The Rise of Athena (An Arrow: Season 1 Fanfiction)

Chapter 2: The Братва (Bratva)

I stirred. My tongue felt numb, for a weird reason. It was strange. I opened my eyes, the world feeling distant and hollow as all my senses came back to life. I was on a surface that was horribly soft, and for a while I thought as if this was all a horrible dream. Was it? was it just something that was concocted by whatever was stabbed into my neck? was it just a dream that would fade away to the hard concrete, the ropes, the infamous bedroom that would send a shudder through my back whenever I thought about it? The bedroom. I was in a bedroom, but not the one I remembered. It was different. There was a flower-patterned quilt on the bed, and beneath it was white sheets. Well, an off-cream colour, but to my bleary eyes it seemed a lovely white. I sat up slowly, minding the pain in my body. But from where? 

'Where the hell am I?' I said aloud. My voice was raspy. It didn't sound normal at all. I looked around the room. The walls were an off-cream as well and there was a door right across from me that opened into a lovely, but small bathroom. I looked out of the window. It was large enough that I could see the city out in front of me. I sat up further, then pinched my arm. 'Ouch,' I rasped in little more than a whisper. It was real. Totally, purely real. I was interrupted from my surveying of the room by a voice. 

'You are awake.' I looked to see a rather short man, with a ironed-out suit and a gun on his hip. Ironed-out suits and guns... now that was familiar. He had dark hair and a beard. He stepped towards me and I immediately launched myself across the room, curling up in the corner. Terrified. 

'Please...' I pleaded. 'Please don't hurt me. Not like he did.' He stopped in the middle, raising his arms slightly. I glanced frightfully towards the gun. He pulled it out and dropped it on the floor, kicking it away. 

'I not hurt you,' he said in his Russian accent.

'Who. The. Hell. Are. You?' I asked through gritted teeth, still hiding from him. 

'I am Anatoly Knyazev. Leader of the Bratva. You are in Russia. I save you from mean man.' I tilted my head at his casual manner of speech. 

'What happened to him?'

'I kill him. He hurt you. I save you.' I nodded. He stood and outstretched his hand to me. 'Come. I give you food.' I looked at his hand, then back up to his eyes. 'I not hurt you,' he repeated. 'I give you food. You rest.' Slowly, I reached up and took his hand. He led me out to a spacious living room. There were two men sitting on a couch, smoking vapes, but for the most part, they ignored me. He led me to a table, and I sat down on a chair. He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and gave me a cup of tea, then gave me a plate of food. Having not eaten since, well - whenever, I started to eat very fast, but he grabbed my arm, making me flinch and recoil, like I'd been burned by a hot plate. 'You slow down. Do not slow down, you choke. Eat slow.' I nodded and ate a lot slower. 'You American, yes?' he asked. I looked up and swallowed my bite of food. 

'I beg your pardon?' 

'You American?' 

'Yes,' I replied. 'I was kidnapped from Starling City... how - how long has it been?' 

'How long has what been?' 

'How long since I've been gone? I don't know how long I've been gone.' 

'Do not worry about that. Rest.' I kept eating. When I finished, he took me back to my room and let me lay down again, tucking me in like a little kid. When he left, I burrowed into the covers and thought. It was then that I remembered something. 

(Flashback) 

Mom's hand stroked my cheek. 

'Goodnight, sweetheart,' she said. Leaning forward, she kissed my forehead. My 11-year-old self snuggled deeper into the blankets. 

'Goodnight, Mommy,' I said. Just then my 13-year-old brother, Oliver, jumped on top of me, eliciting a giggle and a squeal. 'Oliver!' Mom and I scolded the boy at the same time. 

'I just wanted to say goodnight to you, Ellie-bear,' he said softly. I wrapped my arms around the little boy's neck. 

'Night, Ollie.' 

'Night, Ellie.' He left the room, but was grabbed by my Dad, Robert. He laughed, tickling the boy, then let him down. 

'Go back to your room, son. Your sister needs sleep.' He came over and smiled at me. 

'Night, Dad,' I mumbled, burying my head in the mass of blankets. 

'What was that?' he asked, leaning closer to me. I giggled. 'I love it when you giggle, sweetheart.' He smiled softly. 

'Night, Daddy.' He, too, leaned forward to kiss my forehead. 

'Night, kiddo.' Then, they left the room, Mom blowing me a kiss before she shut off the light and shut the door, leaving me in the darkness. A smile cracking on my young face, I shut my eyes. 

(Just wanted a cute moment in there, a little bit in her childhood).