This story will be the main part of a story, 'Of grave and Blood'. It's mostly John-centric. And, while I'm at it, you know the Michael-is-Dean stories? Well, there it's a John-is-Michael story.

Yeah, I know, I won't be making many friends with this story, with all the hate out there.
First of all, John Winchester IS NOT my favorite character, but when I saw all the hate, I just turned my Michael-is-Dean idea around, because it was more interesting, and John needs a little help.

Really, we saw John a maximum of, what, 3 hours perhaps, in more than 200 eps. I don't know how everyone came to hate him that much, when we really don't know much about him.
And putting all the evil in the world on John when defending Lucifer or Crowley of all people seems to me to be a bit hypocritical. He didn't try to murder the whole human race, nor to take over Purgatory, did he? Sure, I can defend Lucifer and Crowley, say that they had a difficult childhood and everything, but that doesn't erase everything they did. That only put their actions in perspective.

I'm not saying that my take on John Winchester is completely canon, only that it's canon-compliant ( I try, if anything ). Many hate stories about John just conveniently forget some canon moments, while highlighting, possibly overreading, some others.
I'll try to find the quotes later on, but here to begin with:
- He never hit his sons (says Dean, when they meet the first other kid with demon blood)
- He was there when his sons needed him, perhaps not emotionally, but as in dire situations (says Dean, too)
- He did the best he could with what he had (says Sam, when with past John)

And, I don't like how some people are ready to excuse some of Dean's and Sam's actions, because they know the circumstances, but can't for the life of them consider that John too had circumstances to deal with, just because the show doesn't say much about it.

So, if you managed to read the note without cursing me to Purgatory and back, perhaps you'll enjoy this story.
If not, sorry for the language, but get the fuck out; I don't want to hear your hate if you're not even going to consider what I just wrote.

Chapter 1: That Gate of Hell

Alastair had left only half an hour before.

Possibly. John couldn't exactly tell, down here, in Hell, how much time passed. It felt like decades since he had sold his soul to Azazel, in exchange for Dean's life. It felt as if one century or two had passed with him chained to that rack. It was a long, long time to be tortured.

But was there another option? Not that he knew of.

Alastair, the chief torturer of Hell, came down to John's rack every ten hours approximately, and there he spent one or two hours before leaving to see and torture a bunch of other souls. From time to time, the demon would ask him if he wouldn't rather get down that rack, even at the price of torturing other souls. Even at the price of John becoming a demon himself.

The still-too-human soul didn't see the point.

He had condemned himself to an eternity in Hell, for his son. He had done it, knowing full well what was awaiting him down there. He had done it because it needed to be done.

Not because Dean deserved to live, which was the case, obviously, but still, not for that reason. Not because John had been blissfully ignorant of what was going on down here, because he had known, more so than most people, what a place in Hell really meant. Not because he had thought he could endure, because no one could endure the torture of Hell for eternity.

He had exchanged his soul and life for Dean's survival, because it had to be done. Because someone needed to keep Sam in line, to make sure that his second son wouldn't go down the wrong path, as the demons had planned. Because someone needed to be there if it happened nonetheless, and Sam needed to be killed. Because John knew what was happening down here, and he would never let either of his sons damn themselves to what he was currently enduring. Because he wouldn't let his son become a demon, even if it meant that Sam had to die; Sam would be better off in Heaven than on Earth, living but according to the demons' plans, anyway.

John would rather be the one paying the ultimate price, here in Hell, even if it meant that he should be seen as the villain who had ordered his oldest son to kill his younger brother.

He'd have liked to have some more time to explain, but Azazel hadn't given him such an opportunity. And perhaps he hadn't said enough to Dean. Perhaps his son would understand an order, when he had only been stating the facts, that John wasn't going to sacrifice the world for either of his sons, not with the guilt such an act always brought, not on the one who sacrificed, but on the ones who had been saved so. Perhaps he should have said something nicer to Dean, something else than that there wasn't anything that mattered besides keeping Sam in the right path, but then he wouldn't have the time to say what was the most important.

