The ground shakes as her booted feet hit the pavement, and she collapses, legs buckling beneath her and knees hitting dirt as she falls onto her side, all breathe escaping her lungs.
She's exhausted, and her body knows it. But her brain won't have it. Her heart thumps louder and louder in her chest with each passing second, a constant rhythm that keeps egging her on. Her body is covered in sweat and blood, crimson-red rivulets running down her bare limbs, black and blue patches covering her slightly tanned skin.
She knows that if she keeps on going, he'll get here eventually. He has too. He's never let her down, not once since they started working together.
And so she rolls onto her bruised back, muscles aching and chest pounding, and she rises to her feet. Without a glance behind her, she takes off down the dark alleyway, legs pumping instantly, because this is what she's trained for, this is what she's used too. This high-stakes, blood pumping action. She runs, faster and faster by the second, arms swinging by her sides, legs working like a well oiled machine, and she can feel her head clearing as the familiar feeling of danger and the thrill of a near-death experience washes over her.
Then she laughs. Out loud. A straight-from-the-belly cackle. She laughs, because she knows that she's barely escaped with her life, and she knows that she's not meant to be alive, not intentionally. She could have died back there, gambling her life away, basically watching as her whole eighteen years dangled by a thread.
But that thread hadn't snapped. She had escaped, and maybe it was by a miracle, and maybe she wasn't supposed to be alive, not really, but fate be damned if she had to play by the rules.
She runs, hair whipping in the wind and cuts stinging like hell, but she doesn't care, because she knows that if she keeps running, she'll eventually reach the end of this alley, reach the light, and then she can escape. She doesn't care, because she knows he's going to be waiting there. That's how much she's grown to trust him.
And then a fist swings out in front of her face, and she hears a sickening crunch as it connects with her nose.
Her head snaps back, eyes shut tight to relieve the aching pain coming from her nose, and she hits her head against the damp cobblestone pavement, hard.
There's a dull ringing in her ears, and she's hardly aware of anything except the fact that, shit, her body hurts, and the fact that there's a blurry shadow hovering in front of her half closed eyes. No, scratch that, there's about three shadows hovering in front of her.
Then suddenly she being dragged upwards by the collar of her leather coat, arms unresponsive at her sides and the heels of her boots scraping against the stones of the ground.
Thump...Thump...Thump...
She can't hear what they're saying, can't make out the words coming out of their mouths. All she knows is that they're talking, and it must be something important, otherwise they wouldn't be talking so loudly or thumping her head so violently against the brick wall.
Her heart is beating so loudly she swears it's somehow found it's way inside her head, and is currently pumping all her blood from their. Her head just feel so heavy, and she can't think straight, can't hear properly, can't see...
And then, as if someone had somehow drained all the blood from her head, her senses start to work again. She can hear the numerous curses the three thugs in front of her are uttering. She can see the face of the one currently hoisting her up against he wall, his portly face covered in sweat and glowing a bright hue of vermilion. She can no longer feel her feet touching the floor, and all the can feel is the fat man's fingers grasping her neck, lifting her up off the floor. He has the other hand raised, and she guesses that he used that very hand to slap her.
The other two are muttering curses and threats, while the one holding her snarls in her face, and she can see that he has a few teeth missing. He's bold, unlike the other two, and even though he's got quite a few pounds on him, she can tell that he's strong.
She knows he's saying something, and she knows she has to listen to this, because, oh glory, it must be good, so she tunes in, ignoring the way her head thumps and how her oxygen intake is getting considerably less and less by the second.
"We want it back," he snarls, flecks of spit escaping his disgusting mouth and landing on her face.
She struggles to release his grip on her throat, trying to pry those bloated fingers away from her airways, and she manages to loosens them a bit, just enough to allow a short gasp of fresh air to enter her lungs, and just enough for her to utter a few words.
"Want what back?" she rasps, starting to chock. She knows that talking isn't doing her any good, if anything, it's making her condition worse, but she needs to speak. She needs to give them a piece of her mind, at least until he realizes something's wrong, and comes after her.
The man lifts her higher off the ground, her coat scraping the rough bricks behind her and his fingers tightening around her neck. She kicks her legs around madly, struggling to get a good grip on the wall behind her. She needs leverage, just enough for her to get a good angle to kick this bastard in between the legs, but the slimy wall isn't helping.
She chocks on her own spit, fingers trying to slide between Fatso's, desperately gasping for air. Her lungs are about to burst, and she knows she can't hold on much longer.
God dammit, where is he?
"You know very well what we're talking about, you mongrel. Give us back the wand and we won't hurt you."
She narrows her eyes at the man, giving him her signature glare. She doesn't care if she's about to die, at least she's going to go down fighting, and looking like a bad-ass.
So she musters up all the saliva she has left, and spits in the man's face.
