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Description
Over the course of the next three weeks, Stein found himself getting less and less sleep. During the day he stayed either in the patient's room or very nearby, even going so far as to put off his smoke breaks as long as possible – the man was getting better about being left alone in the room, but it was still a touchy area – and during the night he roamed the streets of Death City. The night was the only opportunity he had to do so, as then the patient was asleep and Stein didn't feel it as necessary to remain nearby. Of course, he'd also taken a pager and left strict instructions with the nurses to call him if anything at all changed.

Now the scientist was making another pass through some of the darker alleyways of the city, scanning the ground for any sign of passage. It had been nearly a month since his old partner's return, which meant the chances of seeing anything were severely lessened, but he still had to try. Just as he'd had to in the weeks following the man's disappearance. If he could at least narrow down the direction the man had come from, maybe then he could track down the ones who had done this to him. It was a fragile hope, but it was all Stein had right now.

Reaching a corner he paused and looked up at the sky. The moon was grinning down as it always did, unconcerned with the goings-on of the world below. What had it seen that night, he wondered. What had it witnessed? Shaking his head, the scientist returned his gaze to the street below him, continuing with his search. He covered several more alleyways before he finally found a sign. A footprint, or part of one, partially obscured by dirt and fading but still distinct.

The patient had passed this way.

Thus encouraged, Stein examined the print, trying to determine the direction to take from here. The print seemed to be headed back the way he had come, which meant that going forward was the right way. Stein pressed on, steps coming faster now he had a concrete direction, and his eyes raked the streets for any further marks or signs of passage. They were few and faint, but he found them and followed their trail. It led to one of the smaller entrances to Death City, the paved road more a path that faded into the dirt beyond the edge of the buildings.

Stein stopped, staring out over the moonlit desert. The land was flat for miles around, mountains visible in the distance and beyond them the rest of Nevada. The rest of the world. The scientist absently pulled his cigarettes from a pocket, lighting one and taking a pull as he looked toward the horizon. Somewhere out there, somewhere in that direction, were the people who had reduced his only friend to little more than a shell of himself. He wanted to leave now, to just start walking and follow the trail that had led him this far; surely there would be signs out there, clues to direct him now he had some idea of what to look for. But the desert sands shifted daily, if not hourly, and any signs there may have been were long gone now.

One hand curling into a fist, Stein glared across the desert to the mountains ahead. One day, and one day soon, he would follow that trail. He would find those responsible, and they would pay. Pay for hurting his only friend. Pay for making him walk across those burning sands and who knew through what other obstacles. Pay for everything. Rage burned in the scientist's chest, a slow yet incredibly hot flame that would destroy everything in its path once released. His fist clenched tighter, nails digging painfully into his palm, and he turned away sharply. Then something beeped. The noise was small but insistent, an urgent string of sound that repeated twice before Stein fully realized what it was.

The pager.

The hospital.

The patient.

Stein started to run.

In the hospital bed, the patient slept. His color had been getting better over the past week or so, but there was still an element of tiredness, a weight to his features that was obvious even when asleep. One of the nurses, as per Stein's orders, had looked in on him not three minutes ago and left him alone. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his head turned away from the door, heart monitor showing a steady pulse rate. The patient lay motionless save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, not even the twitch of a finger revealing a hint of what was going on inside his head.

There it was dark, something the man had gotten used to long ago. He looked around, eyes straining to see anything in the darkness. Vague shapes could be made out, his sight adjusting slowly to the lack of light, but there was no detail, no definition beyond simple outlines. It was a bare room, no furniture to speak of. There was something large in one corner, a shape he couldn't quite define, and things hanging from the ceiling that would clink occasionally. Metal. Chains. And there was the table.

He knew what it was without having to think, a big block in the center of the room, ominous in its simplicity. There was no question what its purpose would be, not in his mind. He shifted back, away from it, and hit a wall. A cold wall, rough, some sort of stone that was harsh against his skin. He shivered. It was always cold in here, and he'd been denied any sort of protection from it. He'd been denied a lot of things.

His stomach growled. When was the last time he'd eaten? Yesterday? The day before? He couldn't remember. They'd started out feeding him, but the amount and frequency had lessened quickly, and there had been no explanation. There had been no talk at all. No one had spoken a word to him since he'd woken up in that room, not even to tell him where he was or why he was there, or what they wanted. That, more than anything, was starting to wear on him. Why wouldn't they talk to him? What did they want with him? His eyes strayed to the big block in the center of the room, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature shuddering through him.

