Work Text:
Fight.
Friend.
Flight.
Freeze.
Flop.
Alan went through the whole gambit in a matter of minutes.
The worst minutes of his life.
Technically, he was still somewhere between Freeze and Flop. He hadn’t found the energy or motivation to pull himself out of his heap at the foot of his prison’s bed.
Really, what was the point? Why should he ever get up again?
Alan didn’t want to look behind him. He didn’t want to see…
Oh god…
The therapist choked back another scream, terrified of accidentally drawing his captor back into the room.
The sounds Elias had made.
The thrashing.
The look on Sam’s face.
Fighting hadn’t been a real option. His chain didn’t reach far enough to pull Sam off Elias. Something he was certain Sam had planned on, at least subconsciously, when he dragged his victim to that particular point in the room. And Alan’s shouts of “No!” and “Stop!” went completely ignored.
As had his cries to Candice.
Why, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Either way, there were no Friends to be found here.
And Alan had nowhere to go. All his attempts at Flight were useless. His chain didn’t give him enough room to retreat if he needed to. Not for more than a few seconds, max. And he was in no way nimble enough to dodge his captor if Sam really wanted him dead.
Maybe Freeze had helped. Made it clear that Alan had no intention of attacking him. That he wasn’t worth the effort. He was certain Sam had to have at least looked at him after…after…
But he couldn’t count on it to work again.
Sam could kill him just as easily on the mattress as on the floor, and the fact that he hadn’t yet probably had more to do with an adrenaline crash than any real mercy.
Sam didn’t even have to touch him to do it. He could just stop refilling his water pitcher and ignore the therapist’s pleas.
Alan was going to die here.
Just like Elias.
Sam would never let him go after what he’d seen. He was a witness to a murder. There were no ethical hoops he could even pretend to be willing to jump through to make Sam think he’d keep quiet about that. He was going to leave this place a corpse, or not at all.
There was nothing he could do.
Nothing but do what Sam said, and hope that he could get his mouth to work again if the killer decided he wanted to keep having sessions.
Maybe he’d want to keep trying. Maybe.
Just comply.
Just Flop.
It was a last-ditch survival instinct for a reason.
And Alan intended to milk it for all it was worth.