Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me. The original character of Evelyn Winchester does.

A/N: In this story, John has just died and is in hell. Alistair decides to torture him mentally rather than physically, by forcing him to relive the worst of his children's memories about him. He is not only able to see the memory, but is able to feel everything that they felt, and think what they thought. This story's much darker than I typically write, which is the reason for the T rating.

John was prepared for hell. He had been for years. But that didn't mean he had been prepared for just how lonely and desolate it was. He'd died what felt like days earlier, but there was no way to tell the true passage of time. He was locked away in a cell at the moment, with nothing to focus on but the sounds of the screaming around him. So he tried to focus on what he missed the most. His children. Dean's strong heart, that became soft as feathers when it came to his brother and sister. Sam, who could put together puzzles quicker than anyone he'd ever met and seemed to have a boundless supply of empathy. Evy, who had forgiven him more often than he cared to admit, including right before he'd died. Never before had he missed them so badly. And now it was too late to do anything about it.

"John Winchester."

A long, drawling voice drew John out of his thoughts and made his hair stand on end.

"I'm not going to bother with introductions. I'm sure you know who I am."

"Never had the pleasure." John replied, without even a flinch.

"Oh, my. Something about the supernatural world John Winchester doesn't know." The creature, which looked like a man but John was confident was a demon, moved slowly inside the cell, and John made it a point not to move. "Well, let's start with introductions. My name's Alistair. You're John Winchester. We're going to become good friends."

"I don't know about that."
"You do know what I'm here for." Alistair said, more a statement than a question.

"I assume it's to torture me. Good luck with that." John replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You know, me and a whole lot of others drew lots as to who got to deal with you. I won." Alistair said, cracking a grin that made John's hair stand up on end. "I've been spending the last few hours trying to figure out exactly what to do to you."
"Do your worst." John said, a statement he'd end up regretting.

Alistair smiled. "My pleasure."

Suddenly, John was thrown back against the wall of the cell, and a second later, he was in a dingy one room apartment. He was sitting on top of a mattress, and there was a screaming baby in front of him. John recognized the baby almost instantly.

Sammy? He thought.

"DEAN!"

John heard a voice shout from the other side of the apartment. He didn't know who it was right away. He was too busy with the fact that the hands that were attached to him were those of a little kid's, not an adult. They were working to change Sammy's diaper. The voice was also that of a little kid's, not his own. And he was saying things that John wasn't trying to say.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm almost done, then you can get back up and play."
"DEAN!"

Who is that jerk shouting? John thought, before looking up and finding that the voice belonged to…him?
"Dean, you have to keep Sammy quiet. I'm trying to work."

"I'm trying, Daddy. I really am."

Suddenly, it occurred to John what was going on. He was reliving one of Dean's memories, through Dean's eyes. Suddenly, John's stomach cramped up. He was afraid. He found he could also hear Dean's thoughts. Please don't get mad at me, Daddy. I'm trying. But John felt Dean's heart break when the John from the memory spoke again.

"Well, try harder. Change him and get him to sleep. Sammy's been crying for two straight hours. There's no reason for that."

The John from the memory turned and walked back to the table, which was littered with books. John felt himself swallowing back tears and thinking other thoughts that broke his heart. I'm sorry I'm not good enough, Daddy. I'm not mommy. John watched Dean continue to change baby Sammy's diaper, coo at him and play with him, and eventually put Sammy to sleep. He watched through Dean's eyes as he never received one iota of appreciation, one bit of love, or even a brief 'good job'.

John's eyes were open and he found that there were tears running down his face. He tried to wipe them away, but he couldn't. The feeling of being completely immersed in Dean's brain, watching his memories and feeling his emotions, was jarring to say the least.

"What the hell was that?" John said through clenched teeth.

"That was a memory Dean has of you. That, my dear John Winchester, is your torture. You're going to live your children's memories of you. You're going to see what they saw, feel what they felt. Every single time you made them feel unimportant, or insignificant, or unloved. You're going to go through all of it."
"I did the best I could for them." John said. He was out of breath, as if he'd just ran ten miles without stopping.

"Then you should have nothing to fear."