To distract himself he began talking, focusing on an imaginary conversation. What he would say when that door opened to reveal something besides the usual dark figures that came in to look at him from time to time. Maybe it would be Sid. Or Stein. Or Azusa. Maybe it would even be Maka, come to help her father. They had to be looking for him by now, didn't they? Time had no meaning in that room, but he knew he'd been there at least a week or two. They had to be looking. They had to find him.

He stood up, taking a step, and paused as something rattled and he felt a weight on his left wrist and right ankle. Oh right, the chain...shackles that kept him from charging his captors, and from transforming. He'd found that one out quickly, the first time he'd tried to force his way out. The chain the metal cuffs were attached to kept him close to the wall, and no one came within reach of the chain. No contact, and no talking, and stuck in a cold, dark room with no food and barely enough water, and no idea why he was there or what they wanted...

He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head. No matter how hard he tried his thoughts kept circling back to that. Why wouldn't they talk to him? He'd tried talking to them, tried cajoling, joking, yelling...he'd even swallowed his pride enough to beg, and still there had been no reply. He didn't understand it...they'd taken him for a reason, they had to have, but to not tell him why? To not even hint at it, drop clues that might let his own head torture him more effectively? He had some knowledge of how treacherous the mind could be, thanks to his years of partnering with Stein, and for them to not make use of it...

Or were they?

He leaned back against the wall, hands coming up to hide his face for a moment. If he focused hard enough, he could almost hear Stein's voice, the detached, almost sardonic tone the scientist usually used. He could hear Maka's irritation, Shinigami-sama's ridiculously bouncy voice...but they were just echoes, dying away as his mind slid to something else.

Sliding back down the wall, he let his head rest against it and stared up at the ceiling. His hands were shaking, his breathing only steady due to concentration. How long was this going to go on? How much longer could he take it, this isolation? No, he had to stay focused. He wouldn't be here forever, someone had to be looking for him and they'd find him eventually. Or his captors would relax their guard and he'd be able to make his escape. All he had to do was wait, watch for the right opportunity, and take it. That was all. He just had to stay focused, stay calm, until then.

There was a metallic clanking sound and a sudden influx of light as the door opened; surrounded by darkness as he was, its dim glow seemed like a hundred-watt bulb and he raised a hand to shield his eyes. Footsteps were approaching, two sets of booted feet. Were they feeding him again? More water? They couldn't know how much he was wavering, he couldn't let them see. "Hey, guys, how's it going?"

No answer. Big surprise. In silence only broken by the sound of their movement, the two figures advanced to the edge of his reach. And didn't stop. That surprised him enough that he wasn't ready for what happened next. Hands grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the wall. Someone's feet were placed on his, keeping them in place. He squinted up at them, trying to see features, hair, anything in the light that was available, but it was behind them, leaving their faces in shadow, the rest of them concealed by hooded cloaks or robes. What he did see was a flash reflecting off a small vial of liquid, pale blue in color, and a hypodermic needle being inserted into it.

His eyes widened and he fought against the hands pinning his, tried to kick free of the weight on his ankles as he watched the needle fill with the liquid. There was no telling what it was, but he did not want to find out. He had to get free somehow, but the hands holding him to the wall had a grip like steel. Managing to free one foot, he tried to kick at the figure holding the syringe, but got the removed boot to his stomach instead. The impact left him winded, struggling for breath, and then he felt the sting as the needle entered his arm. "No...!"

There was a chill as the liquid was pushed from the needle into his arm, the blue stuff being colder than his own blood and taking a moment to match its temperature. "Why?! What do you want from me?!" He yelled up at them, a sudden burst of energy making him surge forward against the grip that held him. There was a snap as the needle broke off in his arm, but he didn't care. He'd make them answer him, if they wouldn't do it on their own.

Another boot hit his stomach, driving him back against the wall with a choked cry, and the two figures stepped back. He stared up at them, trying to push himself up as he worked to get his breath back. Dark robes, not cloaks, with hoods that obscured everything but their faces. He squinted, his vision blurry. Their faces...there was something off about their faces, but he couldn't tell just what. Only that they were pale. Pale as ghosts. "Who are you...?" he managed. They said nothing, simply watching, faces motionless as masks and just as unreadable.

