Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback on the first story and encouraged me to write this chapter/companion piece. I didn't delve too deeply into Jayne's recovery in this one, but if anyone's interested in writing it, please feel free to take this framework and run with it. I should apologize for the ending - it sucks.

Death of the Spirit (2)

The Reaver took Jayne two more times before finally leaving him. Then it unceremoniously tied his right ankle to the bed post before patting him on his leg and barking out the word, "Stay."

'As if I can do anything but stay,' Jayne thought bitterly and somewhat deliriously. The sarcastic thought was as far as he went in acknowledging the order. He didn't laugh or scoff at the irony held in that one word. He gave no sound of assent, no nod, nothing to indicate that he had heard.

But he had.

And he did stay. Long after the Reaver left him, presumably to get some food and drink before coming back to finish him off, he stayed. Jayne wasn't a learned man, and he sure as hell couldn't begin to tell you how much trauma a human body could take before it gave in and died, but he knew himself. He knew his body, and he knew that he was getting close.

After a while, despite wanting to obey the order to stay, his body began to move, almost of its own accord. It was excruciatingly slow going, the pain was so bad that he was forced to stop and pant for breath every other second, but eventually he was able to curl up in a fetal position - or as close as he could get to the fetal position considering how he was trussed up.

He found this position soothing and it somehow made things hurt a little less. He reasoned with himself that the Reaver couldn't possibly get angry about this, that he had barely moved; but still a part of him was scared about disobeying.

Despite the fear, he closed his eyes and let his weary body drift into something that might have been sleep, might have been unconsciousness, but was probably a little of both.

He would never be able to say how long he stayed like this, waiting for his own personal demon to come back, waiting for the pain to start again. Waiting for death. Eventually, sounds drifted to his ears, though not the ones he'd been expecting. These sounded almost like gunshots. And there was yelling. Not the wild, frenzied shouts from before though; some of these voices sounded angry, some sounded alarmed.

A fight maybe? Maybe another one about him?

As the noises drifted steadily closer his body began to shiver. When he heard heavy footsteps and slamming right outside the door, he panicked outright. He turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes very tightly. Lips moved without sound as he began to chant, "No, no, no, no..." Over and over he repeated the word in his head, as if it alone had the power to ward off what was about to happen. When the door slammed open so hard that it rattled against the wall, he shut his eyes even tighter, and his chant grew in intensity until it was no longer silent.

When a hand touched his shoulder very lightly, he knew that something was different. The Reavers didn't touch like this. They were hard and brutal. This touch was soft...kind. He abruptly stopped his chant, and that's when he heard it.

"Jayne."

His name. Someone was saying his name. And not just any someone, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. His eyes flew open, searching wildly for only a second before he found and focused on Mal. His heart skipped a beat and for the first time since he'd been captured he allowed himself to feel something other than fear and despair. He blinked to get rid of hot tears and whispered, "Mal?"

Mal nodded slowly. His face was grim and worried, but he somehow managed to plaster on a fake smile. "It's me. We're gonna to get you out of here, ok?"

Jayne was about to wholeheartedly agree when a treacherous thought entered his mind. What if this wasn't real? What if his brain had conjured Mal up? What is this was nothing more than a dream...or worse, a hallucination?

"Not real. Dream." He gruffly whispered the words because his throat wouldn't allow for anything else. But Mal shook his head and the hand that still lay on his shoulder moved to the side of his face, touching him just as kindly and softly as before.

"No, Jayne. I'm real. And you're safe now. Me, Zoe, River; we killed the Reavers. All of 'em. And now I'm going to take you home."

Jayne just stared at him, not quite sure what to believe or think.

Mal abruptly stood up and leaned over him. "I need to cut these damn things off."

When Jayne started a bit at the sudden movement, Mal momentarily dropped back to his eye level and reassured him that he wouldn't hurt him.

Jayne waited, tense, confused, still trying to determine whether this was real Mal or imaginary Mal when he felt the cord around his neck give way. The one around his wrists came next followed by the one around his ankle.

It was only then, when he felt himself free and his body was his to control again that he finally realized that this was for real.

He moved his left arm in front of him, although he could do nothing about the other which was pinned underneath his body. He hissed in pain as feeling returned to it and a thousand pins and needles squirmed their way through his skin. He briefly closed his eyes against the feeling, and when he opened them again, Mal was back in front of him; again looking concerned, looking grim. He'd seen the look on the man's face at least a hundred times, but never before had it been directed at him. Jayne figured he must look really bad to warrant that look.

"We gotta get you outta here. Can you stand? Can you walk?"

Jayne wanted to say that for the chance to get out of here, he would gladly run a gorram marathon, but his energy failed him when he tried, so he settled for a simple, "Yeah."

Mal gave him that worried look again but said nothing. With a nod he grabbed Jayne's arm and shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position.

