The Doctor was very pleased with himself. His escape plan had worked magnificently, and now he was bee-lining his way to the dungeons, where he knew his Clara Oswald was kept. Oh, she'd be so glad to see him, and they'd hop in the TARDIS and leave this place for good and—

A weak voice trickled up from the grate he was standing on. Staring in concern, he stood stock-still and listened.

"…stuck in reveeerrrsee….liiights will guuiiiiiiiiide you home, and igniiiiiiiiiiite your bones, and I will try…..to fix you…nananananananananananananaannananananaa….."

Tilting his head, he thought he recognized that voice, edging on delirium and devoid of thought. There was no depth behind it.

"Nothin's gonna harm you….not while I'm around…..nothin's gonna harm you darling not while I'm around…"

"Clara?" He breathed, disbelieving…her voice was clear as a bell but he had never heard her more distraught and hopeless, broken even. Not when she'd stumbled into his arms at Trenzalore, not when she'd snapped and banished him after their encounter with the moon…this was equivalent to when P.E had died, only it was a different kind of distraught. And he hated it with every fiber of his being. Reaching down, he shifted the manhole with a grunt.

"Demons may charm you for a while….with…a smile…" the voice broke into quiet sobs "but in tiiiiiimme…." The heartbreak of tears commenced, echoing upwards to where he kneeled, horror and disbelief clawing at his hearts and causing his breath to catch…what had happened? He was only away for, what, four/five days? Well, for him it had been. Perhaps he'd miscounted.

He hurried.

Spying the acid bin, he bit back tears and removed the mechanisms, carefully emptying the acid against the nearest wall of the cell.

"Nothin can harm you…not while I'm arroouund" the voice finished, oblivious to her rescuer relieving her of the torture. He began to scale the walls, lower, lower, lower. She continued to stand as high as she could. She hadn't felt pain in days. She hadn't felt in days. The only things for her were the words and the notes, and she couldn't tell you what they meant, what they were, where they came from, couldn't even tell you she didn't know where they came from. She simply didn't exist in her head. She could not think to know she was not thinking. Blankness. Just emptiness.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens"

The Doctor sonic-ed the chains holding Clara up as he clung to the cold metal rungs of a ladder descending the cell wall. The chains fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Clara slumped to the floor, an abandoned puppet, unmoving. She hadn't protected her head or her face, but instinct mandated that her arms be thrown to the ground first. She lay immobile.

"Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens"

Completing his descent, the Doctor lowered himself to Clara with the clumsy strength of his sore arms.

"Brown paper packages tied up with strings"

He approached her prone form cautiously, stepping around several trays of bread and water clearly picked over by rats.

"Clara…we can go now," he tested quietly.

She didn't turn to look at him, just continuing in that clear, emotionless, Claraless voice that sent chills down his spine and froze his hearts.

"These are a few of my favorite things"

Her back was to him, and he saw the shreds of skin and singed clothing, the now freshly-broken scabs of her neck and shoulders beginning to ooze with thick crimson in slow motion. This was too much. This was sick. "Clara, we need to get you out of here. Now!" And with this, he rushed at her, scooped her up tenderly and hustled toward the door.

"When the dog—"

"SHhhhhh Clara, we need to be quiet now"

"—bites, when the bee stings"

"Clara"

"—when I'm feeling sad"

"Clara, sleep Clara" he said, touching his middle finger to her forehead. Something was horribly off. "I simply re mem ber…my…fa…vo…rite…things" Her singing had fizzled to a halt, but her eyes remained open and glassy.

As he stepped through the hallway, his charge breathed "…and then I don't feel soooo bad," and her head lolled forward to curl into his chest.