He blinked hard, his vision blurring more. What had they given him? What was happening? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Was it starting, whatever they'd had planned? He was light-headed, his limbs felt oddly fuzzy and disconnected. What was going to happen? His arms gave out, leaving him limp on the floor. Nothing below his neck was moving. What were they doing to him? He stared up through hazed eyes as the two figures advanced again.

One removed the chain from his wrist-shackle, the other removed the bond around his ankle. He tried to struggle free. This was the chance he'd been waiting for, his chance for freedom, to escape, but his body wouldn't move. What had they given him? Move. Come on, move! I have to move! The two figures dragged him, legs scraping over the stone floor, towards the block of a table in the room's center.

No. No...he couldn't let them just do this. He focused everything he had on stopping them, pulling free, trying to at least slow them down a little and buy himself time. Nothing happened. They hauled him upright, letting him see the table's surface. Flat, rough-hewn stone, with some stains he didn't want to think about but his imagination insisted on offering suggestions for. And chained shackles that would hold down whatever was placed within them.

The figures roughly pushed him down on his back, the stone chill against his bare skin. The fuzziness was fading, he could feel it, but they were already opening the first shackle to place his wrist inside. He had to fight back, pull free somehow. His struggling increased as his body began to respond to his command, but not in time; the shackle clicked closed around his wrist and they were already grabbing his free hand.

He pulled against them, lashing out as best he could, and felt something hard slam into his side; they had metal gauntlets covering the outside of their hands. The strike did nothing to stop him, running on adrenaline as he was, and he managed to yank his hand out of their grip, landing a blow on one of the figures. Its companion grabbed his hair suddenly, slamming his head down harshly against the stone of the table. He let out a yelp, dazed by the impact, and only realized once his head was clear that his free hand had been shackled as well.

There was little he could do now but kick, but he did so with everything he had. At least he wouldn't make this easy for them. The figure at his head stunned him with another blow against the table, buying time for its companion to restrain his feet as well, and then they backed away. He craned his neck to try and watch them as they moved towards the door; they'd placed him so his head was pointed in that same direction, making it incredibly difficult for him to see who or what entered and left.

Within moments the door closed behind them with a metallic slam, cutting him off from the light once more. Without it, the darkness seemed darker, and he stared upwards with wide eyes. A test of the chains holding him told him he had a very limited range of movement, barely enough to shift an inch or so. What were they planning now? Even as he silently asked the question he wished he hadn't. Chained to a slab of rock in total darkness, the options were rather limited.

His breath quickened, heart starting to pound. He couldn't even move now, and the shackles offered no room to try and slip out of them. A treacherous little voice inside his head suggested that once they had some lubrication that might change, and he cursed his all-too-vivid imagination for offering an image of what that lubrication might be. He had to find something else to focus on, something that would help him calm down, anything that would stop the fear already mounting within him.

Oh god...

Stein raced through the corridors of the hospital to his patient's room, coat flying behind him. There was a pair of nurses standing at the door to the room, looking worried and uncertain as he approached. Ignoring them for the moment, Stein looked inside to see the patient shifting restlessly in the bed, as though fighting against invisible chains. The heart monitor showed his heart to be racing, which would have been obvious regardless given the way the man was breathing like he was running for his life.

A nightmare.

That explained why the nurses hadn't actually gone in. The last time the patient had woken up suddenly, someone had gotten hurt. Stein's hand unconsciously went to the line on his coat where the man's blade had slashed him. Probably best if they stayed back. The scientist advanced alone, leaving the nurses to watch from the doorway as he approached the bed. The bedclothes had shifted with the man's movement, as had the light pajamas the hospital had given him. The shirt's buttons had come partially undone, revealing some of the bandages that all but covered the man's upper body, concealing the still-healing wounds.

Stein paused as he reached the bed, looking down at his patient and suddenly struck with the realization that he didn't know how to wake the man up. A sudden rise from the dream might make things worse, and while Stein knew the man wouldn't be thinking clearly that didn't make the risk of getting attacked again any easier to take. But at the same time he couldn't simply wait for the patient to wake on his own...that seemed overly cruel. Stein could remember quite a few of his own nightmares, and if what the man was currently seeing was anything like those...

