fic: Hostage (mark/eduardo chris/dustin, prompt 28)
Title: Hostage
Recipient: shaygr
Prompt Number: 28
Characters/Pairings: eduardo/mark, chris/dustin, ot4ish
Rating/Warnings: r - for themes. the ot4 are held captive - all things that are associated with torture. ambiguity etc.
Word Count: 4,399
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts. (or, for RPF): This fanwork portrays fictional representations of real actors involved in The Social Network. These are not true accounts or meant to imply anything about these real people.
Summary ): Mark, Eduardo, Dustin and Chris are all abducted and locked somewhere together. The abducter tells them they have to choose which one of them is going to die. They are cold, hungry, thirsty and are going to have to kill whoever they chose. Mark starts getting sick first.
Notes: I hope this is what you wanted, shaygr. I tried my hardest to encompass all of the prompt and I even watched the episode! Thank you to A and I for being the best beloved betas. You guys definitely helped beat this into shape. Also thanks to V for always being around for me to moan about this to and for convincing me that it wasn't going to be as terrible as I imagined. As always, thanks to M, A and I for being the bestest friends and not being super irritated by my fic problems.
Chris stepped outside the warehouse, blinking in the harsh sunlight. Someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulders but beyond that, everything was a blur of FBI, local police and ambulance sirens. Chris tightened his jaw and walked where people told him to walk, spoke when people told him to speak. He didn’t say anything of worth, just went through the motions. Someone pressed him down onto the steps of an ambulance and Chris folded in on himself, forcing himself to breathe.
In out, in out. He closed his eyes and bit back on a whimper. One of the paramedics held a water bottle to his mouth but only let him take small sips. It was incredible. The water washed down his dry throat and it felt like heaven. He whimpered and tried to chug but the firm hands stopped him and he was distantly grateful in a way that he knew he would throw up if he took it too fast.
“That’s it, son, well done.” The red-haired paramedic smiled gently. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Chris wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t weak. He had made it. He had done it. So had Dustin and Eduardo and-
Head shooting up, he ignored the headache threatening to cripple him and shouted, “Dustin!”
The red-haired Paramedic - his badge said Patrick - held him gently but Chris gripped his arms tightly, shaking them slightly.
“Dustin was there, is he okay? He was in there with me and Eduardo and Mark - where are they?”
There was silence and then, “They’re out.”
Panic blossomed in Chris’s chest but he took hold of the anger that had aided him in keeping his mind for the last few days. “But are they okay! Mark was dying, I know he was, and Dustin! You let him do those things to us and you fucking, do you even know? Do you?”
His voice rose with every word but it wasn’t until he felt someone shaking him that he fought to get himself back under control. He looked around and saw Eduardo and Dustin being pressed into another ambulance, Dustin staring off into middle distance, hands shaking where he held them against his chest. Eduardo had his head hung low, dried tear tracks on his face.
“Where’s Mark?” Forcing his eyes to focus on the paramedic in front of him, Chris snapped, “Where’s Mark?”
It was wet. Chris cracked open an eye and stared at his hand.
It was cold, wet and he certainly wasn’t in his bed. “What the hell?”
He sat up quickly, staring down at himself in shock. He was wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt but his feet were bare. What the hell was-
Across the room, Dustin was lying curled up on his side, blood matting his forehead and beyond him, Mark and Eduardo were sprawled out side by side. All of them were clad only in t-shirt and boxers like Chris. What are the odds, Chris thought hysterically, that all of us wear boxers?
Sliding across the floor and trying to forget that wherever they were was leaking, Chris reached Dustin’s side and shook his shoulder. “Dustin!”
His voice was high and he tried to calm it but it was useless. His next shout of Dustin’s name was even higher and more strangled than the last. “Dustin, you jerk, wake up!”
With a groan and a shift, Dustin cracked open one eye. “Chris? Why are you in my bedroom?”
Laughing with a touch of hysteria, Chris shook Dustin when he went to close his eye again. “No, no wake up. Something’s wrong.”
Dustin shook his head and then groaned, reaching up to press his fingers to his temple. He drew them back, startled, and stared at the blood on his fingers with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Shit, shit shit shit.”
Chris looked over Dustin to see Eduardo on his knees, looking around like this was a nightmare. Chris could sympathise and he was deliberately trying not to think about - about anything but the look on Eduardo’s face. They exchanged startled looks of two people who have woken up in an episode of Criminal Minds and are desperate to escape.
“Where the fuck are we?”
Shaking his head, Chris said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak and not break down. He needed to think clearly. There was a logical explanation for this; he just had to think about it.
“Chris?” This time it was Dustin. He sounded small and scared. “What’s going on?”
Threading a hand through Dustin’s hair, Chris rubbed the pads of his fingers over Dustin’s scalp. “It will be okay, Dustin. It will.”
He tried not to sound too much like he was lying.
“Who did this?” Chris threw his arms up. “Who did this?!”
Eduardo shook his head, fingers tight against Mark’s neck, fumbling against the skin. “I don’t know.”
“What does he want?” Dustin asked, eyes flicking around the room.
“To choose.”
Dustin and Chris were immediately on their feet but Chris could see the way Eduardo’s fingers tightened around Mark’s shoulders. The voice startled all of them; there were no obvious signs that anybody was spying on them.
“Choose what?”
“Three of you will leave this room alive. One of you will die. You choose.”
Eduardo was kneeling over Mark, one hand on his shoulder and the other pressed to his chest, holding him down. “When did you first start getting sick?”
