I've been struggling to figure out the first chapter of my planned next story, so instead I'm going to do some short-ish Whumptober one-shots. First up is a Clay-focused one (written for prompts #21 Laced Drink & #31 Embrace), but I'll try to do at least one for every team member, and maybe a few other characters as well, depending on how it goes.

1. Come and Save Me From It

Clay is bored, and his tea tastes terrible.

He's currently pretending to read a book while occupying a table in a quiet cafe. Mandy felt certain it would be the perfect location from which to eavesdrop on a meeting between their HVT and one of his local contacts, with the goal of figuring out where the HVT's latest shipment of weapons is headed.

Only problem is, Clay's been here for the better part of an hour, and he's starting to feel conspicuous, and neither of the men in question have bothered to show up. And worst of all, this latest cup of tea is frickin' gross. He even added sugar, which he doesn't usually do, and it barely made a difference.

Right around the time he begins to consider just calling this a bust and heading back to base, his head suddenly starts to spin. Within seconds, his vision becomes so blurred he can't make out the words on the pages of his book. His fingers go numb and the book slides from his hands, landing on the floor with a clatter.

Listing sideways in his chair, darkness eating at the corners of his vision, Clay tries to reach up to his ear to call for help. His arm won't cooperate. He gets his mouth open, but his tongue has turned into a dead weight and he can't make more than a faint slurred noise.

His stomach flips. He feels like he's going to puke.

Numb and sick, he tumbles from his seat, but hands catch him before he can hit the floor. He has just enough distorted vision left to see the unfamiliar faces leaning over him and know that he's fucked.

Then there's nothing but dark for a while.

Clay comes back to awareness gradually. His head is pounding, and there's an awful taste in his mouth that suggests he probably did throw up at some point. He's lying on his side on a cold stone floor. Something pointy is digging uncomfortably into his ribs. The discomfort eventually spurs him to try to roll over, despite the dizziness and nausea, which is when he realizes he's bound hand and foot and wearing nothing but his boxers.

The cafe was a trap. Freaking wonderful.

He levers his eyelids open, sees only blackness. Lies there for a while, listening to the slow drum of his heart, each beat sending a dull throb through his temples. After a while he gags up some stomach acid, which does not noticeably improve the disgusting taste in his mouth. Nor the stench of whatever godforsaken pitch-dark pit he's being kept in.

Eventually, the nausea subsides a bit, enough for him to crawl shakily up to his knees and shuffle down his boxers so that he can piss into a corner. At least his hands are tied in front of him.

No one shows up to torture Clay, or execute him, or even so much as ask a polite question. No one brings him water or food, either. He loses track of time. Sleeps some, which helps with the headache, but when he wakes up his throat is painfully dry and the nausea has taken on the sharp-edged bite of gnawing hunger.

By the time someone finally shows up, Clay is starting to think he's been forgotten, left to die of thirst in a filthy, reeking room.

When the door opens, the sudden light stabs straight into his eyes. By the time Clay recovers from the disorientation and sensory overload, there are three men holding him down while another forces a damp, vaguely sweet-smelling cloth over his mouth and nose.

Clay figures this is probably an excellent moment for a real-world demonstration of exactly how long a frogman can hold his breath.

He fakes unconsciousness. They don't buy it. Finally, they get tired of waiting and just kick him repeatedly in the kidney until he gasps in a breath, at which point the world sharply falls away again.

The next time he wakes up, he's even more disoriented. Cloth is tied over his eyes and jammed into his mouth, and the world is moving. There's a crash, and he's thrown violently to the side, slamming against something hard. Tires squeal. There are gunshots, and they don't stop for a while. Hell of a firefight. Nothing he can do about it. All he can do is lie still and hope the bullets go somewhere else.

Everything hurts, his throat most of all. He struggles to breathe through the gag and the pain. Tries not to puke, because if he does he'll choke on it.

There's a shudder through the surface he's lying on, the sound of doors being opened, and then a couple more shots, terrifyingly close.

Two thuds. Then silence.

Too miserable to give much of a shit either way, Clay waits to find out if he's about to die.

And then a very familiar, Texas-accented voice yells, "He's here! I've got Bravo Six!"

There are hands on him, pulling away the gag, lifting off the blindfold. The light is too bright; Clay slams his eyes closed. Someone cuts his bonds, but he doesn't know what to do with his hands once they're free. Can't really feel them anyway.

Breathing hurts and is harder than it should be. He can't stop shaking and doesn't even know why.

Sonny lifts him and holds him upright. It helps a little. Trent shows up from somewhere, checking Clay's pulse, combing through his hair to search for head injuries. Even with his eyes closed, Clay would know those hands anywhere.

"You're good, okay?" Sonny keeps saying, his arm steady around Clay's shoulders, holding him up so he can breathe. "We've got you now, and we're gonna get you out of here, and you're gonna be just fine."

Everything hurts, but there's still air, and he's safe now. He just has to keep going. One breath at a time. He leans into Sonny, and Sonny pulls him in close, chin resting gently atop Clay's hair.

When it's time to move, Sonny and Ray sling their arms around him, one from each side, and lift him up. His knees buckle when his feet hit the ground, but his brothers hold him up from falling, and he breathes and takes one unsteady step and then another.

Together, they find their way home.