The scientist reached down to take hold of the man's shoulder, hesitated, then slowly shifted his hand to rest on the man's head instead. The red hair was slightly damp, sweat from the nightmare starting to soak through the strands. Stein let his hand simply rest there for a moment then, copying motions he'd seen others do, gently smoothed the man's hair down in what he hoped was a comforting motion. It seemed to work, at least a little, as the patient stilled. "...Senpai?" Stein said softly.

There was no answer. The beeping of the heart monitor slowed slightly, then sped up again. The nightmare was still in control. Stein grabbed hold of the man's shoulder gently, shaking him. "Senpai, wake up!"

The patient jerked upright with a panicked gasp, then let out a low groan of pain and fell back against the bed, eyes closed tightly. One hand went to the bandages across his stomach, then his eyes opened again, wonder barely beating out fear. "Wha...?"

"...you were dreaming," Stein said, letting his hand fall away. "You're fine."

"Dreaming...?" The man blinked, then started as he realized the voice had come from an outside source and looked up. "Stein..."

Stein nodded, meeting the man's eyes. There was a little life in them, but it seemed to the scientist that it was only due to the aftereffects of the nightmare and the relief of waking. That bothered him, but he didn't know how to fix it. Right now, all he could hope was that time would do most of that for him.

The man let out a quiet breath, laying back against the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Now the adrenaline was fading, Stein could watch as the spark that had been in those cobalt eyes faded to leave them lifeless again. It was an expression that had become normal for the patient, and it pained Stein to see him like that. Lifeless, tired...his old partner had never been suited for expressions like that.

Maybe if Stein could get him to talk, something would change. It was a thought that had occurred quite a few times over the past week or so. The scientist knew that the damage that had been done, both mentally and physically, would take a long time to heal, but that didn't stop him wanting to try and speed up whatever bits of it he could. This nightmare could be just the opportunity he'd been looking for.

But he couldn't just make the man talk to him; that might do more harm than good. And asking always included the chance that he might get no for an answer. Stein stood by the bed for a solid minute without speaking before finally making up his mind. "...would you tell me about it?" he asked, sitting down in the chair that had taken up a permanent spot by the bed. "About your dream?"

The man glanced over at him for a moment, then looked away. It took a few seconds, and Stein was beginning to think he wasn't going to get an answer before the man spoke in a quiet voice. "...I was back there. It was happening again." There was a pause, then he shook his head, breath catching slightly. "I don-...I don't..."

"It's all right," Stein said quickly, reaching up to put a hand on the man's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "You don't have to. I'm not going to make you." The patient looked back at him, eyes pained beneath the ever-present tired weight they now carried. "I won't make you," Stein repeated, keeping his stoic expression up. The last thing he needed right now was for this man to see just how much Stein was bothered by his condition.

The patient nodded after a moment, seemingly relieved at least in part. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and relaxed back against the bed. Stein reached up to pull the blanket over him again, getting a look of surprise and then...was that shame?

"What's wrong?" he asked, pausing.

The man said nothing, but pulled his shirt closed tighter over the bandages and looked away.

Stein let out a breath of understanding. Of course the bandages would bother him, reminders of what lay beneath them, which in turn were reminders of something that now haunted the man's nightmares. The scientist simply pulled the blanket up to his patient's shoulders and let it fall. "You should try and get back to sleep."

The patient shook his head. "Don't want to."

"Senpai..."

"I don't want to!" the man repeated, voice rising for a moment before returning to its now-usual quiet tone. "...I might dream again..."

Stein sighed softly. "...it is a risk," he agreed, "but you need your rest."

"Call that rest?"

Well that was a fair point. "You should still try."

The patient lay in silence for a long moment, then hesitantly glanced over. "...are you staying?"

Stein nodded. "I'll be right here."

"If I..."

"I'll wake you." Stein could guess what the question was going to be; the man was worried about another nightmare, after all.

After another moment's silence, the patient nodded. The gesture was a touch reluctant, but at least it was there. Stein watched as he took another breath and released it, sliding those blue eyes closed. So much for further investigation tonight. The scientist knew he could make it to the mountains before dawn – Shinigami-sama wouldn't mind him borrowing a car to follow the trail he'd uncovered earlier – but he was needed more here.

He settled back into the chair, watching as his patient's breathing gradually evened out after several minutes. Good. He needed the sleep. Hopefully this time it would remain untroubled. And if it didn't...well, that's why Stein was there.

