Fic: Five Minutes To Midnight

[csi_sanders1129]

Title: Five Minutes To Midnight
Chapters: 2/3
Author: csi_sanders1129
Genre: Drama. Suspense.
Ratings: T
Word Count: ~3,600
Pairings/Characters: Jason Morgan, Damian Spinelli, The Balkan.
Synopsis: In which the Balkan takes Spinelli and Jason has until midnight to find him.
Comments: Written as comment!fic for suerum . So it’s getting longer than I planned. Wrote most of this chapter yesterday when I probably should have been using the snow day to do homework. Part 3 coming soonish. Comments are awesome and please enjoy!

Part 1 |

It's 8:13 when Spinelli discovers the earth shattering evidence that verifies the Balkan's true identity. At least this early morning trip had proven fruitful, he supposes, as he hits the first speed dial button on his phone. In his state of alarmed excitement, he's talking before he's actually sure that Jason is listening to him.

"The Jackal has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that the identity of the Enigmatic One was not who we thought it was! If the Jackal's findings are, indeed, correct, then the Balkan is much, much closer than we previously thought he was. The not-so-trustworthy defense attorney seems to be at the root of our present issues, and he is, in point of fact," He pauses only to take a breath, and it is in that breath that the office door slams open.

Two armed goons come bursting into the room. There's a mad rush of shouting and chaos as Spinelli scrambles in an ill-fated attempt at escape, but it ends with a gunshot and a searing pain in his shoulder. When that doesn't completely shut him up – he's trying to gasp out a request for a help, a barely breathed 'Stone Cold…' maybe, that will alert his mentor to his dilemma – one of the boorish thugs knocks him over the head with the butt of his gun.

Things get a little fuzzy after that.

He wakes up once in the back of a van. His wrists and ankles are zip-tied together, a piece of cloth covers his mouth, and the pain, divided between his head and his shoulder, makes his vision swim in front of his eyes. He does catch sight of his watch, though, in the meager light he has, 9:27. He's been gone for a little over an hour already. Does Jason know he's gone?

They arrive at wherever they've been going not long after that. The two goons haul him off of the floor of the van with little to no consideration for the injuries they inflicted upon his person. He groans in pain and struggles as best he can under the circumstances.

"You shoulda hit him harder," the taller of the two guys mumbles to the other, as they carry him down a series of docks and ramps.

Spinelli sees boats in the background and for a moment he thinks he's going to be put on one and sent even farther away. He's not sure whether to be relieved or petrified when he realizes that they're staying in the ship yard.

They wind through a maze of shipping containers, and Spinelli tries to focus on the numbers painted on their doors, but his eyes won't settle on anything and everything seems blurry and hazy whenever he does actually manage to settle his vision on something. Being carried is making him feel nauseous and all he really wants to do – aside from getting far, far away from these goons and their leader – is go to sleep.

But he can't do that and he knows that, but now they're in a shipping container and he has no idea what number it is and how is Jason ever going to find him now?

The two thugs toss him into the container, still tied up, and leave him alone in the darkness of the closed in space. The air is warm and humid inside the big, metal container, despite the icy December chill outside and it makes him feel gross and sweaty on top of the clammy and drained feelings courtesy of the still bleeding hole in his shoulder.

He really wants to sleep.

So he does.

He wakes up again at 11:48, and it's with a new burst of energy. He struggles at the binds on his wrist, struggling desperately against the plastic tie that's restraining him. Somehow, as the zip-tie bites into his wrist and draws blood, he gets it free. With his wrists freed, he first pulls the piece of cloth serving as a gag, and then he works at the one on his ankles. He slices his palm open on that one, but it gives, too.

He's free. If he can get out of this container without alerting his kidnappers, he can get away. He's sure of it. Nevermind the spinning sensation that nearly brings him to his knees when he attempts to stand, or the searing pain in his shoulder when he jars it with his first half-step of progress. He can get away.

The door isn't locked, presumably because his abductors aren't all that intelligent or don't think he's up to an escape attempt or something. It creaks when he pushes it open, but there's no one in the immediate vicinity to hear it.

Granted, that also means there's no one in the immediate vicinity to help him, either.

