Sam lay there for a second, surprised how easy it had been to have the wind knocked out of him after the thrill of invulnerability he'd felt not very long ago, facing Alastair down. His head was roaring, and he had a momentary vision of the demonic blood pounding through his veins literally screaming its way through his temples.
The roaring sound, however, changed into something more recognizable as his head got to sorting itself back out, and he realized it for what it was: wind. Just wind. No howling echo of the damned or whatever he'd been idiotic enough to think for the moment. No. Just wind.
A moment later it hit him like a truck: why was there wind? Inside? That couldn't be right.
His eyes opened, and it took another moment to resolve what he was looking at, as he stared up at the tips of snow drenched trees scraping against the inked night sky. They looked almost like skeletal fingers, pointing upwards, accusatory.
No, he corrected himself, Trees, Sam. Get it together. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he shook his head slightly to banish any more of those weird emo poetry thoughts, as well as to shake some flakes of snow out of his hair.
Instinct kicks in, and he got to his feet quickly, making a three sixty spin to look around for company. His hand moved to his coat to check for the gun concealed under it.
Still there.
If someone had taken him here, why would they leave him his weapon?
He didn't like not having any answers for that.
"Dean?" It was the first question to fall off his lips, but it was a stupid one, since his brother was in a hospital bed, and he'd just seen him there with his own two eyes. He wouldn't be evacuating it any time soon. Hesitating, he tried a different tack: "Ruby?"
Why she'd dump him out in the middle of nowhere wasn't any clearer, but sometimes she just liked to keep him guessing. He tried one last time, and was sort of ashamed to find that he hoped this one wasn't the right answer:
God, it was perfect. All the disappointment Damon had felt when he'd woke up to a distinct lack of both a.) the tomb, and b.) the desiccated corpse of Katherine that was supposed to be inside of it, had flown out the window when he realized in an almost kind of cynical humor that this place was perfect. It was dead -- the very dirt itself looked dead, even if you ignored the ashen grass that covered it. He kicked some of it aside with a boot, chuckling in a way that indicated bitterness mixed with all kinds of lunacy.
He'd gotten so fucking close and that bitch had sent him here. He wasn't sure how she'd done it, but when he found out, oh. Bonnie Bennett was not going to be a happy camper. Elena would probably be pissed to all hell, too, but he couldn't really care less about that right now. Not after what she and Stefan had done. So, he hung around close to the trees, admiring the unnatural air of the whole thing.
And then there was that moron scrambling around and the sanctity of it all was ruined. Damon's bemused look didn't falter, but an annoyed undercurrent seemed to worm its way under his expression, up into his eyes.
"Guess again," he responded nonchalantly, approaching and paying no mind to the snow or the fact that it had settled in his hair and done a good job of aging him twenty years. The cold was slowly seeping into his skull, but it'd fade, and the only thing he was going to do by brushing it away was melt it faster. "You really know that many people who'd dump you in the woods in the wintertime? Sounds like you need some new friends."
Sam wouldn't have felt sorry about spoiling Damon's idyllic little jaunt through dead nirvana even if he knew, so he could just shove it. His head whipped around towards the newcomer - how had he walked up so quietly? - and his expression soured a bit at the words that struck a little too closely to his heart. Any feelings of camaraderie Sam might have developed based on being chucked out into the mysterious snowy meadow with this guy were effectively stamped out for the moment.
"And I suppose that'd be you," he replied flatly, trying to decide if he'd seen this person before. It was likely that he was the one who'd stuck him out here, but Sam couldn't remember ever having encountered that face.
Then again, if it were a demon in there, the face could have played musical chairs a few times.
"No offense, but kidnapping isn't really the best way to make a good first impression."
Oh, great. The moron had decided he was the one to blame for all of this, and Damon just couldn't be assed to tell him otherwise. In fact, if anything, in this snowy, barren, hellhole that Bonnie had sent him to, maybe this would be the silver lining of a very, very snowy cloud. Slowly, a smirk crept its way onto Damon's lips and he began to circle the taller man like an animal ready to strike. That look came all too naturally nowadays. Probably something to do with all that blood.
