Supernatural - S1 and S2
"Hey this is Meredith. I can't come to the phone right now. If you need help, you can call Dean at 765-555-0127. He's one of the best."
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"What'd you do to my dad?" Meredith asked the demon, Meg, who stood in the middle of the empty and shiny road. Taking a small breath, Meredith brushed a few strands of hair away the corner of the lips with the hand that had been holding her side.
With a wicked smile, Meg took a step forward. "You're never going to see him again."
Meredith felt her heart sink in her chest, and as much as she wanted to - in the moment- give up, she repositioned her feet and glared towards the demon.
Time for the last resort.
Moving swiftly, because her life depended on it, Meredith extended her good hand forward in front of her. She concentrated on expelling the demon from the body she inhabited, furrowing her eyebrows and wincing. It took a lot of effort to put her powers to use, and her head retaliated with the stabbing pain. A lot of effort that got her nowhere helpful.
Meg had paused for a moment, with a cough, then composed herself. "Really? That's all you've got?" She asked, underwhelmed by the performance. Meredith lowered her hand and took a step backwards. Blood dripped from her nose.
To respond, Meredith placed her hand back on her side, beneath her jacket, as if she was still struggling from the cramp she experienced while running. Her posture curled forward to offer some relief, but her sharp breathing conveyed that she was certainly not ready for a fight. It was too much, the visions, the running, depleting herself of energy to fight a demon much more powerful than she anticipated.
Meredith dropped down carefully to her knees, her feet positioned behind her to give her a boost when she needed it. She kept her eyes on the demon.
Intrigued, Meg approached the woman with slow strides and a tilt of her head. "Jenna, I've gotta say, I'm very disappointed by tonight." She sounded as she squatted down before Meredith. With a steady hand, Meg grabbed Meredith's jaw tightly.
A small gasp of discomfort escaped Meredith's lips. Since the demon was focused on looking at her face, which was in close proximity to Meg's, Meredith was able to move her free hand behind her back to grab onto the knife that was tucked beneath the hem of her jeans.
"It's a good thing that night isn't over, Meg." Meredith remarked before making her move.
Instead of holding her side (though it ached, just not as bad as she made it appear), Meredith had removed a syringe from the inner pocket of her jacket. It was in one united movement that Meredith stabbed the syringe into Meg's side and swung her knife to slice open her raised wrist.
Surprised, and flooded with burning pain, Meg released her hand with a cry. Meredith dropped the syringe and caught the bleeding wrist that fell when Meg dropped her hand.
Meredith's movements were calculated, almost as though she had rehearsed it many times in her head. She had her dad to thank for teaching her how to think quickly on her feet. Pushing herself forward with her feet, Meredith tackled the demon back onto the ground and pinned her bleeding arm onto the ground. Her knees were planted firmly against the wet street on both sides of Meg's waist.
