Febuwhump Day 2: Flinching
Warnings for beatings, knives, POW
The fist raised quickly and Scott flinched back, unable to control the basic flight-or-fight urge no matter how hard he tried.
His captor laughed, lowering his hand, trying to lull Scott into a false sense of security. He knew it was too good to be true.
This had been his routine for god-knew how many days. Pretend to hit, wheedle to get information and when that info was not forthcoming then the fists would return, along with boots and sticks.
And knives. They were the worst and saved for last.
He knew the routine by now.
Yet still he flinched.