"Who says I aim for good first impressions? Maybe you shouldn't make things so easy." When he found his way downwind of Sam in the breeze that was picking up, his nose twitched. Now that was fascinating. Almost like sulfur, but muskier and covered up by the coppery smell of human blood mingled with what he'd almost label as some kind of heavier metal smell. Something darker. Almost like Bonnie smelled, but … different in so many ways.
It was far more alluring than the blood of a witch.
"So. Which order is it, exactly? Lover, family … roommate? Best friend? Are you and this Castiel guy BFFLs?" Damon finished his turn around Sam, smirk widening in the kind of patronizing manner he specialized in. "Isn't that adorable."
Sam really, really didn't like that smirk. He was pretty sure if lions could smirk while they were stalking their prey, it would look a lot like that one.
Lions, or Jaws.
Sam fought the urge to turn in place to keep an eye on him, the muscles in his neck twitching as he forced himself to stand still. It would look a little too freaked out to demonstrate that much paranoia. His fists balled up and unballed up at his sides, as he shot down the inevitable stab of anger he felt at this guy playing so fast and loose with motivations, when his brother was in a hospital bed who knew how far from here.
He wasn't going to give this guy the satisfaction of an answer, but he couldn't help but wonder exactly how he'd classify all these people even if he did. Brother was the easy one, but there were some connotations of that word that had been stretched to their limits lately.
As for Ruby, lover seemed like a laugh. Friend seemed like a stretch, but he couldn't help the fact that his instincts reached towards it anyways. Maybe mentor, he thought with a hollow inner laugh.
And as for Castiel, it was better to not even go there. The guy who probably wants to smite me wasn't really concise enough for a label.
"And what about you? Who are you supposed to be to me?" he demanded.
The arrogance of the assumption that it was even about him had Damon laughing openly. This kid was just full of fun issues to exploit, and he wasn't even coming close to making them difficult to turn on him. After he'd had himself a good, extensive laugh over Sam's hard life, the wolfish smirk found its way back onto his lips. It was a lot easier to ignore his own issues with entrapment if he focused on worsening Sam's.
"I'm the guy who brought you here, and let me tell you, we are gonna have so much fun." Reverse interrogation would probably be the best way to go about this, so that he could keep the game going as long as possible. He'd bait Sam into giving away more than he'd meant to, monopolizing on making vague statements to make it appear that he knew a whole lot more than he did, and hopefully cranking the emotional response up to eleven.
"I mean, I just wanted to kill you. So, if this is about being pissed you're here, don't look at me," he said defensively, doing a good job of feigning a frank expression that said he disagreed with what he was supposedly responsible for. "Buuut, orders are orders. And hey, might as well have some fun while I'm at it. You never really do get over wanting to play with your food."
Damon didn't even have to start going on about how Sam was food before Sam started picking up some serious bad mojo from this guy, beyond the usual creepy kidnapper scale. There was something dark about him; something recognizable.
Something not human.
Sam always tried hard to not think too deeply on why he just knew sometimes, because the answer to that only lay in one direction: because they were like him.
It made him sick to his stomach, and instead of giving in to that, he turned it into bitterness. Anger at this guy. The fist that had been balling in and out stayed tightly ground together now.
"So what is it? Demon? Vampire? Maybe a Rougarou?" His tone was more condescending than anything else, making it clear that none of those things frightened him. Because they didn't.
He was pretty sure he could wipe any of them out now.
His fist twitched at his side, against the urge to just try and see.
Sam's paranoia only fed Damon's enjoyment of the situation. At this point, he was positive he'd made the right decision in choosing to fuck with this guy instead of just trying to make an ally that might help him undo whatever spell Bonnie had performed to stick him there. The fact that he had passing knowledge of vampires and demons, though, that interested him. Not enough to drop the act, but it was interesting nonetheless.
