Hel, daughter of Loki, stood before John Winchester - the real John Winchester - and wallowed in his misery. The mighty hunter had finally been brought low enough, as low as the trickster offspring could take him, and if the grisly creature had a heart, The depth of John Winchester's agony would have made it swell with pride.

The hunter knew everything now. Every abominable act that Hel had orchestrated on his behalf. He knew because Hel had played the uncut version for him on the screen that took up one entire, dripping, execrable wall of Helheim. She played it for him as it happened, one tortuous piece at a time, leaving intermittently to create more mischief while wearing the body that was the exact replica of the man she toyed with. She left John to his pain and to his paralyzing fear of what was to come for his family.

John saw himself, loading ungodly items of torture into a bag as he grinned evilly at his youngest son. He saw himself sprinkling a potentially deadly poison into a can of grape soda and offering it to the boy who was, secretly, one of the only two reasons that John bothered to stay alive at all. He saw his oldest collapsing in tears against the wall of a decrepit motel, and he saw the only two hunters he actually feared slide the barrel of a gun into his youngest boy's mouth. John saw Sam's terror. He felt his fear. And the mighty hunter broke into a million useless pieces and vomited into a corner already covered in filth.

But when he saw the perfect adaptation of himself place a gun to Dean's forehead, John began to beg.

And that was the moment for which Hel had been waiting - to see the fearless hunter brought to his knees before her.

The feeling would have been sweet nectar to her soul if she'd had one.

She had nothing personal against the man, really. He was just one name on a list that Crowley brought her from time to time. Crowley ruled Hell. Hel ruled Helheim. They were two peas in a pod, and they both loved manipulating the fate of those poor pathetic humans.

Such a rush.

But now the game was over, and it was time for John to go. She'd had her fun with this particular toy, and it was time now to release him - to let him go back to the ruination she'd made of his life and to secretly watch and rejoice as he haltingly tried to make amends for the heinous acts he hadn't committed.

No one would believe him. Nobody ever did. Hel had played this game before - a million times over - and it always ended the same.

In death and destruction. In suicide or in madness. The road that awaited John Winchester was narrow at best. At worst, it only led to one place.

Hel tossed back her grisly head and laughed grotesquely.

The best part was yet to come.

Author's Note: A special thank you to Lenail125 for catching the error in my timeline that referred to the fire :) And thank you to everyone who hung in there until the end. I took liberties with Hel's story, so I hope you brought your willing suspension of disbelief to the party. Thanks again for all the kind reviews!