He staggers forward a few steps, makes it down two rows of the high-stacked crates, but sees nothing and nobody to help him out of this mess. "Hello?" He croaks out in a voice that is inexplicably hoarse and barely audible.

12:22, his watch shows. Maybe everyone working today is off to a pleasant New Year's lunch? The place is eerily quiet, but then it's all too loud.

"Damn it, the kid's out!" He hears one of his captor's exclaim from somewhere just behind him. "Hurry! We gotta get him before the Boss gets here!"

His vision is still swimming and he has all the coordination one would expect in someone presently suffering from what is most probably a concussion and some pretty decent blood loss, but he tries to run.

"Over here!" The other thug shouts, and soon they're right on his heels.

Spinelli isn't having very much luck in any case, as he stumbles before he makes it halfway down the next aisle of containers. The idea of getting up again makes him feel like he's going to pass out.

He's not sure which one of the two get to him first, but there's an agonizing, mind-numbing pain in his shoulder thanks to the intentional actions of one booted foot. He groans and tries to remember how to breathe, but the darkness washes over him again despite his attempts to stop it.

Voices shouting. Voices talking. More shouting. Whispering. It's what wakes him up again.

He's back in the storage container – and he still doesn't know what number it is, if it's even the same one as before – and he's tied up again. This time the zip-ties are tighter, he can feel them cutting into his skin with the smallest of movements.

Spinelli wants to shift enough to sit up, and doing so will absolutely kill his shoulder, but he doesn't want to be sprawled out on the floor if those guys come back. Not that he can do anything about it at this point.

"Hnng," he mumbles into the gag that's back in place. A lengthy string of profanities fly through his mind as he works himself into something that more or less equates to sitting. He stomps his feet against the metal base of the container in an attempt to cope with the uptick in pain. It doesn't work.

But, it does get his captor's attention.

The heavy, metal doors creak open, revealing bright, December sun that floods into the dark space and temporarily blinds Spinelli. When he can focus again, he sees three outlines in the haze of his vision.

It's Theo Hoffman and he knows it even before his eyes adjust to the light.

"You are nothing but a nuisance." The man's inimical and malicious glare settles on him while his voice, devoid of any inflection except an ice cold rage, reverberates throughout the metal chamber. "I was told you were good with computers, but for even you to discover my identity must have been an instance of sheer dumb luck rather than competence. I should have you killed."

One of the thugs moves forward and takes that gag off, but Theo is still talking at him.

"As satisfying as it would be, however, it wouldn't do to have the police involved. And," at this point he glares at his useless henchmen, "having you bleed to death won't prove useful in distracting your Boss."

"Whatever plan the Bald Bloviator has in store for Stone Cold, he will not fall so easily into your trap!" Spinelli protests, though he has absolutely no idea where the energy for such an enthused response actually comes from at this point.

Theo smirks at him, looks disturbingly delighted with whatever that plan is, and glances at his watch. "Right now it is 4:38. In a little more than 7 hours, this cargo container will explode. Barring a miracle, I can't conceive that Jason will manage to find you prior to that poetic deadline, but all I need for him to do is to throw himself full heartedly into the futility of a search attempt and by doing that very thing he will be playing right into my hands."

Spinelli tries not to let the likely outcomes of his present situation take over his mind. He's not sure how to respond, though, and thinking clearly is becoming more and more of a challenge now. Does Theo want Jason to chase him? If so, Spinelli should play down Jason's likely reactions, say that he won't matter. Or does he want Jason off his trail? In that case, it would be best to play up his mentor's protectiveness, say that Jason will avenge him or whatever. Frankly, he's not sure how Jason would react should the Balkan's plan succeed, as much as he likes to think he matters to Jason, so many people would fall higher on a list of hostages meant to get Jason's attention.

"Regardless of the outcome of this most unfortunate situation for the Jackal, Stone Cold will not let this affront to one under his patronage go unanswered and he will pursue you until you are caught." He settles for a more or less neutral answer in terms of whether Jason's vengeance will be incited by love or pride. "You won't escape."

The Balkan is less than impressed and doesn't bother to acknowledge the boy's claims. "We are going to call your Stone Cold and see what he has to say on the matter," Theo announces, revealing a cell phone – Spinelli's cell phone – and powering it on. "However, you are going to do the talking. You will say exactly what I say or I will leave you here to die, and then I will go after everyone else he cares about, too." He pauses and asks, his eyeglasses glinting menacingly in the dim light, "You do believe I can deliver what I promise, do you not, boy?"

