Grit
Rating: PG-13/T
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst
Summary: For the hc_bingo challenge, prompt "Broken Bones". Anne wakes up at the bottom of the ravine. SPOILERS.
Author's Note: I have developed a great adoration for Anne and her awesomeness. Much like my love of Tess Mercer, this will probably end with many fics where I torment her mercilessly with angst (I am so sorry bb).
Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill. It belongs to Konami/Vatra.
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Anne wakes up.
That's not right, she thinks. People aren't supposed to wake up after falls like that.
But then, there's a lot of fog today. And she wasn't really looking down so much as she was looking at Murphy-Son-of-a-Bitch-Pendleton across the ravine. Maybe the fall wasn't as long as she thought it would be. Maybe-
Anne sits up, and a shooting pain hits her ribs with astonishing force, winding her and knocking her onto her back. One or more ribs is fractured at the very least- Anne has broken her ribs on two different occasions, and knows the feelings associated with them quite well. She lies back in the dirt for a moment and focuses on breathing, testing to see if it's impaired, praying she didn't puncture a lung…
It's painful- considerably painful, but just manageable enough that she thinks the break (assuming there is one) isn't too severe. But no actual difficulty taking in air, it seems. She's not a doctor, but given the circumstances she'll have to go with her gut and say it's okay to stand up and move. Pendleton's bad enough, but there are also a few other potentially dangerous inmates that could be running around this area; in particular, she noted in particular during her sweep of the bus that the inmate who looked her over earlier was missing, and she's not sure she wants to meet him on her back.
Anne waits, and her stomach flips at the idea of trying to sit up- it's bad enough without movement, and like most people, she doesn't enjoy pain. She knows that she has to get up, doesn't have a choice, has to get to a phone or a radio and call for back-up because Pendleton and a few very violent others may be wandering around in the darkness, and she isn't going to forgive herself if they hurt someone.
Anne shifts her weight and feels like she's getting stabbed, so she clenches her teeth again and stays still.
Maybe she should just stay put. Anne doesn't have a watch on, but she's willing to put good money on the idea that they are very, very late for their arrival at Wayside. People don't play games with maximum-security inmates, and if they haven't sent someone out to investigate why she or the driver aren't answering calls yet, they're about to. Someone will come soon.
But he's is still out there.
Murphy Pendleton is still out there, and that fact gnaws at her brain like a starving dog at a bone.
Are you really just going to lie here? Are you really just going to let Pendleton get away? Pendleton? The one you worked for months to get to Wayside? Do you remember what you had to do with Petrakis for him to okay the transfer? You're going to let all of that be for nothing because you're in some pain?
Like hell she will.
Anne grits her teeth and silently vows that she's getting up. No matter how much her body generally aches from that fall, no matter how badly her ribs hurt, no matter how much she would just love to stay where she is until help comes, she is getting the hell up and walking out of this ravine.
And then she's going to find Pendleton.
Anne shivers, takes a deep breath, and then slowly forces herself up. Every move makes her bones scream in protest, renews that urge to just lie down and not move until someone comes and finds her.
Remember dad. Remember dad.
Remember what that son of a bitch did to him.
Something about the memories of her father slumped in a wheelchair, unable to talk, eat or even move much sends fire coursing through Anne's veins, and so she steels herself as she sits, then rolls to her knees, then pushes herself into a crouch, and then finally manages to stand up on shaking legs. The length of the endeavor takes about ten or fifteen minutes in all.
It's worth it. You'll catch Pendleton, drag his ass off to Wayside, and then spend the next twenty or so years making his life a living hell. He will pay.
But as Anne straightens herself out, a voice almost as clear as her internal one echoes through her mind:
"Annie- Stop it. Go home. Move on. Get over me."
But she can't.
She just- she can't.
And so, for the first time since she was very young, Anne ignores her father's voice, draws her gun and stumbles into the fog.
I'm coming for you, you bastard.
-End