle on any one of them long enough to figure out what they meant.

He felt himself being flung onto the floor and knew there must be more pain as a result, but by this time his body was too numb, too past feeling, for it to register. He heard noises and then a loud clang – and then nothing.

"I think you went too hard this time Abel. He's not going to be pleased."

"Nah, I think he'll be okay when he recovers – at least as okay as he can get now."

"I don't know. Did you see his face and his eyes? They looked dead."

There was a brief pause and fear could be felt. The man called Abel suddenly felt a chill wash over him. His instructions had been to take the man to the brink – but not over. He realized that he'd enjoyed his work a little too much and he had hurt the man too ferociously. Thinking back to what he'd done, he realized that he may just have killed his prisoner. At the least, he'd destroyed his mind.

"Whatya think he'll do?" Abel asked his companion. "Do you think he'll kill us when he realizes?"

"Him? Oh he wouldn't dirty his hands with something like that. No, he'll have someone else do it."

"So, what are we gonna do?"

There was another silence as the other man thought. Finally he spoke. "I think we should get outta here and go somewhere where no one will ever find us. We've both made some good money – enough to live on for a long, long time, as long as we're not stupid with it. That's what I'm gonna do anyway."

"What about him?" Abel pointed to the closed door. "Do we just leave him here?"

"Hmmm? No, I think we should let him go. That should distract the boss long enough to let us get away. If they find him dead they'll come after us straight away."

"Let him go? You mean take him back to his people?"

"Hell no! I mean just let him go. He doesn't even know who he is now. We'll take him somewhere no one will think to look for him."

In his pain and delirium he heard the footsteps and the voices return. No, he cried to himself, it was too soon. They couldn't be coming for him again.

As the door opened he forced himself to stand and staggered forward, attempting to flee. He heard that horrible laughter again and arms grabbed him. He collapsed, too frightened, too anguished to continue. They had him in their grasp and the pain would never end.

The two men stuffed their prisoner in the trunk of their car and quickly drove away from the abandoned building that they had inhabited for so long. They made sure that no traces were left of their time spent there. No one was around and no one would ever know what had occurred behind those walls.

They drove for hours – for days. No one was expecting to hear from them until the weekend so they had time. They would stop occasionally to give their prisoner some water and a little food, although he couldn't eat much. They would allow him out to relieve himself, although sometimes he couldn't hold himself long enough. They'd finally resorted to putting adult diapers on him so he wouldn't continue to make a mess.

Finally they arrived at their destination. They waited in a dark alley until late at night. Then they got out of the car and opened the trunk. Pulling the man out they set him on the side of the alley. Then the one called Abel took out a tall bottle from a paper bag and poured it over the man.

"There you go. Enjoy your new home." Without a backward glance they got in the car and drove away, leaving behind them a broken human being.

"We got another one, Dave."

"God, where are they all coming from?" Dave walked over and bent down to the man. "Geesh, he smells like a distillery. What should we do with him?"

"Arrest him. The businesses around here are pressuring the mayor to get the streets cleaned up. They don't want a bunch of drunks pissing around their buildings and disturbing their customers."

"They have customers? I didn't think anyone would come down here unless they had to."

"Yeah, I guess that's the problem. All I know is we were told to get these bums off the streets. If it takes putting them in jail then so be it. It can be the courts problem then."

Together the two police officers hoisted the man to his feet. He was tall, but extremely thin and emaciated so didn't weigh much.

"God, he looks like a skeleton."

"Yeah, these guys pretty much don't eat anything that doesn't come in a bottle. I don't expect he'll last long by the look of him. They don't live long on the streets."

"Uh Dave, he doesn't sound like he's breathing real well. You think he's sick or something?"

"Probably has a bum liver plus about a million other things. A lot of these guys end up with pneumonia." Dave leaned over and looked more closely at the man. "Yeah, he doesn't look good. I guess we'd better take him to the hospital rather than the jail."

They pulled the man down the alley until they'd reached their squad car and then laid him across the back seat. Shutting the door they then got in and headed towards the hospital – at a slow and steady pace. No emergency here – not when it was just a bum off the street. As far as the cops were concerned, he'd probably be better off dead anyway.

"Will the hospital take him?" Steve, the younger officer asked. This was his first night in and around Skid Row.

"Yeah, but as soon as he's sober and not on death's door they'll let him go, then he'll be back on the street. It's what happens to all of them. Costs the tax payer a pretty penny!"

They arrived a few minutes later at the busy emergency ward of the downtown hospital. It was crowded and the nurse on duty gave the officers a brief nod of acknowledgement.

"Whatya have?" One of the nurses asked.

"A drunk. We found him in a back alley. He didn't look like he was doing so well so we brought him here."

The nurse gave a long-suffering sigh. "Great, just what we need – another one. Okay, let me find a gurney and you can leave him on it. We're backed up so it'll probably be a few hours before anyone can even look at him." She motioned to an orderly who eventually brought a gurney. The two officers couldn't get rid of the man fast enough. He really reeked.

"Jose", the nurse spoke to the orderly, "wheel him away from the rest of the patients. We don't want them to have to smell him. It'll make them even sicker." Jose gave a nod and wheeled the drunk down a little used hallway.

"Thanks officers, we've got him now." With a nod they turned and left, to head back to patrolling the streets around skid row.

The man – known only as 'the drunk' was left, ignored and forgotten.

Many hundreds of miles away, however, three people sat, sick with fear and worry. They had not forgotten their friend and they would not. In fact, they were determined to do all they could to find him and return him to where he should be – at their side.

Please note that many of the details of Skid Row - and the way the homeless are treated - are based in fact (it's what I do for a living). Although in this chapter (and throughout the story) I portray some of the police and hospital workers in a less than positive light, I'd also like to note that many police officers, nurses, etc. are extremely compassionate, good people who do what they can to help those most vulnerable. I will be portraying them as well - and consider them to be heroes! Thank you.