“Let me up,” Mark snapped.
“Not until you tell me how sick you are.”
Chris just stared at the both of them. “You’re arguing about how sick he is when we’ve just been told one of us is going to die?!”
The glare that Eduardo turned on Chris was heated. “He said we had to choose. None of us is choosing anything. Get a hold of yourself, Chris.”
Shaking his head, Chris turned around to face the wall. Shit. Eduardo was right. He needed to get a grip. They could get out of this. There had to be a way out of this. He turned on his heel and noticed Dustin had shoved himself into a corner, legs stretched out in front of him but hands shoved under his chin. Approaching him slowly, Chris dropped down on the floor next to him, sucking in a deep breath at the cold floor.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you sit here too long.”
Dustin shrugged and shifted a leg closer to his body. “It’s cold in here anyway.”
It had never been difficult talking to Dustin, which was one of the reasons he was Chris’s friend. It had taken a lot of time and effort and sometimes Dustin frustrated him beyond belief, but Chris couldn’t imagine being best friends with anyone else. Right now there wasn’t anything Chris could think of to say that would make anything better.
“Look, Dustin,” Chris started, trailing off when Dustin leaned over to press his face into Chris’s shoulder.
“Stop talking.” Dustin’s voice was low and tight. Chris relented, reaching up a hand and threading it through Dustin’s hair, his thumb resting along the back of Dustin’s neck.
It shouldn’t be like this. Dustin should be cracking jokes and talking about all the girls he was failing at attracting back at the office. Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They had to get out of this, just so that he could sock whoever it was that had trapped them in here in the jaw.
“I could have lived the rest of my life with her,” Dustin said dreamily, staring up at the ceiling. “We would have had two point four children and lived in the suburbs.”
“You would never have survived outside of Silicon Valley,” Chris said distractedly. He was staring at the way Eduardo was looking at Mark. He looked - frightened and that could mean nothing good.
“No seriously,” Dustin said, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked disgusting; face wet and dirty, grit on his forearms and clothes damp from the floor. “We were going to get married.”
“Dustin, if you don’t stop talking in the past tense-“
Eduardo raised his voice, cutting across what Chris was saying. “Mark, for fucks sake, lie down.”
“Lying down is only going to make it worse! The floor is wet.”
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter!” Eduardo pressed down hard on Mark’s shoulders and manhandled him against the wall, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.
Chris was on his feet instantly, a hand on Eduardo’s arm. “Don’t be stupid, Eduardo.”
Eduardo looked up at Chris with panicked eyes but Chris didn’t care. This was no time for Eduardo to be a martyr.
“I’m getting tired of waiting.”
Chris groaned, dropping his head back against the wall. He had half hoped they wouldn’t be bothered again. Of course, they would have to be if they ever wanted to get out of here. “Why won’t you just let us out of here?”
“Where would be the fun in that, Christopher?”
Scrambling to his feet, Chris stared at the others in shock. “You know my name?”
Shit. Chris knew deep down that he would have to. How else would he have been able to get all four of them - the Facebook founders - in the same room at the same time?
“I’ve heard it around.”
Mark was struggling against the wall, glaring up at the ceiling. “Is this about Facebook?”
Chris wanted to hit him. “You’re asking that now?”
“Stop fighting,” Dustin hissed. Louder, he turned his attention to the disembodied voice. “You could have just called us to a bar or something. We’re much more likely to-“
“Dustin Moskovitz, the joker.”
Dustin shut his mouth abruptly. Chris felt a surge of anger, this time at the voice.
“Unfortunately, this is not a situation that calls for a bar, Mr. Moskovitz. One of the principal members of Facebook dropping dead in front of all of those witnesses?”
Mark paled at the words. He hadn’t been completely coherent the last time the voice spoke and Chris could have slapped himself.
“Why does one of us have to die?”
“Think of what you’ve already achieved. Isn’t it time for somebody else to have a go?”
“I could have retired.” Dustin’s voice sounded small and faint.
This time it did get a laugh. “Where would be the fun in that?”
“Stop it!” Eduardo snapped, getting between Dustin and Chris. Within seconds Chris was against the wall, startled by the amount of strength Eduardo seemed to have, even starving and cold. “This isn’t helping anybody!”
Chris shoved Eduardo back and gestured angrily at Dustin. “He won’t shut up!”
Shaking his head, Eduardo ran a hand through his hair and padded back over to Mark. Rolled up against the wall, hair plastered to his forehead, Mark was shivering. Chris was so sick of this. Of not knowing what to do, of not being able to stop himself from lashing out. He just wanted -
“God, when will this end.” He stared up at the ceiling. “You sick fuck! When will this end?!”
“How many times must we go through this, Christopher?.” Chris glared angrily at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. “When one of you dies.”
“This is so fucked up,” Eduardo said, grinding the palm of his hand into his eye.
Silence descended on them again. Chris sank down against the far wall, biting his lip to keep from apologising to Dustin. He needed his anger. The anger was the only thing he had managed to grasp hold of and keep. He didn’t want to be like Dustin because Dustin was gripping his elbows so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was looking everywhere but at Chris and he wasn’t sure which one of them was more grateful for that. He just knew that he couldn’t handle talking right now. He settled for watching Eduardo and Mark.
He was sure he would have been grateful, was in the beginning, if he was strong enough to look beyond his anger. Care for Mark had pretty much fallen to Eduardo and he had taken to it with aplomb, better than Chris would have under the circumstances.
