The Slide into Hell

Disclaimer: I'm not Eric Kripke or any of the other talented people responsible for Supernatural, but I do like to take the characters to my sandbox every now and then. I hope they don't mind.

A/N: I thought I was idea-free, but I started thinking about how John reminisced with Dean that when he'd come home from a hunt, Dean would put his hand on John's shoulder and tell him it was okay. That was heartbreaking. Then I started thinking about how a friend of mine said he wanted me to write something from John's point of view. I'm not sure how those two ideas merged into what is going on with this story, but here ya go… This is really short and could be a one-shot, but I'd like to expand on it if you guys think it's worth pursuing. Feel free to let me know what you think.

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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven - John Donne

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John Winchester sat in his car, watching the dark house. It was late and he had just pulled into the driveway, but he couldn't bring himself to walk inside. His two children were in the house and he knew that no matter how late it was, eight year old Dean would be awake and waiting for him. After finishing the job he'd set off to do, John called to check in and after relaying details of the hunt to his friend, Jim Henderson, the phone was passed to Dean. John assured the boy he was safe and would be home that night.

The car was completely still, the engine turned off, but John gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He'd been hunting and investigating the paranormal for nearly four years and had seen a lot of horrible things in that time. He knew it was ruining him, but he was afraid to stop. Part of it was the need to avenge his wife's death and he was no closer to finding what killed her now than the night Mary died. When he embarked down the road of revenge, he didn't expect it to take so long. He thought he'd find it and kill it, then be able to raise his sons in peace. But the longer it took and as he learned more, as he saw more, John began to realize he would never be able to stop. He would always have to stay one step ahead of the evil things in the world to keep his boys safe.

This job had been worse than some, but better than others. After dropping the boys off at Jim's, John met up with other hunters. There was a lead on a cursed object that some of them had hunted throughout the years. Whenever it would resurface, someone in their group would try to intercept and destroy it; this time they were determined not to fail. John was surprised to learn that the object was a silver baby cup cursed by the spirit of a mother whose child was stolen from her.

In the mid-1800's, the mistress of a wealthy landowner gave birth to a son. Determined to have a male heir, and having only had daughters with his wife, the man paid the midwife to take the child and convince the woman it had been a stillborn daughter. Crazed with grief and determined to prove the child was alive, the woman broke into the father's house a few weeks later. She found the silver cup in a nursery upstairs and, believing she had proof she needed, ran from the room in search of her child. She died after falling, or being pushed, down a flight of stairs while clutching the cup. Her death was covered up and it took the hunters many years to find out what really happened and trace down the curse.

The cup was passed down within the family for a few generations, but through an estate sale it ended up elsewhere making it harder to track. The spirit of the wronged woman would torment the man of the family that owned it, eventually causing his death. She often did this without regard for the children in the household and sometimes they were harmed in the attacks. John hated jobs that involved children; they left him with more of a feeling of hopelessness than normal and he longed to be with and protect his own sons.

John looked at the house when the porch light came on. He saw his friend open the door and young Dean stepped onto the porch in front of him. He suspected the boy had heard the growl of the Impala when he pulled into the driveway and he briefly wondered how Jim managed to keep Dean from immediately running outside to meet him. Taking a deep breath and summoning every ounce of strength he had, John opened the car door as Dean came bounding down the porch steps toward him.

In the driveway, John swept Dean into his arms, enjoying the feel of the little boy's arms around his neck.

"What are you still doing up, Dean?" John asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"I wanted to see you. There's no school tomorrow so it's okay."

"It's okay, huh?" John smiled at his son. "Where's your brother?"

"Sleeping. He's too little to stay up late like me."

John laughed and put Dean back on the ground before reaching into the car for his duffle bag.

"I can carry it for you." Dean said.

"It's pretty heavy."

"I'm strong enough."

John intentionally packed this bag light, knowing Dean would want to carry it for him. He had another bag in the trunk that he would retrieve after his son was asleep. It was still a bit of a struggle for the small boy, but Dean managed to get up the steps with his father close behind. John and Jim exchanged a look. The pastor knew exactly what John was feeling because they had talked about it often enough. Jim placed a hand on John's back as the hunter walked past him and into the house.

Dean was fighting to get the bag up the flight of stairs when John walked up behind him and easily picked them both up. He was a large man, just over six feet tall and broad. He kept in shape with vigorous exercises he learned from his days as a Marine. He easily walked over five miles once, both boys in his arms, when the car broke down on a back road.

In his bedroom, John put the bag on the floor and sat on the bed with Dean on his knee.

"Were you good for Pastor Jim?"

"Yes, sir. He let us go swimming in the lake, but Sammy had to wear water wings. And we watched a movie last night with popcorn and everything."

"Sounds like you had a good time."

Dean nodded as he leaned against his father's chest. He stifled a yawn.

"Time to turn in?" John asked.

Dean sat up. "Are you goin' to bed?"

"Soon. I want to talk to Jim for a few minutes."

"Did you get the bad guys?"

"Yeah, we did." John said. He wasn't able to hide the despondent tone from his son.

Dean looked into his father's eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Daddy."

John fought back tears. "I know, Dean. Thanks."