Dimitreaus pursed his lips and made a soft grumble. The water had cycled out, so they weren't sitting in mucky water anymore. "Yes," he mused, his eyes falling closed by the gentle touch. He bent forward and washed his hair, tense from the pain. He felt nervous still. "And if he does? Well I be guilty by association?" He turned in the water, looking up at him. God he was powerful, and he respected that. Because Kane was the one thing that he both loved and feared, even more than Lucifer. He put a hand over his own stomach, where the wound was angry. "I am the one that brought Samuel to Asmodeus." Guilt flashed in his eyes and the scars where his wings used to be throbbed. He stood, clean enough that he could dress his wound. No, this whole situation wasn't over until Sam was at peace.<br/><br/>"Fucking conscience," he grumbled. Unless Kane stopped him, he why to dry off, and conjured the supplies to bandage himself up. But he didn't leave the bathroom. And he wanted so much for Kane to make him forget his worries. He felt that every step he made, he went back two. At least lately. So yes he was sulking. He grabbed the jar of cream and smeared it into the wound, jaw clenched tight from the pain. He wasn't sure what Kane was going to do, but he doubted the demon wanted to deal with his whiny ass. So he went back to his scheming. "I've been trying to think of what to do with Azazel and Enriel. Those two." His eyes darkened in a sadistic glean. "It's been a long time coming. They've been trying to kill me since I kicked Enriel's ass out of the 7th house." He drank down a vial to help heal him internally. He hadn't asked for Kane's help, uncertain what he could do besides feed him blood. His fangs itched for more.