Spinelli's been researching the Balkan's actions for several months know. He knows without question exactly what the man in front of him is capable of. He doesn't want that anywhere near Michael or Morgan or – if Theo somehow knows about his parentage – Jake. As much as he believes Jason can get over losing him, losing them might just break whatever humanity his mentor has left.

"The Jackal will do as you command." He begrudgingly agrees.

Theo moves to stand beside Spinelli's prone form, and he retrieves a stark white, starched handkerchief from his pocket. He uses it to cover his hands as he grips Spinelli's injured shoulder. He seems to enjoy the pain he's putting his victim in. "One word off my orders and this will be done." Theo stresses once more, just before he sends the call to Jason's cell. He holds the cell phone, on speaker, between them. "Let him know it's you."

"S-Stone Cold?" He calls out, before Jason can say anything.

"Fuck," comes Jason's immediate response. "Spinelli, where are you?"

Theo presses a button on the phone to momentarily mute their voices, before he hisses what he wants said to Spinelli, who inadvertently adds in his own stuttering, "Bet you d-didn't see t-this coming, Morgan." A pause and more instructions follow. "Anything you'd like m-me to make him say? Perhaps 'this is a-all your fault,' or 'you c-can't protect anyone, can you'? Or m-maybe you'd prefer something a-a little less painful; maybe 'I-I love you, Stone Cold'?" Theo grins wickedly during the last part, like he's pushing some button that will rile Jason up even further, like he's hurting Spinelli even more.

"Stop it. What do you want?" Jason snaps back, and obviously he's figured out who's really doing the talking now.

Muted again, more icy words whispered in his ear, more pressure on his shoulder. Spinelli manages to get the next few sentences out by sheer force of will alone, "Damian here… is a little tied up. I'm leaving t-town, but you have u-until midnight to find y-your pet before the f-fireworks start. Him or m-me, Morgan. Make your decision."

Spinelli doesn't have to be able to see Jason to know that he's absolutely raging at that ultimatum. Words like fire come spilling from the phone, much to Theo's apparent delight, "I swear to God that if anything more has happened to Spinelli when I find him, I will not stop until I find you and make you pay for taking him."

"This is going to prove easier than even I imagined," Theo says, mostly to himself, before he instructs his captive on his next lines.

He chokes in his attempt to get the words out this time, but a new level of pain in his shoulder forces him on. A sharp gasp precedes, "H-how touching. Rather fond of your pet, a-aren't you? I-I'll even help y-you out. You c-can find him at, at the shipping yards." The Jackal fights to speak clearly during the most important part of that sentence. Not that it narrows things down much – he really wishes he knew what number container this was.

Jason's talking again and it calms Spinelli down enough to actually hear what he's saying. "He's hurt already, I know he is. I-I saw the blood," Jason continues, and there's a notable amount of worry in his voice. "Tell me how bad so I know what to bring with me when I find him."

Opting to focus on the fact that Jason says 'when I find him' and not 'if I find him,' he's a little less devastated when Theo's only instructions are short and unhelpful. "This call is your proof of life," Spinelli responds to Jason's question, "That's all you get."

Theo ends the call before Jason can attempt to get any more information. "You made a wise decision in not disobeying me." The man bends over beside Spinelli, shifting the handkerchief as he inspects the damage done by the gunshot wound.

He's certainly not expecting it when Spinelli fights against his actions, squirming despite the unmerciful zip ties and the pain. The boy has had enough of this monster's presence, though, and he's not afraid to show it anymore. He spits in Theo's face, knowing full well that the man is a germophobe and a bit of a hypochondriac, at that.

The Balkan recoils in surprise and disgust, but he doesn't back away until he's backhands Spinelli hard across the face – and he's quite satisfied to see that he busted the boy's lip open. Armed with a clean handkerchief that will have to do until he can properly disinfect himself, he wipes at his own face.

"You," he instructs one of his two henchmen, fury still raging in his eyes and in his voice, "I think a blow to his shoulder would do well to remind our Jackal of his present conditions."

