Beta'd and co-authored by the awesome PlatinumRoseLady. She wrote me all the awesome wee!chester that glues this piece together.
Summary: John Winchester's journey through Hell, when he realizes how everything, even when it's for the best, can go wrong.
Spoiler Alert: Gives away the season finale for Season 1 and 2, also parts of On The Head Of A Pin.
Enjoy and please review!
~Prologue~
"Open your eyes Johnny, boy." A voice hissed, "It's time for a family reunion."
For a moment hope flared in John's muddled mind. But then he remembered, he'd left the boys God knows how many states over while he went to trade in the Colt. Slowly he grasped his surroundings and opened his eyes. Around the bed he was tied to was an assortment of Demons.
One voice whined, "Can we do it now? Can we call him?"
"Yes," Meg's voice said. "It's time."
Latin chants and pain surrounded John. He had to shut his eyes to hide the panic he was feeling. When he opened them, they were bright yellow.
"Dad?" One voice said timidly.
o-o-o-o-o
"Dad?" Dean begged as John flexed his fist, making his eldest son's heart start to burst.
John knew it was wrong, knew he had to stop, but he wasn't in control. Azazel was laughing as he manipulated John's body to his will.
For a brief second, John's desire to do what's best flared took back reigns. Chaos broke out as Dean fell to the floor bleeding. Sam rushed to them, grabbing the gun.
Sam stood over him with the Colt, and Azazel was squirming in his chest.
What are you going to have your boys do now Johnny? Azazel snickered.
What's best, John sighed. He yelled at his youngest orders that didn't work. Twenty two years and they were so close, but Dean was dying. Family came first. They got their rag-tag team together and ran right into the truck.
o-o-o-o-o
"That's the best idea you got?" Azazel looked at him with one raised eyebrow.
John hadn't summoned a demon in the basement of some hospital just to be laughed at. He'd done his best to raise his sons, and he couldn't betray Mary's memory now. He couldn't let Dean down after all these years.
"Yeah," he said sadly, "it is."
And John's falling…Sam's running to him… but he's not going to make it… because he's already landed in Hell.
----------------For the Best----------------
He was trained better than to start screaming the instant he woke up in enemy territory. But he there was nothing in the books that told him how to deal with solid hooks puncturing his skin holding in firmly in one place.
He hyperventilates a little. Can't get his breathing steady in the acrid stench of sulfur and corpses.
This what I wanted, he tries to tell himself, this is what I wanted… for Dean. For Sam. For them to have a better a life.
It's so damn hot that first day, all he can think about is boiling water and boiling flesh. Later he gets used to being uncomfortably comfortable.
But that first day is panic and his mantra: it's for the best.
o-o-o-o-o-o
Alistair enjoys a challenge, but each day as he cuts into John Winchester he gets a little more annoyed with the man. "Johnny," he hisses, trailing the knife along the other man's thigh, "why do you have to make this hard on yourself?"
Seven years go by and he's still spitting venom, "For them. For my sons."
"Trying to make up for what you couldn't do amongst the living?" Alistair sneers.
John looks at him with weary eyes. Alistair knows weakness when he sees it. He plunges his knife into John's arm and twists. "John, you've neglected them all your life. Why stop now?"
John looks away as he screams. In between clenched teeth he groans, "I did the best I could…"
"No. You did worse," Alistair says darkly starting to peel back the layers of John Winchester.
o-o-o-o-o-o
Seven years old was too young to fight this sort of thing alone. Dean lay so still on his bed, tired to keep his eyes open. Dad had given him a job- watch out for your little brother - and even though he was burning up with heatstroke, even though it was even starting to hurt to blink, Dean would complete his task.
But this time it was no monster, no creature of the darkness threatening the young Winchester boys. It was heat - the crushing, smothering Arizona heat that had turned their tiny motel room into a hotbox. John had given strict orders - don't leave- and then had left the two children alone.
That had been two days ago. The day after he'd left, the air conditioner died, leaving Dean to figure out how to keep himself and Sammy cool as the mercury climbed upward.
He reached over and took the sweating cup of water from the nightstand, held it to Sam's mouth. The toddler whimpered, but drank at his brother's gentle urging. "C'mon, Sammy, you need to drink this," Dean whispered, all the while thinking one thing:
Where are you, Daddy?
o-o-o-o-o
Resting briefly, his pain cemented as he thought of all the orders he given Dean that had gone so disastrously. Every time he came home from a hunt he worried what would be worse- The injuries he got from fighting the supernatural or the injuries Dean got when he fought his survival instincts to stay and obey.
Orders. Always orders. Never enough room for anything else for his sons. John sighed as a knock on his door announced that it was time to go back on the rack.
"Do you really think you did them any good Johny?" Alistair asked, toying with John's liver. Other organs squelched as they leaked out. "All those lessons to be good little soldiers…"
John gurgled blood and coughed. "I taught them everything it takes to survive. I don't regret that."