He was in a no name motel room. Where or when John wasn't immediately clear on, but he was alone. He was in Dean's memories again, which he only knew by the leather jacket he was wearing. He was holding a photograph in his hand. John was holding a baby Evy, who was only a few months old at the time. Sam was making faces at the baby, who was smiling and holding her arms in the air, wanting Sam to take her. Dean had been the one that took the photo, so he was behind the camera. John somehow knew that the memory was a few weeks after he had left Dean to go chase the demon that had killed Mary. John then turned in to what Dean was thinking. He was lonely. Desperately lonely. His entire family had left him at this point. He wasn't angry at Sam or Evy, but he missed them.

But at John, he was pissed.

He'd never once left John. He'd always been the one to follow orders, only going against John when there was a real chance John was going to hurt either Sammy or Evy. He'd given up all his own dreams of having a family, just so John could follow through with his mission. A mission that Dean secretly disagreed with. He knew Mary would never approve of revenge, and would hate John for the way he'd treated his children. But John loved his father more than he hated his life. And John had repaid that by abandoning him. Dean's thoughts went in different directions. Did Dad leave because I wasn't good enough? Did I make him mad? How could he leave me? Those thoughts rang over and over, and Dean started to weep. He wished he could find a ghost, or a wendigo, or a water spirit, or something to take his mind off the loneliness he was feeling, which was deep, hollow, and more painful than any of the numerous injuries he'd ever suffered in his short, miserable life.

John was brought back to the present, again with force. This time he wasn't just crying, he was openly weeping. The depths of Dean's pain had taken him by surprise. Dean seemed so strong, so capable, so impervious. But it hit John hard that he had caused Dean far more pain with his own actions than the demon had ever caused.

"I'm so sorry, son."

"Oh, no, no, no." Alistair cackled, and John was enraged to hear that he was laughing. "It's much too late for apologies. And besides, you have two other children."
"Please no." John said. "Not again."
"Afraid you don't get that choice."

John could barely breathe. He was in Sam's memory now. He was buried underneath a comforter, and he was in pain. It hurt to even move, so Sam did it as little as possible. When it occurred to John what memory he was in, he felt sick. This was the night that he'd found Sam after he ran to Flagstaff with Evy. He'd given Sam one of the hardest spankings he'd ever given to any of his kids, which explained the physical pain he was in.

Wait. John thought. Why wouldn't Sam's memory be of the spanking?

Suddenly the answer came. Swatting sounds coming from the living room, and Evy's screaming and crying. Sam started crying again. He wanted to get out of the bed, go grab Evy from John, and run all over again. But Sam had no doubt that it would only make things worse for all of them. So, helpless to do anything about it, Sam gripped his comforter.

"I'm so sorry, baby." He whispered into the night. "I'm so sorry."

Sam distracted himself from the sound of Evy's spanking by thinking about their two weeks away. It had been hard, but for the first time in months, Sam had felt valued, needed, like he was able to do something right. John's heart cracked. Sam had felt more acceptance on the streets in a strange city than he had at home. Suddenly, the sound of the spanking stopped. Evy's weeping could still be heard through the wall. The muffled voices of Dean and John drifted through, followed by the sound of the door shutting. Sam came out from underneath the comforter.

"Why is it so hard to talk to you, Dad?"

The walls of the cell appeared again. John was close to breaking. His memories of that night were, at that point, mostly distorted. But they were back now with startling clarity. He had completely and utterly failed his children. They had no sense of happiness, of joy, of the good things the world offered. And it wasn't because of the demon, because of the supernatural, but because of him.

"Had enough yet?" Alistair cracked from the corner.

John said nothing; there was nothing he could say.

"Still nothing?" Alistair asked. "Let's go visit another one."
The kitchen of the last house they'd all been a family in. Sam stood in the corner, arms folded across his chest, facing a raging John and a quiet Dean. Sam was doing his best to keep his calm, but it was growing harder with every passing second.

"Dad, please just listen…."
"There's nothing to listen to, Sammy!" John shouted. "You're leaving your family."
"I'm going to college." Sam said calmly, refusing to engage John in a shouting match. "I want a better life than this. There's nothing wrong with that…"
"So what we do isn't good enough for you? Is that it? You want to run away from your family and live some normal life?"