Description
Over the course of the next three weeks, Stein found himself getting less and less sleep. During the day he stayed either in the patient's room or very nearby, even going so far as to put off his smoke breaks as long as possible – the man was getting better about being left alone in the room, but it was still a touchy area – and during the night he roamed the streets of Death City. The night was the only opportunity he had to do so, as then the patient was asleep and Stein didn't feel it as necessary to remain nearby. Of course, he'd also taken a pager and left strict instructions with the nurses to call him if anything at all changed.

Now the scientist was making another pass through some of the darker alleyways of the city, scanning the ground for any sign of passage. It had been nearly a month since his old partner's return, which meant the chances of seeing anything were severely lessened, but he still had to try. Just as he'd had to in the weeks following the man's disappearance. If he could at least narrow down the direction the man had come from, maybe then he could track down the ones who had done this to him. It was a fragile hope, but it was all Stein had right now.

Reaching a corner he paused and looked up at the sky. The moon was grinning down as it always did, unconcerned with the goings-on of the world below. What had it seen that night, he wondered. What had it witnessed? Shaking his head, the scientist returned his gaze to the street below him, continuing with his search. He covered several more alleyways before he finally found a sign. A footprint, or part of one, partially obscured by dirt and fading but still distinct.

The patient had passed this way.

Thus encouraged, Stein examined the print, trying to determine the direction to take from here. The print seemed to be headed back the way he had come, which meant that going forward was the right way. Stein pressed on, steps coming faster now he had a concrete direction, and his eyes raked the streets for any further marks or signs of passage. They were few and faint, but he found them and followed their trail. It led to one of the smaller entrances to Death City, the paved road more a path that faded into the dirt beyond the edge of the buildings.

Stein stopped, staring out over the moonlit desert. The land was flat for miles around, mountains visible in the distance and beyond them the rest of Nevada. The rest of the world. The scientist absently pulled his cigarettes from a pocket, lighting one and taking a pull as he looked toward the horizon. Somewhere out there, somewhere in that direction, were the people who had reduced his only friend to little more than a shell of himself. He wanted to leave now, to just start walking and follow the trail that had led him this far; surely there would be signs out there, clues to direct him now he had some idea of what to look for. But the desert sands shifted daily, if not hourly, and any signs there may have been were long gone now.

One hand curling into a fist, Stein glared across the desert to the mountains ahead. One day, and one day soon, he would follow that trail. He would find those responsible, and they would pay. Pay for hurting his only friend. Pay for making him walk across those burning sands and who knew through what other obstacles. Pay for everything. Rage burned in the scientist's chest, a slow yet incredibly hot flame that would destroy everything in its path once released. His fist clenched tighter, nails digging painfully into his palm, and he turned away sharply. Then something beeped. The noise was small but insistent, an urgent string of sound that repeated twice before Stein fully realized what it was.

The pager.

The hospital.

The patient.

Stein started to run.

In the hospital bed, the patient slept. His color had been getting better over the past week or so, but there was still an element of tiredness, a weight to his features that was obvious even when asleep. One of the nurses, as per Stein's orders, had looked in on him not three minutes ago and left him alone. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his head turned away from the door, heart monitor showing a steady pulse rate. The patient lay motionless save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, not even the twitch of a finger revealing a hint of what was going on inside his head.

There it was dark, something the man had gotten used to long ago. He looked around, eyes straining to see anything in the darkness. Vague shapes could be made out, his sight adjusting slowly to the lack of light, but there was no detail, no definition beyond simple outlines. It was a bare room, no furniture to speak of. There was something large in one corner, a shape he couldn't quite define, and things hanging from the ceiling that would clink occasionally. Metal. Chains. And there was the table.

He knew what it was without having to think, a big block in the center of the room, ominous in its simplicity. There was no question what its purpose would be, not in his mind. He shifted back, away from it, and hit a wall. A cold wall, rough, some sort of stone that was harsh against his skin. He shivered. It was always cold in here, and he'd been denied any sort of protection from it. He'd been denied a lot of things.

His stomach growled. When was the last time he'd eaten? Yesterday? The day before? He couldn't remember. They'd started out feeding him, but the amount and frequency had lessened quickly, and there had been no explanation. There had been no talk at all. No one had spoken a word to him since he'd woken up in that room, not even to tell him where he was or why he was there, or what they wanted. That, more than anything, was starting to wear on him. Why wouldn't they talk to him? What did they want with him? His eyes strayed to the big block in the center of the room, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature shuddering through him.

