!!!-CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS-!!! Real Person Prompt Post // June 1st - June 15th
This is a post for any REAL PERSON PROMPTS. All prompts with pairings of people under the age of 18 should be posted to the underage section.
A few reminders:
1. Use your subject lines! Please start with either REQUEST or FILLED also please list the pairing and kinks2. Please come up with a title for your fic ( Read more... )
A few reminders:
1. Use your subject lines! Please start with either REQUEST or FILLED also please list the pairing and kinks2. Please come up with a title for your fic ( Read more... )
Icy dread spreads over Jared slowly like a poisonous fog. This psycho, this crazy fuck, who had been hanging out only a block from Jared’s house, waiting for him to stroll by like the oblivious fool he is…. and how had Jared been so stupid, so completely fucking stupid, to assume Gen was safe at home, wondering where he was? What if she was, if she was, if he had…
He stops breathing while the implications of this possibility play through his mind in a hideous series of crime scene photos. Gen dead. Gen shot. Gen stabbed. Gen dead.
“You…” he gasps, struggling for control. “You haven’t seen her, have you? Dru? Have you seen Ruby??” Oh god. Oh god ohgod.
“Of course not, Sam. She’s dead.”
“She’s, she’s,” and he’s still struggling to breathe.
“Dean killed her. You were there.”
“And you, you,” deep breath, “haven’t seen her since? Since Dean killed her?” He tries to feel relief but this guy is so clearly incapable of telling fantasy from reality.
“How could I? Though I think he might run into her in Purgatory.”
Oh god. She was safe, right? She had to be safe. Of course she was safe. She was probably, she was probably out having sushi with her friends. Or at the movies. Or…no, that would be stupid. Her husband was missing. Okay, but even if she’s sitting by the phone unhappy, she was safe. She had to be safe. She was safe.
Jared almost wishes he'd black out again, just to get away from his aching body and the rabbity panic in his chest, but he stays alert. He shifts himself as close to the wall as possible and pretends to fall asleep though, and after awhile he’s calm enough to actually drift off on waves of pain. He listens with half an ear to the oddly comforting sounds of Jensen and Misha doing their Batman growls at each other before sliding into an uneasy, nightmare-filled sleep.
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You doing a great job Author-Anon.
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Dru snores softly next to him. The laptop has gone dark.
He’d snapped awake a few minutes ago to find Dru’s hand resting on his stomach, but a quick reflexive swat with his mitt and it had retreated.
Still, there’s no going back to sleep now. Not with that hand ready to crawl back across his defenseless body like a fat ugly spider.
He starts with his toes and works up to his head, trying to remember how each injury occurred.
Some of his aches are the result of his confinement; his lower back has started twinging because he can’t stretch his arms or move his torso very well. The skin beneath the chain around his middle is raw and abraded from the constant grinding of metal against flesh, and his bare ankles are torn and bleeding in a few spots. His fingers, forced into fists for so many hours, have begun to cramp painfully. He flexes them as much as he can, but it doesn’t really help. He figures the mitts were designed to be one-size-fits-all, a designation that’s never really worked for him.
Also, he has to pee again, which he’s trying very hard not to think about, for many reasons. He’d been tempted to just let his bladder go and damn the embarrassment, until he imagined Dru stripping away his jeans with the same scissors that had destroyed his shirts.
He’ll say he’s doing you a favor because you’re covered in piss.
But those are all minor annoyances in the scheme of things, so he focuses on the injuries he received from Dru’s fucking rubber mallet.
He could have used a hammer, you know. Pierced right through the skull.
The last blow he remembers receiving is the one to his head, and he wonders gloomily how long he’s going to last if his brain is bleeding.
***
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28 hours earlier
“Hey!,” a man calls, waving to him from the other side of the street. Jared sees a beefy guy kneeling on the ground in front of a white cargo van.
It’s a beautiful night, sky the deepest blue of twilight before it begins to sink into black, and a soft breeze plays at his hair.
“Hey, can you help me? Someone just hit my dog!”