"I want to live." Sam said calmly. "I want to live past the age of thirty. I don't want to die facing some spirit or some supernatural creature that kills me. If you truly care about me like you say you do, I'd think you want that for me too."

"What about your sister? If we're so terrible to you, why would you want to leave her here?"

Suddenly Sam wasn't so calm. "Don't bring her into this."

"Why not? You're the one leaving her. How do you think she's going to react to that?"

"So how she feels suddenly means a damn to you?" Sam asked. "Or are you just mad because you're actually gonna have to take care of her now?"

"How dare you!" John shouted, his face suddenly purple with rage.

"There's no need to shout, Dad. We all can hear you."

"Fine. Then let me make something very clear. You walk out that door, you don't come back." John said. "You can stay until your bus leaves. But after that, you don't come back."
"Yes, sir." Sam answered, keeping his cool, but feeling his heart breaking in the process. "Guess you finally get what you want. Because I'll definitely follow that order."

The memory continued, but Sam's thoughts raged. Why couldn't Dad just be happy for him? It made no sense. He wanted Sam to stay safe, but he had no qualms throwing him in the face of dangerous creatures. He knew he'd hurt his dad when he suggested that Sam leaving was what John wanted, but Sam didn't care. It felt good to finally throw back a fraction of the hurt, the fear, the insecurity he'd always felt when it came to his father. It hit him hard that no matter how hard he worked, no matter how hard he tried, Sam would never have his father's approval.

Then he realized something else. He shouldn't have to fight. He shouldn't have to work for his father's approval. It shouldn't have to be so hard. He wondered if, at some point in the future, his father would ever realize that if he had just been calm, asked Sam not to leave, and told him he was proud of him, he would never have left. That had been all Sam wanted, and since John was too stubborn to even give him that simple bit of positive reinforcement, he would leave. Damn the consequences, he would leave.

The only thing that almost stopped him was Evy. She cried at the drop of a hat, begged him to stay, begged him not to leave her alone. But he knew that if he ever had the chance to give Evy a decent life, he had to break away and find one himself first. So, as much as it broke his heart, he walked out the door. He vowed that no matter how hard John made it, he would stay in Evy's life. He would make things better for her, even if it completely destroyed the relationship he had with his father.

John was back in the cell again. His eyes were tightly shut. This time he'd caused the pain to himself. If he had just stopped being stubborn, admitted that he was insanely proud of Sam, and just asked him nicely to stay, they could have stayed in tact. Stayed a family. No matter how screwed up, how broken, how miserable any of them might have been, there was a good chance that if he had just spoken up, he could have stayed a family.

"Don't get comfortable yet, Johnny boy." Alistair said. "You still have one more child."

Evy was terrified. John had a half second thought about how surreal it was to be laying over his own knee, but that was blotted out by the feeling of being hit by his own hand. Evy kicked, screamed, and begged for her father to stop. The pain, John reflected inside Evy's small body, was incredible. It was no wonder to him now that the mere thought of a spanking from him had sent Evy into frantic tears. Suddenly, Evy kicked very hard, and found herself with her feet on the floor rather than dangling over his legs. She tried hard to turn, to run away, but John still had a firm grip on her arm. He spun her around, drew his arm again, and landed a sharp slap to her cheek.

For the first time since diving into any of these memories, John tried to scream. He tried to fight, to break himself out of it, only to find that he couldn't do anything but watch. Dean picked up the still crying Evy, laid her on the bed, and went out for a minute. When Dean was gone and Evy was alone, John could hear her very childlike thoughts and he wished he could die all over again. Why does Daddy hate me? Why did he hurt me? I want Sammy. I want Squish. And, the one that felt like it drove a spear through John's heart, I want my mommy. Dean came back, iced down Evy's cheek, and assured Evy that everything would change. Dean climbed on the bed next to Evy, held her, and for the first time all day, Evy finally felt okay.

"My baby…" John sobbed, shaking. "I'm so sorry."
"Sorry, Johnny. Still not done."

