By the time Demonic realized what is happening, he was already left alone in a creepy and very white room.There is a large swing set. But the thing that puzzled him the most in this completely white room was a desk with markers, cranyons, and paper. Wouldn't kidnappers have a dark room and just a mat instead of a bright room with a carpet? He was too scared to use anything; Mommy hadn't thought about him getting scared from a kidnapper.
He hadn't seen his Dad, at all with mommy.
How old am I? Demonic thought, looking around. I really don't know.
Demonic crawls to the corner of the room.
"Scared of me?" Dean said, in the most cool but frightening voice.
Mommy wouldn't want me to speak with a stranger. Demonic recalls his mother's lessons about common sense and what to do about kidnapping--Even if he were kidnapped. She had many things he could do that would want the kidnapper to take him back home.None of them would work on Dean. This Stranger hurt me!
He did not speak.
"Figures." Dean takes out a large, fairly decent sized blade.
What is that?
"You know what this is?" Dean waves it back and forth.
Demonic hand's wrap around his legs.
I cannot see a soul in the stranger's eyes. Demonic observes, of course he has had practice staring into people's eyes out of boredom. He learned things quicker but not that fast. Things he did with his hand were not integrated into his brain all that well; Minus art and playing. His writing isn't all that perfect. He's so...dull. He's much like a brick, harder than a spoiled egg.
"This can kill Lycans." Dean touches the rough, uneven edges. His long, two tipped tongue (Like a snake) licks it. "And not only can it do this..."
Dean comes closer to Demonic.
"If your hero's friend comes here; I can just kill him," Dean said, with a might and fearless laugh.He has a bruise on parts of his face. His hands have blood on them, his knuckles have upward ridges that appeared to be torn. His attire is dirty. He lowers himself towards Demonic's eye level.
Demonic is visibly scared.
"We had a tie." Dean admits, licking off some blood at the corner of his mouth.
Dean's face becomes different, similar to a vampire and a human's eyebrows hunched together.
"You have no idea what I am saying."
I actually do a bit....But a tie is not in my vocabulary.
Demonic did not speak.
"What a pile of grief." Dean stood up. "I will be glad to kill that Irish Demon and then you. The money is tempting; worth it!"
Dean grunts, holding a part of his shoulder.
"Wait until you deal with the wrong demon!" Demonic hisses, his fearless and stubborn streak showed up.
Dean turns around.
"Go play with your markers, lycan." He kicks over a pile of blocks. "And no one will get in my way. Nobody! And if they dare; I will kill them."
He turns around, leaving a white-faced Demonic gaping.
The scene transitions to Angel, alive but wounded laying in the sewers. That fight had literately blew the wind out of Angel. He has bruises and wounds about everywhere on his chest. Perhaps using his Vampire form couldn't be relied on all the time. He had a tie out of this. Both of them had lived this duel (Or more else a fight) with a fair share of damage.
"Doyle owes me his life story..." Angel comments on what Doyle had promised him.His eyes squeeze. He is feeling bad pain from his head.
Angel needed some rest before heading back.
Angel's body just ached too much.
So he came to rest.