"A rougarou." Damon tried to wrap his tongue around the word, looking amused. "Did you just make that up?" The taunting tone of voice he used was all kind of patronizing, like he was ribbing a child for thinking it came up with some new and exciting word when really it meant absolutely nothing and would be forgotten by its next birthday.
"Somebody has been watching too much Live and Let Die. Come on, we're having fun here, aren't we?" He flung his arms out to the decide to gesture around to the trees and the … snow. It was an exciting place to be, for Damon. "Trust me, kid, if I were interested in making you a snack this early in the game, you wouldn't know what hit you. All of those innocent people I just tore through sure didn't."
His smile widened, mostly because he knew that this moron intended to play some kind of hero, and that would be a nice, unsubstantiated claim that would get under his skin regardless of whether he knew it was true or not. It didn't matter, because he had no way of finding out, and the big, scary monsters were the type who didn't bother lying about that thing.
Sam's short chain of patience snapped somewhere along the line of all the flippant words and homicidal jokes spilling out of Damon's mouth. It wasn't a move he'd calculated; it wasn't a decision based on any more logic than this thing was obviously a monster and Sam killed monsters, and this one was just begging to be killed.
He just raised his hand and reached out with some mental reflex, to shove the smartass backwards with all the force he could muster. It was strange how real and tangible it felt to manipulate invisible forces: it was a rush of power that he could never quite explain, even to himself.
The surprise on the other's face made it even more fulfilling. Two seconds ago, he'd been sure he was the hunter in this situation.
Sam was about to show him exactly which one of them had been born to a life of hunting.
"What are you?" he demanded again, wanting the label - needing it. A label made him into some clear category of monstrosity. He knew how to deal with demons. Vampires.
It was like nothing he'd experienced before, and the fact that he was even in the frame of mind to appreciate that fact was both fascinating and unsettling. His back slammed into the tree painfully, an invisible force pinning him to the hard surface and he grimaced at the sensation, rare as it was, but refused the urge to grunt out at the contact. The expected plummet back into the dirt didn't come, and that was probably the most shocking aspect of all.
He fixed Sam with a stare that was somewhere between bewildered, offended and utterly transfixed. This just kept getting better and better, didn't it? Assuming that trick didn't come with the witchy talent to ignite things with his mind, Damon continued taunting. It was obviously the way to regain control of the situation.
"What, your brain's big enough to toss me against a tree, but you can't figure that out for yourself?" It was evidenced by the look on his face that he wasn't taking this seriously at all, and it was hard to remember the 'oh shit' look that had crossed it briefly to begin with. The smug smirk just seemed too perfectly at home on those thinly curved lips.
"Maybe I'm a werewolf, huh? You're gonna have to give me more options than that, I mean, come on, let's see some criertivity!" In retrospect, maybe he should have kept his trap shut. He was beginning to really dislike the vulnerability of being legitimately trapped between a moron who took himself too seriously and a hard place, arms stretched almost painfully out to his sides and forced backwards like he was some kind of faulty Christ figure who hadn't gotten his cross put together properly.
Sam's lip twitched in annoyance when the act didn't even shut this guy up. Either that meant he was powerful enough not to be afraid of anything, or it meant he didn't realize exactly how screwed he was right now.
"You know what?" Sam said, balling his outstretched hand up slightly, sliding the body of the other man upwards along the trunk of the tree so that his feet dangled above the ground. "It doesn't matter. Either way you're just one thing now."
The look on his own face changed, the hint of a smile of exhilaration there now. It didn't really register that maybe this thing was his only way out of here: he'd find a way.
He closed his eyes, prepping his mental resources to destroy this creature from the inside out.
"Gone," he said, his hand opening again, palm outward, as his forehead scrunched together in intense concentration. Just a few more seconds and he could...
Oooh, that kind of tickled. If, of course, by tickled, you were thinking more along the lines of direct pressure on one's soul. It was uncomfortable and it made Damon visibly wince, but he managed to push the discomfort away. It wasn't the worse pain he'd ever suffered, surely. That honor still went up to vervain, which felt much more like a burring sensation in his very veins, worsening with each pump of his very dead heart until it had worked its way out of his system.
