The rest of the day went by in a blur. Caspian drifted in and out of consciousness, aware that he had been moved to a different room but unable to focus well enough to determine where he was. He spent most of the time asleep, reluctant to fully wake up because wakefulness brought him nothing but pain. Every once in a while, he stirred at the sound of a voice or the grating of a cell door as other people entered and exited his metal cage to check on his condition, but each time, he was greeted with a fresh surge of agony that dragged him back down into the realm of unconsciousness yet again.

Between bouts of rest, he found it odd that the rebels were keeping him alive. Sometimes they inspected his wounded leg, while other times they tried to force him to drink small cups of water when they visited. He’d been convinced that they were going to kill him, especially after Ethan had threatened to do so on multiple occasions. However, it seemed like they still had something to gain from him. Probably information, he guessed. Even though he’d made it as clear as he could that he wasn’t going to tell them anything, they must have decided that he would be easier to break now that he’d been through one round of torture already. Perhaps that would have been true if he believed they would allow him to leave if he gave up what he knew, but since he was one hundred percent sure he was going to die in this prison, he was going to take whatever else they put him through until they eventually gave up and killed him.

So, prepared to go through the same torment all over again, he slept almost constantly in a feeble attempt to recover from his existing injuries before Ethan came back for him. He managed not to fully wake until the next day, though he had no idea what time it was because of the lack of windows in his cell. As always, consciousness brought with it the same excruciating pain that he felt whenever he was aware of his surroundings. Every breath he took burned like fire, and his entire body ached in its own form of torture. He couldn’t move his right hand, the one Ethan had broken at the wrist, and his leg still throbbed deeply as if the wound there was reverberating from the initial blast he’d felt when the bullet had pierced his flesh.

More uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his life, Cas moaned as he forced himself to open his eyes at least partially, so he could try to catch up on what he’d missed when he’d been out. Upon looking around with an unfocused gaze, he realized the rebels had brought him back to his cell. The cold gray walls and steel bed were familiar. Weakly, he turned his head slightly so he could look down at himself. The guards had placed him on his back, and he could see that his the jeans he’d been wearing had been replaced with old, ragged shorts. His left leg was streaked with blood—apparently they hadn’t thought it was important enough for him to be cleaned off—and a set of stained bandages were wrapped tightly around the entrance point of the bullet that had struck him.

While he looked at the wound, he grimaced as another wave of pain coursed through him from the shot limb. Belatedly, he realized that it seemed like he only had one open wound in his leg. That meant the bullet was still lodged somewhere inside of him. The thought made him feel nauseated, but it explained why he was still so sore. He assumed the rebels hadn’t thought it was important to thoroughly treat his injury either, since they were just going to kill him when they were done using him. They had only bothered to make sure he was in a stable enough condition that he wouldn’t die before they could end him on their terms.

[color=#b97703][i]How thoughtful,[/i][/color] he mused dryly, letting his head fall back down on the bed and fixing his dark eyes on the ceiling. Laying still, he began to contemplate whether or not he should go back to sleep when he felt the bed beneath him suddenly rumble. The motion was faint, but it was just present enough to draw his attention. He glanced at the hallway on the other side of his cell and saw that the nearest guards had begun looking around and muttering amongst themselves.

[color=#b97703][i]It’s like that bottle of water that was shaking just before the bombers showed up in Bel Bicis,[/i][/color] he thought, wincing with another wave of pain. Something was going on, and judging by the looks on the rebels’ faces, it wasn’t something they were expecting. He just wished he wasn’t immobilized, so he could figure out what was happening.