This fic is set to contain slash (Adam/Lawrence); while there is none now, it will happen. Please do not flame me for this.
This is also an AU, to some degree, although I'm trying my hardest to have it make sense.
He screamed until he was hoarse, until something in the back of his throat felt as though it snapped like an old rubber band. And when his voice gave out on him he knelt in the dark. His first thought, strangely enough, was Larry.
Larry. Lawrence. Dr. Gordon. Hell, he didn't know what to call him now. He was probably dead; if not, he was bleeding to death pretty damn fast.
It occurred to him that he was alone in the dark with a dead body. He had long ago learned not to be afraid of the dead – why worry about the dead? It's the living you should be worried about – but now that he had seen the killer, this bald fuck of a man get up and peel brain matter off of his head, sudden Dead Man Walking, well...
He shifted, sitting down and trying to will himself not to start up a new crescendo of screams. He kicked something, something firm, something next to Zep's body, as he stretched his legs out.
Holy shit. He might be still be saved.
Larry. Save your ass first, then get to Larry.
He dropped down to his stomach, stretching out and groping for the gun. He was starting to be able to see a bit better in the dark, dim outlines of shapes, and he soon had his hand curled around it. He picked it up and pushed himself back into a sitting position.
He pushed himself back, sliding along the blood-slicked floor, feeling the blood seep into his jeans, wet and squelchy. When he had pulled back far enough, about level with the ancient, rusted bathtub, he made sure the chain could go no further. Then he aimed at the pipe and the lock holding him fast to it, and he shot. The kick sent pain searing through his shoulder, the one with the bullet still lodged in it.
No give in the chain.
He didn't dare aim at the lock on his shackle, for fear of shooting himself in the dark. He shot again, this time hearing the sound of metal giving way. The chain suddenly fell slack, and he jumped to his feet. His jeans slapped wetly against his legs, but he didn't care.
Larry. Get. To. Larry.
He picked the chain up, wrapping it around his shoulders and left arm. It was heavy, but it would be easier to carry it than to drag it around.
It amazed him, how fucking levelheaded he was being.
When he had secured the chain around his body, he started to make his way to the door. His foot hit something solid – Zep, he registered – and he nearly went sprawling. As it was, he stumbled forward a few paces, and the weight of the chain threatened to drag him to the floor. But he kept moving, as quickly as his body would allow. His ankle was raw where he had been electrocuted, and it hurt to put weight on it, but he was beyond caring about that.
He reached the far wall, again connecting with something solid – he didn't even want to think about what that might be – and felt his way to the door. He dug into the crease between the door and the far wall, amazed when he felt some give. Apparently, Jigsaw hadn't bothered to lock the fucking door.
Never assume I'm screwed, man, thought Adam as he worked the door open far enough for himself to slip through. He cast around, the greenish light in the abandoned corridor hurting his eyes.
He heard something to his left, an odd sort of moaning sound. Willing himself not to shriek like a little girl at the first strains of the sound, he started in that direction.
Sure enough, he found Larry – Lawrence – Dr. Gordon – whatever the fuck, it didn't really matter – sprawled on the ground near a ladder of some sort. Adam could see stars through the opening above that ladder.
"Larry," he said, his voice no more than a harsh whisper. "You're fucking alive."
"They need me," Lawrence said, looking dazed.
"Shit, no. You need a hospital." Adam knelt on the ground next to Lawrence, wrapping Lawrence's arm around his neck and his own arm around Lawrence's waist. He stood up as quickly as he could without staggering. The ladder, plainly, was out of the question. "There's got to be another way out of here," he said, half-carrying, half-dragging Lawrence down the corridor.
Sure enough, he came to a stairwell. Lawrence's head lolled sickeningly against his shoulder as he started up the steps, and more than once he nearly fell; Lawrence was suddenly nothing more than dead weight. He shuddered inwardly and swore at himself for making that comparison.
"Come on, man, you've got to do something or we're both going to fucking fall," said Adam, his voice shaking and higher-pitched than was normal. This is taking too long, it's a wonder he's not dead yet.
Well, actually, said another, nastier part of himself, he might be.