John was aware that he hadn't been very comforting in his last moments. But try it, and only then could you judge. When you have only a few more seconds to live, you can't afford to be picky over your choice of words. And he hadn't exactly had much time for a better explanation.

There were many things John Winchester regretted in his life. And if not having been able to say more was something he regretted, he did not regret having chosen this amongst all the things he could have said. Sparing Dean's feelings served no purpose if it got the boy killed.

John'd rather be the hated father of two living sons than the perfect father of two deceased children.

It hadn't been easy, all these years, but he had managed to keep them alive and give them the keys to survival in a world that he knew wouldn't leave the kids alone. If he hadn't been quite the best father as a result, so be it. The best father, who was always there for his children and supported them and did everything with a bright smile, it wasn't him. The best father in the eyes of society, though, John was quite certain that man wouldn't have been to keep his sons alive and clear from Hell's plans.

The human soul chuckled bitterly on his rack, blood dripping slowly, evenly, from his sliced mouth, as he remembered all the times people had looked at him with that judgmental glint in their eyes, even the people from the hunting community. As if they'd have done any better.

Maybe the other hunters had a choice to go back to a normal life and live as if the supernatural didn't exist. Maybe they could pretend it was all a nightmare, or perhaps they could simply take care of what was lurking in the shadows around their town, while innocents people died in other places. Maybe it was the case, for them.

But it wasn't the case for the Winchesters.

During the first years after Mary's death, John hadn't simply wanted revenge. Sure, he wouldn't have said no to crucifying Azazel and turning him into minced meat, but it wasn't what had been motivating him to learn about the supernatural side of the world. What had really brought him into hunting, was the mere idea that there were things, out there, that he knew nothing about, and that they could very well attack Dean and Sam too, one day, and then, he'd have no idea of what to do.

John had done his best to take care of his sons alone, and to research the lore without really going out there, at first. He wasn't suicidal, and not everything in the hearsay was reliable. He wasn't going to go and hunt monsters and ghosts until he could really take care of those with only a minimal risk of dying and leaving the kids alone.

It hadn't been exactly easy.

Then one day, he had met a family of hunters. The wife had helped with the boys, the husband had taught him a few tricks of the business. He had really started to go after the things in the dark around Sam's third birthday. Then the Winchesters had moved on.

He had met Bobby, the Harvelles, Elkins, and a few others. He had learned more and more, to be able to defend his sons if needs be. Yet with each monster he got, with each threat that disappeared, his stomach clenched a bit more. There were so many evils out there, so many monsters and curses, that he knew he would never master them all, defeat them all. There was bound to be one who'd escape his vigilance, one he wouldn't be able to stop before it was too late.

And the sights he had seen over the years, the dripping blood, the dead bodies, the mutilated children and the women dried of their blood, it was always worse. There was always a new horror to find about. There was always another morbid show he could imagine with his sons as the main victims.

It terrified him.

John had learned and hunted more, and more, and more, not only because he wanted to avenge Mary, but also, but mainly because with each evil he took out, it was one less that could befall upon his sons.

He hadn't always been kind and present for his children, he knew that. He had tried to be, but it hadn't always been easy, not when he looked at the sleeping kids when he woke up, and his first thought was that he wasn't sure they were still alive.

Then one day, as he had been trying to find a missing girl, taken away by fairies, as he had understood later on, Sam had seen him talk to the girl's younger sister, crying. The motel had been only two houses over the family's house, and perhaps it had been a mistake to stay here, but the point was, Sam had seen him, and when John had come back to the motel, the boy had asked his father what it had been about. Of course, he hadn't said the whole truth. Just that the girl's sister had disappeared.

Sam had asked him if John could help the family. He had said he was trying to. And Sam had asked him to please, save her.

John had never found the older girl. No one ever came back from being taken by fairies.

Then it hadn't been only about making sure that Dean and Sam would live. It had been about saving as many people as he could, too.

