The Universe's Mixer

He stumbled out of the false brightness of the corridor into the real sunlight, stopping to let his eyes adjust while he covered them partially with one hand. The other stayed on the door to steady him. He wasn't quite strong enough to be as disoriented as he was while remaining upright. He might not be for some time, really.

It had been a long journey.

From the pained struggles of trying to remove himself from the wreckage of the asylum, crawling, passing out, crawling again, all the while through debris and his own poisons. Pulling himself by the strength of his arms alone across the bridge from the island to ... well, he supposed it was really just a bigger island, wasn't it? That had taken him a while to do. Days may have passed. He couldn't be completely sure. His sense of time after confronting the Batfuck and Special Friends had gone pretty south. There had been a good deal of pain, and maybe some laughter - his own, of course - but time was nothing to him then.

Once to the main land, he had thrown himself into a street. It hadn't been one of his most clever ideas, admittedly. But he didn't know what else to do. He was still bleeding fairly freely, he couldn't feel parts of himself, all he wanted was somebody to not run him over.

Lucky for him, somebody hadn't. Somebody had seen him laying there, somebody had stopped. Somebody had loaded him into a vehicle, and somebody had taken him to the hospital. Somebody had checked him in, somebody had even stayed with him until they were sure that he was going to live. Somebody had never returned for a thanks, but somebody may have done a great disservice to The City with their act of charitable kindness.

Doctors had taken care of him, nurses had seen to his needs. Many episodes of Judge Judy had come and gone. Much Jell-o eaten. They called him John Doe, because he couldn't quite remember who he was. They made him well again, helped him to get strong enough to stand and then walk on his own. They brought him real clothes, gave him the tools to clean himself up. Then they discharged him. He insisted that he wasn't sure of himself yet, they said to check in if he wasn't feeling well, but he needed to get back to life.

As he walked out into the daylight, into the City once again, he was sure of something very important that he had kept from his caretakers. He knew who he was. He knew what had happened. And he knew that he was very upset about it all.

Jesse Custer. He wasn't that difficult to find, as he was in the book. Plus, Jennifer knew the exact address. Having a partner who was aware helped. Then again, finding someone was a police detective's job.

Detective Charlie Crews of the City Police watched the numbers change as the elevator went to the correct floor. He waited for the doors to open before he even bothered moving. It was an easily ambling walk as he made his way to the desired door. His movement was just as relaxed as his hand lifted to knock on the door. He absently thought about Jennifer and her cat; it'd been a while since he'd checked in on the alien tabby. He also needed to get fish for his own cat; she'd been so good lately.

Finally his knuckles rapped against the door. He unbuttoned his jacket to show the badge sitting at his waistband; it wasn't exactly a threat, just a reminder of who or what he was. Sometimes it gave him just the edge he wanted. He needed to know that this man was a good guy; he had to look after his partner after all.