Chapter Text
It's been hours. Well, at least that's what it felt like to John. When Griffin had first duct taped half of his face, he was still breathing quite normally at first, and John had hoped that the guy made a mistake and that he could continue breathing.
Then, the doorbell rang, and Griffin had gone to the front door and was talking to whoever was there, so John tried to take this as a chance to escape, though this proved to be a difficult job. He tried to pull down the pipe that he was attached to, but his strength wasn't enough, he could feel it being drained out of him pretty much instantly. Taking in multiple quick and short breathes made John realise that maybe Griffin didn't make a mistake after all. He had actually managed to successfully cut off a good amount of oxygen from reaching him.
And he did it quite professionally too. The way he did it makes a person be able to stay alive for hours if they need to, but still remain too weak to do anything else but think about meeting their death.
Nolan knew that it was probably just a coincidence, and the guy was just lucky. However, right now, John didn't really care about that.
Well, this sucks, thought John, frowning, as he looks up to the pipe he’s hanging from, wanting to see if it had any weak spots that he could attempt to break, but found nothing. This situation was getting increasingly alarming for John, now that he is slowly starting to realize that there was nothing he can do. He didn’t like the feeling of hopelessness. The more he stays like this, the more the chances of getting out become very slim.
John even starts to get bored from staying like this for quite some time now. He decides to count the time he’s being held here, but loses count after approximately 10 minutes, when a huge headache distracts him from thinking straight any more.
Now, his hands hang limply, the handcuffs cutting into his wrists, as John is unable to hold himself up from the pipe anymore. Is that blood trickling down his hands? Or is it just sweat?
His thoughts were scrambling together and weren't making any sense to him. Probably because of the lack of oxygen. He felt lightheaded and was too tired to even panic about it. There was no use in that. Dark spots were appearing in his vision, and John desperately tried to hold on to reality by blinking rapidly to fight off sleep. He looked around one last time, trying to notice something that he could use to escape. A chair was thrown aside nearby, and John tried to reach it with his feet, but it was too far away.
Damn it.
Groaning out, John also stops holding his head up, letting it rest on his chest. The dark spots had completely taken over his vision for a while, but John didn't notice it, until now, and he starts to panic a little.
When did it become so dark? Did someone turn the lights off? Or is he just too far gone? John didn't know. He hoped it wasn't the latter, but deep down he knew it was. Many questions were swarming his mind, but he had answers to none of them.
How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days?
John tried to open his eyes, and maybe even succeeded, but all he could see was darkness.
Footsteps. He heard footsteps. Or at least, he thought they were footsteps. Is Griffin back? Did someone else find him? Or is he just going to die here, without ever having a chance to say goodbye to the others? John would give anything to talk to them one last time. Not that he had much to give as of right now. Actually, he doesn’t even have anything. He could only wait and hope that somebody would find him in time but he doubts that would happen.
Do they even know he got kidnapped? Maybe they even checked this house already and found nothing. Or did they know and just left him here to die?
That took a dark turn, really quickly.
John shakes his head as much as he can, as if that would clear off the bad thoughts. He isn’t supposed to think like that. Logically, he knows that he can always rely on his friends whenever he’s in situations like this, but…he isn’t really thinking logically at this moment, is he? John tries to keep his hopes up, which is becoming a very difficult job. Of course they wouldn't leave him in this situation...right? He shakes his head again, which took more energy from him than before. He really shouldn't be wasting his energy, especially now.
John picked up the same sound of footsteps, this time, the person was leaving. That meant that it was probably Griffin.
Probably...
Yeah.
John already wished for this to end quicker. He didn't like thinking this way. Is this what Lucy felt like when she was stuck in that barrel? Just feeling the darkness around you, while struggling to breathe? Waiting, hoping for someone to find you, only to lose hope over time? After which you're just hoping it would end sooner?
At least she got out. That's all that mattered.
More time passed. It was getting really hard to breathe. It was an uncomfortable feeling that wouldn't go away no matter what John would do.
Uncomfortable was an understatement though. His lungs felt like they were burning. Panic slowly but surely set in. What if this never ended? What if he was going to stay like this forever?
His mind wasn't working right, John knew that, but the questions weren't leaving his head.
Suddenly, John felt hands on him. He tried to move back or recoil as much as he could but he was unsuccessful. The hands were gentle though. It wasn't Griffin then. Despite knowing this, John didn't stop his attempts at fighting back. He doesn't think that whoever was next to him even knew that he was trying to fight back.
Eventually he gave up on resisting and just stayed still, feeling even more sleepier than before.
All of a sudden, he felt an immense amount of relief in his hands and lungs, but he was too exhausted to acknowledge that as he succumbed into the comforting darkness awaiting for him.