Just Muse Me 27.2.1 Pain to come
It was getting hard to focus. Too much time underground, too little light. Too little food and variation in food, her nutrition was lacking, and she wasn't getting enough water. Or exercise. A part of her wondered if the shackles weren't growing into her body, under her skin, but they hadn't been on anywhere near long enough for that. Which she remembered, when she was more awake and thinking clearly. Those moments were coming less often and farther between nowadays.
Most of the time she lay on her mattress and plotted ever more daring and ridiculous ways of escaping. Dislocating limbs and then slamming them back into place, like that guy in that movie. Slicking up her wrists with her own blood and yanking them out of the shackles. Things like that.
The real world seemed hazy and far away. She had no idea how long she'd been held down here. It felt like ages. It might have been only a few days. She'd lost track of the number of meals he'd brought her. She wondered how Cas was doing.
One thing she was damn sure of, there would not be any Stockholm Syndrome going on here. No identifying with the captor, no coming to view him with anything resembling a positive outlook. He was keeping her chained up in a damn basement. That was not something that should inspire squishy huggy feelings. If he ever decided he trusted her enough to let her loose, if she ever made that mistake, she would beat him with the damn shackles until he begged for her mercy, and then she would remind him just how much mercy and compassion he hadn't shown. And then she would show him the same.
Thoughts like these kept her company at night. Kept her from crying into the dirty mattress.
Some nights, like tonight, and that was assuming it was night at all it kept her awake. She knew he was upstairs. She'd heard him coming home and thumping around, and then there had been dinner which she had refrained from throwing up onto his feet, and then he'd gone back upstairs again. She might as well get some sleep while she could, but sleep wasn't coming.
When the first crash happened at first she thought she was still asleep. That she was having some sort of hallucination or a nightmare. Then the second crash happened and there was shouting and he was falling down the stairs, throwing himself down the stairs, and then he was grabbing her and holding her up in front of him, between him and...
... Cas.
Beautiful, handsome, brave... really pissed off Cas. Bright blue eyes and raspy voice from, she didn't know what from but she didn't like that part, and hair all sticking out at ends and he had a shotgun. She laughed, tired and more than a little hysterical.
"You look so hot right now."
She didn't know if he heard her. Everyone was saying things, shouting, Cas was shouting, he was shouting behind her, in her ear. It all seemed so unreal. Like a movie. She was the hostage, he had her pinned against him with one hand on her stomach, Cas and Winchester pointing guns at them. Like a movie.
Did that make her the damsel?
"Fuck that."
Half-deafened and half-aware, Pam ducked. Well, pulled down, tried to squirm out of his grip, and it was so unexpected that he half-let her and half sank down with her. Close enough. She was no goddamn damsel in distress, dammit, she was, hell. Princess Leia. And she knew how that had ended.
When she blinked again they were pulling her off of him, and she didn't know if he was alive or dead. It didn't matter. Cas had her now and that was Cas, it smelled like him, like he hadn't taken a shower in a day or two but it smelled like him, it sounded like him, like his voice. It was him. Solid and warm and alive, and not a hallucination. That was what mattered. That, and one other thing.
"Would someone please get these fucking manacles off me??"
Most of the time she lay on her mattress and plotted ever more daring and ridiculous ways of escaping. Dislocating limbs and then slamming them back into place, like that guy in that movie. Slicking up her wrists with her own blood and yanking them out of the shackles. Things like that.
The real world seemed hazy and far away. She had no idea how long she'd been held down here. It felt like ages. It might have been only a few days. She'd lost track of the number of meals he'd brought her. She wondered how Cas was doing.
One thing she was damn sure of, there would not be any Stockholm Syndrome going on here. No identifying with the captor, no coming to view him with anything resembling a positive outlook. He was keeping her chained up in a damn basement. That was not something that should inspire squishy huggy feelings. If he ever decided he trusted her enough to let her loose, if she ever made that mistake, she would beat him with the damn shackles until he begged for her mercy, and then she would remind him just how much mercy and compassion he hadn't shown. And then she would show him the same.
Thoughts like these kept her company at night. Kept her from crying into the dirty mattress.
Some nights, like tonight, and that was assuming it was night at all it kept her awake. She knew he was upstairs. She'd heard him coming home and thumping around, and then there had been dinner which she had refrained from throwing up onto his feet, and then he'd gone back upstairs again. She might as well get some sleep while she could, but sleep wasn't coming.
When the first crash happened at first she thought she was still asleep. That she was having some sort of hallucination or a nightmare. Then the second crash happened and there was shouting and he was falling down the stairs, throwing himself down the stairs, and then he was grabbing her and holding her up in front of him, between him and...
... Cas.
Beautiful, handsome, brave... really pissed off Cas. Bright blue eyes and raspy voice from, she didn't know what from but she didn't like that part, and hair all sticking out at ends and he had a shotgun. She laughed, tired and more than a little hysterical.
"You look so hot right now."
She didn't know if he heard her. Everyone was saying things, shouting, Cas was shouting, he was shouting behind her, in her ear. It all seemed so unreal. Like a movie. She was the hostage, he had her pinned against him with one hand on her stomach, Cas and Winchester pointing guns at them. Like a movie.
Did that make her the damsel?
"Fuck that."
Half-deafened and half-aware, Pam ducked. Well, pulled down, tried to squirm out of his grip, and it was so unexpected that he half-let her and half sank down with her. Close enough. She was no goddamn damsel in distress, dammit, she was, hell. Princess Leia. And she knew how that had ended.
When she blinked again they were pulling her off of him, and she didn't know if he was alive or dead. It didn't matter. Cas had her now and that was Cas, it smelled like him, like he hadn't taken a shower in a day or two but it smelled like him, it sounded like him, like his voice. It was him. Solid and warm and alive, and not a hallucination. That was what mattered. That, and one other thing.
"Would someone please get these fucking manacles off me??"