His shocked face might be the last thing she see's, but if it is, then it's totally worth it. The man looks so dumbfounded, his face registering clear surprise, that it would be almost comical, if the situation hadn't been so dire.
Bet he didn't see that coming, she thought smugly to herself. Ah well, at least she's getting her last chance to gloat. Her very last moment in the sun, before her life slowly ebbs away.
"You really shouldn't insult Elvis's breed. Mongrel is not a favorite word of his."
Son of a bitch.
A low growl comes from behind the other two men, and she can clearly tell by their body language that they're terrified. They stiffen, and the shorter of the two lets out a small exclamation of surprise.
The man holding her slowly turns his head to see who the intruders are, and for a split second his fingers lose their grip on her neck.
She reacts instantly.
Ripping his fingers away from her throat, she drops to the floor with a wet thunk, and her left foot lifts into the air immediately. Her boot connects with the man's fleshy side, and she hears him grunt in pain.
She doesn't wait for a reaction.
Right after her foot hits it's target, her right hand comes up, horizontal, palm facing downwards, and she jabs the man in the side of his throat with her hand. Her other hand forms a fist and comes up to meet his jaw from the other side, connecting instantly and emitting a sharp crack as bone hits bone.
The man stumbles backwards, and she knows by the sudden growls and peals of happy boyish laughter that the other two are taken care of. She lifts her right leg and kicks out, her foot landing right in the middle of the man's stomach and pushing him back. He trips, flails, and falls onto his back on the cold, wet floor.
She flicks her head to the side, sending her scarlet stained blonde hair over her shoulder. She walks over to the man, who is now currently lying part-unconscious on the alley floor. She kneels down and carefully sprinkles some fairy dust from her pocket over his chubby face.
"You are a normal person. You are a retired baker, and you have never met anyone strange or suspicious. You remember nothing from this night. Now go to sleep."
The man mumbles something incoherent, and then his eyes slowly roll back into his head and his eyelids droop shut. A few seconds later, he emits a loud snore.
"Well Grimm, here I am again. Saving your ass. Are you gonna come over here and thank me, or what?"
A smile graces her lips as she stands up, and when she looks at him, standing there with Elvis lapping happily on a bone, she can tell that he's happy to see her too. Well, that's if the gigantic grin on his handsome face is anything to go by.
He walks over to her slowly, and she doesn't wait for him to come up to her. She runs up to him and meets him halfway, throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his shoulder. She can smell him, that extremely familiar forest pine smell, mixed with the smell of new clothing and wood. Not to mention aftershave.
He chuckles, and slowly, tentatively, wraps his arms around her waist. He kisses her hair, and rests his chin on top of her head.
"I take it someone's missed me? It's been, what? Two days? Maybe even three?"
She grins against his new green sweatshirt. She doesn't want to say it out loud, but she has missed her boyfriend. More than necessary, perhaps.
She pulls away slightly and kisses his cheek. He raises an eyebrow at her, then frowns. He raises a hand to her face and gently runs his thumb along the cut across her forehead.
"They hurt you, didn't they? Dammit, I should have gotten here earlier. When you didn't show up, I started to get worried, and Elvis was getting upset about something, but I didn't think anything of it. Shit, Sabrina, if I had gotten here sooner-"
She cuts him off by placing her hand over his mouth. "Puck, it's okay. You got here in the end, and that's what matters. Can we go back to Granny's now? We need to return Merlin's wand. She's probably really worried right now."
Puck looks as if he's going to say something, but after a few moments, he nods.
"Alright, fine. Let's get you home."
...
OKAY, OKAY! Before you say anything, just let me explain.
This is all Sherlock Holmes' fault.
Damn Robert Downey Jr for inspiring me to write this stupid, useless, pointless, annoying, crappy, irri-
Well, you get the idea.
So yeah, this is not my fault. It's the damn movies fault. :D
In case you're thinking that Puck's character is a bit OOC, think about this:
Remember in Magic and other Misdemeanors? Where Sabrina and Daphne meet their future selves, and where Sabrina and Puck are married?
Well, think about the part where the group are travelling somewhere by magic (I don't remember where our when), and Puck grabs Sabrina's waist and kisses her on the cheek. Then he says something like "Don't forget about me".
Well, I kinda based this Puck on that future Puck. I had this feeling that once he comes to terms with the fact that him and Sabrina re eventually going to get together, then he's going to show his feelings more freely. And if that happened at an earlier stage, then even better. Extra-emotional Puck!
So yeah. That's my theory. I don't think I'm going to be updating this story anytime soon. I just had to get the idea down first so it didn't run away.
Also, thanks SO much to Annie Carter for my birthday dedication! I still can't believe you did that. Words can't express how happy I am. Consider this story a thank you?
Okay, that's enough from me.
Toodles!
:)