Caspian had barely pulled his shoulders through the window when he felt a firm hand grasp him by the ankle and yank. He tried to hang onto something outside to keep from being jerked back into the basement, but there wasn’t anything close enough that he could grab. With no time to kick at Regis’s hands, he inhaled sharply as the rebel dragged him back through the opening. However, his adrenaline had already spiked with the prospect of getting away from his captors, so he quickly swung his legs to get his feet underneath him as he fell back down the wall. He managed to land on the chair with one foot, but he missed with the other and blanched as he stumbled and fell to the ground, knocking the chair over with him. The corner of the backrest struck him in the side on his way down, just beneath the ribcage, and he gasped, clutching at his side with his hand. It had hit hard, and he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning in pain. He didn’t have time to nurse the bruise. Not as long as there was a violent man standing over him.

While he scrambled to turn around and face Regis, his mind was racing at lightspeed. He couldn’t believe that he’d gotten so close to freedom, only to be caught red handed by Iris’s alcoholic father. He had come too far to lose his chance now. He had to get away. His life was on the line. Flipping over from his knees to his rear, he tensed to stand up but didn’t get the chance before the rebel’s boot crashed into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. He fell backwards under the weight of the blow, his head hitting the wall, and rolled onto his side with his legs pulled to his chest, coughing as he tried to get his breath back. The pain from the stomp seemed to resonate through his whole body, and even though he knew he was in danger, he found it difficult to move.

Regis didn’t give him a choice. As the older man pulled him up by the hair, Cas grimaced, grasping at his arm with both hands. The rebel leader was surprisingly strong for a man his age. Though he tried to fight back, he found it difficult not to stumble after him back into the cell. The best he could do was try to plant his feet until the pain of his hair being ripped from his scalp became too overwhelming, and he folded, only staggering away from Regis once he finally let go of him. The rebel’s threat to kill him was suddenly very authentic as the gravity of the situation hit him, and he tried to run past him on the left, fueled by his will to live in the midst of the aching in his torso and head. He wasn’t much of a fighter—with no prior experience, he had no idea how to fight back—but he still had two good legs. Attempting to flee was his Hail Mary, but he didn’t get further than two steps before his breath fled from his lungs again, and he doubled over, reeling from a punch to the gut.

Before he even had a chance to recover his breath, Iris’s father fell upon him like a lion, pinning his arms and dealing two more blows to his middle that brought the prince to his knees. He gagged, his chest heaving as he desperately tried to breathe. He was getting dizzy from a lack of oxygen, but he couldn’t let himself pass out. He wasn’t going to give up when this man was trying to kill him. Shakily, he started to rise to his feet again, only to drop one more time when Regis’s fist connected with his jaw. The strike made his vision swim, and he couldn’t stifle the breathless gasp that escaped his lips. He wasn’t ready to die, but the rebel wasn’t giving him a chance to fight back. Every time he made a move to get up from the floor, he was knocked back over. He couldn’t get out from underneath Regis’s thumb.

As the rebel threatened to kill him now, Cas felt cold dread shoot up his spine. This time, when Regis pushed him back up to his feet, he cocked back an arm to swing at him, but the older man was faster. He grunted as he was shoved back against the wall with a hand coiled around his throat. Regis’s fingers dug into his skin, and he let out a strangled gasp when he realized he couldn’t breathe. The rebel was choking him. Frantically, he writhed beneath his captor’s iron grip and clawed at his wrists, trying to push him away so that he could draw breath. He even tried stomping on his feet and shoving him away to no avail. He could feel his strength ebbing away as the seconds passed and he still couldn’t breathe. Fear gripped him, and his empty lungs burned. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight though, so he continued to struggle until he succeeded in pushing Regis away just enough to inhale—only to lose all the air he’d just sucked in when the rebel buried his knife in his arm.

A scream tore at his throat as the blade plunged into his bicep up to the grip. Having never been hurt worse than a fractured bone in his life, he’d never felt a burning pain like this before. He froze in shock, all fight momentarily leaving his body as the terror took over. Then, Regis twisted the knife, and he let out a second howl even louder than the first. The feeling of the blade rending tissue and muscle was enough to make his legs feel weak, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he threw a punch at the rebel’s face to knock him away and staggered to the side, trying to put as much distance between them as he could while he clutched his bleeding arm.

[color=#b97703]“Stay away from me!”[/color] he snarled, glowering at the rebel with the viciousness of a cornered animal. A switch had flipped when Iris’s father had stabbed him. He stood rigidly, prepared to do whatever it took to stay alive. He wasn’t going to be murdered by a madman in a cage. Not today, not ever. It didn’t matter that he had never been in a fight before or that he had no idea what he was doing. Even if he didn’t have any technical knowledge, there was something inside all humans that gave them the fight to live, and he was no exception. His limbs trembled with adrenaline, and there was a feral gleam in his eyes that indicated that if Regis came at him again, he wasn’t going to let him stomp all over him again. He may not have been as experienced, but he was younger and stronger than the rebel. Now that he’d had time to regain his footing, he refused to go down a second time.