The pain that assaulted Jayne came from two different directions. The first was from the arm that had been laying under him and its renewed blood flow. But the worst was the pain there. Although it wasn't so much pain as white-hot agony.

The sound he emitted was like a backward-scream - a long, shuddery, intake of breath. Once again, spots danced before his eyes as everything seemed to haze over in hues of green. Mal must have noticed that he was two seconds from passing out because he was at his side instantly, sitting on the side of the bed, wrapping his arms around him. Jayne leaned against him as he tried to take his weight off of his rear, panting heavily, his hands clutching Mal's shirt like it was a life-line.

After a few minutes, the pain subsided enough for him to realize it wasn't the only thing in the 'verse and he was able to take inventory. Yup, he was still in the room from hell, he was naked, hurt, bleeding and now Mal was holding him as if he were a small child, even rocking him just slightly.

He looked up to find Mal looking down at him. "Jayne, I need to know if you can stand. I need to know if you can make it out of here under your own power."

Jayne nodded fiercely. "I can..."

"Ok. Then on the count of three we move. Ready? One, two, three!"

When three came around Mal stood up quickly, pulling Jayne with him.

Jayne had thought he was ready this time, he really did, but once again, the pain blind-sided him. His legs gave under him and he would have sank like a stone to the ground had Mal not anticipated it and held him up.

Once again they had to stay frozen in place for a few minutes until he was able to get the pain under control.

Finally, Jayne looked up at the Captain and bit out a terse, "Now."

Mal took a step and then seemed to hesitate. He looked quickly over to the bed. "Do you want...we could wrap you in one of those sheets..."

Jayne shook his head. Just the thought of having those bloody sheets touch him made him want to throw up. Besides he didn't care about modesty right now. All he cared about was getting out of here.

They began moving; one small, teetering step at a time. They were making progress, although it was excruciatingly slow, when Jayne saw the door..and he remembered what lay beyond that door. A sound, half-way between the sound of a mad-man and the howl of a wounded animal, escaped from his throat and he pushed Mal away with strength that he didn't know he had left. He hit the hard, wooden floor with a thud, coughing and spitting up blood. Then, without any thought except the one to get away, he began to crawl away from the door.

He heard his name being shouted, felt a hand grab on to his ankle, then his calf, but still he kept going. Delirious, terror-driven thoughts ran through his head as he scrabbled to get away.

Why would Mal want to take me down there? Does he want to hurt me? Maybe it ain't Mal at all. Maybe it's a Reaver, playin' at Mal?

He felt hands grasp his shoulders and flip him over and suddenly Mal was straddling him, hands tight on his shoulders. "Jayne, stop!"

Jayne shook his head fervently, trying to dislodge Mal's hands. "No. They're down there. Can't go down there. Can't make me."

"Jayne, they're not down there. We killed them. Zoe, River and I. We killed them all. The girls are still down there, waiting for us."

Jayne continued to shake his head, not believing, not able to believe. Suddenly, Mal's hands were on either side of his face, firm and warm, and Mal's face filled his vision. "Jayne! Look at me."

Mal's voice brooked no argument. Jayne stilled and listened.

"Have I ever lied to you? Have I?"

Jayne's reply was instantaneous; no thought required. "No."

"Then believe me when I tell that it's safe to go downstairs. And believe me when I say that I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you. I will kill you before I let this happen to you again."

The thought of home and safety and Mal's promise all conspired against Jayne, bringing him to tears again. In a very small voice, he asked, "Promise?"

"I promise." He paused, then smiled kindly. "Now let's go home, huh?"

Jayne nodded weakly.

"Ok," Mal said as he positioned himself to lift Jayne back up. But Jayne shook his head. "Can't walk," he admitted.

Mal nodded as if he'd been expecting this, then with one swift movement, he grabbed the bigger man, hauled him over his shoulder and stood up. Jayne screamed once, high and shrill, then his whole world went black as he promptly passed out.

The first time he woke, it was to find himself in the ship's infirmary. It was crowded and noisy, which meant that everyone was in there and everyone was staring at him and talking about him. He moaned as the pain kicked in and Simon promptly ordered the others out before moving to his side. Nobody moved, so Simon had to tell them twice; this time using his "I'm in charge" voice. Then he pressed a hand to Jayne's forehead and told him that he was going to be all right. Jayne didn't believe that for a second, but when even breathing hurt, there was no way he was going to argue.

As everyone began shuffling out, Simon held out one hand and pointed to Zoe. "Can you stay? I'm going to need help." She said yes, although she looked like this was the last place she wanted to be.

Jayne watched everything through heavily lidded eyes, unaware that he was still moaning. Then Simon was at his side again, this time with a smoother. He held it to the side of his neck and gently said, "This will help you sleep."