So far, this guy was getting safely tucked into the very fucking powerful witch category, which would explain why he hadn't suspected Damon of it. But, if that were the case, where was the ear-splitting shriek that witches could inflict on vampires? Enough of that would kill one, but this … this was just painful. Its own special brand of vampire torture.
Hell, maybe Sam was just into that kind of thing.
"How are you planning on doing that exactly?" His voice was a little gruff, layered with the face that he was resisting the urge to grunt at the awkward pressure in his gut and on his soul. "Do you know how stupid you look doing that? Jedi mindtrick or not, you have seriously got to work on your showmanship."
When the response he'd been hoping for never quite arrived, Sam frowned internally.
So it wasn't a demon.
A demon would have been too easy.
Frustration wasn't a strong enough word, especially considering this one liked gloating so much that if he let on even for a second that he'd been attempting something and failed at it, he knew he'd never hear the end of it. Instead he angrily thrust his hand to the left, lifting Damon higher and chucking him towards the stone arch.
"I'm not trying to impress you," he growled, though it wasn't exactly true. Impressing him was all he had until he figured out what he was dealing with, and figured out how to destroy it. But if he could keep the other uncertain, not knowing what other tricks Sam had up his sleeve, it'd serve his own long term survival chances much better.
He took a few steps closer, lowering his arm, his expression smoothly out slightly.
"I changed my mind. That's too easy. And I might need you to get out of here." Sam fought to keep any edge of disappointment out of his voice - tried to keep in control of the situation in whatever small way he could. The truth was he felt disappointed in himself, in two diametrically opposite ways: first, in that he'd moved so quickly and resolutely towards killing the thing with no sign of regret, and second...
Damon's bones creaked as he was slammed into the arch. No, not creaked. There was a sickening crunch. Well, even if his little jedi mind trick wasn't doing it for Damon, that hurt. He cringed, but as Sam lowered his arm and the vampire found his feet touching back on the ground, he cracked them back into place, unnecessarily reaching one hand up to pull his head to the side and crack his neck.
"You have really gotta work on that temper of yours, first of all," he chided with a patronizing kind of scowl -- he was chastising an infant for throwing a tantrum. Or, at least, it's what his voice sounded like, because inwardly he was just really fucking grateful that Sam was choosing to let up. Facing off with that many new experienced abilities -- abilities he'd never seen in the past hundred and fifty years -- was a million kinds of unsettling. He rolled his shoulders back, stretching and slowly moving to step away from the arch, just in case he spooked again.
"See, me? I'm not too hard to figure out. You, though," a slow, predatory smile curled up the corners of Damon's lips and he inhaled slowly, shaking his head in thoughtful amusement. "What are you?"
That was a question Sam would rather they both ignored, so he pretended he hadn't even heard it. As much as Damon wanted to pretend he was still sharply at the top of the snark heap, there was a shift in tone that implied he'd learned some kind of lesson from Sam's little display.
Sam hoped the lesson stuck.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is we're not staying here. Where are we, and how do we get back?" he demanded. He wondered how far they were from the city. If Dean had noticed he was gone yet.
And he still wondered whose orders this punk was acting under.
"Oh, it matters." It was rather unfortunate that Damon was a pitbull about these facts. He wasn't about to just give up that easily when he'd finally found something that interesting. This hell Bonnie had sent him to, wherever it was, it was getting better by the second. Things were going to get so fun with a monster like Sam around.
"It matters because we?" He used his pointer and middle finger to point to himself and then Sam and back, indicating that they were going to have so much fun together. "We're not going anywhere. I mean, getting you here, piece of cake. Seriously, you couldn't have made it a little bit harder? So disappointing. And after all those fun things I'd heard about you," he tutted, shaking his head and beginning to circle again. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders some more to try and solve the discomfort he still felt in his gut from the threat of Sam's abilities.