To distract himself he began talking, focusing on an imaginary conversation. What he would say when that door opened to reveal something besides the usual dark figures that came in to look at him from time to time. Maybe it would be Sid. Or Stein. Or Azusa. Maybe it would even be Maka, come to help her father. They had to be looking for him by now, didn't they? Time had no meaning in that room, but he knew he'd been there at least a week or two. They had to be looking. They had to find him.

He stood up, taking a step, and paused as something rattled and he felt a weight on his left wrist and right ankle. Oh right, the chain...shackles that kept him from charging his captors, and from transforming. He'd found that one out quickly, the first time he'd tried to force his way out. The chain the metal cuffs were attached to kept him close to the wall, and no one came within reach of the chain. No contact, and no talking, and stuck in a cold, dark room with no food and barely enough water, and no idea why he was there or what they wanted...

He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head. No matter how hard he tried his thoughts kept circling back to that. Why wouldn't they talk to him? He'd tried talking to them, tried cajoling, joking, yelling...he'd even swallowed his pride enough to beg, and still there had been no reply. He didn't understand it...they'd taken him for a reason, they had to have, but to not tell him why? To not even hint at it, drop clues that might let his own head torture him more effectively? He had some knowledge of how treacherous the mind could be, thanks to his years of partnering with Stein, and for them to not make use of it...

Or were they?

He leaned back against the wall, hands coming up to hide his face for a moment. If he focused hard enough, he could almost hear Stein's voice, the detached, almost sardonic tone the scientist usually used. He could hear Maka's irritation, Shinigami-sama's ridiculously bouncy voice...but they were just echoes, dying away as his mind slid to something else.

Sliding back down the wall, he let his head rest against it and stared up at the ceiling. His hands were shaking, his breathing only steady due to concentration. How long was this going to go on? How much longer could he take it, this isolation? No, he had to stay focused. He wouldn't be here forever, someone had to be looking for him and they'd find him eventually. Or his captors would relax their guard and he'd be able to make his escape. All he had to do was wait, watch for the right opportunity, and take it. That was all. He just had to stay focused, stay calm, until then.

There was a metallic clanking sound and a sudden influx of light as the door opened; surrounded by darkness as he was, its dim glow seemed like a hundred-watt bulb and he raised a hand to shield his eyes. Footsteps were approaching, two sets of booted feet. Were they feeding him again? More water? They couldn't know how much he was wavering, he couldn't let them see. "Hey, guys, how's it going?"

No answer. Big surprise. In silence only broken by the sound of their movement, the two figures advanced to the edge of his reach. And didn't stop. That surprised him enough that he wasn't ready for what happened next. Hands grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the wall. Someone's feet were placed on his, keeping them in place. He squinted up at them, trying to see features, hair, anything in the light that was available, but it was behind them, leaving their faces in shadow, the rest of them concealed by hooded cloaks or robes. What he did see was a flash reflecting off a small vial of liquid, pale blue in color, and a hypodermic needle being inserted into it.

His eyes widened and he fought against the hands pinning his, tried to kick free of the weight on his ankles as he watched the needle fill with the liquid. There was no telling what it was, but he did not want to find out. He had to get free somehow, but the hands holding him to the wall had a grip like steel. Managing to free one foot, he tried to kick at the figure holding the syringe, but got the removed boot to his stomach instead. The impact left him winded, struggling for breath, and then he felt the sting as the needle entered his arm. "No...!"

There was a chill as the liquid was pushed from the needle into his arm, the blue stuff being colder than his own blood and taking a moment to match its temperature. "Why?! What do you want from me?!" He yelled up at them, a sudden burst of energy making him surge forward against the grip that held him. There was a snap as the needle broke off in his arm, but he didn't care. He'd make them answer him, if they wouldn't do it on their own.

Another boot hit his stomach, driving him back against the wall with a choked cry, and the two figures stepped back. He stared up at them, trying to push himself up as he worked to get his breath back. Dark robes, not cloaks, with hoods that obscured everything but their faces. He squinted, his vision blurry. Their faces...there was something off about their faces, but he couldn't tell just what. Only that they were pale. Pale as ghosts. "Who are you...?" he managed. They said nothing, simply watching, faces motionless as masks and just as unreadable.

