[Currently in M01, from hereKurt exhaled loudly and suddenly when Kon sat on him. Jeez, way to knock the wind out of someone! Kurt was barely half Kon's weight, he would be crushed
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Angel sensed that comment was supposed to mean something, but he had no idea what. Three years surrounded by teenagers, though, and he was used to being lost halfway through conversations, so he let it go.
Besides, with the doors unlocking at last, he was busy with getting down to Willow's room as soon as he could. She was gone, he was almost sure of it, but he needed to see for himself. Just in case.
He'd managed to avoid having Brian catch sight of his weapons so far, but that was apparently changing tonight. It seemed Brian was going to be awhile longer and Angel knew it'd be just as awkward if he hung around for no apparent reason. Never mind. He supposed most of the truth had come out at this point, so it wasn't important anymore.
He pulled the axe out from beneath the mattress and slipped quietly out of the room before Brian could say anything about it.
The fact Angel had somehow hidden a friggen ax under his bed was faintly alarming. But it also told Dean that one, he should be happy he hadn't woken up with the damn thing in his back and two, apparently the nurses didn't frequently check obvious hiding places like under a mattress. Or, y'know, inside a closet. Despite how much of an amateur he thought Angel was, he made it a point not to get too much on his bad side before he started giving the guy ideas
( ... )
Wasn't often the warlock had been knocked out by force. He remembered how it felt, though, and somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, the nebulous thought of what the fuck was accompanied by the asshole should know better than to let us up once we're down. His head alone felt like it weighed a ton, but he forced his chin up off of his chest, and that was when things really began to click into place. Although he tried to move an arm, then his legs, they weren't moving. Something wasn't...
The first emotion to strike him was anger, not fear, and he heaved his entire body against the restraints with a clear sense of indignation despite his spinning head. Unless it was because of one of the families, Reid had never been caught with his pants down, never been vulnerable. Never had to worry, never the underdog. For a moment, he didn't understand why whatever was holding him wasn't immediately ripped apart by invisible hands. He was... sitting up? Tied up? Gagged?
And then, of course, context began to sink in. Which only made him more
( ... )
Dean watched as Punk-Ass started to come to; he clearly hadn't expected to get himself tied to the chair and so far it hadn't occurred to him he was trapped. The demon surged against the restraints, but with that Key of Solomon up there on the ceiling, the black-eyed sonuvabitch wasn't going anywhere. Dean remained where he sat. He set his flashlight to the side, angling it so he could keep a better eye on his prisoner.
"Morning, Sunshine," he drawled with a grin. He offered a seemingly casual wave with the bowie knife. "I gotta say, man, I was expectin' more of a fight, maybe get some TK action thrown at me instead of you going down so easily. Anyway, we're gonna have ourselves a nice little chat real soon, so you might as well get comfy
( ... )
Reid clenched his teeth so hard they felt fit to crack apart right there in his mouth. He didn't need to try and squint past the glare of light and see who was talking to be pissed the fuck off at what they were saying, and damn if he didn't recognize the voice, to boot. With single-minded focus, he held his head steady; when his chin lowered slightly, it wasn't out of weakness.
Piece of shit! He'd show this mother of all fuck-ups a fight
( ... )
And there they were. The tell-tale black eyes of a demon, the surefire sign you were dealing with a bad sonuvabitch who would probably skin you alive and wear whatever was left as a coat just for a laugh. He definitely hadn't been imagining it the other night
( ... )
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There wasn't much finesse required in doing something simple like undoing physical matter, but Reid just... couldn't. Couldn't get it! Like he was thirteen again, being asked to untie a series of knots without laying a hand on them, learning how to control his brute force and turn it into something more refined.
He preferred force. Just not when it was all he had.
He could break the chair, he was sure he could break the chair. But the duct tape, damn it. Fuck! Was he really stuck? Was he really stuck? He squeezed his blackened eyes shut briefly, felt his fingernails bite into his palms.
Of course, it was a little hard to concentrate when someone was punching him in the face, making his head jerk around and everything flare in a hot white burst of disorientation. Time seemed to grind to a halt right then and there. That's it. For a moment, he held completely still, refusing to so much as blink in response, but slowly, he turned his face back while Dean spoke. It could be hard to tell, looking into eyes that
( ... )
Shit, so this was like Meg, where the demon had a few tricks up its sleeve despite being trapped. That or the Key of Solomon wasn't up to full strength because he'd had to draw it in crayon.