"But, like it or not, I can't pull either one of us out of here." The annoyance in his expression was genuine, and all of that arrogant smirking dropped into a very flat, unamused look. "Better drop a note in the boss's comment box." Mostly, he wanted to know who Sam was so scared of. Who that boss might be, and if he pushed hard enough, taunted and interrogated right, he might just find out.
The roaring sound, however, changed into something more recognizable as his head got to sorting itself back out, and he realized it for what it was: wind. Just wind. No howling echo of the damned or whatever he'd been idiotic enough to think for the moment. No. Just wind.
A moment later it hit him like a truck: why was there wind? Inside? That couldn't be right.
His eyes opened, and it took another moment to resolve what he was looking at, as he stared up at the tips of snow drenched trees scraping against the inked night sky. They looked almost like skeletal fingers, pointing upwards, accusatory.
No, he corrected himself, Trees, Sam. Get it together. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he shook his head slightly to banish any more of those weird emo poetry thoughts, as well as to shake some flakes of snow out of his hair.
Instinct kicks in, and he got to his feet quickly, making a three sixty spin to look around for company. His hand moved to his coat to check for the gun concealed under it.
Still there.
If someone had taken him here, why would they leave him his weapon?
He didn't like not having any answers for that.
"Dean?" It was the first question to fall off his lips, but it was a stupid one, since his brother was in a hospital bed, and he'd just seen him there with his own two eyes. He wouldn't be evacuating it any time soon. Hesitating, he tried a different tack: "Ruby?"
Why she'd dump him out in the middle of nowhere wasn't any clearer, but sometimes she just liked to keep him guessing. He tried one last time, and was sort of ashamed to find that he hoped this one wasn't the right answer:
"Castiel?"
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He'd gotten so fucking close and that bitch had sent him here. He wasn't sure how she'd done it, but when he found out, oh. Bonnie Bennett was not going to be a happy camper. Elena would probably be pissed to all hell, too, but he couldn't really care less about that right now. Not after what she and Stefan had done. So, he hung around close to the trees, admiring the unnatural air of the whole thing.
And then there was that moron scrambling around and the sanctity of it all was ruined. Damon's bemused look didn't falter, but an annoyed undercurrent seemed to worm its way under his expression, up into his eyes.
"Guess again," he responded nonchalantly, approaching and paying no mind to the snow or the fact that it had settled in his hair and done a good job of aging him twenty years. The cold was slowly seeping into his skull, but it'd fade, and the only thing he was going to do by brushing it away was melt it faster. "You really know that many people who'd dump you in the woods in the wintertime? Sounds like you need some new friends."
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"And I suppose that'd be you," he replied flatly, trying to decide if he'd seen this person before. It was likely that he was the one who'd stuck him out here, but Sam couldn't remember ever having encountered that face.
Then again, if it were a demon in there, the face could have played musical chairs a few times.
"No offense, but kidnapping isn't really the best way to make a good first impression."
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"Who says I aim for good first impressions? Maybe you shouldn't make things so easy." When he found his way downwind of Sam in the breeze that was picking up, his nose twitched. Now that was fascinating. Almost like sulfur, but muskier and covered up by the coppery smell of human blood mingled with what he'd almost label as some kind of heavier metal smell. Something darker. Almost like Bonnie smelled, but … different in so many ways.
It was far more alluring than the blood of a witch.
"So. Which order is it, exactly? Lover, family … roommate? Best friend? Are you and this Castiel guy BFFLs?" Damon finished his turn around Sam, smirk widening in the kind of patronizing manner he specialized in. "Isn't that adorable."
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Lions, or Jaws.
Sam fought the urge to turn in place to keep an eye on him, the muscles in his neck twitching as he forced himself to stand still. It would look a little too freaked out to demonstrate that much paranoia. His fists balled up and unballed up at his sides, as he shot down the inevitable stab of anger he felt at this guy playing so fast and loose with motivations, when his brother was in a hospital bed who knew how far from here.
He wasn't going to give this guy the satisfaction of an answer, but he couldn't help but wonder exactly how he'd classify all these people even if he did. Brother was the easy one, but there were some connotations of that word that had been stretched to their limits lately.
