NOT UR FREAK (Avengers fan-fiction)

Capitulo Tres: "...Throw Up"

(The quote here was taken down, any ideas for what should be put here?)

Tiny specks of light filter through my eyelashes, but even these gentle rays send stabs of pain through my head. I feel sick, and fevered and freezing all at the same time. Moving my leg a fraction of an inch is excruciating, and I moan loudly.

"The nauseousness will fade." A voice next to me says. "But don't move or you'll-" He is cut off abruptly as I lurch to the side and barf all over some poor unsuspecting girl, huddled in a corner. "...Throw up." He finishes as I lie back down, throat on fire.

I look around myself blankly, I'm in a car, probably the van I had seen parked behind the woman, it stinks. I'm in the middle of what looks to be about eleven kids, they stink too. I screw my eyes shut and hope the pain will go away, as well as the smell. My stomach feels like Jell-O, upset Jell-O trying desperately to see the world.

Why? Why am I here? Why did the crazy woman drug me? I attempt to sit up and immediately lie back down, gasping for breath as I feel my wounds begin to break open. "Estas bien?" The boy who warned me not to move says, slipping his hands under mine and hoisting me into sitting position beside him. I nearly pass out from the pain, giving instead one strangled cry that is quickly muffled by my hand. His eyebrow's knit in concern as I leaned against the side of the vehicle, trying to work through the waves of agony overtaking my body.

"Yeah, I just...." I trailed off, seeing no logical reason to lie to him.

He had nice eyes, I noticed. Hazel, with tiny specks of green on the edges. He was much taller than me, looking around I realized almost everyone in the car was larger than me. My eyes trailed back and I saw he was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.

"I got cut." He shakes his head, and gestures to the blood drooling out of the shirt.

"Just a scratch, sí." He says the words mockingly, as if he knows I am playing down the pain. I smile at his words, realizing how dumb I must look, pretending not to be hurt when I can barely move. "Did she do that to you?" He nodded toward the front of the car, where I know our kidnapper must be.

"Maria? No." The thought is funny to me, though I don't know why.

"Maria? Is that her name?"

I think about when I saw her the second time, all those words spewing out of her mouth, but can't seem to remember a name, or anything she said for that matter.

"I don't know." I admit confusedly, trying to sort the disarray of thoughts scrambling around my head, probably the drugs after affect.

"Can I see it?" I know he is speaking about my wound and immediately curl protectively around it.

"No." My words are small now, scared he might try to force me.

"I want to see if I can help." Why does he care anyway? I didn't ask him to.

"No." I speak stronger this time, knowing he could easily make me show him.

"Ándale, your hurt." His voice adapts a soothing note, and his eyes soften even more than they already were.

"No!" He looks like a kicked puppy, screamed at for bringing back a stick. I don't care, there is no way I'm going to allow anyone to examine my torso, ever.

There is a sharp rap on the wall that separates us from Maria. "Shut up!" Apparently, she doesn't appreciate talkative hostages. Resting my head against the dividing wall, I lick my chapped lips and wish for water.