Eduardo was saying something under his breath, fingers curled in Mark’s hair and thumb smoothing down his cheek. It was affection Mark would never have allowed anywhere else and it made Chris’s heart hurt to see it. He shouldn’t be seeing it. This should be something they did in the privacy of their own home, not here, where they were being forced to decide who died.
This was so fucked up, he couldn’t even process it. He rubbed his hands together, fingers cold. He had long since been unable to feel his toes.
“Would you do it?”
Chris looked up. Dustin was staring him in the eye, fingers dancing along his thigh. “What?”
“If it came to - to me, would you do it?”
Hands clenching into fists, Chris felt his anger flare. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
To his surprise, Dustin managed enough of his own frustration to lash back. “A legitimate one! We’re not getting out of here until one of us dies, Chris. If it was me, sick like that, would you do it? Kill me to get out?”
Chris wanted to smack Dustin in the mouth. He wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled and he understood. This wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about bravery or ability or anything like that. It was about something entirely different. They weren’t just going to roll over and listen, because all four of them were getting out of here. Chris couldn’t envision a world where that didn’t happen so it wasn’t going to. End of.
Instead of answering Dustin, he climbed to his feet and moved as far away as he dared. This time when he sat down, he kept his back to the others.
“Asshole,” Dustin snapped.
Ignoring him, Chris pressed his hands to his face and closed his eyes, counting backwards from a hundred.
Mark was coughing again.
Chris stared at the wall, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. There was a shuffle and then he heard Eduardo’s voice, too low for Chris to make out the words. He didn’t really want to know anyway. Everything Eduardo said from here on out wasn’t going to change anything and they knew it. Not that Eduardo seemed to care about that. He kept on and on, grating on Chris’s nerves to the point that he was afraid he was going to lash out.
Dustin made a soft noise in his sleep and Chris wondered not for the first time how he could. He didn’t think he had managed to catch more than an hour of sleep since they had woken up down here. He felt the press of Dustin’s hand to his ankle and shifted out of the grasp.
“Chris,” Dustin said. His voice was cracked and broken from lack of water and Chris closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was tired of trying to comfort Dustin, he was tired of trying to reassure Eduardo that Mark was going to be okay. He was just tired. “Chris.”
“What Dustin?”
“It’s okay to be afraid.”
Gritting his teeth against the urge to answer, Chris just closed his eyes and held his breath. Eventually Dustin would shut up. Eventually he would be able to close his eyes and pretend none of this was happening. He let out his breath and snorted. Slim chance. He heard the dull rumble of Dustin’s stomach and swallowed down the urge to say something. He wished - he wished so much and it was pointless. Nothing was going to change for them. Nothing.
“You’re fucked up!” Eduardo yelled.
Chris linked his fingers along the back of his head. He had never contemplated his death like this; dying alongside his three friends, of pneumonia or starvation or dehydration, simply because they wouldn’t kill one another. It was - he snorted a little. At least he could reassure himself that they would all suck at The Hunger Games.
“Fucked up is creating a website that allows for mass privacy issues. Fucked up is creating a website that is destroying the social structure of our children. What else do you think is fucked up?”
Starting at the voice, Chris rubbed at his knee.
“You don’t understand,” Mark said weakly, a white-knuckled hand clutching at Eduardo’s sleeve. “Those things aren’t my fault. People let-“
“Blaming the people. Blaming your friends. Always somebody else’s fault, isn’t it, Mark?”
Chris paled alongside the rest of them. He seemed to realise it before they did; Dustin had long since stopped speaking, eyes dull and vacant. It chilled Chris in the small part of his conscious that was still able to feel things like that. Mark and Eduardo were exchanging looks of futility but Chris felt the cold hand of fear clench around his heart.
“You bastard,” he said, low at first. “You bastard!”
“Christopher, that’s-”
“Shut up,” Chris snapped, rising to his feet and running his hands through his hair. He had to think because he could be wrong. It’s been days without food and water and they’ve left him - he’s dying, he knows he is but he won’t be the first. Not him. Not Dustin or Eduardo who are failing, yes, and Dustin is so much closer than he is and that hurts, Chris felt his pulse. It was thready and slow and it scared him shitless but Mark is sick. Mark has been coughing and shivering and looking sickly for a lot longer than any of them.
“You sick fuck, you knew what would happen when you put us down here.”
There was a hint of a smile this time. “You have a clever friend in Christopher, Mark. You should keep him around.”
Chris resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. He had to be calm. He had to -
He pushed down the rolling pain of hunger and the thirst and even tried to shove the anger down where it wouldn’t affect him too much. He could move past this and they could get out.
“He won’t die. I won’t let him.”
His words had a chilling effect; Eduardo’s head snapped up and then dropped to watch Mark, who was beyond figuring anything out as he curled in on himself, a wracking cough rattling his chest. Even Dustin seemed to be aware in that moment what was going on.
“Fuck,” he said, his voice low. “Chris, tell me I’m not-“
“You are,” Chris nodded. He didn’t need to hear Dustin say it; they all knew.
“How,” the voice asked, “Do you intend to stop me?”
“I had this whole plot set up.”
Chris stared at the ceiling, hands on his stomach. The hunger throbs had turned into excruciating pain and he was having trouble focusing. The voice was a nice constant now. He should focus on it.
“Who would have thought that all four of you would be gone by the time this is over? It was fun at first, don’t get me wrong. Watching the four of you fight. But when you started to fight back, that was dangerous, Christopher.”