As for Ruby, lover seemed like a laugh. Friend seemed like a stretch, but he couldn't help the fact that his instincts reached towards it anyways. Maybe mentor, he thought with a hollow inner laugh.
And as for Castiel, it was better to not even go there. The guy who probably wants to smite me wasn't really concise enough for a label.
"And what about you? Who are you supposed to be to me?" he demanded.
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"I'm the guy who brought you here, and let me tell you, we are gonna have so much fun." Reverse interrogation would probably be the best way to go about this, so that he could keep the game going as long as possible. He'd bait Sam into giving away more than he'd meant to, monopolizing on making vague statements to make it appear that he knew a whole lot more than he did, and hopefully cranking the emotional response up to eleven.
"I mean, I just wanted to kill you. So, if this is about being pissed you're here, don't look at me," he said defensively, doing a good job of feigning a frank expression that said he disagreed with what he was supposedly responsible for. "Buuut, orders are orders. And hey, might as well have some fun while I'm at it. You never really do get over wanting to play with your food."
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Something not human.
Sam always tried hard to not think too deeply on why he just knew sometimes, because the answer to that only lay in one direction: because they were like him.
It made him sick to his stomach, and instead of giving in to that, he turned it into bitterness. Anger at this guy. The fist that had been balling in and out stayed tightly ground together now.
"So what is it? Demon? Vampire? Maybe a Rougarou?" His tone was more condescending than anything else, making it clear that none of those things frightened him. Because they didn't.
He was pretty sure he could wipe any of them out now.
His fist twitched at his side, against the urge to just try and see.
"Because you picked the wrong last meal."
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"A rougarou." Damon tried to wrap his tongue around the word, looking amused. "Did you just make that up?" The taunting tone of voice he used was all kind of patronizing, like he was ribbing a child for thinking it came up with some new and exciting word when really it meant absolutely nothing and would be forgotten by its next birthday.
"Somebody has been watching too much Live and Let Die. Come on, we're having fun here, aren't we?" He flung his arms out to the decide to gesture around to the trees and the … snow. It was an exciting place to be, for Damon. "Trust me, kid, if I were interested in making you a snack this early in the game, you wouldn't know what hit you. All of those innocent people I just tore through sure didn't."
His smile widened, mostly because he knew that this moron intended to play some kind of hero, and that would be a nice, unsubstantiated claim that would get under his skin regardless of whether he knew it was true or not. It didn't matter, because he had no way of finding out, and the big, scary monsters were the type who didn't bother lying about that thing.
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He just raised his hand and reached out with some mental reflex, to shove the smartass backwards with all the force he could muster. It was strange how real and tangible it felt to manipulate invisible forces: it was a rush of power that he could never quite explain, even to himself.
The surprise on the other's face made it even more fulfilling. Two seconds ago, he'd been sure he was the hunter in this situation.
Sam was about to show him exactly which one of them had been born to a life of hunting.
"What are you?" he demanded again, wanting the label - needing it. A label made him into some clear category of monstrosity. He knew how to deal with demons. Vampires.
And it separated it from himself.
There was no label for what he was.
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He fixed Sam with a stare that was somewhere between bewildered, offended and utterly transfixed. This just kept getting better and better, didn't it? Assuming that trick didn't come with the witchy talent to ignite things with his mind, Damon continued taunting. It was obviously the way to regain control of the situation.
"What, your brain's big enough to toss me against a tree, but you can't figure that out for yourself?" It was evidenced by the look on his face that he wasn't taking this seriously at all, and it was hard to remember the 'oh shit' look that had crossed it briefly to begin with. The smug smirk just seemed too perfectly at home on those thinly curved lips.
"Maybe I'm a werewolf, huh? You're gonna have to give me more options than that, I mean, come on, let's see some criertivity!" In retrospect, maybe he should have kept his trap shut. He was beginning to really dislike the vulnerability of being legitimately trapped between a moron who took himself too seriously and a hard place, arms stretched almost painfully out to his sides and forced backwards like he was some kind of faulty Christ figure who hadn't gotten his cross put together properly.
