Johnny breathes slowly, staring at his hands, remembering when Lucifer trapped him in the midst of the floor and then forcibly pushing that memory away with a little inward curl and twitch. "Yeah," he grits out. "I can, but I don't. This shit is dangerous."

He twists to look up at Rumpelstiltskin over his shoulder, look at him unconcernedly studying the house as though it were just an interesting bit of wildlife, not the stuff of nightmares. "It has a mind of its own," he says.