A/N I'm not real sure where this came from. I'm obsessed with Forever right now and I kept thinking, if Henry can't die, then death doesn't scare him. So what can scare him? What can hurt him that death wouldn't fix? This is what came out.

Warning: Unwilling drug abuse and descriptions of withdrawal.

All That I Know Is I'm Breathing

He was taken. Despite his best efforts, regardless of any precautions, they took him. They knocked him out, threw him in a car, and disappeared with him.

When he came to, he was bound to a cold metal table which would be where he would remain for the duration of his captivity.

They didn't ask or demand anything from him and they barely spoke despite his attempts to get them to. The only reason they had him was to hurt him, nothing more, nothing less. They wanted revenge, simple as that.

They never beat him or whipped him or cut him or any other harm of that nature. No, the torture they decided on was of a different, and much longer-lasting, kind.

They pressed the needles into the crook of his elbow as they forced the vile liquid into his veins, letting it race through his bloodstream until it carried his mind far away and disconnected him from reality.

Day after day, they did so until he spent more time floating in the bright colors and sounds and less time in the real world.

A week passed, although he had no way of knowing as time became a slick and thin substance that slipped through the cracks in his mind and dissolved away with reality. He was finally found as the police stormed in and rescued him. But by then it was much too late.

His mind was already a slave to the liquid.

It was some hours after his rescue before his mind found reality again as the liquid finally worked its way through his system. Once it did, lucidity returned and, at first, he felt fine, normal even, but eventually that changed. Reality, which had been so long ignored, decided to punish him for it as it slammed into him with a jolting crash that this time wasn't prevented by another routine injection.

He retreated to his lab beneath the shop where he hoped to ride out the worst if it in sequestered solitude. The world would never have to know how badly he had been affected, how far he had fallen. They would never have to know how low a simple syringe of liquid had managed to bring him.

At first, it was manageable. He was just jittery and restless. But then it worsened until nothing could keep his attention and he couldn't sit still for very long. Then his mind began to stray to thoughts of the liquid as the craving began to set in. It was distracting and uncomfortable as his arms tingled and his gaze kept returning to the puncture marks in the crooks of his elbows. But it was... bearable.

Then the pain hit. So strong and all-encompassing as to eventually drive him to his knees in the middle of the room. His hair was damp with the sweat that ran down his face and his breathing turned into labored pants. His vision blurred slightly and reality threatened to slip out of focus. But not in the way it did with the liquid. The liquid took away pain and left him floating and content. This time, reality threatened to abandon him to every nightmare and demon his mind possessed as the pain continued to rage through him.

He gripped his forearm tightly and roughly rubbed his hand up and down the sensitive skin in a fast, almost manic way.

It felt like ants were crawling over his arms. His blood was on fire and his veins cried out with every beat of his heart. He clawed and scratched at his forearms until red blossomed with every drag of his fingernails over the poor, abused flesh.

It hurt. It stung. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop.

His hands trembled and his shoulders shook as he drew in quick, shuddering breaths. He couldn't get enough air. He couldn't quench the fire flooding his veins.

He felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. He didn't know if they were tears of pain, hopelessness, or desperation. He didn't really care.

He had died many times in his life, felt varying levels of pain, and yet, he had never gone through something like this. He had never felt so helpless or endured such agony for so long. It wouldn't end. All other physical pain in his life always ended. But this stayed, consuming him. His body was rebelling against itself and not even death would fix it this time.

Death only reset his body, not his mind, and it was his mind that insisted on torturing him. His mind screamed and cried out for the poison it had become so dependent on, and with every moment that he denied his mind what it craved, it punished him more.

He couldn't go back to the drugs, to the mindless stupor and lack of control over his own life. He couldn't. But he couldn't endure this either. He couldn't take it. He needed relief. He needed respite. He needed...

A hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his, halting the frantic tearing of his arms. He looked up to see Abe crouched next to him. He had been so wrapped up in his torture he hadn't noticed the other man's approach.

Henry looked at Abe, his red-rimmed and tortured eyes begging for help as he grasped the hand holding his, with a vice-like grip.

"Kill me. Please," Henry whispered breathlessly.

Abe's eyes filled with such sorrow and pain at seeing the man who had raised him in such agony.

"You, yourself, said it wouldn't help," Abe said softly as he placed a hand on Henry's shaking back.

"I... I can't," Henry whispered, his voice breaking as a few tears slipped from his eyes.

He wasn't sure what he 'couldn't.' Couldn't take it anymore? Couldn't survive? Couldn't hold out any longer?

Yes.

And yet, he couldn't take the drugs again. He couldn't die. He couldn't...

He just couldn't.

"Yes, you can," Abe murmured, tightening his grip on the bloody hand that was itching to start clawing at Henry's arm again.

Henry returned the grip just as tightly. It was the only thing keeping him grounded. Abe was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As if Henry's body could no longer support itself, he found himself leaning against Abe, his forehead resting against Abe's shoulder as he struggled to keep breathing. He hadn't realized he had reached up with his free hand to grab a handful of Abe's shirt until he had already done it.

He was trying to hold on. Hold on to reality, hold on to sanity... just hold on for dear life.

He shuddered and trembled in pain and exhaustion as he leaned against Abe and felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulders and hold him tightly.

He had no way of knowing how long they were crouched on the floor like that. All sense of time had left him long ago. All that remained was the pain, the need. That, and the calm, steady rise and fall of the chest beneath his head.

Henry focused on every breath and tried to match his own shaky ones to them. His mind retreated into itself, seeking some safety, some reprieve from the agony, until the steady breathing was all that remained in his awareness.

A/N Please let me know what you think. :)