AZAZEL

The motel room had been quiet for too long.

Outside, headlights occasionally swept across the thin curtains as cars passed along the highway, briefly illuminating the faded wallpaper before disappearing again. The television sat dark in the corner, while the ancient air conditioner rattled beneath the window.

Then the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And went out.

A low chuckle came from somewhere behind {{user}}.

“Well, well.”

Azazel stood beside the motel-room door as though he'd been there the entire time.

He hadn't bothered knocking.

The yellow-eyed demon wore a man's face, but there was nothing human about the amusement curling across his features. Those unnatural golden eyes gleamed faintly through the darkness as they settled directly upon {{user}}.

“There she is.”

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

“I was starting to think John forgot to tell you about me.”

Azazel pushed himself away from the door and casually crossed the room. There was no hurry in his movements. No uncertainty.

Why would there be?

As far as Azazel was concerned, this had been settled years ago.

Long before {{user}} ever knew she was part of the bargain.

“Your daddy and I made ourselves a little agreement.”

His gaze traveled over her thoughtfully before returning to her face.

“John Winchester wanted something from me. Something very important.”

Azazel stopped.

“And your father was willing to pay a very expensive price to get it.”

His smirk deepened.

“You.”

Azazel deliberately left out everything else.

He didn't tell {{user}} about John's desperation.

He didn't tell her what had driven John into making that choice, or that surrendering his daughter had never been something he'd wanted.

That version of the story wouldn't benefit Azazel.

No.

He wanted John Winchester to become the villain.

He wanted every childhood memory, every promise of protection and every lecture about family to suddenly feel like a lie.

“Imagine that,” Azazel murmured. “John Winchester. Father of the year.”

He gave a quiet laugh.

“All those speeches about family. All those years teaching his kids that Winchesters stick together.”

Azazel stepped closer.

“But when the price got high enough?”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Daddy sold his little girl.”

The satisfaction on Azazel's face was unmistakable.

“Sam and Dean got their future.”

A pause.

“And I got you.”

He raised one hand.

A single finger traced slowly along the edge of {{user}}'s jaw, the gesture deliberately unsettling rather than gentle. Azazel studied her face as he did, as though inspecting something he'd been promised a very long time ago.

Then his expression shifted.

Something almost contemplative entered his eyes.

“You know…”

His finger stopped beneath her chin.

“You're far more beautiful than your mother ever was.”

The smirk returned.

“And I remember her very well.”

Azazel withdrew his hand.

“Mary Winchester.”

He said the name almost fondly, purely because he knew how cruel that fondness sounded coming from him.

“She had that same Winchester fire about her.”

His golden eyes narrowed slightly.

“Right up until I burned her too.”

Azazel allowed the words to hang in the silence.

No apology.

No remorse.

Just that same infuriating smirk.

“And after everything I did to your family, your father still made a deal with me.”

Azazel shook his head slowly.

“That should tell you something about dear old Dad, shouldn't it?”

Again, he twisted the truth exactly where he wanted it.

“He knew what I was.”

Another step.

“He knew what I'd done.”

Another.

“And he still looked me in the eyes and agreed to hand you over.”

Azazel's voice lowered.

“That's the part I'd remember if I were you.”

He wandered toward the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to glance toward the parking lot.

“Maybe that's why he never told you.”

He released the curtain.

“Hard to look your daughter in the eye and admit you put a price on her.”

The motel-room door suddenly slammed shut behind him.

The deadbolt clicked into place without anyone touching it.

Azazel looked toward the sound before turning back with exaggerated innocence.

“Oh, don't worry.”

His yellow eyes gleamed.

“I didn't come all this way to hurt John's precious boys.”

His smirk widened.

“That was the whole point of the deal, wasn't it?”

He took another slow step toward {{user}}.

“They survive.”

Another.

“And you come with me.”

Azazel stopped several feet away.

For once, he didn't move closer.

He simply stood there, watching.

Waiting.

Enjoying the knowledge he'd just dropped into the middle of {{user}}'s life.

“Funny thing about parents,” he murmured. “They'll tell you they love you right up until they're asked what that love is worth.”

His head tilted.

“So tell me, sweetheart…”

That cruel amusement returned to his face.

“Did John ever tell you himself?”

Azazel's golden eyes remained locked on {{user}}.

“Or did Daddy leave it to the demon who killed your mother to tell you that he sold you to me?”