"Seeing your face has made me want to die. I wasn't quite prepared for this feeling. I've already died once, not ready to do it a second time. Certainly not by your hand." The chill of the blade underneath your chin makes your skin crawl. The contrast between his hot breath and the blade is confusing the hell out of your brain
"Well, we can always arrange that second death. It won't be that hard. Especially, the way I've got you right now."You lean your head back far enough to see him and the blade nicks your skin causing warm blood to run down. It falls beneath the collar of your shirt and you can see his breathing pick up. What a sick bastard. I bet if I could see, I'd see the boner popping in his pants. Something crashes in the house and your jailer starts cutting you deeper. You hiss through your teeth quietly at the slight heat of pain, but it subsides quickly. They move to the window and peek out between the boards. You take this chance to struggle in your bonds. The knots are quite loose. Clearly, this person is an amatuer and wouldn't know a good knot if it hit them in the face. Freeing your arms and quietly loosening the bonds on your legs, you stand from the chair on weak legs. They're numb and slowly coming back to life but coordination is not going to be your friend for the next few minutes. You shamble as quietly as you can to the door and slip out before your captor can look up. You duck into what used to be the kitchen and scan it. Is there anything in here besides cobwebs? For their sake they better hope not. I'm feeling particularly violent. The pounding of footsteps clues you in that your captor has figured out you're gone and you curse. You dart into an empty room, ducking behind the door. As footsteps approach, you hold your breath praying that they can't someone sense you're there.
"Where the fuck did you go?" Their voice is loud and right next to you. You hold yourself still, squeezing your eyes shut. Your lungs are beginning to scream for air and you pray that they move on before you have to take in air. The footsteps begin to get quieter as they get farther away and you let out a relieved breath. You peek out from behind the door and step out into the hallway. Keeping your head on a swivel, you continue your exploration for a weapon. You happen upon a room with a fireplace. Sitting next to it is a set of abandoned fireplace tools and you could whoop for joy. Scrambling over to them, you snatch up the poker. You post yourself by the doorway and take a deep breath, letting it out shakily.
"Hey asshole! Come and get some!" You strain your ears and wait, listening for the telltale stomps of someone running. Sure enough you can hear someone coming so you brace yourself. When your captor comes running, you step out into the hallway and swing for all you're worth. The poker connects with their head with a loud crack and they stagger, falling against the wall. They slide down and the blood pours from them. You pull the poker back again, this time going for an overhand swing, and put all of your weight into it. The man's head splits like a rotten fruit in the sun. Blood and brain matter go everywhere. You get splattered with the remains of his head and freeze in disgust. You fight against the rising gorge in your throat and swallow back the bile threatening to come up. A door slams and you start.
"Is someone there? Please! Can you help me get out of here?" You abandon your poker and pick your way through the house trying to find the person who just entered. You never saw it coming. The machete cleaves your head in two and your body remains standing for just a moment before collapsing to the floor. Your murderer steps out of the shadows with a grim faced expression.
Dean Winchester wipes his blade on your shirt and sheathes it.
"That was for killing my brother. I hope you burn in hell."