Dean went for his gun within the space of a blink, but it didn't matter; the gun dropped from his hand and flew across the room, like it'd been snatched and hurled by an unseen opponent. He glanced at Sam, who was edging toward the door, but Dean seriously doubted he'd have much luck getting out.
"Fuckin' bitch," Dean said, because what else can you say when faced with a situation as utterly screwed as his and Sam's.
The girl shrugged. Her eyes were still that yellow-red, he noted, which was kind of unnerving and not at all promising. Usually meant demon, and not the straightforwardly exorcized, black-eyed, Hi I'm possessing someone so read some Latin and throw around some holy water kind. She could be something else, some sort of sprite or creature, but with Dean's luck, no.
They were so fucked. At least he still had the holy water.
"Who are you?" Sam asked.
"I said you wouldn't care." She stubbed out her cigarette and left it balanced on the side of the ashtray. Sam and Dean both jerked when she stood up, tsking at them. "You didn't need your gun. It's unnecessary, and messy, and how would you explain it to the cops?"
"What do you want with us?" Sam continued with the questions, like he was the one interrogating and was going to get a straight answer from a demon. Yeah, and Dean was really named Daisy, and he liked long walks on the beach at sunset.
"I already told you. I need hunters. Specifically, you two."
This was just too much fun. Sam was staring at the demon-girl like she was lecturing at one of his precious classes. Like he was taking her seriously. Dean wanted to swat him or say something, just get his attention, but he could scarcely afford to blink what with her standing right in front of them.
Dean hissed his irritation over Sam's willingness to talk -- you don't talk, because the more you talk, the more the demon knows. It's an opening. They crawl into your skin and use what they find against you, unless they're literally inside and then you're just lost unless you know someone smart enough to know how to find you again. Which most people didn't. Apparently Sam had been sleeping through all of those times dad drilled it into them. Funny how he could remember Calculus and Psychology of Whateverthefuck at Stanford, but he couldn't remember basic survival.
"Because no other hunter has such a keen interest in dispatching demons."
Dean thought I'm about to dispatch you, bitch, but kept it inside because he wasn't stupid. She flicked her weird-ass eyes over to him, looking like a poster child for liver failure, and gave him a look like she knew anyway. Well, shit.
Sam stayed silent this time. He was probably confused. Dean knew he was. There was no handbook for this, and no entry in dad's journal. Conversing With Demons 101.
She went on. "I'm not talking exorcisms or protective circles. I'm talking about killing them. Pity your dad died, he'd have been more of an asset. He spent such a long time trying to find ways, once he figured out it was a demon…"
"I hate to be the one to ask stupid questions, here, but." He got through that half of a sentence before common sense kicked in and he shut the fuck up again. Stupid, stupid. You don't talk.
She actually rolled her eyes at him. It reminded him of Meg, a little, and her attitude problem. Dean never figured demons were the type for sarcasm and stupid jokes, but Meg and this bitch were well on their way to showing him what was what. "But aren't I a demon? Yes, it was a stupid question." She turned to Sam, walked forward another step or two so they were nearly nose to nose.
Dean figured this was the biggest chance at anything he was going to get, unless she was actually a witch or a shapeshifter and just fucking with them. He watched her face for a minute, made sure she was focused on Sam, and ever so carefully raised his hand to his jacket. The holy water was just inside the pocket, and if he could get some on her, she'd back off and they could run for it.
His fingers touched leather when suddenly there was a hand at his throat and his ass was becoming well acquainted with the wall. He wheezed down at her, feet scrambling for purchase, and once again cursed Satan or whoever it was that gave demons superhuman strength. No girl should be able to throw him around like a rag doll. With one arm.
"You try and hurt me, bitch, I slit your fucking throat." Dean had never been called bitch by anyone but Sam before. Well, and that one time in Georgia at the fast food place. It wasn't as funny as it should have been. It was a little terrifying, what with the dangling above the ground and losing air and staring into demonic eyes. "I don't need two of you."
"O-kay," Dean managed to choke, and she dropped him back to his feet. Dean coughed and sputtered and tried not to fall over, while Sam stood next to him and generally vibrated with anxiousness. While he was busy hacking, she worked her way into his jacket and pulled out the canister of holy water. It… disappeared, or maybe flew across the room with his gun, Dean wasn't all that sure. Point was, she got rid of it. And then she adjusted the lapels of his jacket like she was his mom or girlfriend or something. Oh, nice.
"Now that we've got the ground rules covered." She smiled, and through watering eyes Dean managed to hate that expression just a little bit more. "You don't try and kill me, I don't try and kill you. I just need… something from you."
"An exorcism?" Dean muttered, or tried to mutter; it came out all ragged. He'd given up on the not-talking thing, because clearly it was pointless. Too bad dad wasn't around so Dean could shove that particular fact in his face.
"I thought so." His eyes were still watering, and his throat felt funny, but otherwise Dean was coming back to himself after his brief encounter with asphyxiation. This part of dealing with bad guys sucked. He didn't mind burns as much as he did being strangled, there was just something so personal and horrific about it. "We kill demons, or find out how to kill demons. Demons that aren't you, I mean. Whoever you are." Because clearly she was special.
"We kill the demons," she said slowly, as if explaining something to a child, "before they can kill me."
Well. That clarified a few things. Sort of.