He blinked hard, his vision blurring more. What had they given him? What was happening? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Was it starting, whatever they'd had planned? He was light-headed, his limbs felt oddly fuzzy and disconnected. What was going to happen? His arms gave out, leaving him limp on the floor. Nothing below his neck was moving. What were they doing to him? He stared up through hazed eyes as the two figures advanced again.

One removed the chain from his wrist-shackle, the other removed the bond around his ankle. He tried to struggle free. This was the chance he'd been waiting for, his chance for freedom, to escape, but his body wouldn't move. What had they given him? Move. Come on, move! I have to move! The two figures dragged him, legs scraping over the stone floor, towards the block of a table in the room's center.

No. No...he couldn't let them just do this. He focused everything he had on stopping them, pulling free, trying to at least slow them down a little and buy himself time. Nothing happened. They hauled him upright, letting him see the table's surface. Flat, rough-hewn stone, with some stains he didn't want to think about but his imagination insisted on offering suggestions for. And chained shackles that would hold down whatever was placed within them.

The figures roughly pushed him down on his back, the stone chill against his bare skin. The fuzziness was fading, he could feel it, but they were already opening the first shackle to place his wrist inside. He had to fight back, pull free somehow. His struggling increased as his body began to respond to his command, but not in time; the shackle clicked closed around his wrist and they were already grabbing his free hand.

He pulled against them, lashing out as best he could, and felt something hard slam into his side; they had metal gauntlets covering the outside of their hands. The strike did nothing to stop him, running on adrenaline as he was, and he managed to yank his hand out of their grip, landing a blow on one of the figures. Its companion grabbed his hair suddenly, slamming his head down harshly against the stone of the table. He let out a yelp, dazed by the impact, and only realized once his head was clear that his free hand had been shackled as well.

There was little he could do now but kick, but he did so with everything he had. At least he wouldn't make this easy for them. The figure at his head stunned him with another blow against the table, buying time for its companion to restrain his feet as well, and then they backed away. He craned his neck to try and watch them as they moved towards the door; they'd placed him so his head was pointed in that same direction, making it incredibly difficult for him to see who or what entered and left.

Within moments the door closed behind them with a metallic slam, cutting him off from the light once more. Without it, the darkness seemed darker, and he stared upwards with wide eyes. A test of the chains holding him told him he had a very limited range of movement, barely enough to shift an inch or so. What were they planning now? Even as he silently asked the question he wished he hadn't. Chained to a slab of rock in total darkness, the options were rather limited.

His breath quickened, heart starting to pound. He couldn't even move now, and the shackles offered no room to try and slip out of them. A treacherous little voice inside his head suggested that once they had some lubrication that might change, and he cursed his all-too-vivid imagination for offering an image of what that lubrication might be. He had to find something else to focus on, something that would help him calm down, anything that would stop the fear already mounting within him.

Oh god...

Stein raced through the corridors of the hospital to his patient's room, coat flying behind him. There was a pair of nurses standing at the door to the room, looking worried and uncertain as he approached. Ignoring them for the moment, Stein looked inside to see the patient shifting restlessly in the bed, as though fighting against invisible chains. The heart monitor showed his heart to be racing, which would have been obvious regardless given the way the man was breathing like he was running for his life.

A nightmare.

That explained why the nurses hadn't actually gone in. The last time the patient had woken up suddenly, someone had gotten hurt. Stein's hand unconsciously went to the line on his coat where the man's blade had slashed him. Probably best if they stayed back. The scientist advanced alone, leaving the nurses to watch from the doorway as he approached the bed. The bedclothes had shifted with the man's movement, as had the light pajamas the hospital had given him. The shirt's buttons had come partially undone, revealing some of the bandages that all but covered the man's upper body, concealing the still-healing wounds.

Stein paused as he reached the bed, looking down at his patient and suddenly struck with the realization that he didn't know how to wake the man up. A sudden rise from the dream might make things worse, and while Stein knew the man wouldn't be thinking clearly that didn't make the risk of getting attacked again any easier to take. But at the same time he couldn't simply wait for the patient to wake on his own...that seemed overly cruel. Stein could remember quite a few of his own nightmares, and if what the man was currently seeing was anything like those...