When had the voice focused on him? Chris rolled his head to the side and saw Eduardo stroking Mark’s face, whispering words that didn’t make sense but oblivious to the tears on his face. Mark was blinking slowly, eyes dull, his grip lax and lazy against Eduardo’s wrist. Dustin - he couldn’t even see Dustin.
“I think it’s going to be even better watching just one of you walk out of here.”
Eduardo. He looked the best of them all. Chris felt his lips shift in an approximation of a smile. He always had been the best of them. Shaking his head a little, Chris let out a small whimper and curled onto his side, trying to sit up.
“Careful, Christopher. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”
“Liar,” Chris said, voice cracked with dryness. His throat worked in an attempt to summon moisture but it was almost impossible. Hysterically, he wondered what the likelihood of him dying from drinking the water on the floor was. There wasn’t really enough for him to do that - he’d tried the first time Mark had wretched at the lack of water.
He crawled along the floor, letting out small groans as the pain washed over him. When he was alongside Mark, he felt a small brush of sympathy that he was interrupting. Eduardo had his lips pressed to Mark’s, fingers brushing his pale cheek.
“Mark,” Eduardo was saying. “I’m sorry.”
Mark was still blinking slowly. He ran a finger tiredly down Eduardo’s temple and closed his eyes. He parted cracked lips to speak, mouth brushing Eduardo’s as he did so. “No.”
Chris sank back against the wall, letting out a tearless sob and turning his head to see Dustin still in the corner. He was curled on his side, fingers still against his side. No. Chris wanted to crawl some more, rush to Dustin’s side and check because he couldn’t be, he wouldn’t be. He couldn’t move. He closed his eyes. It would be okay. Please. It would be okay.
He opened his eyes when bright light invaded his senses. He could hear a dull roar and different cadences of tone. It was important that he focus. He didn’t know why but he should. Soft hands slid against his face, and the voice that was speaking to him was kind, even if he couldn’t make out the words.
It took him a few moments to focus and then, people!
He struggled to sit and a voice said, “Easy, son, easy.”
Chris whimpered and allowed the hands to help him to stand. “Thank you.”
“Don’t talk just yet,” the voice said. It belonged to a kind male face, red hair. Chris thought of Dustin but it was vague and distant. He nodded and allowed the man to lead him out into the air.
A gurney with a sheet was all Chris saw. It was tucked up under his chin but Chris couldn’t bring himself to look at Mark’s face. If, if, if, well. Just. If anything. He forced himself to focus and clenched hard at the blanket around his shoulders. He could see Eduardo’s mouth moving, followed the line of his shoulder down to his arm and hand, white-knuckled against the rail of the gurney. He was pleading, probably, asking to ride.
Angry when he was refused.
The police - and FBI! - were mingled in with the paramedics and Chris grabbed weakly for one of them. They were hovering anyway, probably waiting for the paramedics to declare them able to talk. The one he grabbed was FBI. She smiled gently down at him, her blonde hair shining in the light.
“How are you feeling?”
It was a stupid question and Chris glared. “Like I’ve been trapped in a room for days.”
His voice was still weak and painful but he managed enough of a chiding tone that she looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I just - I can’t imagine-“
Chris shrugged. “Did you get him?”
She smiled sadly. “He was gone before we arrived. We have people looking for him right now. Did he say anything that might give away his identity?”
“No.” Chris snorted. “He hated Facebook - and Mark - but that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
The woman’s face shifted at the news but Chris knew it was futile.
“You won’t find him. Will you?”
“Christopher-“
“Don’t call me that!” Chris snapped, the man’s chilling tones ringing in his ears. “Just Chris.”
“Okay. Chris. Sometimes they don’t get caught.”
Chris looked at her. “You can’t tell me that.”
Before she could say anything else, Chris turned his head.
“Okay. We’ll talk again soon, Chris, okay?”
No. He didn’t want to talk to anybody. Except. Except he did.
“Hey,” Chris said, standing in front of Eduardo. It felt weird to sit down next to him, like they were equals. He didn’t deserve. Eduardo had been the only one to hold them together, the best way he knew how, and Chris didn’t think he was there for Dustin the same way Eduardo had been there for Mark.
“What am I going to do?” Eduardo asked, his voice breaking in the middle. “What am I supposed to do?”
Chris swallowed down the sob that wanted to break out. Why did he always have to supply the answer. “Wardo-“
Eduardo shook his head. “No. It’s - Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Chris whispered, and turned away. He couldn’t look at Eduardo and wonder what was going to happen if Mark wasn’t okay. He had to be okay but faith - and hope - had long since disappeared.
“We never saw,” Dustin was saying. His hair was matted with dirt and blood and Chris swallowed down the urge to take Dustin in his arms and never let him go. “Who’d have thought we’d be held hostage by a voice? It was very XBox-esque.”
Chris winced and even Dustin trailed off, staring down at the floor. “Dustin.”
Looking up, eyes wide like Chris could make everything better, Dustin smiled gently. It was a shadow of his former smile, not even something Chris could even really call a smile, but he sat down on the steps next to him. The paramedic touched Dustin’s shoulder gently and moved away.
“What do we do now, Chris?”
Chris hated having to be the one with the answers. He wanted nothing more than to go home and break things. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and turned to stare at Dustin’s expectant face. “We-“
His voice tightened and he swallowed. He couldn’t lie. Not now. Not after.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Fuck Dustin, I don’t know.”
To his surprise, Dustin wrapped his arms around Chris’s shoulders and pressed soft lips to his temple. “It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. It wasn’t even remotely okay.