Jayne barely felt the injection, although the effects of the drug it contained were almost instantaneous. He looked around briefly, to assure himself that he was safe before going to sleep. The last thing he saw was River's huge eyes staring at him from the corner.

The second time he woke up, it was to pain, but it was a muted pain and it was tolerable. He forced bleary eyes to open and look around the room. After he'd assured himself of the fact that he was indeed safe and not still stuck in that hell, he began to take stock with the lassitude of one who was still under the influence of heavy drugs. He took note of the fact that he was lying on his back and that a soft, warm blanket covered him. He noted that the infirmary was very quiet and the lights were dimmed. He was alone. And he was strapped down by his wrists to the bed. His breathing began to quicken as panic blossomed in his chest. It was just about to turn into full-blown, scream and rant panic when he heard whispered voices not far from him. That calmed him down; having something other than himself to concentrate on, and as he began to relax, he began to listen.

The whispers spoke about him, about his injuries, discussing them, detailing them. He heard, eavesdropping on Mal and Simon, just how bad off he was, how for a while it had been touch and go, and how the doc was now really worried about scarring and infections.

He listened as the doc mused about the wounds in his throat, wondering aloud what could have caused them. Then a different voice, not whispering at all, but loud and clear, told them both about the bottle and its jagged edges.

It was the crazy girl. The reader. Jayne found it amusing, and sad, and frightening all at once that she knew that detail. The last thought he had before he fell back into drugged sleep was that she probably knew everything about what happened to him.

He woke again much later, eyes flying open, mouth gasping as he struggled up from a nightmare that showed him how and when he broke. A small hand on his arm drew his attention from the white of the ceiling and the lingering horror of the dream. The girl.

"You lied," she said in that matter-of-fact way of hers.

"What?" he asked, wishing his throat weren't so dry. Wishing it didn't still hurt so much.

"You lied. To him. To it. You're not his. You never were."

He was about to get defensive and argue with her, but something in her eyes stopped him. They were very clear and there was truth and knowledge in them that made her look so much wiser than her years. So he stayed quiet and waited for her to continue.

"It's a survival mechanism, you know. Lying to stop the pain. Basic human psychology. Everyone has limits."

Jayne shook his head. "Not Mal . . . Mal didn't break. Mal wouldn't have broke." His own words surprised him; he'd never realized that he looked at Mal as some barometer of strength, or that he measured himself against this barometer. But there it was.

River drew closer to him, leaning down so that her hair trailed along his arm. "Captain has many faces, many skins, but he would have broke. Into a thousand, sparkling pieces. Everybody breaks and everybody lies."

He looked at her in amazement, trying to figure out if what she was saying was true. He was about to ask her to keep talking when Simon walked in.

She stood quickly and made to leave, but just before she did, her hand swept across his brow and she gave a small wink. Jayne watched her go, her words already embedding themselves in his head.

Eventually, they undid the wrist straps, once they realized that he wasn't going to start cutting himself and murdering them. Everyone came to visit him, more than once, but he found the visits awkward and uncomfortable.

They all wanted to help, that was as plain as day, but they all felt like they had to know what had happened to him before they could say the right things, and Jayne just couldn't tell them. Telling them would be reliving it. And he couldn't relive it. God, he couldn't. It was bad enough that he had lived it in the first place or that he relived it every night, in a hundred different dreams, in a hundred different ways. So he stayed silent, even when they asked, even when they pressed, and the visits remained awkward.

After almost two weeks, Simon proclaimed him fit enough to move back into his room. Jayne never thought he'd be so happy to be back in the cramped space. It became a sanctuary to him, the one place where he could escape the pitying looks and the strained attempts at conversation.

But not the girl. He couldn't escape the girl. Nor did he want to; not anymore.

Jayne remembered exactly when it had all started. It was the second night that he'd been allowed back in his room. He'd had a nightmare, had just woken up from it, half-screaming, half-sobbing, and suddenly River was at his side, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost. She had held him, soothed him, and cried right along with him. By the time the others had come running in to check on him, he was curled up in her lap, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, seemingly hanging on for dear life.

Now, a week and a half later, her coming to him at night was becoming almost a ritual. Jayne knew that eventually either Mal or Simon (or both) would come to him and demand to know what was going on.

He wasn't sure what he would say to them. He'd never been good with words, and he wasn't sure how he would explain that the girl gave him comfort without pity or how much it helped that he didn't have to say one word and yet she knew what he was feeling. She knew when he was scared and needed someone. She knew when he was angry and didn't want anyone near him. She just knew.

Like now. She'd been in his room before the nightmare had even begun. He knew this because her arms were wrapped around him before he had even uttered the first scream.

As the nightmare continued to fade, he buried his face in her dark hair and felt her tears mingle with his. Her words, mostly inane babbling, flowed through him, calming him.

Then he did something he never in a million years thought that he would do. He closed his eyes and silently thanked every entity he could think of that she was there.