Ow. I Hurt. [DAVE]

Xander awoke on a chair, something he hadn't remembered earlier. All he could recall was uttering a strangled cry for help and then the world went black. Even the events that happened before that were hazy. He only remembered a few things. Hecate. Knife. Blood. None of it made sense.

A strange taste was in his mouth and his legs stung a little. His chest felt numb, but nothing hurt too badly. He felt as if his eye was swelled up and his face hurt like hell. His black T-shirt and jeans were shredded and stained with blood. He was still gripping his celestial bronze pocket knife in his right hand. A small table was next to him with a glass of weird liquid and blocks of some food.

That's when he noticed the older boy looming over him. "Monster!" was what Xander thought to scream first at the sight of the boy. He scrambled backwards, toppling out of the chair while he lashed out aimlessly with his knife. He hit the ground and his chest felt like it was ripping apart, erupting in an unbearable pain. He shouted in agony before adding shakily, "What do you want? Leave me alone!"

Xander watched helplessly as his pocket knife was taken from him. Before he knew it, the boy, Damon as he was introduced, had him pinned down. He struggled, but Damon was obviously stronger than him. The force was digging into his burning chest, making Xander feel like he was having a heart attack. He had a weird way of showing it, but it sounded like Damon actually cared. Hearing the name Hecate jolted Xander's memory a little.

"Son of Hecate?" he muttered grumpily. "Me too. Xander Lambrett." He said nothing more, mainly because he was a little ticked off about having his knife confiscated and being tackled to the ground. Also because Xander thought if he said another word, his chest would explode.

Xander grunted as hew as helped back into his chair. He wasn't sure what he thought of Damon. The older boy definitely acted superior to him which he didn't like, but he probably was superior. Now sitting down, he crossed his arms to try and look annoyed, but that stung his chest, so he just drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Saying nothing in reply to Damon's comment about the chest, Xander grabbed a square of... whatever it was and popped it in his mouth. He's not going to lie, it tasted amazing, but he didn't want to admit that. Stubbornly, he pushed the second one away and said, "I don't need your help."

He didn't like the fact that Damon was pulling the strings here. Xander wanted to get up and take his knife back on his own, but the older boy (his half-brother?) was trying to negotiate. Information for the knife. Doing his best to give Damon the smallest amount of info possible, Xander muttered, "One, monster. Two, little to none. Three, no." He grinned, satisfied with his short and pointless answers.

Xander's jaw dropped when the knife started floating around. He was never able to pull off a trick like that! He reached for it, but the rapid movement was too much for his injured body. He grunted and settled back into the chair.

Rolling his eyes, Xander decided he'd have to give Damon more descriptive answers. He couldn't really go anywhere and the boy didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon, so they had to at least tolerate each other. He mumbled, "Fine. I know... not much. They had all these weird gods that controlled all the crap and they made up stories about them to explain the forces of nature. But we proved them wrong ages ago with science. They're just that, myths right?" But as Xander answered the next question, he wasn't so sure. "That monster thing. When I killed it, it shouted something about being a worthless son of Hecate."

Xander flinched as the knife flew into the ceiling. The fact that this boy could control a knife with pure thought was scary. What else could he do with it? Suddenly, the weapon was flung at Xander, stopping right in front of his face. He jerked back out of instinct, but seeing as it had stopped, he grabbed his weapon out of the air and shoved it in his pocket.

He wanted to argue with Damon when he mentioned the Greek gods not just being myths. Xander opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. The boy had a point. That monster was certainly real. He wasn't really paying attention to the rest of what Damon was explaining because he was still trying to wrap his mind around this whole thing. But upon seeing the flame erupt in his hand, Xander dropped his jaw and asked, "How did you...?"

Only about a million, Xander thought. He had more questions than he could count, but he wanted to show that he didn't need Damon's help. He could get by perfectly fine on his own. He shook his head decisively and looked down at his heavily bandaged chest. Wow, he wished he could remember exactly how that happened.

He had to admit, all this talk about magic made him excited. He loved magic more than anything in the world, so this camp should be perfect for him. He felt that his skills were a little mediocre compared to Damon's, but regarding his question about tricks, he said, "Unless you count card tricks as anything noteworthy, I'm useless."

He'll admit, having someone tell him he wasn't useless made Xander feel pretty nice, but he still grumpily crossed his arms over his chest and didn't say a word. He'd probably try learning how to use spells on his own anyway. Asking someone else for help would be the last resort.

When Damon left the room, Xander felt weird. Sure, the two hadn't gotten off on the right foot, so he should be glad his half-brother left. But still, he was just that. His brother. Plus, he was the only person he knew at this camp. The fact that he might have just left him to sit alone and bored until he was healed was scary. Thankfully, the older boy returned into the room wielding a black T-shirt. Xander showed no sign of it, but he was happy his brother had returned. When he asked about the shirt, Xander wanted to refuse the offer. He still believed he didn't need Damon's help. But he looked down at his own shirt, or lack of. What was left was just a limp piece of cloth hanging in shreds from his shoulders, his bandages under that. Barely looking up, he muttered, "Medium."

"I can walk," Xander said defiantly, though he wasn't sure it was true. He caught the shirt and took off his shredded one, wiggling into the new one from his seat. He began to stand, but the pain was unbearable. Gritting his teeth and ignoring it, he pushed himself off the chair and onto his feet, his chest stinging immensely. When Damon wasn't paying attention, he slipped the second square of that mysterious healing thing. He had his pocket knife in his jeans (which were also slightly ripped), ready for use in case he ever needed it.

Glancing at his new shirt and back up to Damon, Xander said something he didn't want to say. The word barely escaped his lips, coming out in a mumble so low he wasn't even sure if Damon had heard it. "Thanks..."

Xander stopped as well, a bit suddenly when Damon halted at the door. His grip tightened on his pocket knife for some reason as he firmly stated, "No." in a tone that meant her e would be no arguing. He'd grown attached to his knife after years of using it in the woods while he was camping. Plus, it had a bunch of little attachments like s miniature screwdriver and a bottle opener. He still remembered the time his father gave him the gift for his birthday. Still, maybe he could do better with a larger weapon. "Not yet at least," he corrected himself.