Recipient: shaygr
Prompt Number: 28
Characters/Pairings: eduardo/mark, chris/dustin, ot4ish
Rating/Warnings: r - for themes. the ot4 are held captive - all things that are associated with torture. ambiguity etc.
Word Count: 4,399
Disclaimer: This fanwork is based on fictional representations of the characters in The Social Network; I make no claims of ownership of the characters or concepts. (or, for RPF): This fanwork portrays fictional representations of real actors involved in The Social Network. These are not true accounts or meant to imply anything about these real people.
Summary ): Mark, Eduardo, Dustin and Chris are all abducted and locked somewhere together. The abducter tells them they have to choose which one of them is going to die. They are cold, hungry, thirsty and are going to have to kill whoever they chose. Mark starts getting sick first.
Notes: I hope this is what you wanted, shaygr. I tried my hardest to encompass all of the prompt and I even watched the episode! Thank you to A and I for being the best beloved betas. You guys definitely helped beat this into shape. Also thanks to V for always being around for me to moan about this to and for convincing me that it wasn't going to be as terrible as I imagined. As always, thanks to M, A and I for being the bestest friends and not being super irritated by my fic problems.
Chris stepped outside the warehouse, blinking in the harsh sunlight. Someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulders but beyond that, everything was a blur of FBI, local police and ambulance sirens. Chris tightened his jaw and walked where people told him to walk, spoke when people told him to speak. He didn’t say anything of worth, just went through the motions. Someone pressed him down onto the steps of an ambulance and Chris folded in on himself, forcing himself to breathe.
In out, in out. He closed his eyes and bit back on a whimper. One of the paramedics held a water bottle to his mouth but only let him take small sips. It was incredible. The water washed down his dry throat and it felt like heaven. He whimpered and tried to chug but the firm hands stopped him and he was distantly grateful in a way that he knew he would throw up if he took it too fast.
“That’s it, son, well done.” The red-haired paramedic smiled gently. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Chris wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t weak. He had made it. He had done it. So had Dustin and Eduardo and-
Head shooting up, he ignored the headache threatening to cripple him and shouted, “Dustin!”
The red-haired Paramedic - his badge said Patrick - held him gently but Chris gripped his arms tightly, shaking them slightly.
“Dustin was there, is he okay? He was in there with me and Eduardo and Mark - where are they?”
There was silence and then, “They’re out.”
Panic blossomed in Chris’s chest but he took hold of the anger that had aided him in keeping his mind for the last few days. “But are they okay! Mark was dying, I know he was, and Dustin! You let him do those things to us and you fucking, do you even know? Do you?”
His voice rose with every word but it wasn’t until he felt someone shaking him that he fought to get himself back under control. He looked around and saw Eduardo and Dustin being pressed into another ambulance, Dustin staring off into middle distance, hands shaking where he held them against his chest. Eduardo had his head hung low, dried tear tracks on his face.
“Where’s Mark?” Forcing his eyes to focus on the paramedic in front of him, Chris snapped, “Where’s Mark?”
It was wet. Chris cracked open an eye and stared at his hand.
It was cold, wet and he certainly wasn’t in his bed. “What the hell?”
He sat up quickly, staring down at himself in shock. He was wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt but his feet were bare. What the hell was-
Across the room, Dustin was lying curled up on his side, blood matting his forehead and beyond him, Mark and Eduardo were sprawled out side by side. All of them were clad only in t-shirt and boxers like Chris. What are the odds, Chris thought hysterically, that all of us wear boxers?
Sliding across the floor and trying to forget that wherever they were was leaking, Chris reached Dustin’s side and shook his shoulder. “Dustin!”
His voice was high and he tried to calm it but it was useless. His next shout of Dustin’s name was even higher and more strangled than the last. “Dustin, you jerk, wake up!”
With a groan and a shift, Dustin cracked open one eye. “Chris? Why are you in my bedroom?”
Laughing with a touch of hysteria, Chris shook Dustin when he went to close his eye again. “No, no wake up. Something’s wrong.”
Dustin shook his head and then groaned, reaching up to press his fingers to his temple. He drew them back, startled, and stared at the blood on his fingers with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Shit, shit shit shit.”
Chris looked over Dustin to see Eduardo on his knees, looking around like this was a nightmare. Chris could sympathise and he was deliberately trying not to think about - about anything but the look on Eduardo’s face. They exchanged startled looks of two people who have woken up in an episode of Criminal Minds and are desperate to escape.
“Where the fuck are we?”
Shaking his head, Chris said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak and not break down. He needed to think clearly. There was a logical explanation for this; he just had to think about it.
“Chris?” This time it was Dustin. He sounded small and scared. “What’s going on?”
Threading a hand through Dustin’s hair, Chris rubbed the pads of his fingers over Dustin’s scalp. “It will be okay, Dustin. It will.”
He tried not to sound too much like he was lying.
“Who did this?” Chris threw his arms up. “Who did this?!”
Eduardo shook his head, fingers tight against Mark’s neck, fumbling against the skin. “I don’t know.”
“What does he want?” Dustin asked, eyes flicking around the room.
“To choose.”
Dustin and Chris were immediately on their feet but Chris could see the way Eduardo’s fingers tightened around Mark’s shoulders. The voice startled all of them; there were no obvious signs that anybody was spying on them.
“Choose what?”
“Three of you will leave this room alive. One of you will die. You choose.”
Eduardo was kneeling over Mark, one hand on his shoulder and the other pressed to his chest, holding him down. “When did you first start getting sick?”
