|Samantha Winchester does not eat murdered animals (tofubacon) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-03-02 18:24:00
|Entry tags:||jacob kal-el solo-kent, samantha winchester|
Who: Samantha Winchester and Jacob Kent
When: Backdated to last night, just after he gets her out but before the Winchesters have had time to join them back at the apartment.
Where: Winchester apartment
What: What went down at Meg's House of Fun, and rescue aftermath
Warnings: Violence, torture, angst, mention of a song about eating worms EW
Status: In progress
Time had become an accordion, taking moments that should have been short and pulling them out into a grotesque slow-motion warp, only to take longer periods of time and compress them into an instant, an eye-blink of here-and-gone. The moments before the wrack came in fits and starts. Waking up alone in the dark, somewhere cold, she’d had what felt like a free-falling eternity of shock and confusion. Then the pain had risen up like rock bottom, blooming in her decimated throat and bloodied head in a firecracker of a second that left her reeling. The moment when she’d tried to scream and realized that she couldn’t, that she couldn’t even whisper a recognizable word, was the equivalent of lifetimes.
But if he can’t hear me… she’d thought her stomach dropping, before she’d rallied and scolded herself, they’ll find me. They’ll be here before the demons get back. They’ve probably already killed them and now they’re just looking for me. I just have to wait, and be ready in case they’re a little late. But they’ll get here. She’d pulled herself into a corner, feeling her way along the floor until she hit a wall, and then huddled there, praying for her eyes to somehow adjust to the darkness enough to be useful, training herself to stop trying to whimper with the pain because it only hurt her throat. When the screams started, echoing up from somewhere downstairs, she’d curled her hands over her ears, and pressed her lips together. Where are you, where are you, where are you a silent pleading chant in her head as she willed her father to come bursting through the door, her mother and Ben on his heels, willed Jacob and James to just appear and grab her with a joke from the second about taking rides with strangers. Those moments were both so long that she wondered (prayed) she’d been forgotten, and so brief that when she heard footsteps outside the door she felt all that time collapse and blow away like dust, not even close to long enough.
Time became a blur again after that. She’d already felt around the room, in her pockets, for weapons and come up with nothing, but when Meg reached for her she tried to fight anyway. She’d learned self-defense alongside her cousins and brother, kicks and gouges and how to throw someone bigger than you over your shoulder, but at the end of the day, if your opponent was stronger than you, and you were already hurt, you were going to lose. It was what came after that, that had never quite made it into the lessons; tussles on the grass or practice mats in the last light of a summer night, Emily laughing at the novelty of doing things the ‘normal’ way and the adults all trying to be serious but not quite able when Ben dumped a handful of grass down the back of her tshirt and she’d shrieked and danced in circles trying to shake it out, completely forgetting that she was supposed to be defending herself from him. She’d used up all her tricks, all her carefully taught moves, and Meg had only called in two more demons who had held her down while the demon stripped off her hoodie, then grabbed the cloth of her shirt and cut it to shreds with her knife. Why are they… Samantha had thought, genuinely confused. Then another demon had wheeled in the wrack and the table with the knives, more kinds of knives than even Samantha, who had grown up in a hunters’ household, had ever seen. A fragment of a silly song about eating worms her father used to sing to her when she was little flitted across her mind, Fat ones, skinny ones, some the size of your head, and she almost gave in to hysterical giggles as they hauled her up and slammed her down onto the table, tightened straps over her chest, wrists, hips, and ankles.
She would realize, later, that she couldn’t have been under the knives for more than ten or fifteen minutes. If it had been longer her injuries would have been worse, would have moved on from her torso to a new canvas. Still, as it happened it felt like forever, and in any case it was enough time to forget that she wasn’t capable of screaming any more, to open her mouth and force as much air through her ravaged throat as she could, so that her face was contorted into a scream, but all that came out was a low, staccato, rasp of air. She could tell that it was making Meg laugh, but it wasn’t long before she couldn’t make herself stop.
She didn’t hear them coming up the stairs, completely missed the door collapsing under her father’s kick and the shouts from the demons. All she knew was that they’d stopped cutting her, the entire world narrowed to that absence of one sensation. Even as Jacob had reached her side and ripped the restraints away she’d hardly reacted, her gaze flicking over him like he was just another section of the wall as she’d tried to process anything beyond the fact that it had stopped, that the pain was receding. The stupor might have lasted forever, except that as Jacob bent over her, her eyes had landed on a demon, just behind him, almost within reach…for a moment her friend’s near-invulnerability, her own injuries, even the other fighters in the room were all forgotten and she’d had one of the knives in her hand before she’d even decided to reach out for it. She’d launched herself off the table, using her momentum where her actual strength failed, to push the blade into the demon’s throat, and then had fallen with it, the host’s blood staining her fingers as she collapsed to the side.
She’d barely had time to hit the floor before Jacob pulled her up again and they were airborne.
Now, as they touched down in the apartment, she didn’t know how she could have moved that fast, how she could even have thought of it. Her mind seemed to have gone blank, and even the pain seemed distant, so that she could almost mistake the numbness for the sensation of safety. Almost, except for the fact that even as she felt Jacob land she didn’t raise her head from where she’d pressed it against his shoulder or make any move to loosen her grip on him. Let go, she told herself, just let go. He has to look at your neck, at the cuts, but thinking of that only made a sob catch in her chest, and then she was trying to force it down again before it reached her throat and shaking with the effort of control, and she couldn’t even think of letting go.