The scientist reached down to take hold of the man's shoulder, hesitated, then slowly shifted his hand to rest on the man's head instead. The red hair was slightly damp, sweat from the nightmare starting to soak through the strands. Stein let his hand simply rest there for a moment then, copying motions he'd seen others do, gently smoothed the man's hair down in what he hoped was a comforting motion. It seemed to work, at least a little, as the patient stilled. "...Senpai?" Stein said softly.

There was no answer. The beeping of the heart monitor slowed slightly, then sped up again. The nightmare was still in control. Stein grabbed hold of the man's shoulder gently, shaking him. "Senpai, wake up!"

The patient jerked upright with a panicked gasp, then let out a low groan of pain and fell back against the bed, eyes closed tightly. One hand went to the bandages across his stomach, then his eyes opened again, wonder barely beating out fear. "Wha...?"

"...you were dreaming," Stein said, letting his hand fall away. "You're fine."

"Dreaming...?" The man blinked, then started as he realized the voice had come from an outside source and looked up. "Stein..."

Stein nodded, meeting the man's eyes. There was a little life in them, but it seemed to the scientist that it was only due to the aftereffects of the nightmare and the relief of waking. That bothered him, but he didn't know how to fix it. Right now, all he could hope was that time would do most of that for him.

The man let out a quiet breath, laying back against the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Now the adrenaline was fading, Stein could watch as the spark that had been in those cobalt eyes faded to leave them lifeless again. It was an expression that had become normal for the patient, and it pained Stein to see him like that. Lifeless, tired...his old partner had never been suited for expressions like that.

Maybe if Stein could get him to talk, something would change. It was a thought that had occurred quite a few times over the past week or so. The scientist knew that the damage that had been done, both mentally and physically, would take a long time to heal, but that didn't stop him wanting to try and speed up whatever bits of it he could. This nightmare could be just the opportunity he'd been looking for.

But he couldn't just make the man talk to him; that might do more harm than good. And asking always included the chance that he might get no for an answer. Stein stood by the bed for a solid minute without speaking before finally making up his mind. "...would you tell me about it?" he asked, sitting down in the chair that had taken up a permanent spot by the bed. "About your dream?"

The man glanced over at him for a moment, then looked away. It took a few seconds, and Stein was beginning to think he wasn't going to get an answer before the man spoke in a quiet voice. "...I was back there. It was happening again." There was a pause, then he shook his head, breath catching slightly. "I don-...I don't..."

"It's all right," Stein said quickly, reaching up to put a hand on the man's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "You don't have to. I'm not going to make you." The patient looked back at him, eyes pained beneath the ever-present tired weight they now carried. "I won't make you," Stein repeated, keeping his stoic expression up. The last thing he needed right now was for this man to see just how much Stein was bothered by his condition.

The patient nodded after a moment, seemingly relieved at least in part. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and relaxed back against the bed. Stein reached up to pull the blanket over him again, getting a look of surprise and then...was that shame?

"What's wrong?" he asked, pausing.

The man said nothing, but pulled his shirt closed tighter over the bandages and looked away.

Stein let out a breath of understanding. Of course the bandages would bother him, reminders of what lay beneath them, which in turn were reminders of something that now haunted the man's nightmares. The scientist simply pulled the blanket up to his patient's shoulders and let it fall. "You should try and get back to sleep."

The patient shook his head. "Don't want to."

"Senpai..."

"I don't want to!" the man repeated, voice rising for a moment before returning to its now-usual quiet tone. "...I might dream again..."

Stein sighed softly. "...it is a risk," he agreed, "but you need your rest."

"Call that rest?"

Well that was a fair point. "You should still try."

The patient lay in silence for a long moment, then hesitantly glanced over. "...are you staying?"

Stein nodded. "I'll be right here."

"If I..."

"I'll wake you." Stein could guess what the question was going to be; the man was worried about another nightmare, after all.

After another moment's silence, the patient nodded. The gesture was a touch reluctant, but at least it was there. Stein watched as he took another breath and released it, sliding those blue eyes closed. So much for further investigation tonight. The scientist knew he could make it to the mountains before dawn – Shinigami-sama wouldn't mind him borrowing a car to follow the trail he'd uncovered earlier – but he was needed more here.

He settled back into the chair, watching as his patient's breathing gradually evened out after several minutes. Good. He needed the sleep. Hopefully this time it would remain untroubled. And if it didn't...well, that's why Stein was there.