“Let me up,” Mark snapped.
“Not until you tell me how sick you are.”
Chris just stared at the both of them. “You’re arguing about how sick he is when we’ve just been told one of us is going to die?!”
The glare that Eduardo turned on Chris was heated. “He said we had to choose. None of us is choosing anything. Get a hold of yourself, Chris.”
Shaking his head, Chris turned around to face the wall. Shit. Eduardo was right. He needed to get a grip. They could get out of this. There had to be a way out of this. He turned on his heel and noticed Dustin had shoved himself into a corner, legs stretched out in front of him but hands shoved under his chin. Approaching him slowly, Chris dropped down on the floor next to him, sucking in a deep breath at the cold floor.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you sit here too long.”
Dustin shrugged and shifted a leg closer to his body. “It’s cold in here anyway.”
It had never been difficult talking to Dustin, which was one of the reasons he was Chris’s friend. It had taken a lot of time and effort and sometimes Dustin frustrated him beyond belief, but Chris couldn’t imagine being best friends with anyone else. Right now there wasn’t anything Chris could think of to say that would make anything better.
“Look, Dustin,” Chris started, trailing off when Dustin leaned over to press his face into Chris’s shoulder.
“Stop talking.” Dustin’s voice was low and tight. Chris relented, reaching up a hand and threading it through Dustin’s hair, his thumb resting along the back of Dustin’s neck.
It shouldn’t be like this. Dustin should be cracking jokes and talking about all the girls he was failing at attracting back at the office. Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They had to get out of this, just so that he could sock whoever it was that had trapped them in here in the jaw.
“I could have lived the rest of my life with her,” Dustin said dreamily, staring up at the ceiling. “We would have had two point four children and lived in the suburbs.”
“You would never have survived outside of Silicon Valley,” Chris said distractedly. He was staring at the way Eduardo was looking at Mark. He looked - frightened and that could mean nothing good.
“No seriously,” Dustin said, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked disgusting; face wet and dirty, grit on his forearms and clothes damp from the floor. “We were going to get married.”
“Dustin, if you don’t stop talking in the past tense-“
Eduardo raised his voice, cutting across what Chris was saying. “Mark, for fucks sake, lie down.”
“Lying down is only going to make it worse! The floor is wet.”
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter!” Eduardo pressed down hard on Mark’s shoulders and manhandled him against the wall, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.
Chris was on his feet instantly, a hand on Eduardo’s arm. “Don’t be stupid, Eduardo.”
Eduardo looked up at Chris with panicked eyes but Chris didn’t care. This was no time for Eduardo to be a martyr.
“I’m getting tired of waiting.”
Chris groaned, dropping his head back against the wall. He had half hoped they wouldn’t be bothered again. Of course, they would have to be if they ever wanted to get out of here. “Why won’t you just let us out of here?”
“Where would be the fun in that, Christopher?”
Scrambling to his feet, Chris stared at the others in shock. “You know my name?”
Shit. Chris knew deep down that he would have to. How else would he have been able to get all four of them - the Facebook founders - in the same room at the same time?
“I’ve heard it around.”
Mark was struggling against the wall, glaring up at the ceiling. “Is this about Facebook?”
Chris wanted to hit him. “You’re asking that now?”
“Stop fighting,” Dustin hissed. Louder, he turned his attention to the disembodied voice. “You could have just called us to a bar or something. We’re much more likely to-“
“Dustin Moskovitz, the joker.”
Dustin shut his mouth abruptly. Chris felt a surge of anger, this time at the voice.
“Unfortunately, this is not a situation that calls for a bar, Mr. Moskovitz. One of the principal members of Facebook dropping dead in front of all of those witnesses?”
Mark paled at the words. He hadn’t been completely coherent the last time the voice spoke and Chris could have slapped himself.
“Why does one of us have to die?”
“Think of what you’ve already achieved. Isn’t it time for somebody else to have a go?”
“I could have retired.” Dustin’s voice sounded small and faint.
This time it did get a laugh. “Where would be the fun in that?”
“Stop it!” Eduardo snapped, getting between Dustin and Chris. Within seconds Chris was against the wall, startled by the amount of strength Eduardo seemed to have, even starving and cold. “This isn’t helping anybody!”
Chris shoved Eduardo back and gestured angrily at Dustin. “He won’t shut up!”
Shaking his head, Eduardo ran a hand through his hair and padded back over to Mark. Rolled up against the wall, hair plastered to his forehead, Mark was shivering. Chris was so sick of this. Of not knowing what to do, of not being able to stop himself from lashing out. He just wanted -
“God, when will this end.” He stared up at the ceiling. “You sick fuck! When will this end?!”
“How many times must we go through this, Christopher?.” Chris glared angrily at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. “When one of you dies.”
“This is so fucked up,” Eduardo said, grinding the palm of his hand into his eye.
Silence descended on them again. Chris sank down against the far wall, biting his lip to keep from apologising to Dustin. He needed his anger. The anger was the only thing he had managed to grasp hold of and keep. He didn’t want to be like Dustin because Dustin was gripping his elbows so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was looking everywhere but at Chris and he wasn’t sure which one of them was more grateful for that. He just knew that he couldn’t handle talking right now. He settled for watching Eduardo and Mark.
He was sure he would have been grateful, was in the beginning, if he was strong enough to look beyond his anger. Care for Mark had pretty much fallen to Eduardo and he had taken to it with aplomb, better than Chris would have under the circumstances.