“Sit, girl, stay,” Jared says, dropping the leash and jogging across the road. Behind him, Sadie whines. He kneels down next to the injured animal, a terrier mix that is clearly dying. The dog rolls her eyes up to him in misery and he says, “It’s okay girl, we’ll get you fixed you up.” The dog pants shallowly, already on her way out.
“Can you help me lift-” Jared says, and looks over his shoulder to see the man swinging a mallet.
He ducks instinctively but the blow connects anyway, brutally smashing into his left shoulder and sending him sprawling. He scrapes his face along the pavement, skinning his forehead above his right eye. He doesn’t really feel the pain in his shoulder, not yet, as his body is flooded with adrenaline. But when he tries to push himself back up, his left arm won’t cooperate at all. Instead he rolls onto his right side, just in time to see the hammer swinging down again, slamming into his thigh with bruising force.
The man grabs him under his bad arm and tries to shove him into the van’s interior but Jared twists in his grasp, kicks out with his good leg. That earns him a blow to the stomach, and he’s doubled over wheezing. The world shifts underneath him as he’s forced into the van on his knees. He’s gasping for air but makes one last dive for freedom, fighting his way towards the open door. The man grabs his leg, twisting it roughly as he hauls him back in, and Jared feels the cartilage in his knee come tearing loose. He’s pretty much down for the count at that point as his shoulder finally begins to send up searing flares of pain that race up his neck and down his arm. Still, the guy must decide Jared isn’t totally incapacitated. As he slumps on the floor of the van, struggling to catch his breath, a final swing of the mallet nails him in the back of his skull. He doesn’t know anything else until he wakes up here in hell.
***
Obviously, the blow to his skull is the most troubling.
(Blows. You smashed your melon again going over in the chair.)
His shoulder is excruciating but not life-threatening, and his knee might actually be benefiting from the enforced bed rest.
(Lucky he didn’t break your femur. He probably pulled his swings a little. )
His blinding headache has finally begun to recede, which Jared thinks is maybe a good sign. His thoughts are not as chaotic (not as brain-damaged) as when he’d first come around cuffed to a chair. Still, he’s not exactly lucid.
For one thing, he’s pretty sure the voice that keeps whispering in his brain is Sam’s.
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Oh, you leave me short of breath and anxious each time! And it's such a good thing, really it is, poor guy! Every second is a cliffhanger, really.
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Fuck, fuck, Dru’s still sound asleep and the computer, with GODDAMN WIFI, is right fucking there…he jerks at the cuffs, tries to flex his fingers against the confining mitts, and thrashes against the chains in helpless fury. He yanks and twists his arms, desperate to free himself from his bizarre prison.
Finally, the grinding of jagged bones in his shoulder begins to mute his fury, and his struggles taper off. Breathing heavily, he screws up his face as tears of frustration leak from the corners of his eyes.
In the end, of course, all he managed to do was disturb his captor’s sleep. Dru makes a snuffling sound and scoots closer until his chest is pressed against Jared’s side.
-Well, that was helpful.
Shut up, Winchester.
***
Dru is cleaning up the remains of breakfast in the kitchenette. He had hand-fed Jared a piece of dry toast and some orange segments that he could barely choke down. He knows he should be ravenous, it’s been almost two days since he remembers eating anything, but the thought of food makes his stomach curdle.
-Probably bleeding out from your guts. You gotta get out of here, man.
He had tried to refuse the food but Dru was insistent. As he ate small bites from Dru’s fat fingers, Jared kept waiting for another burst of anger from this newest humiliation, but it never came. On top of all the other indignities Dru had put him through since flagging him down on the street, including a second mortifying trip to the bathroom, it barely registers. In fact, if he were to rank every degrading thing that had happened to him since Dru first flagged him down-
-Yeah, let’s not do that.
The quick glimpse of his face in the bathroom mirror had shocked him and Jared had to look away fast. His skin was gray, and cavernous shadows circled his eyes. The scrapes on his face from smashing headfirst on the pavement stood out luridly against his waxy skin. His eyes had a haunted quality he’s never seen in them before, and he’d looked so much like a fucking victim that he couldn’t stand the sight of himself.
