Disclaimer: I do not own Jigsaw, Adam, Lawrence, or any of them.

Rated T for mention of drug use and, of course, foul language as I can't write Adam without it.

Thanks for all the great reviews everyone! And yea, I'm starting to think that even I don't have the courage to let my two favorite guys die…there might be a chance of a rescue in their future….

"Hey Lawrence…"

"I'm right here, Adam."

I can't focus on him anymore. He may be only a few feet away but that may as well be Brazil for all it fucking matters now. Every few minutes I have to call out to him, just to make sure that he's still listening. Because things are starting to happen and he's a doctor and so what if he can't reach me to make me better, so what if he can't produce a can of coke out of thin air, he's still a doctor and he's still Lawrence.

"Lawrence…"

I say it again. Because I just have to be sure. I want to tell him what's happening to me. I want to tell him that the room is blurry and that I feel like my head is about to float off of my body. I feel like I'm stoned but without the actual buzz and oh how I could go for a fucking joint right now….

"Yes, Adam?"

I won't tell him that though. Not just the part about the joint, the other parts too. Because he's a surgeon and he likes to fix things. He can't fix my eyes from over there and he sure as hell can't make my head stop spinning. There is no point in telling him because it will only make him worry like he did when I tried to get some sleep. All I wanted to do was take a fucking nap, because I am so tired, but he won't let me. Every time my eyes even begin to close he starts asking me about stupid shit like my childhood and did I have any brothers or sisters.

I don't talk about that shit. Ever. To anyone.

For some reason, though, I think that I might have talked to him about it. One day. If we weren't dying.

"Adam?"

There's his voice again, starting to panic. Must have let myself blink for too long.

The thing about dying is that your brain starts to do things you don't want it to do. Like ask stupid questions to the guy you really don't want to look stupid in front of. Even if you don't know why he's that important to you when you've known him less than a day.

"Lawrence, what do you think hell is like?"

The look he gives me is just as confused as if I'd told him about the joint. But the question seems to process quickly and then he just looks at me like I'm some scared little kid asking about where my dead goldfish goes when its flushed down the toilet bowl.

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Adam." His tone makes me feel warm inside, even though I seem to be getting colder by the minute. I hide my shivering hands in my bloodstained shirt.

"I'm not…really." I watch the impression of my hands inside of my now nearly see through t-shirt. I can't look at his eyes when my brain won't shut the hell up. "I saw this thing once, one of those documentaries, and it was talking about the different levels of hell and how there are different levels of punishment are for all of the sins."

There is a pause before he answers.

"Documentary? You don't strike me as the documentary type, Adam." There is humor in his voice and I can't stop the smile from forming on my face. He was right, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

"Haha, very funny." And I remove one of my fingers from my T-shirt just for him. "It was at some chicks house, alright? We were getting stoned and…" Oh God, now I'm talking about joints too. Shut the fuck up brain… "I don't know man. I mean, there could be something to that shit right?"

He shifts into a more comfortable position, if there is one of those on a moldy bathroom floor when you're chained to a pipe, and sighs.

Here comes the lecture.

"You're not going to hell Adam. Hell is reserved for people like Jigsaw -people who kill innocent people or watch them die without even trying to do anything about it." I looked up at him and we make eye contact for the first time since I started this conversation. "You're not one of those people."

It's my turn to shift positions now. My feet are going numb. I run my tongue over my dry lips once even though my mouth is just as dry.

"You just met me Lawrence, how do you know I'm not some fucked up crazy psychopathic Unabomber?" This makes him laugh – the kind of laugh that makes his eyes light up. I like making people laugh, but I especially like making Lawrence laugh.

"Unabomber? Somehow I just can't picture that." I smile and push my hands further into my T-Shirt. I can't remember the last time I was so cold.

He's looking at me now, in a way that makes me warm again. I drop my eyes before he sees me blush.

"You saved my life, Adam. Zepp was going to shoot me, he was going to kill me. And you saved my life."

For the first time in awhile I notice the dead body in between us. The real dead body- not the guy pretending to be a dead body. The guy that I killed with a toilet lid. I know that I didn't have a choice. Lawrence had told me to play dead, told me not to move no matter what happened. I couldn't do it though. I couldn't just lie there and listen while some beady eyed freak murdered my…my…whatever he was and is to me.

But now I'm a murderer too, just like Jigsaw. Next stop – hell.

"You're a hero, Adam." Lawrence spoke in his still peaceful voice, contradicting my own out of control brain. "What did your documentary say about heroes?"

I stop to think about it. Truth is, I was pretty high so I don't remember much past the monsters eating peoples brains and eternal pits of fire. And I'm fairly sure it got boring once they started talking about the heaven stuff…

I give my most smug smile and shrug. "That they all go to heaven?" Oh wait, I think that's dogs. My brain really is fucked.

Lawrence laughs. I'm starting to wonder if he can read my thoughts. I get my answer when he balls up his long sleeved shirt and throws it in my direction.

"You're shivering."