A/N: Yeah, I wrote this after a plot bunny bit me and demanded to see a claustrophobic Carlos, and then expanded when I felt that it wouldn't be fair, leaving the rest of the guys out of it. Shocking, right?

Disclaimer: *sorts through contracts* Lesse. Hardy Boys, NCIS: LA, all things Justin Bartha… nope, BTR ain't in here.

Enjoy!

…

"Carlos, where are you going?"

Carlos turned to see Logan jogging up to him, holding half of the pizza in his hand and pushing his sunglasses further up his face.

"To grab my helmet," he said, grinning. "James bet me that I couldn't jump from Jo's balcony into the pool, so I'm gonna prove him wrong."

Logan looked vaguely worried. "I'd better come with you, then, in case you need first aid."

"Aren't we all certified in CPR?" Carlos pointed out, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he shouldered his way into the elevator next to him.

Logan shrugged. "I don't think James would go anywhere near your mouth, Kendall's doing something with Katie at the moment, and I highly doubt you'd be doing chest compressions to yourself." He shook his head. "But I was joking—you'll be fine. I just have to grab something from the apartment."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Carlos laughed as the doors closed.

…

A lot can happen in two minutes.

Carlos pried his eyes open, feeling crusty from the inside out. There was the dimmest light shining onto him overhead, but it wasn't bright enough to be the sun. Opening his eyes made his head throb, so Carlos opted to shut them again and just lay there, resting.

As he lay he became aware of three things. For one, he wasn't in his room, on his bed. The floor beneath him was rock hard but the material was coarse and unsmooth, like school carpet that was there solely for decoration and not for comfort. He couldn't think of anywhere else that might have carpet like that save for school. But he also remembered that school had been out for the last week and a half, so there was no way he could be there.

The second thing was that his body ached. Carlos could suddenly feel the back of his head pulsing with his heartbeat, smashing wave after wave of pain into his skull. There was something off about his right shoulder, too—it felt distant and numb, but throbbed like his head did. The more aware he was of the pain, the more it seemed to hurt. Carlos' eyebrows screwed together as his face twisted, trying to ward off the pain.

Breathing echoed back to his ears, alerting Carlos to the third thing. There was someone else in here with him. His eyes flew open again, barely flinching this time as the light drilled into his retinas. Despite the dim glow, he still could barely make out the outline of a body lying next to him. Carlos started to sit up, but as soon as his right hand pressed down on the carpet to put himself up his shoulder went haywire.

Carlos hissed and released the pressure, lying back down. Grinding his teeth to cut off a whimper, he tried to remember what had happened. He pulled up nothing. It was a blank. Carlos stared up at the ceiling—it was tiled with giant squares that fit into the tiny room. It really was a tiny room, too, barely the size of a walk-in closet and maybe even smaller than that. Carlos followed the corners of the room to the large silver doors on his left, as well as the panel of buttons that blinked on and off.

The elevator…?

With a snap, it all came rushing back. The tremors that built up, the shaking, the power flickering, dropping, how he and Logan had screamed…

"Logan," he croaked out. He was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Clearing it, he tried to nudge Logan's still form next to him, ignoring the painful twinge in his shoulder. "Logan?"

No answer. He was out cold. Carlos felt his heart speed up, making his head hurt even worse. He was vaguely aware of blood trickling down his cheek from a wound over his hairline. Remembering how the elevator jerked suddenly to a stop and threw him against the railing on the side of the elevator, Carlos gingerly touched his forehead. It was still wet, still bleeding.

Head wounds bleed a lot. He could practically hear Logan's voice in his ear, a memory from a long time ago after he'd been smashed into the boards playing a nasty hockey team. So, was it a good thing that there seemed to be a lot of blood caked into his hair? Carlos didn't want to think about that. He wanted to ask Logan.

First things first. Carlos pushed himself up on his good elbow, hissing slightly at the pain it caused. He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and shoved as hard as he could off of his palm. The momentum tilted him back so he could rest, sitting against the wall beneath the railing. Carlos could see Logan's face now, his slack mouth slightly parted and eyes closed. His head was bleeding, too, but the gash was at the back of his head. How did that happen? Logan was lying face-down now—where had he hit the back of his head?

It was then Carlos noticed the other railing on the wall across from him, sprawled out on Logan's back. It was the same one Carlos had accidentally loosened by jumping up and down on this same elevator too many times. He was amazed that Buddha Bob hadn't fixed it by now, even if he never told anyone it was broken.

Guilt instantly flooded into him. Logan could have brain damage or a concussion, all because he had too much fun jumping up and down on the elevator.

"Logie," he couldn't help but whimper, watching his friend breathe. He wanted him to wake up and tell him what to do. The lights on the button panel kept flickering into his eyes at irregular intervals, and it was driving him crazy. The more he looked at the room, the harder it was to breathe. Why was it so small? Why didn't it have vents or something so he could breathe easier?

Carlos started to panic. He'd never felt this freaked out in elevators before, but the walls seemed to be getting closer and closer the more he looked at them. How much air did they have in here, anyways? Wasn't there some way to find out by measuring the dimensions of the room and dividing it by—

"No," he said out loud, without meaning to. No math would help. He just knew that they must've been out for a while. Who knew how much air they had in here?

Carlos sighed out loud and tilted his head back, accidentally smacking it against the low railing and sending stars spinning in front of his eyes. As his vision swam back in focus, he spied one a compartment on the panel that was slightly bent, open. The picture on the front of the silver box was faded, but Carlos could still make out the blue color and shape of a telephone.

His heart leapt into his throat. If he could just make it over there, he could call for help! Carlos started to sit up straighter, but he'd forgotten about his shoulder. Straightening up had jarred it against the railing, and this time the pain flared so hard that Carlos was practically knocked over again, breathing heavy. This was nothing. He played hockey with cracked ribs and still managed to win the game before passing out—he could definitely make it over to the phone to call for help.

Carlos eyed the distance. The panel was diagonally across from him, to the right of the elevator doors. And Logan was in front of him, so he'd have to climb over him. Reaching up with his good arm, Carlos pulled on the railing. His chest tightened, and his shoulder practically screamed in protest, but Carlos managed to climb to his feet. He leaned against the railing and the wall. Standing up, the room seemed to get even smaller. The tightness in his chest got worse, but Carlos shook it off. He stepped gingerly over Logan, careful not to touch him in case he was more injured than he could see, and stumbled over to the panel. It was low, and Carlos knew that if he sat down he might be forced to get up again. But it would be worth it.

Dropping to his knees, Carlos used his good arm to pry open the panel the rest of the way. He found the phone and picked it off of its cradle. There were no buttons to dial, so he assumed it automatically called one an emergency office or something. That thought spurred another crazy one as he imagined bright blue electricity sailing across lines of wires, bringing his words to someone on the other end.

It took him a second to realize that there was nothing happening in the phone. There was no dial tone, let alone voices asking him if he were okay, like he expected them to do. Carlos frowned and lifted the phone, watching as the connecting line went completely slack. He pulled the wire out of its socket until he got to the alarmingly frayed ends. It wasn't connected.

Carlos dropped his head into his hands. No one knew they were trapped in here. What now? Logan was unconscious and Carlos could feel the walls closing in even more. His head pounded as the adrenaline wore off, leaving him feeling like he'd been hit with a wrecking ball.

"Somebody help," he whispered as blackness took hold.