Eyes rolling behind his lids, Daimon heard distantly what must've been footsteps. Had they found him? A painful groan rattled in his chest, the claws of agony digging into his bones, fuck. His body was slow to recover; now that he was out of his demon form, and the adrenaline had dropped, he felt everything, and barely managed to push out a few crushed bullet shells wedged in his flesh, blood from the wounds dripping into his side, into a crimson puddle. He tried to move, to open his heavy-lidded eyes, the best he could do was curl his human fingers against the damp pavement. When the person spoke, he weakly turned his head toward the voice, coming to him as a distorted wave of sound. This time Daimon tried to speak, light spilling into the darkness when he pried open his eyes to narrow slits and saw the outline of a stranger, slowly registering what was said and trying to combat it, another bloodied croak dripping out of his mouth as his recovering motor skills afforded him enough strength to grab the person's wrist.