Alistair shook his head sadly. "But you should, John, oh, you should. Do realize what you made them?"
A haze of pain was clinging to John's thoughts again. He merely mumbled a reply.
"Your eldest son's a self sacrificing little solider who'll do anything for your approval. Do you think that's for the best?" Alistair tugged the last of the intestine free. "Did you really think you were teaching him to survive? All you taught him is to be a dependant, decrepit little worm…"
John gagged. "No, no, no," he said as pain echoed in all his limbs. "Dean's smart he can…"
"Do anything that Sam needs?" Alistair said with a dry chuckle.
o-o-o-o-o
Dean made his way down the aisle, keeping an eye out for the owner. The old man was still behind the counter, too wrapped up in his television program to keep an eye on the eight-year-old boy walking around the store.
Dean wiped the sweat from his hands. This is wrong he thought this is stealing…
This is the only way Sam and I are gonna get to eat until Dad comes back answered another part of his mind as he reached for a can of soup. It's not your fault. Dad was supposed to be home three days ago, and we're out of money.
He slipped the can under his thin jacket, holding it close as he walked quickly out of the store. Two thoughts pounded in his brain, matching the thudding of Dean's heart.
The first thought was- Now I'm a thief.
The second thought was- Where are you, Dad?
o-o-o-o-o
"Is today your birthday Johnny?" Alistair said as he walked in.
John looked at him with dead eyes. "Remember," Alistair said jovially, "there's still a present for you. I'll stop if you pick up a knife…"
"No." John said firmly. Ten years wasn't going to change his answer. "No."
Anger surged through Alistair's veins. He controlled his rage in a vicious strike. "What was that?"
"No," John repeated softly, blood stemming from his face.
"Winchester, what does it take to convince you?" Alistair said grumpily.
"No…" John didn't think he had enough strength to say anything else. "It's for the best."
"Is that how you justify leaving your sons?"
When Alistair heard silence he goaded on. "Is that how you justify leaving them in the care of other people? Because you know your best just won't cut it?" "
"No," John said sadly as a tear ran down his cheek. He didn't want to hurt his boys, he'd never meant to…John started to lose consciousness as memories threatened to overwhelm him.
"Stay with me Winchester," Alistair growled, picking up a large machete.
o-o-o-o-o
Dean looked out the rain-streaked window, tried to keep the disappointment off his face. After all he was ten years old today.
And ten-year-olds didn't pout – even if Dad wasn't here.
Even if it was his birthday.
Even if his Dad had promised he'd be back at Bobby's in time to celebrate.
His head turned when he heard the phone ring, the start of a smile creeping over his face. He heard Bobby's gruff "Hello", then only half of the conversation:
"Well, when you think –"
"I'm only asking…'"
"Damn it, John! They need you, too! Or did you forget today's –"
The phone slams down a second later and he knows that Bobby didn't get the chance to remind his father just what today was.
Dean turned back to the window, as one lone tear matched the drop of rain trailing down the glass.
Where are you, Dad?
o-o-o-o-o-o
"Where'd you go John?" Alistair asked. "You looked like you made an important decision."
"I did," John spat, "twenty years ago. Stick your offer where the sun don't shine."
Alistair rolled his eyes. "John, don't you think your boys have given up on you by now?"
"I won't give up on them." John said resolutely.
"John, you can't honestly search your memories and tell me that. Because we all know the truth."
o-o-o-o-o-o
"If you walk out that door, don't you ever think about coming back!"
And Sam walked.
And Sam never looked back.
And Dean felt his world shatter.
He turned and looked at his father, but couldn't meet his eyes.
"He'll be back, Dean." You don't sound so sure, he wanted to say. Now that he's called your bluff.
Now that I'm alone.
Now I know where you are, Dad.
And part of me wishes you were gone.
o-o-o-o-o
John knew that every hideous word Alistair spoke was the truth. He'd though about it a lot for the past century enough times to hate himself.
He couldn't break now, though.
He had to hold on.
Even if it was the last good thing he did for his sons.
~Epilogue~
Waking up, for the first time in years he felt something knew. He didn't know how, but today was different. Today he had hope for the first time in a century.
Being led to the rack he looked up and noticed the crack in the corner of the earthen wall. Strength he didn't know he had anymore suddenly pounded through his fists. He ran away from the guards and misery and leaped into his one last chance.
When he landed in the graveyard he immediately saw what he had been fighting for.
Dean and Sam- his boys…to his eyes they're still a gap toothed toddler and little boy with golden curls.
He sees Azazel and knows there's not much he can do in his corporeal form. But he can help, a little. When the Demon's distracted, Dean gets his chance.
And that it's over, really over.
For that one moment, he knows he finally managed to do something for the best.
...the end....