Dean went sprawling on his back when Punk-Ass finally did hit him with that TK action. He wheezed, feeling like he'd either been hit by a truck or by Company Man again, and rolled over, gritting his teeth. Far as he could tell, he hadn't had anything broken, but he wasn't about to give Punk-Ass more of a chance for a few potshots. The hunter got to his feet, doing his best to hide his wince and hoping the little bastard hadn't reopened his injuries from the other night, despite being tied up and about to get a hell of a nice tan downstairs tonight. The last thing he needed to be was bleeding all over the place again because it turned out some demons didn't lose all their juice under a shoddy Key of Solomon. Obviously they couldn't just sit tight and wait for Sam - or, at least, Punk-Ass couldn't. Not conscious, anyway
( ... )
Before the bastard even hit the floor, the warlock was straining as hard as he could against his restraints, thrashing with all he had. The chair tipped dangerously. He couldn’t think, see, or hear anything beyond the meek reservoir of Power pounding in him, the need to cream the sorry fuck who thought he could get away with getting the drop on him and then thinking he could jerk Reid around when Reid was wide fucking awakeNo, no way, as long as he had the slightest bit of magic, he wasn’t going to “sit tight” and put up with whatever crap the guy had planned
( ... )
Even before Sam reached the door, he could hear the sound of something crashing. Crap. He should've expected as much.
He swung open the door without hesitation, no clue as to what he was expecting the scene inside would look like. Not very good, it turned out. At least Dean was on his feet and the demon was down. And inside the trap, even though evidence of an ongoing scuffle was pretty clear. What?
Damn it. He'd seen this before, though the last time, he was the one tied down. Meg. If the Key wasn't reining the demon in, reciting an exorcism could be completely ineffective, too. Except the demon was still struggling to free itself from the chair. Was it that powerless? This wasn't making much sense; snapping free of that tape should've been no problem if there was nothing holding its full power at bay. So maybe the Key was only...what? Half effective
( ... )
This particular demon really didn't want to be here, did it?
Dean staggered, thrown off-balance when his target suddenly was gone, the chair and its prisoner thudding loudly to the floor in the darkness. Seriously, what did this one even think it was doing? It wasn't gonna be able to step out of the devil's traps lines, no matter how much he struggled like a wild cat to get free of the chair. All Dean knew was he was probably gonna want to get more duct tape and extension cord, especially if he was struggling this much and that was before the actual exorcism. He had reached down and roughly hauled up both the chair and the imprisoned demon when Sam suddenly let himself in
( ... )
Somewhere, something felt jarred from the fall. Or maybe a lot of somethings. All Reid’s body knew was that there was pain in new places, and it sizzled up and down his nerves, only adding to the rest of it. But Reid wasn’t about to let that stop him; he was acting on instinct, and that’d always been good enough for him. Instinct faltered, though, when there was movement in the dark, and a shifting of stale air--his eyes went to the door where some else seemed to be, and his trembling muscles sagged a bit at the distraction. The warlock couldn’t hear much of anything over the buzzing in his head and the sound of his own hot, laboured panting, but he thought he caught some words.
Which didn’t make sense to the part of Reid’s mind that was still rational, because they sounded like Latin. Real Latin. The Book of Damnation Latin.
Before he knew what was happening, him and the chair were back upright, and over the sick sensation of his stomach crawling into his chest, he realized there was more duct tape going on. He jerked his head,
( ... )
Sam had been ready to ignore Dean outright, seeing as he was kind of very not interested in Dean getting answers of any sort. He just wanted to send the demon packing before something about the deal or any of that spilled past its lips. Dean could yell at him about it later all he wanted
( ... )
Dean didn't shake off Sam. "Sure I can," he said and moved the knife a little bit lower under the duct tape, pressing the bowie's blade against the exposed skin. It didn't take much to draw a trickle of blood from Punk-Ass. "I get you wanna put this bastard down, but we've still got work to do. Y'gonna let me do my job or what?"
His finger tightened around Punk-Ass's chin as he ignored Sam, turning his attention back on the demon.
"I think we all know this," and Dean pressed the blade a little deeper, "ain't gonna kill you. But I imagine it'd be pretty inconvenient to walk around undetected bloodied up a bit. Everyone in this room knows what you really are, so let's just get past all the bullcrap and get to the point: I want answers, Punk-Ass, and you're gonna give them to me
( ... )
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Besides, with the doors unlocking at last, he was busy with getting down to Willow's room as soon as he could. She was gone, he was almost sure of it, but he needed to see for himself. Just in case.
