Imagine Ketch torturing you in order to get information on the hunters in America.

Word Count: 512

~

"This would be much simpler if you just gave me the information," Arthur informs you, stepping back to observe you. 

Currently, you're tied to a chair being interrogated by the infamous Ketch. Honestly, you have no idea how this happened.

One second, you're on the phone with Sam and Dean, telling them about your latest solo hunt. You were going to meet up with them for their next hunt, but then someone came at you from behind and knocked you unconscious. 

And here you are, in some random basement, looking into the handsome face of the enemy.

You scoff, "You say that you want to join with the American hunters, and yet you kidnaped and tortured Sam, and now you'll do the same to me? You're not very nice, are you, Ketchup?"

"Don't call me that. And, for your information, I had nothing to do with that messy situation."

"Sure," you roll your eyes. Squirming a bit, you try to scratch at an itch on your forearm. 

"Now, tell me about the hunters."

"Hmm, let me think. . . Oh yeah - bite me, Ketchup," you glare daggers at the pompous British Man of Letters. 

He shakes his head, "Please, don't be this way."

You clench your teeth, "I'm not going to give you any information. This is pointless."

"Let me guess, you're expecting the Winchesters to swoop in and save the day? They won't. They'll never find us here. The sooner you face the facts, the better it will be."

You snort, "Please, I don't need two knights in shining flannel to save me. I'm a big girl, I can take you down myself."

He smiles, "I sincerely doubt it."

Little does he know, that as you conversed, you managed to untie your hands. Luckily, your feet weren't tied down so you're able to leap out of the chair and slam your fist into his smug face.

Before he can react, you knee him in the groin and start to dash up the stairs. It must not be your lucky day, though, since he easily tackles you to the ground. You both roll down the stairs, swearing at the pain shooting through your body.

After a short tussle, he pins your wrists down on the cold concrete. Heat radiates off his body as he looms over you.

"You're a fighter."

You glare at him, struggling against his iron grip. He refuses to let go, instead closing the gap between your lips.

Stunned, you freeze in shock before biting down hard. 

Shouting a curse, he yanks away from you and releases your arms. You kick his face and dash madly up the stairs. You get to the door and slam it shut behind you.

You look it in satisfaction before yelling, "You may be fairly good looking, but I hate your friggin' guts!"

Kicking the door in one last display of anger, you leave the house and make your way to the nearest telephone. 

You spit to the side a few times, trying to get the horrid taste of Ketch's blood out of your mouth as you wait for Sam to pick up.

When he does, you explain the situation.