Eduardo was saying something under his breath, fingers curled in Mark’s hair and thumb smoothing down his cheek. It was affection Mark would never have allowed anywhere else and it made Chris’s heart hurt to see it. He shouldn’t be seeing it. This should be something they did in the privacy of their own home, not here, where they were being forced to decide who died.
This was so fucked up, he couldn’t even process it. He rubbed his hands together, fingers cold. He had long since been unable to feel his toes.
“Would you do it?”
Chris looked up. Dustin was staring him in the eye, fingers dancing along his thigh. “What?”
“If it came to - to me, would you do it?”
Hands clenching into fists, Chris felt his anger flare. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
To his surprise, Dustin managed enough of his own frustration to lash back. “A legitimate one! We’re not getting out of here until one of us dies, Chris. If it was me, sick like that, would you do it? Kill me to get out?”
Chris wanted to smack Dustin in the mouth. He wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled and he understood. This wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about bravery or ability or anything like that. It was about something entirely different. They weren’t just going to roll over and listen, because all four of them were getting out of here. Chris couldn’t envision a world where that didn’t happen so it wasn’t going to. End of.
Instead of answering Dustin, he climbed to his feet and moved as far away as he dared. This time when he sat down, he kept his back to the others.
“Asshole,” Dustin snapped.
Ignoring him, Chris pressed his hands to his face and closed his eyes, counting backwards from a hundred.
Mark was coughing again.
Chris stared at the wall, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands. There was a shuffle and then he heard Eduardo’s voice, too low for Chris to make out the words. He didn’t really want to know anyway. Everything Eduardo said from here on out wasn’t going to change anything and they knew it. Not that Eduardo seemed to care about that. He kept on and on, grating on Chris’s nerves to the point that he was afraid he was going to lash out.
Dustin made a soft noise in his sleep and Chris wondered not for the first time how he could. He didn’t think he had managed to catch more than an hour of sleep since they had woken up down here. He felt the press of Dustin’s hand to his ankle and shifted out of the grasp.
“Chris,” Dustin said. His voice was cracked and broken from lack of water and Chris closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was tired of trying to comfort Dustin, he was tired of trying to reassure Eduardo that Mark was going to be okay. He was just tired. “Chris.”
“What Dustin?”
“It’s okay to be afraid.”
Gritting his teeth against the urge to answer, Chris just closed his eyes and held his breath. Eventually Dustin would shut up. Eventually he would be able to close his eyes and pretend none of this was happening. He let out his breath and snorted. Slim chance. He heard the dull rumble of Dustin’s stomach and swallowed down the urge to say something. He wished - he wished so much and it was pointless. Nothing was going to change for them. Nothing.
“You’re fucked up!” Eduardo yelled.
Chris linked his fingers along the back of his head. He had never contemplated his death like this; dying alongside his three friends, of pneumonia or starvation or dehydration, simply because they wouldn’t kill one another. It was - he snorted a little. At least he could reassure himself that they would all suck at The Hunger Games.
“Fucked up is creating a website that allows for mass privacy issues. Fucked up is creating a website that is destroying the social structure of our children. What else do you think is fucked up?”
Starting at the voice, Chris rubbed at his knee.
“You don’t understand,” Mark said weakly, a white-knuckled hand clutching at Eduardo’s sleeve. “Those things aren’t my fault. People let-“
“Blaming the people. Blaming your friends. Always somebody else’s fault, isn’t it, Mark?”
Chris paled alongside the rest of them. He seemed to realise it before they did; Dustin had long since stopped speaking, eyes dull and vacant. It chilled Chris in the small part of his conscious that was still able to feel things like that. Mark and Eduardo were exchanging looks of futility but Chris felt the cold hand of fear clench around his heart.
“You bastard,” he said, low at first. “You bastard!”
“Christopher, that’s-”
“Shut up,” Chris snapped, rising to his feet and running his hands through his hair. He had to think because he could be wrong. It’s been days without food and water and they’ve left him - he’s dying, he knows he is but he won’t be the first. Not him. Not Dustin or Eduardo who are failing, yes, and Dustin is so much closer than he is and that hurts, Chris felt his pulse. It was thready and slow and it scared him shitless but Mark is sick. Mark has been coughing and shivering and looking sickly for a lot longer than any of them.
“You sick fuck, you knew what would happen when you put us down here.”
There was a hint of a smile this time. “You have a clever friend in Christopher, Mark. You should keep him around.”
Chris resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. He had to be calm. He had to -
He pushed down the rolling pain of hunger and the thirst and even tried to shove the anger down where it wouldn’t affect him too much. He could move past this and they could get out.
“He won’t die. I won’t let him.”
His words had a chilling effect; Eduardo’s head snapped up and then dropped to watch Mark, who was beyond figuring anything out as he curled in on himself, a wracking cough rattling his chest. Even Dustin seemed to be aware in that moment what was going on.
“Fuck,” he said, his voice low. “Chris, tell me I’m not-“
“You are,” Chris nodded. He didn’t need to hear Dustin say it; they all knew.
“How,” the voice asked, “Do you intend to stop me?”
“I had this whole plot set up.”
Chris stared at the ceiling, hands on his stomach. The hunger throbs had turned into excruciating pain and he was having trouble focusing. The voice was a nice constant now. He should focus on it.
“Who would have thought that all four of you would be gone by the time this is over? It was fun at first, don’t get me wrong. Watching the four of you fight. But when you started to fight back, that was dangerous, Christopher.”