Perhaps John had a bit of a hero complex. He wouldn't deny it, if it was the case. But what else was he supposed to do? Ignore the truth, ignore the people who got hurt every day, ignore the fact that the demons were after his second son? Pretend that everything was alright? Act as if one day, they weren't going to come back for Sam?

The normal people, even the other hunters, they had no idea of what he had to deal with. They could criticize him as much as they wanted, it wouldn't change the facts. John had been dealt a poor hand at the cards of life; he was just trying to do his best, even when it wasn't easy. Perhaps he wasn't the easiest person to deal with, but he had never given up.

He had also never told anyone about what he had learned, years after years, from various demons. About what he had found out, about Sam's destiny. Bobby would have said he was going paranoid, or that he was making himself a victim; and that was only Bobby, who wasn't completely obtuse.

What was the point in telling the Winchesters secrets, when no one would believe him? John'd rather be the villain of this story, bear the weight of the few things he knew, and let the others think he was a bastard, if it allowed his sons to keep a bit of hope.

Sam had always wanted a normal life. If John suceeded in killing Azazel, perhaps his son would have gotten his normal life without ever knowing why exactly the demon had had to die. It didn't matter if Sam thought he was the worst father in the world, if it meant that he could live.

Obviously, it hadn't happened that way.

The yellow-eyed demon hadn't died, and John was in Hell.

Alastair came to visit every ten hours or so.

That was John's world, now.

He couldn't care less about Alastair's offer, to get off the rack. John had no desire to go and torture another soul, not when he already had much to reproach himself. Yes, the torture hurt. If he had a better choice, he'd chose not to endure it. He didn't have a better choice.

The trick wasn't to endure, though. Eternity was a long time, and rejecting the offer out of nobility could only work for so long, when in the hands of Alastair. No, John wasn't enduring, not per se.

He was there, being tortured, and that was all. There was no point stopping it, if it was to further damage himself, though in another way. He'd rather be on the rack.

The other souls didn't seem to see that, strangely.

Either way, Alastair had left John's rack for about half an hour when the whole of Hell shook like in an earthquake. John looked up, slowly, ever so slowly that several drops of blood rolled down his cheeks before his eyes fell on the large rift of light, far away and above.

The demons working on the other racks looked up too, and for a blessed moment, no scream was to be heard in the Pit. They were all looking up, at the crack of pure light.

A whisper. It was all it took.

"A Gate is open, my friends!"

Pretty much every demon in Hell then rushed to the gate, eager to go to Earth without having to use the normal channels. The tremors had broken down several jails of exorcism, where the demons who had been exorcised ended up, even the strongest ones. They were all on their way to Earth. The ones who'd manage to get out would be free until the next exorcism.

The souls on the racks watched, but they didn't seem to understand what was going on. John wondered why. It wasn't that hard to figure out.

But what really mattered to him, right now, was that the rift called to him too. No demons were left to watch after the souls, which wasn't all that surprising. They were tied up on their racks, after all.

John still had to look after his sons, up there. Maybe he couldn't be the perfect father, and maybe he couldn't solve all their problems, but he would do the best he could.

There was no point in wasting such an opportunity.

He didn't pay much attention to how the chains came loose, to how he somehow managed to get down the rack. His mind was occupied with only one thought: to get up there, and out of here. He had a feeling that whatever had happened to open that Gate of Hell, his sons were right in the middle of it. It made sense, somehow.

Almost as if he was supposed to know that.

A demon, a bit late in the rush to Earth, caught sight of the wandering soul. His instincts were contradictory, between going upside, and taking care of the soul. But he recognized John Winchester's soul, and he decided it'd be more satisfactory to get him back on his rack. Besides, the bright light that still came from the tainted soul was upsetting him.

"Where do you think you are..."

The soul turned to look at the demon, and the demon took a step back.

The soul's eyes had flickered golden, for an instant. Like Azazel's. But the demon had other, more important things to deal with right now.

Because apparently, the soul knew how to use its energy, which was very unusual unless for witches. The soul also was very, very strong. Stronger than any soul the demon had ever seen. The soul's right hand closed onto the demon's throat, and it hurt like hell.

"Take me to the Gate."