Stuck in the Truck

Okay, here's my first foray in "Flashpoint" fanfiction. I love Spike, and I love seeing him all whumped up so then this happened.

This one is a tag for 4.02, "Good Cop," where Spike was mobbed and attacked by protesters while in the truck. Things could have gone badly very quickly.

Some dialogue is taken directly from the episode, but some is tweaked a bit. I own next to nothing. Please enjoy.

[...]

"The protesters are swarming the truck. I need backup."

Spike's voice was calm and even. Panicking would have been too easy. The truck was now rocking violently as the mob tilted it with all their strength on either side.

"Copy that," came Sam's reply through Spike's earpiece. "Spike, we're on our way. Don't open the doors."

Someone began pounding on the driver's side door, drawing Spike's attention to it. He showed no fear, knowing it would only fuel their anger toward law enforcement officials.

"Keeping the doors closed," he responded coolly. "Goin' with that."

"Spike, we're having trouble getting through this crowd. Can you get to your gun?" Wordy asked him. He could barely see through the crowd to the truck. It looked like it was close to tipping over.

"Negative," Spike answered. "It's in the back. I can't get to it right now."

Wordy cursed silently. "Okay. Okay, just hold on. We're coming."

Spike turned again when he heard a louder hammering on the passenger's side window. There was a man standing there with a baseball bat.

"Guys?" he called out. "Gettin' to feel like 'A Hard Day's Night' in here."

"Sam, Wordy, get over there. Now," Greg directed over the comm.

"Boss, we're trying," Sam said. "There's just so many people."

Suddenly the passenger's side window came crashing in. Spike cried out in pain as shards of glass cut his face.

"Spike!" Sam called out.

"Spike, you okay?" asked Wordy.

Before Spike could answer his teammates he felt something hit his arm, then roll off onto the passenger seat. He barely had time to register what it was before calling out, "BOMB!" The explosion followed immediately, rocking the truck.

The whole team held their ears painfully as feedback screeched through their earpieces. Sam and Wordy could see the flash of light from the bomb going off, then watched as smoke began billowing out through the windows.

"Spike!" Sam cried helplessly. It concerned him greatly that his friend hadn't verbally signaled that he was all right. It concerned him even more that he couldn't even hear Spike coughing through his earpiece. He trudged through the crowd with even more determination, Wordy close behind him.

Spike came to a moment later. The first thing he became aware of was that he couldn't breathe. He gagged as his lungs filled with smoke. His sight returned to him as the darkness around his mind faded away, but he couldn't see anything through the thick smoke. Finally his hearing returned. He could tell his eardrums had ruptured, but he could hear several voices calling his name through his earpiece.

Spike tried to respond, tried to let his friends know that he was all right - that he was alive - but his lungs were so full of smoke and he couldn't get any fresh air.

It registered in Spike's mind that something was wrong. In his addled state he hadn't realized hands were grabbing at him through the window. He felt like he was being pulled from all sides, and eventually figured out he was being dragged out the driver's window. Spike's first thought was that it was his teammates, having finally made it through the crowd, coming to get him out of there. But then he felt how roughly they were jerking his body, and how many of them there were.

Kicking and struggling ferociously, still choking on smoke, Spike tried to get away from the offending hands. However, he was beginning to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen, and there were just too many of them.

With an audible thud, Spike's body connected with the hard concrete of the ground as he was pulled free from the truck. His body shook as his lungs sucked in the clean air.

Then, however, the air was all forced out of his body before he really got the chance to enjoy it as a heavy, steel toed boot swung into his stomach. Spike grunted and instinctively curled in on himself. Another kick landed squarely in his chest, then another from the opposite direction made contact with his back. Suddenly a whole crowd of people was standing over the officer, raining blows and kicks down on his body. After a few kicks to the back of his skull Spike managed to pull both his arms up and wrap them around his head in hopes of protecting it.

The team was horrified with what they were hearing through their earpieces. At first they were relieved to hear Spike begin to cough - he was alive. Then they heard struggling. Sam and Wordy informed them that he was being forcibly dragged through the broken window of the truck. Then they heard the painful grunts and strained groans, the cause of which was undeniable.

"They're beating him," Sam reported, dazedly.

"God," whispered Wordy. He could just barely see the growing crowd surrounding the young man. "They're not gonna stop. They're gonna kill him."

"No," Greg replied. "No, no, no, get to him! Do what you have to do!"

"Boss, we need the okay to use force," said Sam, a pleading tension in his voice.

Greg only considered the request for a moment before responding, "Do whatever you have to do. Get him out of there." He would deal with the repercussions later.

Without hesitating for another moment Sam drew his issued sidearm and fired off two shots into the air. The crowd immediately surrounding Sam and Wordy dispersed, but few encircled around Spike were frightened off so easily.

"Come on, let's go!" Wordy shouted as he charged forward, determined to rescue his friend.

Spike was trying his best to stay conscious. He knew if he allowed himself to give in things would end much worse for him. Suddenly he felt his arms being pulled away from his head. He struggled to keep them there to protect himself, but he just wasn't strong enough. Then he felt a burning sensation on his face. His eyes watered, the cuts on his face from the broken in windows burned, and his already labored breathing became even more ragged.

'Mace,' he concluded without thinking. He remembered what it felt like. His TO Mac had maced all of the recruits as part of their training in the academy. Tasered them, too. Spike would never forget what that felt like.

After a sickeningly long moment Spike realized this was probably his own standard issue mace being used against him. And if they had gotten hold of his mace, they probably had his knife and Taser as well.

And it wouldn't take long for them to find his gun locked away in the back of the truck.

Before he could think about it any longer, something hard was brought down on his left arm. Crying out in pain as loud as he could with no air in his lungs, Spike forced his burning, bleary eyes open long enough to see the same man wielding the baseball bat that had broken in the window of the truck.

Again he swung it down, hitting nearly the exact same spot on Spike's arm. Spike knew without a doubt it was broken, an open fracture from the feel, though due to adrenaline it was mostly numb.

The last things Spike remembered before blacking out were somehow sensing that the crowd around him was dispersing, and then something slamming into his face, then the back of his head.

[...]

Okie-dokie! There's a short chapter one. I have a bit of the story written, so if I get a response I'll post more. Thanks so much for reading. I'd love a review!