Spinelli is already writhing in pain on the ground before this order comes. His squirming had led to landing hard on his injured side, and the swift kick that follows Theo's demand from the unpitying goon makes everything spin nauseatingly in front of his eyes. The pain rips through every part of his body and he's pretty sure he's dislocated his shoulder, too, at this point. He's half convinced he's going to die in here long before any explosions can blast him to bits.

Echoes come as footsteps back away from him, back toward the doors to the container. "That should keep him down for a while," he hears Theo say. "Patch up his shoulder. I don't want him dying from the slow kindness of blood loss; I want him to live in terror of what is coming."

His ears starting ringing then, and his vision doubles and then darkens and after that it's just blackness and nothing.

The next time he wakes up, he's lying on his back in the dark container. No light, no sound, no nothing. He's not even sure he's actually awake, at first, since there's no difference between the blackness of unconsciousness and the blackness of the big, metal box.

His jacket is off and his shirt is torn open all around his shoulder – looks like it was cut apart with a knife and he's not exactly sorry he wasn't awake for that part – and it's been crudely bandaged with what looks like one of those stupid handkerchiefs and a piece of his own shirt. His hands aren't so tightly tied, but he's messed them up so much by this point that there's no getting out of them either way.

He's trapped until Jason finds him. Or he's trapped here until the box explodes at midnight. He wonders what time it is now. His watch face glows in the dark and somehow he manages to press it against the plastic zip tie enough to hit the button required for that function. 7:42. Only three hours left.

What if Jason doesn't find him? If his mentor didn't trust the Balkan's hint toward Spinelli's location, then there was no rescue coming at all. It would be over. He'd be raining down all over the ship yards in little pieces of himself. He kind of hopes that if Jason is around here, looking for him, that he doesn't have to see that part.

He stares at the ceiling and contemplates the mysteries of life and love and death until his vision goes all fuzzy again at 8:07.

At 9:22 Spinelli awakes once again, his heart pounding and his body covered in a cold sheen of sweat.

At first he's entirely confused by his surroundings, he had been dreaming of lying on a warm beach, the brilliant blue Aegean lapping at his feet. A shadow loomed over him, blocking the sun but as he stared up he felt no fear only a complete sense of contentment because the person standing there was…

He groans in dismay as the dream vanishes into nothing, "Stone Cold," he whispers to himself forlornly to the emptiness of the dark, dank shipping container which is going to soon double as his tomb, "where are you?"

Spinelli makes it until 10:20 without passing out again by running through computer coding in his head. He has no idea how he still has the awareness to manage it, but it works for a while, at least.

11:22 and noises outside wake him up. It's the first thing he's heard in the last six hours, aside from his own ragged breathing and half-choked sobs. The sounds are too distorted, too far away, to make out the words.

By 11:29, he has managed to move close enough to the edge of the metal box to slam his feet against the side of it. He hopes someone will be able to hear it, because it's the loudest sound he's capable of making. Aside from his where the zip ties have cut at his ankles, his legs are really the only part of him that doesn't really hurt at all.

11:33. 11:41. 11:44 and he's hearing voices again. Something tells him that it's Jason shouting for him, but he knows that he's concussed and feverish and probably delirious with shock, so it could be anyone, really. He just keeps making the noise.

And then there's banging. It's 11:46 and the only way that sound can be that loud is if someone is banging on the right container. He slams his feet against the wall a few more times and there's more shouting but now that he knows there are people coming for him, his energy starts to disappear.

11:53 and there are a lot of fuzzy voices he can't make out. 11:55 and there's an obnoxious amount of light and he rolls his head away even though he really wants to see Jason. If it's Jason. He hopes it's Jason.

A few seconds later and there are hands moving over him, checking for injuries and there's a sharp intake of breath from his rescuer when the shoulder would is spotted.

It's 11:57, but Spinelli doesn't care what time it is anymore because there's a hand sliding under his knees and around his back – careful of the wounds, but still in a hurry – and then he's being carried out of that hellish container and away, far, far, away from it.

A few minutes later and there's a loud and bright BOOM that Spinelli can't really focus on, but he feels like he should be glad he wasn't closer to it even if he can't remember why. The arms that are still wrapped around him hold on tighter to him and he's sure it's Jason and he finally knows he's safe.