Sam was backed against the wall in the back of the room, his right leg bleeding from three claw marks slashed above his knee, and standing over him was a figure with shaggy black hair holding… a frying pan? Where the hell had this wacko come from? The figure turned around and grinned at Dean, his irises glinting crimson against the whites of his eyes. Demon. "Hello, Dean." He flicked his wrist and sent Dean flying against the wall. "Finally joining the party, are we?" With one clawed hand he kept Dean pinned against the wall, and with the other he shifted his grip on the heavy pan. "Sam!" Dean struggled against the force of the demon, but it was no use. The demon looked down to Sam, who was trying to move away, but was slowed by his injury. The demon, momentarily ignoring Dean, grabbed Sam's shoulder, threw him into the middle of the room, and advanced on him as he tried again to get away. Dean, freed briefly, scrambled to his feet and grabbed the gun, which he'd dropped when the demon had force him against the wall. But by the time he had grabbed the gun it was too late; as Dean raised the gun to fire, the demon swung the frying pan, catching Sam in the side of the head. Sam collapsed with a thud onto the wood floor, unconscious, and the demon returned his attention to Dean. He raised his arm, and forced Dean back against the wall. Smirking, he looked admiringly at the dull metal of the pan. "You know, these are actually really fun to use," The demon said, pride glinting in his eyes. "Plus, they're, you know, useful against Winchesters. I'll have to remember that." Tossing the pan aside, he held out his hand. "Allow me to formally introduce myself – I am Varak." He grinned. "I need you to give me that pendant you've got in your pocket." Dean gritted his teeth and snarled back, "then you'll have to take it." Varak smirked. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't. The laws governing the pendant state that I cannot force it from you. You have to give it to me willingly." He clasped his hands behind his back. "So I'll offer you a choice, Dean. You can give it to me now, and I promise, no one will get hurt. But refuse this offer, and I will hurt you." Dean's brow furrowed. "You said you can't force it from me. Torture counts as force." Varak threw back his head suddenly and laughed. "Oh, no, I'm not going to torture you. For one thing, you're probably right – if I try to torture you into handing it over, the pendant may not work the way I need it to. Second, It'd take forever to get you to crack under physical pressure. Which is why we're going to torture Sam instead." Seeing Dean's attempt to immediately hide his despairing expression, Varak rolled his eyes and frowned. "Oh, come on, Dean," he hissed, "Think about this. It's a bargain – of sorts. You get all the time you need to make up your mind – no pressure. But on the flipside, the longer you take to decide, the longer Sam's going to suffer for it." The pressure pinning Dean's right arm lifted. "You have ten seconds to decide whether you both walk away, no questions asked, or whether we resort to option B. One. Two. Three…" Dean's mind was whirling, trying to think of a plan. Obviously, the pendant was extremely important to the angels, and they had stressed that it could do terrible things in the wrong hands. He also knew that this demon, even if Dean did hand over the pendant, wasn't going to simply let them walk away. Demons didn't work like that. Even though it was going to hurt both of them, Dean knew that keeping the pendant and waiting for a break was better than surrendering. His hand had crept to his pocket while he'd thought, and Dean withdrew it, bringing his arm back to his side, and brought his defiant gaze to meet the demon's as the counting finished. "…Ten."