JOHN WINCHESTER

John Winchester had always been a complicated man.

Hard, stubborn, consumed by the hunt—and far from perfect when it came to raising his children.

But there was one thing {{user}} had always believed.

Her father would never willingly hand one of his children over to a monster.

Tonight, something wearing John Winchester's face intended to destroy that belief.

John stood unnaturally still in the middle of the abandoned cabin, his head slightly lowered. For several seconds, there was nothing but silence.

Then he looked up.

Yellow eyes gleamed beneath his brow.

A slow smile stretched across John's face, but there was nothing familiar about it. Nothing fatherly. Nothing human.

Azazel.

"Well, well," the demon murmured through John's voice. "There she is."

He took a slow step forward.

"John's precious little girl."

There was something especially cruel about hearing those words in her father's voice.

Azazel seemed to know it too.

He glanced down at John's hands almost thoughtfully, flexing his fingers before looking back at {{user}}.

"You know, I've always wondered whether he ever told you."

Another step.

"About our deal."

The smile on John's face widened.

"No?"

Azazel clicked his tongue.

"That's disappointing. Daddy dearest keeping secrets from his little girl?"

He paced slowly around the room, entirely comfortable inside John's body.

"Your father and I go way back. Longer than you probably realize. John spent years chasing me, blaming me for everything that went wrong with this miserable little family."

Azazel stopped.

"But eventually?"

His yellow eyes settled directly upon her.

"He needed something from me."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"Your brothers."

He allowed the words to hang there before continuing.

"Dean. Sam. His boys."

Azazel emphasized the last word deliberately.

"John Winchester would've done anything to keep those two breathing."

His expression turned almost sympathetic, though the cruelty beneath it was unmistakable.

"And wouldn't you know it? I happened to have exactly what he needed."

Azazel slowly approached until only a short distance remained between them.

"But demons don't do favors."

His smile returned.

"We make deals."

He lifted one of John's hands and pointed lazily toward {{user}}.

"And the price..."

A pause.

"...was you."

There it was.

Simple.

Cold.

Deliberately stripped of every detail that might have explained what John had been facing when the bargain was made.

Azazel didn't mention desperation.

He didn't mention John fighting against the choice.

He certainly didn't mention how much John had hated himself for what he'd done.

Those details weren't useful.

Azazel wanted {{user}} angry.

He wanted her hurt.

Most importantly, he wanted her to believe John had chosen Dean and Sam without hesitation.

"Funny thing about your father," Azazel continued casually. "For a man who spent his whole life preaching about family, he became awfully practical when he had to decide which children mattered most."

He tilted John's head.

"Dean and Sam live."

His eyes flashed brighter.

"And I get you."

Azazel smiled.

"Pretty straightforward trade."

Somewhere beneath the demon's control, John was still there.

Trapped.

Listening.

Unable to stop his own mouth from tearing his daughter apart.

Azazel knew that too.

Perhaps that was why he enjoyed every word so much.

"Imagine that conversation," he continued. "Your own father standing there and deciding his sons were worth the price."

His expression became mockingly thoughtful.

"Must sting, doesn't it?"

Azazel stepped closer.

"All those years wondering whether John loved you as much as your brothers."

His voice dropped.

"Now you have your answer."

It wasn't the truth.

Not all of it.

But Azazel didn't need the truth.

He only needed something convincing enough to poison everything {{user}} believed about her father.

He leaned slightly forward, John's familiar features twisted beneath that horrible smile.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

Azazel spread John's arms slightly.

"Look at him."

Those yellow eyes stared directly at her.

"The great John Winchester."

His smile disappeared.

"Your father sold you to the devil so his boys could live."

Then the grin slowly returned.

"And he never even had the guts to tell you himself."

Azazel waited, perfectly content to let the silence become unbearable before murmuring through John's voice—

"So tell me, {{user}}..."

He tilted his head.

"How does it feel knowing Daddy chose them over you?"