Evy stood next to Sam's car, wondering what was going on inside the house. She felt terrible leaving John and Dean, but she knew deep down she deserved better than constant fear. The door opened and John came out. Evy smiled and tried to go to him for a hug. John reached out a hand and pushed her against the car, making her stumble and have to grab the hood of the car to break her fall. She looked up and saw that John was headed towards the truck without breaking a sweat. The tears were falling uncontrollably now. Daddy had just pushed her, hurt her, again, and apparently didn't care at all. Dean came out, gave her a hug and a kiss, then left in the Impala. Sam came out and saw the fresh tears running down her face.

"Hey, Cricket, why are you crying? What's wrong?"
Evy wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. "I tried to give Daddy a hug when he came out, but he pushed me away and didn't say anything. What happened?"

"Come here." Sam opened the passenger side door, and Evy climbed inside. He wiped the tears from her face as they fell, but for the first time, it didn't make a difference in how she felt. "You're coming back with me. I'm taking care of you now. We had a little bit of a fight over it, and Dad's not very happy with me. But he agreed it was the best thing for you." Sam said. "We've got an hour to get the rest of your stuff and start heading back to Stanford."
"Daddy hates me now." Evy said, and John tried to scream at her that it wasn't true.
"No!" Sam said firmly. He took both of Evy's hands. "No. Listen to me. He's angry at me, not you. When we get back to Stanford, we'll call him. He'll be less angry then. Okay?" Evy didn't respond. "Hey, Cricket, look at me. I promise you, no matter what, you and I are gonna be okay. It won't be easy, but I promise, I will never, ever leave you. I love you, okay?"

Evy nodded, but she was still crying. Sam picked her up and traded places with her in the passenger seat. He held her, rocked her, tried to stop her tears, but it didn't work. Sam eventually told her that they had to go pack, and they went back in the house. Evy appreciated Sam trying to make her feel better, but she was convinced. Her father hated her. Maybe he hadn't always, but he did now. And he always would.

"It's not true." John said, breaking from the memory. But this memory ahd so rocked him to the core that he was unaware that he was back in the cell. "It's not true, I never hated you…"

"You still think you did your best?" Alistair drawled. "That you took such wonderful care of your children?"
"I'm so sorry…" a broken, beaten down John kept repeating.

"Well, I would say I hate to break this to you, Johnny, but that would be a lie. This is a treat for me. Making you relive what you've done through your children's eyes. Bit of genius if I do say so myself."

"Go to hell." John said.

Alistair laughed uproariously. "In case you didn't notice, we're already there, John. But guess what? I've got a bonus memory for you."

"No. Not again…."

Evy watched John standing by the side of her bed. She hadn't seen him in years, and this was the closest the two of them had been. When John realized what he was looking at, he wished he could die all over again. Evy had told him not long before he died that she had been able to see and hear everything going on around her while she'd been in the coma. Why hadn't he put together that it meant she'd seen him visit her in the hospital? But he watched himself just stand there, while Evy tried to touch him and call to him. Of course, he couldn't hear her, so she just watched as he kissed his middle and pointer finger, laid them on her forehead, then turned and walked away.

"Daddy, come back." Evy cried, only to be left heartbroken when John kept walking.

"ENOUGH!" John shouted. "Enough. Please, please stop."
"That's it, John. For today."
"Today?" John asked.

"That's right. You see, I'm coming back tomorrow, and we're going to do the same thing."
"No…"

"There's one way you can make it stop." Alistair said. "Would you like to hear it?"

"What? What is it?"

Alistair held out a knife. "Take up the knife. Torture others. And I'll release you."
"I'll be able to go back?" John asked. He was hoping for a reprieve, for a chance to go back and apologize to all three of his kids.

"No. You're stuck here. Your children are all stuck with those memories, and you get to dwell on that for all eternity. But, if you agree to take this knife from me, your torture is over."

John had spent his entire life protecting innocent people from evil. The thought of hurting them now made his stomach turn. But he honestly didn't think he could handle another day of watching and feeling his children's memories. They were too overpowering. And he couldn't even kill himself to get away from it. He was already dead. With a shaking hand and a broken heart and spirit, John reached out.

"Give me the knife."