He could still remember the day he disappeared. Like it was yesterday. He’d come home to an empty Penthouse, quiet and dark, it wasn’t right from the moment he’d entered. He’d looked everywhere, talked to everyone, but no one had seen the quirky computer hacker all day. After a while, Jason thought maybe he’d just had enough, finally gotten smart and left while he still had the chance. It hurt, losing Spinelli – they’d just started this unnamable thing together, where Spinelli would slip into Jason’s room after a particularly messy situation with rival mobsters or the always interfering Johnny – but he pushed such feelings aside. He was Jason Morgan, Spinelli’s Stone Cold, and so he put up his emotionless-robot-façade and tried to move on. There was no evidence to suggest anything nefarious had happened.
But, he was wrong. So, so, so, so unfathomably wrong. He had to be wrong. Because there was no way Spinelli would have ended up like this otherwise.
He found Spinelli in Turkey, off all inexplicable places. A Turkish Prison for the Clinically Insane, to be more specific. He’d had to bribe four different people just to verify that someone matching Spinelli’s general description was there at all. And it took another eight rather considerable monetary incentives to gain access to the place.
He’d taken the first flight he could get, didn’t even stop to find a hostel to stay in, just went straight to the prison. Jason was torn on what he wanted to find there. On the one hand, if Spinelli was there Jason would know where he was, could fix this and find out what had happened. On the other, that would mean something, something bad, had happened and Spinelli had ended up somewhere terrible.
A guard– one Jason had paid off – Berker, his name was, waved him through the main gates and motioned him toward a set of double doors that led him into what was essentially just a row of cages too small to comfortably house anyone excepting someone roughly the size of a small child. The guard walked beside him, scowling at the inmates as they passed by cell after cell. No one was familiar, none of them were Spinelli.
“No one else?” He asked, aware that the guard knew marginal amounts of English.
“Infirmary.” The guard grunted and pointed down the hall to another set of double doors.
Now he really hoped Spinelli wasn’t here.
But, he was.
Kind of.
He seemed caved in on himself, skinny and sickly pale. He was dirty and he had bruises all over, it seemed. A busted lip, and a nurse was wrapping his wrist in an elastic bandage.
“Spinelli.” He said softly, barely audible in the cold room. How could this have happened? How could Spinelli end up here? Who’d done this to him?
Spinelli’s head shot up at Jason’s muted call. Eyes – one of them blackened, both of them red and puffy – wide and terrified. He squirmed away from the nurse’s touch and tried to get up, but a move from Berker stopped him, froze him in his tracks.
“He leaves with me.” Jason said, voice harsh and hiding edges of panic he couldn’t let Spinelli hear. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, but he’s not staying here.”
“Talk to the Boss.” Berker said, shrugging in such a way that Jason knew this went over the guard’s head.
“Have to go. Boss will be in soon to talk.” Berker told him, one hand curling around Spinelli’s shoulder to lead him out of the room. Spinelli winced, kept his eyes on Jason, begging for escape.
“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”
***
It took him two more days to reach an agreement with the Warden at the Turkish Asylum. Jason would pay a staggering fee and Spinelli - or whatever name he was here under – would be released. Escaped, the warden would say, if asked.
Berker brought Spinelli to him late that night just outside of the prison compound. He had a car waiting to take them to the airstrip where a private jet would take them back to New York. They had him in a straight-jacket, which Jason promptly removed.
“Spinelli,” he said, once Berker had left them. He found himself tackled by the hacker, arms thrown around his shoulders as Spinelli all out sobbed against his shoulder. “I’ve got you, it’s okay. We’re going home.” He assured the younger man, a hand moving carefully over his back.
Asylum - (this is only a snippet of it, as it has morphed into longer fic that i'll post later)
He could still remember the day he disappeared. Like it was yesterday. He’d come home to an empty Penthouse, quiet and dark, it wasn’t right from the moment he’d entered. He’d looked everywhere, talked to everyone, but no one had seen the quirky computer hacker all day. After a while, Jason thought maybe he’d just had enough, finally gotten smart and left while he still had the chance. It hurt, losing Spinelli – they’d just started this unnamable thing together, where Spinelli would slip into Jason’s room after a particularly messy situation with rival mobsters or the always interfering Johnny – but he pushed such feelings aside. He was Jason Morgan, Spinelli’s Stone Cold, and so he put up his emotionless-robot-façade and tried to move on. There was no evidence to suggest anything nefarious had happened.
But, he was wrong. So, so, so, so unfathomably wrong. He had to be wrong. Because there was no way Spinelli would have ended up like this otherwise.
He found Spinelli in Turkey, off all inexplicable places. A Turkish Prison for the Clinically Insane, to be more specific. He’d had to bribe four different people just to verify that someone matching Spinelli’s general description was there at all. And it took another eight rather considerable monetary incentives to gain access to the place.
He’d taken the first flight he could get, didn’t even stop to find a hostel to stay in, just went straight to the prison. Jason was torn on what he wanted to find there. On the one hand, if Spinelli was there Jason would know where he was, could fix this and find out what had happened. On the other, that would mean something, something bad, had happened and Spinelli had ended up somewhere terrible.
A guard– one Jason had paid off – Berker, his name was, waved him through the main gates and motioned him toward a set of double doors that led him into what was essentially just a row of cages too small to comfortably house anyone excepting someone roughly the size of a small child. The guard walked beside him, scowling at the inmates as they passed by cell after cell. No one was familiar, none of them were Spinelli.
“No one else?” He asked, aware that the guard knew marginal amounts of English.
“Infirmary.” The guard grunted and pointed down the hall to another set of double doors.
Now he really hoped Spinelli wasn’t here.
But, he was.
Kind of.
He seemed caved in on himself, skinny and sickly pale. He was dirty and he had bruises all over, it seemed. A busted lip, and a nurse was wrapping his wrist in an elastic bandage.
“Spinelli.” He said softly, barely audible in the cold room. How could this have happened? How could Spinelli end up here? Who’d done this to him?
Spinelli’s head shot up at Jason’s muted call. Eyes – one of them blackened, both of them red and puffy – wide and terrified. He squirmed away from the nurse’s touch and tried to get up, but a move from Berker stopped him, froze him in his tracks.
“He leaves with me.” Jason said, voice harsh and hiding edges of panic he couldn’t let Spinelli hear. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, but he’s not staying here.”
“Talk to the Boss.” Berker said, shrugging in such a way that Jason knew this went over the guard’s head.
“Have to go. Boss will be in soon to talk.” Berker told him, one hand curling around Spinelli’s shoulder to lead him out of the room. Spinelli winced, kept his eyes on Jason, begging for escape.
“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”
***
It took him two more days to reach an agreement with the Warden at the Turkish Asylum. Jason would pay a staggering fee and Spinelli - or whatever name he was here under – would be released. Escaped, the warden would say, if asked.
Berker brought Spinelli to him late that night just outside of the prison compound. He had a car waiting to take them to the airstrip where a private jet would take them back to New York. They had him in a straight-jacket, which Jason promptly removed.
“Spinelli,” he said, once Berker had left them. He found himself tackled by the hacker, arms thrown around his shoulders as Spinelli all out sobbed against his shoulder. “I’ve got you, it’s okay. We’re going home.” He assured the younger man, a hand moving carefully over his back.