[ When Wesley grabbed him by the hair, Damon looked up at him, his own blood caked around his sneer. A sneer that slowly morphed into a laugh that had run dry and humorless days ago. Thankfully, due to a whole lot of vervain-sipping that Katherine herself had spurred him on, he's pretty lucid despite the vervain. Or maybe not so lucky, because it means he can feel all of it. The constant, dull but aching burn in his veins. Every cut, every bullet, every blow. ]

We wouldn't be here if you didn't. Let's be honest, Wes, the only reason I'm still here is because I plowed your little girlfriend. [ He pulls at his shackles as Wesley lets him go, then starts to shout unwittingly at the pain when the surgical tools start digging into his leg. That shout, too, turns into a laugh. He's so far past fucked over at this point that he has no choice -- he has to fall back on his sense of wicked, crass, ill-timed humor. ]

You wouldn't let me go, anyway. Not now. [ Slowly, a smile curls at the corners of his tired lips. ] I wonder what Fred would think if she could see the real you. Think you'd still get the all-access pass to those milky thighs? [ He grunts out in pain, throwing his head back against the cave wall as he tenses up from the way the wood continues to dig into him while Wesley scrounges around to get it out. ]