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"You know what?" Sam said, balling his outstretched hand up slightly, sliding the body of the other man upwards along the trunk of the tree so that his feet dangled above the ground. "It doesn't matter. Either way you're just one thing now."
The look on his own face changed, the hint of a smile of exhilaration there now. It didn't really register that maybe this thing was his only way out of here: he'd find a way.
He closed his eyes, prepping his mental resources to destroy this creature from the inside out.
"Gone," he said, his hand opening again, palm outward, as his forehead scrunched together in intense concentration. Just a few more seconds and he could...
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So far, this guy was getting safely tucked into the very fucking powerful witch category, which would explain why he hadn't suspected Damon of it. But, if that were the case, where was the ear-splitting shriek that witches could inflict on vampires? Enough of that would kill one, but this … this was just painful. Its own special brand of vampire torture.
Hell, maybe Sam was just into that kind of thing.
"How are you planning on doing that exactly?" His voice was a little gruff, layered with the face that he was resisting the urge to grunt at the awkward pressure in his gut and on his soul. "Do you know how stupid you look doing that? Jedi mindtrick or not, you have seriously got to work on your showmanship."
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So it wasn't a demon.
A demon would have been too easy.
Frustration wasn't a strong enough word, especially considering this one liked gloating so much that if he let on even for a second that he'd been attempting something and failed at it, he knew he'd never hear the end of it. Instead he angrily thrust his hand to the left, lifting Damon higher and chucking him towards the stone arch.
"I'm not trying to impress you," he growled, though it wasn't exactly true. Impressing him was all he had until he figured out what he was dealing with, and figured out how to destroy it. But if he could keep the other uncertain, not knowing what other tricks Sam had up his sleeve, it'd serve his own long term survival chances much better.
He took a few steps closer, lowering his arm, his expression smoothly out slightly.
"I changed my mind. That's too easy. And I might need you to get out of here." Sam fought to keep any edge of disappointment out of his voice - tried to keep in control of the situation in whatever small way he could. The truth was he felt disappointed in himself, in two diametrically opposite ways: first, in that he'd moved so quickly and resolutely towards killing the thing with no sign of regret, and second...
That he hadn't been able to.
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"You have really gotta work on that temper of yours, first of all," he chided with a patronizing kind of scowl -- he was chastising an infant for throwing a tantrum. Or, at least, it's what his voice sounded like, because inwardly he was just really fucking grateful that Sam was choosing to let up. Facing off with that many new experienced abilities -- abilities he'd never seen in the past hundred and fifty years -- was a million kinds of unsettling. He rolled his shoulders back, stretching and slowly moving to step away from the arch, just in case he spooked again.
"See, me? I'm not too hard to figure out. You, though," a slow, predatory smile curled up the corners of Damon's lips and he inhaled slowly, shaking his head in thoughtful amusement. "What are you?"
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Sam hoped the lesson stuck.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is we're not staying here. Where are we, and how do we get back?" he demanded. He wondered how far they were from the city. If Dean had noticed he was gone yet.
And he still wondered whose orders this punk was acting under.
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"It matters because we?" He used his pointer and middle finger to point to himself and then Sam and back, indicating that they were going to have so much fun together. "We're not going anywhere. I mean, getting you here, piece of cake. Seriously, you couldn't have made it a little bit harder? So disappointing. And after all those fun things I'd heard about you," he tutted, shaking his head and beginning to circle again. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders some more to try and solve the discomfort he still felt in his gut from the threat of Sam's abilities.
"But, like it or not, I can't pull either one of us out of here." The annoyance in his expression was genuine, and all of that arrogant smirking dropped into a very flat, unamused look. "Better drop a note in the boss's comment box." Mostly, he wanted to know who Sam was so scared of. Who that boss might be, and if he pushed hard enough, taunted and interrogated right, he might just find out.
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