Chapter Text
“Stop whistling.”
The jumpy little tune, indescribably inappropriate to their surroundings, ended in a drawn out plummet that, had he the ability to move, would have been cut off with his elbow in the other man’s kidneys.
“You know, you’re grouchy when you haven’t had that second cup of coffee.”
Carlton shifted, hunching forward slightly with his lips peeled from his teeth.
“Spencer, you’re leaking down the back of my neck- lack of coffee has nothing to do with my mood.” He wriggled, disgusted as more fluid rolled a slow and ticklish path beneath his collar. “Swear to God, I better not catch something from you…”
The ropes around his torso pulled as Spencer apparently leaned forward.
“Don’t pass out!”
The psychic straightened again, breathing a little faster, but only for a moment. “I’m not passing out, I was just trying to scratch my nose.”
Carlton grunted, but didn’t bother to comment. Actually, he was now trying not to notice all the little parts of his own body that were begging for a scratch. As it was, hands bound in front of him, his trousered legs secured to jean-clad, and back to back with Spencer while hanging roughly three feet off the ground by a chain, managing to itch the top of his foot should have been far down on the list of importance. Should have been. He rotated his ankle- the only move he could make- hoping the slight rub of his shoe would help… nope. Actually, now it was worse. Dammit- why did Spencer even open his mouth!
The ropes tugged again.
“Let me guess- your eye itching now?”
Shallow inhalations, the ropes creaking with motion.
“No, actually, this time I was passing out.”
He could feel more wetness soaking through his shirt, and he pressed his lips around a curse. Circulation was bad enough the way they were bound, but with Spencer bleeding besides…
It wasn’t fair.
If anyone should be tied up to this one eight-hundred dial a fool it should be the man’s cohort and calmer half. Of course, when this was all said and done, Guster might be flying it solo whether their captor was the one to finish them off or Lassiter took care of it himself.
“Okay, sharing time. Did you ever TiVo the Easy Curves commercial?”
The voice was definitely more tired than it had been a few minutes ago. Clearly an attempt at distraction, the topic wasn’t half bad. It did involve more pleasant mental contemplation than the current balls up rocking their feet back and forth above a concrete floor.
“Don’t be stupid. Of course I did.”
His own voice was lacking that whip-snap retort quality he usually strived for. Of course, they’d been going on quite some time without food or water since he’d first found Spencer sprawled out across the floor of his office- bleeding profusely from the back of his head. Not typically a place he liked to frequent, he’d given in to this particular tryst with the promise of cinnamon rolls and a ‘mind-bending’ revelation on the current case.
One moment of staring at the clobbered man- gun unholstered and reaching for his phone…
When he’d woken up again, his jaw had been thumping viciously and he’d been lying on the floor, Spencer at his back and still out. He’d had the barest memory of something blurring towards his face just as his finger had punched speed dial.
Looking beyond the immediate, he’d taken in more of the room he was now in. Grey walls on four sides, about twelve by twelve. No windows, one door with a small barred peephole midway up. The fifteen foot ceiling had a long hooked chain hanging from the center.
Painful grating of unoiled hinges had opened the door minutes later, raising a groan from his companion- followed by the observation that Gus must have painted the office while he was out. Yeah, he was coherent.
But the man that had entered…
“Who-th-ell are you…?” He’d slurred through his swollen face. It wasn’t anyone they’d liked for the current investigation…
A grin, but no words. Then the man walked in the room and moved out of sight. And then…
“Who the hell are you?”
Ohhh shit…
A rustle of cloth, a loud clatter, and then the man was kneeling. Spencer had muttered something else, but it had been distorted, like was speaking through a gag. And then hands had slid down between them. He felt a jerk, and then the man had stood. Spencer coughed, groaning again.
“Dude, knee in the face so not ne-Guuhh!”
The vicious kick had shoved both men several inches, though only one was suffering from the blow.
“Spencer!”
Only shaky gasps, but he was breathing.
Turning his head around as far as he could see, Lassiter had watched the man walk to the far wall to press a button inset next to the door.
Instantly there’d been a ratcheting sound, and their bodies had begun to rise from the floor.
The ropes had begun to bite into his torso even while they were still on the concrete.
Once their toes were swinging in open air- both of them shifting in discomfort at the pressure of bindings and gravity, the chain had stopped.
A last look at his captives, and the man had left.
That had been about two hours ago. Two hours of steady pain. Two hours of blood that wasn’t his slowly running down his back. Two hours of…
“Dude, can you believe how they ended Supernatural?? Seriously, how are we supposed to survive the next six months with that kind of cliffhanger?”
Carlton dropped his head, knowing rescue couldn’t come soon enough.
This was going to be a long wait.