When had the voice focused on him? Chris rolled his head to the side and saw Eduardo stroking Mark’s face, whispering words that didn’t make sense but oblivious to the tears on his face. Mark was blinking slowly, eyes dull, his grip lax and lazy against Eduardo’s wrist. Dustin - he couldn’t even see Dustin.
“I think it’s going to be even better watching just one of you walk out of here.”
Eduardo. He looked the best of them all. Chris felt his lips shift in an approximation of a smile. He always had been the best of them. Shaking his head a little, Chris let out a small whimper and curled onto his side, trying to sit up.
“Careful, Christopher. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”
“Liar,” Chris said, voice cracked with dryness. His throat worked in an attempt to summon moisture but it was almost impossible. Hysterically, he wondered what the likelihood of him dying from drinking the water on the floor was. There wasn’t really enough for him to do that - he’d tried the first time Mark had wretched at the lack of water.
He crawled along the floor, letting out small groans as the pain washed over him. When he was alongside Mark, he felt a small brush of sympathy that he was interrupting. Eduardo had his lips pressed to Mark’s, fingers brushing his pale cheek.
“Mark,” Eduardo was saying. “I’m sorry.”
Mark was still blinking slowly. He ran a finger tiredly down Eduardo’s temple and closed his eyes. He parted cracked lips to speak, mouth brushing Eduardo’s as he did so. “No.”
Chris sank back against the wall, letting out a tearless sob and turning his head to see Dustin still in the corner. He was curled on his side, fingers still against his side. No. Chris wanted to crawl some more, rush to Dustin’s side and check because he couldn’t be, he wouldn’t be. He couldn’t move. He closed his eyes. It would be okay. Please. It would be okay.
He opened his eyes when bright light invaded his senses. He could hear a dull roar and different cadences of tone. It was important that he focus. He didn’t know why but he should. Soft hands slid against his face, and the voice that was speaking to him was kind, even if he couldn’t make out the words.
It took him a few moments to focus and then, people!
He struggled to sit and a voice said, “Easy, son, easy.”
Chris whimpered and allowed the hands to help him to stand. “Thank you.”
“Don’t talk just yet,” the voice said. It belonged to a kind male face, red hair. Chris thought of Dustin but it was vague and distant. He nodded and allowed the man to lead him out into the air.
A gurney with a sheet was all Chris saw. It was tucked up under his chin but Chris couldn’t bring himself to look at Mark’s face. If, if, if, well. Just. If anything. He forced himself to focus and clenched hard at the blanket around his shoulders. He could see Eduardo’s mouth moving, followed the line of his shoulder down to his arm and hand, white-knuckled against the rail of the gurney. He was pleading, probably, asking to ride.
Angry when he was refused.
The police - and FBI! - were mingled in with the paramedics and Chris grabbed weakly for one of them. They were hovering anyway, probably waiting for the paramedics to declare them able to talk. The one he grabbed was FBI. She smiled gently down at him, her blonde hair shining in the light.
“How are you feeling?”
It was a stupid question and Chris glared. “Like I’ve been trapped in a room for days.”
His voice was still weak and painful but he managed enough of a chiding tone that she looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I just - I can’t imagine-“
Chris shrugged. “Did you get him?”
She smiled sadly. “He was gone before we arrived. We have people looking for him right now. Did he say anything that might give away his identity?”
“No.” Chris snorted. “He hated Facebook - and Mark - but that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
The woman’s face shifted at the news but Chris knew it was futile.
“You won’t find him. Will you?”
“Christopher-“
“Don’t call me that!” Chris snapped, the man’s chilling tones ringing in his ears. “Just Chris.”
“Okay. Chris. Sometimes they don’t get caught.”
Chris looked at her. “You can’t tell me that.”
Before she could say anything else, Chris turned his head.
“Okay. We’ll talk again soon, Chris, okay?”
No. He didn’t want to talk to anybody. Except. Except he did.
“Hey,” Chris said, standing in front of Eduardo. It felt weird to sit down next to him, like they were equals. He didn’t deserve. Eduardo had been the only one to hold them together, the best way he knew how, and Chris didn’t think he was there for Dustin the same way Eduardo had been there for Mark.
“What am I going to do?” Eduardo asked, his voice breaking in the middle. “What am I supposed to do?”
Chris swallowed down the sob that wanted to break out. Why did he always have to supply the answer. “Wardo-“
Eduardo shook his head. “No. It’s - Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Chris whispered, and turned away. He couldn’t look at Eduardo and wonder what was going to happen if Mark wasn’t okay. He had to be okay but faith - and hope - had long since disappeared.
“We never saw,” Dustin was saying. His hair was matted with dirt and blood and Chris swallowed down the urge to take Dustin in his arms and never let him go. “Who’d have thought we’d be held hostage by a voice? It was very XBox-esque.”
Chris winced and even Dustin trailed off, staring down at the floor. “Dustin.”
Looking up, eyes wide like Chris could make everything better, Dustin smiled gently. It was a shadow of his former smile, not even something Chris could even really call a smile, but he sat down on the steps next to him. The paramedic touched Dustin’s shoulder gently and moved away.
“What do we do now, Chris?”
Chris hated having to be the one with the answers. He wanted nothing more than to go home and break things. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and turned to stare at Dustin’s expectant face. “We-“
His voice tightened and he swallowed. He couldn’t lie. Not now. Not after.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Fuck Dustin, I don’t know.”
To his surprise, Dustin wrapped his arms around Chris’s shoulders and pressed soft lips to his temple. “It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. It wasn’t even remotely okay.