Once Dru had deposited him back on the bed, he had carefully stowed away the laptop and now dabs at Jared’s face and chest with a wet washcloth. He’s quiet, too quiet, which Jared recognizes as a neon flashing danger sign.
“So, Dru, where are we anyway? Maybe, uh, maybe Dean and I’ve been here before?”
Nothing. Dru continues to wipe invisible toast crumbs away.
“Did we work a case near here? You’d probably know better than me.”
Nothing. Jared shifts uncomfortably.
“Dru? Hey man, you in there?”
Dru leaves the damp washcloth on his chest and spider-walks one of his tarantula hands down lower until it rests on Jared’s belt buckle.
“I know what kinds of filthy things you did with the devil,” Dru says suddenly, his voice thick.
“Uhh…”
“You can tell me, Sammy. You can tell me everything.” His hand moves down to the fly of Jared’s jeans.
Jared twists and jerks in his chains.
“Dru!” he shouts. “Back the fuck off!”
And Dru does, somehow he does. The hazy look in his eyes clears a little, and he straightens up again, snatches up the cloth, and stalks into the bathroom.
Jared turns his head to the wall and waits for the jackhammering of his heart slow down.
Dru’s in the bathroom a long time.
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(Hah. I sort of feel like with every comment I need to reiterate that this is good, because the comments are all very OH NO! - that's because I'm very invested in this, and the sadfaces are for WHAT's happening to this Jared, not HOW it's happening :) )
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Because…because it’s been almost two days. If somebody had seen him getting thrown into a van, wouldn’t he have been found by now? It’s seeming less and less likely that a SWAT team’s gonna burst through the flimsy screen door and spirit him to safety.
He has no idea how far they drove while he was unconscious in the back of the van, and no idea where he is now.
It’s terribly disorienting to realize he has no idea where he is. How can he not know where he is? He sees himself as a tiny sailboat lost in a vast gray sea, and feels the clawing panic start to return.
-That’s not helping. Breathe. Assess.
So. Okay. He’d done some assessing earlier while Dru was in the bathroom, examining his bonds for weak spots. It was the first chance he’d had to test his restraints methodically, while he wasn’t in a state of blind terror or rage.
As awful as his situation is, it’s maybe not completely hopeless. For one thing, he isn’t actually secured to the bed. He’s hobbled by his chains-and his current lack of opposable thumbs-but he isn’t tied down. His ankles are cuffed together and a long chain secures his feet to a second chain that circles his stomach. If he can draw up his legs, he might be able to get in one good kick.
But his left knee feels hot and swollen, and refuses to bend no matter much he tries to persuade it. So it seems like kicking is off the table for now.
What about the handcuffs? You can’t buy real ones on Amazon. They have to have a weak spot or some kind of release.
Jared studies the cuffs. There does look to be some kind of quick-release mechanism along the sides near his thumbs, but he thinks maybe they’ve been filed down. Just the smallest nub sticks out of the right cuff, and when he casually tries to rub his hands together to trigger the spring against the other cuff, nothing happens.
-All right, leave that for now. There’s no point getting free while Dru’s right there.
But, he thinks that he might have weakened the little swivel screw that attaches the links to the bracelet during his freak-out last night. Maybe if he can just push through the pain it would cause his shoulder, he can pry them apart with brute force.
As Jared stares fixedly at the cuffs, and especially the small screw that looks like it’s working loose, Dru pauses the video stream.
“What was it like when you were growing up?”
Jared is startled out of his musing. Dru is looking at him sympathetically, which makes him want to scream. Instead he closes his eyes.
He thinks about long Texas summers, his parents and siblings. Wonders if he’ll ever see them again.
Jared sighs. “What do you want to know?”
“It must have been so hard on you, travelling all the time.”
He shudders when a consoling hand pats his elbow.
“It was…” he really doesn’t know what to say.
-It sucked.
“It sucked.”
Dru waits for more, and Jared finds himself making up rambling stories about sleazy motels and bad diner food until he finally trails off, exhausted.
-You gotta get out of here.
What would you do? If it was you?
-Try to get a message to Dean.
Great. Thanks. He’s as real as you are.
-Dru doesn’t know that.
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