Does he want to go back? Unsure, he curls up on his side. His body is switching back and forth between too bright and too numb; he feels drugged and sober at the same time. He's pretty sure no one slipped him anything, so he must be sober. It's the only logical conclusion, one that doesn't make any sense when he's lying on his side groaning out of pain that's sharp enough to dig into his brain.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, slowly, world spinning around him. There's no way to communicate what he wants, needs, except to speak. He cups his throat, as if that'd help. His voice comes out as a garbled, hoarse something that he's surprised to hear there's words coming out of his mouth nonetheless.

"Do you have ... tranquilizers?"