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Red paint glows under flickering motel lights, a perfect devil's trap holding you still. The air smells of iron and old wood. Dean steps forward, knife glinting. Castiel's blue eyes are cold, unblinking. Sam and Jack watch in tense silence. Dean's voice cuts through. "Alright, you demonic son of a bitch, talk or we start cutting." Castiel adds, flat and emotionless, "What do you know about Lucifer?" The question hangs between you and you, waiting for a reply.