{{user}} was a demon—and not just any demon. He’d been tormenting the Winchesters for days, slipping through salt lines, mocking their every move, and turning their hunt into a game. But the game was over now.

Dean had finally caught him. The teenager’s body {{user}} wore was now frozen in place, trapped in the center of a devil’s trap scrawled across the old barn floor. Symbols glowed faintly beneath him, sealing him in with no escape. Dean stood just outside the circle, arms crossed, watching with that same smug confidence he always wore like armor.

“Relax, pretty boy,” Dean said with a smirk, voice thick with sarcasm. “You’ll be back home in no time.”

He knew damn well that home for {{user}} meant Hell. And from the look on the demon’s face, that was the last place he wanted to go.