I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

The same goes for Starsky and Hutch, and its characters as created by William Blinn and produced by Spelling-Goldberg Productions. Don't own the show, rights, or any of the characters. Never will any copyright infringement be intended - ever. I'm only declaring that the plot for this story is directly inspired by 1977 season 2, episode 14 entitled 'Blood Bath'.

Note: So, no break for the weary DWOCD fan when the muses are in control. CinderH is awesome for the end to end beta on this and on such short notice.

Chapter 1

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O*

He sat there in absolute silence. There was no reason to speak, but he was definitely listening; in fact, his ears were straining to hear anything besides his own harsh breathing. And not only was there an absence of sound, there was no light.

He only knew that he was sitting on a very hard metal chair in a cold, dank room. And not because he could see those things either, but only because he could feel them. And the room was small. Danny could feel that too. The sound of his own breath ricocheted back almost into his face as he worked at controlling a rising panic. He had woken just a few minutes earlier slouched sloppily in the chair, coming awake with a dull moan to realize he wasn't even cuffed or tied. They didn't fear him or worry about his escape, and that in itself was alarming.

Awakening confused, alone and in the dark, shivering from the dampness and not hearing anything but his own breath and maybe an occasional drip of distant water, Danny was almost afraid to move. It was a growing fear that he couldn't quite tamp down and it was becoming worse as time stood still and nothing happened. Barely aware of anything else, Danny's muzzy brain could only wrap itself around the silent, dark cold. As another chill gripped him, he shook again uncontrollably and his teeth almost chattered. His shirt was also damp and perhaps more so on one side over the other as he vaguely realized that a warm wetness was still spreading down towards his left hip. He gently touched the area to find his shirt ripped and an obviously deep bloody crease that made him hiss as his fingers connected with the stinging gash. Unable to see, he sat there again straining to hear anything beyond the small space. Danny shifted his feet and winced again as their bruises and tiny cuts woke up across both soles and one heel. Dimly, he realized that the floor seemed to be a hard concrete as one bare foot connected with a wet oily puddle.

Hitting the cold puddle provided that final jolt that pushed some of the remaining cobwebs from his mind and he blinked furiously in the pitch blackness as he rocked himself into action.

Gingerly, he reached a hand out in front of where he sat and expecting to touch a wall, and instead found nothing. Keeping one hand on the chair, he stood slowly and nearly fell as wave after wave of weakness and nausea washed over him. His feet were sore and his head pounded in time to a much too rapid heart beat and he had to wait to regain his balance before releasing the chair determined to shuffle forward a few steps.

Hand out-stretched, his wound throbbed subtly in his side with each careful step he made until he found the wall only about five feet from where he had started. He leaned heavily into it and then limped around to the right, pacing the area to estimate he was in very small room that didn't seem to be more than ten by ten feet in size. But two things brought back a dim memory. In his circuit around the room, his hand had not connected with anything resembling a door or a window. Each of the four cold walls were made of a hard cement and much too smooth. Fearfully, Danny reached up to brush his finger tips against the ceiling which was only about a foot above his head. It was here that he finally found something that felt like a seam and further away, maybe a hinge.

The faint memory tickled his brain as he shuffled cautiously back to the middle of the space to connect with the chair. Barefoot, his feet were now completely wet and almost numb from cold due to the occasional cold puddle he'd accidentally shuffled through. Using both hands for security, he sat back down breathing hard and rubbed at his chest with a shaking hand.

A black van .. a car accident? Black hooded men and soft chanting. Tomas. The one name over and over again in the same sickening monotone. Two guns discharging and one he was sure, had been his own. A struggle and something being injected into his arm. And then nothing until he'd been dragged a distance through deep jungle. Pain spiking through his bleeding side and then into his bare feet as he alternated between stumbling over rough terrain and being violently pulled forward. Splintered memories of what looked like a mine shaft and of a moment where he had once again resisted and put up a fight.

Even drugged, it had taken two men to tackle him down to the ground, holding him bodily as a third once again injected him with the fast acting drug. He remembered a growled warning by one as any remaining fight oozed out of his muscles. "You'll kill him. Tomas doesn't wish for that .. it is not his dream."

Seconds later, he was limp and pliable; barely aware but unable to resist as he was dragged through increasingly darker and deeper tunnels. He had sensed disturbing snippets of other people and a few small rooms lit by bare bulbs or candles. Chanting of 'Tomas', a bitter smell of old food, worse cooking and soft conversations.

But he was taken deeper into the darkness and as the light receded, weakly tried once more to escape and get away. But there had been too many and Danny had been easily felled by a rough punch to his stomach with a threat to keep moving.

"Get him down there. Down. Tomas dreamed this." A rough calloused voice demanded as strong punishing hands pushed and pulled him bodily down a short wooden ladder.

Pain again coursed into his feet as they connected with splintered wood, he'd missed steps and stumbled to his knees on the wet, cold concrete floor. A memory of more pain slamming into him as his fading attempts at escape earned him a solid blow to his wounded side and then almost nothing as he warred with consciousness.

Doubled over, he was tossed into the chair gasping and confused. In the background, more chants of Tomas reached his ears. And then his arms were tightly held as another darkly hooded man for a third time, plunged a needle into his vein. Muscles that suddenly and completely refused to cooperate made him sag immediately followed by a severe struggle to breathe as his body revolted from the near overdose.

"Can't .. " Danny huffed as he lay sprawled in the chair and his vision dimmed. ".. can't .. breathe.." Angry voices came and went near him but none offering help. And at one point, he felt his head pulled up by his hair while brutal fingers groped around his neck to feel his struggling cartoid pulse.

"Too much you fool. If he dies now .. it's not of his dreams. Tomas will be angered."

His last conscious memory as too little oxygen reached his lungs was the fading argument and of being plunged into darkness as the top hatch was dropped loudly into place. And then …nothing.

Danny had no idea of how long ago that had been or if the drugs were affecting his memory but the uncontrollable tremors were still coursing through him. His hands were like ice as his heart beat heavily through his chest wall and his ragged breaths filled the small space. The drugs were undoubtedly in his system and wreaking havoc on his respiration and blood pressure. Danny closed his eyes and hugged his arms across his chest against the coldness seeping in through his bare feet and much too thin shirt.

Dizzy and muzzy-headed, he stopped trying to hear the outside world. Images of hooded people eerily chanting to a faceless body named Tomas danced in his mind and he groaned against the hazy memory as he allowed himself to sink down into his own blackness.

~ to be continued ~