Who: Peter Vincent, mentions of Amy and Castiel What: The Complex is being blown up Where: Peter's Apartment on the 3rd floor When: Wednesday afternoon, October 9, 2013 Warnings: Peter's foul mouth, explosives, injuries Status: Narrative, open to Amy and Castiel if they wanna
He'd only left the room for a second. He needed to fetch something from his room, left Amy and Cas in the living room. He didn't even have time to duck or flinch as he felt the whole fucking building give a violent shudder. It wasn't like an earthquake; this was solid and sudden and came paired with a wave of searing heat and pressure.
For a moment he was thrown back four months, laying on the ground while the vampire burned out of him, his whole body afire. But no, it wasn't him on fire, it was the room. Not the room. Not yet. Flames somewhere in the building, next door, or the floor above, or below. Or everywhere.
He blinked, shook his head to clear it. He couldn't see, but he could feel; an enormous weight crushing him, squeezing his chest. Oh god, he couldn't breath! But his heartbeat was fierce and frantic, his ears ringing so that all he could hear was that beat, and if he struggled, he could focus on that, let it calm him and push back the panic. He was human still. Peter lifted his hand and hit wrist met wood; he was on the floor, half pinned by his bookcase. He didn't remember being thrown by the blast, or hitting the floor, or the case falling. What the fuck just happened?
Choking on dust and smoke, he coughed and bit down on a shriek of pain, agony lancing through his entire torso. All he could do for a long moment was lay there, head spinning, the heavy weight of the bookcase crushing his right side. He turned his head, opened hazy eyes; the corner of the case was caught on the bed, keeping it from falling flat on him. Slowly, he started to shift, inching away, books scrunching between him and the case and hardcover corners digging into his stomach. The building was still trembling, pieces of the walls and ceiling falling in chunks. Amy and Cas were in the next room, his mind supplied, and his mother, she was down the hall. Oh god, he had to move, had to find them, make sure they were okay. Adrenaline was helping white out some of the pain, but he still couldn't breathe easy. Mouthing a litany of curse words that he had no wind for, he tugged himself free of the book case. Once it was just his legs underneath, there was enough space to slip free easily.
He might be free of the bookcase, but the pressure didn't lessen at all. Everything hurt, but his ribcage was the worst, his breathing restricted and stabs of fiery pain shooting through his whole right side. He was slow to move, head spinning as he gingerly rolled over and pushed himself up. He was staggering before he even got all the way to his feet and had to lean against the wall for support. At least getting upright seemed to help his head clear some. But he had to move, the whole room was still trembling, broken drywall and furniture collapsing. His friends, his Mum... One arm looped around his own chest, hugging himself as he staggered to the doorway. "Amy!" he called, straining to hear an answer. "Cas!" He kept calling their names, his voice dry and rasping and breathless.