He'd managed to avoid having Brian catch sight of his weapons so far, but that was apparently changing tonight. It seemed Brian was going to be awhile longer and Angel knew it'd be just as awkward if he hung around for no apparent reason. Never mind. He supposed most of the truth had come out at this point, so it wasn't important anymore.
He pulled the axe out from beneath the mattress and slipped quietly out of the room before Brian could say anything about it.
[out here]
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The first emotion to strike him was anger, not fear, and he heaved his entire body against the restraints with a clear sense of indignation despite his spinning head. Unless it was because of one of the families, Reid had never been caught with his pants down, never been vulnerable. Never had to worry, never the underdog. For a moment, he didn't understand why whatever was holding him wasn't immediately ripped apart by invisible hands. He was... sitting up? Tied up? Gagged?
And then, of course, context began to sink in. Which only made him more ( ... )
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"Morning, Sunshine," he drawled with a grin. He offered a seemingly casual wave with the bowie knife. "I gotta say, man, I was expectin' more of a fight, maybe get some TK action thrown at me instead of you going down so easily. Anyway, we're gonna have ourselves a nice little chat real soon, so you might as well get comfy ( ... )
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Piece of shit! He'd show this mother of all fuck-ups a fight ( ... )
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He preferred force. Just not when it was all he had.
He could break the chair, he was sure he could break the chair. But the duct tape, damn it. Fuck! Was he really stuck? Was he really stuck? He squeezed his blackened eyes shut briefly, felt his fingernails bite into his palms.
Of course, it was a little hard to concentrate when someone was punching him in the face, making his head jerk around and everything flare in a hot white burst of disorientation. Time seemed to grind to a halt right then and there. That's it. For a moment, he held completely still, refusing to so much as blink in response, but slowly, he turned his face back while Dean spoke. It could be hard to tell, looking into eyes that ( ... )
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Dean went sprawling on his back when Punk-Ass finally did hit him with that TK action. He wheezed, feeling like he'd either been hit by a truck or by Company Man again, and rolled over, gritting his teeth. Far as he could tell, he hadn't had anything broken, but he wasn't about to give Punk-Ass more of a chance for a few potshots. The hunter got to his feet, doing his best to hide his wince and hoping the little bastard hadn't reopened his injuries from the other night, despite being tied up and about to get a hell of a nice tan downstairs tonight. The last thing he needed to be was bleeding all over the place again because it turned out some demons didn't lose all their juice under a shoddy Key of Solomon. Obviously they couldn't just sit tight and wait for Sam - or, at least, Punk-Ass couldn't. Not conscious, anyway ( ... )
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Even before Sam reached the door, he could hear the sound of something crashing. Crap. He should've expected as much.
He swung open the door without hesitation, no clue as to what he was expecting the scene inside would look like. Not very good, it turned out. At least Dean was on his feet and the demon was down. And inside the trap, even though evidence of an ongoing scuffle was pretty clear. What?
Damn it. He'd seen this before, though the last time, he was the one tied down. Meg. If the Key wasn't reining the demon in, reciting an exorcism could be completely ineffective, too. Except the demon was still struggling to free itself from the chair. Was it that powerless? This wasn't making much sense; snapping free of that tape should've been no problem if there was nothing holding its full power at bay. So maybe the Key was only...what? Half effective ( ... )
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Dean staggered, thrown off-balance when his target suddenly was gone, the chair and its prisoner thudding loudly to the floor in the darkness. Seriously, what did this one even think it was doing? It wasn't gonna be able to step out of the devil's traps lines, no matter how much he struggled like a wild cat to get free of the chair. All Dean knew was he was probably gonna want to get more duct tape and extension cord, especially if he was struggling this much and that was before the actual exorcism. He had reached down and roughly hauled up both the chair and the imprisoned demon when Sam suddenly let himself in ( ... )
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Which didn’t make sense to the part of Reid’s mind that was still rational, because they sounded like Latin. Real Latin. The Book of Damnation Latin.
Before he knew what was happening, him and the chair were back upright, and over the sick sensation of his stomach crawling into his chest, he realized there was more duct tape going on. He jerked his head, ( ... )
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His finger tightened around Punk-Ass's chin as he ignored Sam, turning his attention back on the demon.
"I think we all know this," and Dean pressed the blade a little deeper, "ain't gonna kill you. But I imagine it'd be pretty inconvenient to walk around undetected bloodied up a bit. Everyone in this room knows what you really are, so let's just get past all the bullcrap and get to the point: I want answers, Punk-Ass, and you're gonna give them to me ( ... )
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