Countless eons of collecting souls for the being that enslaved him had made Mephistopheles unbelievably bitter. Having been torn from the gates of heaven to serve as the king of hell's personal soul collector was a fate none should suffer. Even millennia later the lord of hatred could feel the pain of having his flesh warped and eroded by the morning star's power as he hung upon the racks of hell. With every waking breath Mephistopheles mourned the loss of his once beautiful wings, full of grace, that had become twisted and leather like. His hands had warped into bone like claws, having spent a century grasping at the sides of his cage. When the soldier of heaven finally submitted, becoming a remnant of himself in the process, the pain had stopped.
The shame remained.
Having been broken like the first demon amused the mourning star to no end. The fact that he could corrupt any of his father's creations to his will and not just humanity had been a topic of much merriment to the fallen seraph. Lucifer had looked upon what had once been his brother with eyes shining with cruelty and malice one could only find in the creator of demons. Mephistopheles was bound to his brother's will, made a servant to collect the souls from all who fell prey to the morning star's manipulations.
The servant of Lucifer prayed to his father in heaven daily. With each word in praise to god another wave of pain fell upon the undeserving, still he prayed. When not forced to do the king's bidding, each second spared was used to beg for a redemption that would not come soon enough.
When it did come, everything changed. The archangel Micheal led a charge of the heavenly host into the depraved depths of the pit. They cut down the army of the damned as they past, carving a path of slaughter towards their goal: Lucifer's throne. The throne itself warped under the command of the almighty as the archangels clashed. Decades came and went in the timeless deep as they fought until at the end, Micheal threw his fallen brother into the pit to atone for his sins.
As the heavenly army left as quick as they came none would turn an eye to the pleading figure of Mephistopheles. It was then that the angel truly broke. With one action the host had done what even the archangel could not do. They broke him not with malice and cruelty, but neglect.
Time passes slowly in the pits of hell. Time Mephistopheles used to great effect. Lucifer's will was still intact, forcing the fallen angel to retrieve the souls of those who bartered directly with the lost king. The time left to himself was no longer lent to prayer, but to the pursuit of more and more power. The powers lent to him by the host had been stripped from his soul, but the powers that were given in there place were of great use to an angel trapped in hell.
Control of fire came easily to the soul of warped wings. With it Mephistopheles hunted the damned with fury and vigor, each member of hell mere practice for when the prince of darkness would become available to kill. As an angel Mephistopheles was ageless, and while Lucifer was trapped in his cage he would stay at the same level of power for an eternity, unlike his victim who would spend that same lifetime killing, stealing, and robbing others for their powers.
Rapid movement, transformations, wards against the forces of good, and so many other useful techniques were hunted down and taken by the fallen one. Mephistopheles was determined to earn his way back into heaven, and what better way than to slay the creator of hell?
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John Winchester glared at the calender he kept, cursing the fact that the anniversary of his wife's death was looming closer, a fact that only added to his ever increasing woes. A bottle of dollar store whiskey was in his hand, the third he had so far that night."That day is just bad luck for me..." He lamented ignoring that the day in question was still four days out. John drained the last of the booze, whipping the bottle at the wall of his hotel room to shatter loudly. "...Can't believe the lead was a bust." he murmured, utterly exhausted.
With his son Dean out hunting, John had felt he had the time to pursue a weapon that could supposedly kill the unkillable.
John sat on the edge of the bed provided with the room. The old springs in the mattress sagged, barely holding the man's weight. He bent over, covering his booze stained face with his rugged hands. "Stupid son of a bitch was supposed to lead me to the colt..." John revealed an eye and looked over the room for a fourth bottle of gut rotting liquid. The Winchester patriarch spotted an unopened bottle of gin laying next to the TV. The road weary hunter opened it and raised it high, "Here's to you. You useless son of a bitch. Thanks for getting hit by a car!" John took a sip before he continued his mocking toast to the nameless dead man. "Couldn't even write down your fucking lead, could you! You alias using jackass!" he swore, spilling his drink as he gestured wildly.
John Winchester chugged the bottle with depressed desperation. It was four gulps in that John made the decision that would rock his world. A book on summoning ancient deities lay on the floor, having been knocked out of a bag as its owner stumbled about drunkenly. Some of the best and worst of all ideas were made when people imbibe with booze and spirits. This moment in time was no exception.
John flipped across the pages, searching for an old god with the power he needed. "Fucking thing!" he yelled, throwing it at a wall near the remains of the previously thrown bottle. The book contained the various methods to summon the supernatural spirits but it lacked the names of any that could speak to or summon the dead. The bottle of gin was finished off as John's drunken idea became even dumber. With the amount of alcohol in his body he was a bottle of beer away from fatal levels of alcohol poisoning.
John prepared the ritual for a summoning, ignoring the urge to vomit. It took most of an hour to make the makeshift summoning altar look effective, in the end it was little more than a circle of blood filled with various symbols and majestic markings was drawn over the old bathroom mirror. John's drunken mind rambled for a name to call out when the markers were complete. Eventually the fool drunk gray matter in the skull of John Winchester remembered a name, something that made deals, something that gave powers. It was an old tale that many had heard of, and all decent hunters know most of the old stories had a hint of truth to them.
"Mephistopheles!" John drunkenly called out to the conjuring. It had taken three tries to pronounce the name right, thanks entirely to the poisonous beverage in his body. "Mephistopheles, I summon you!" he yelled again.
"I can hear you."
John whirled about at the sound of the voice, the action enough to break the fragile control he had over his stomach. A stream of alcohol and puke poured onto the already dirty floor of the rat hotel. A man in clerical robes looked irked at the fluids that were now splattered on his shoes.
"Foolish little mortal." The priest remarked. "Honestly now, who calls upon the power of a fallen soul when intoxicated?"
It was to little surprise that John drew a pistol from the small of his back and fired before thinking about the consequences of his actions. The priest took the shot in the chest, his displeased frown only getting deeper.
"If you're going to continue like this I will just take my leave then." The priest stated, now obviously annoyed.
"Who are you?" John asked stupidly, gun still in hand.
The priest spread his arms wide, like a father awaiting a hug, "I am Mephistopheles, fallen angel." The being in control of the priest replied with a smile. "Here in response to your call."
John eyed the thing before him in open disdain. "Your a demon?" he accused.
The priest rolled its eyes. "I said fallen angel, you idiot. No wonder the seeds of Armageddon were destined to be such fools."
Adrenalin could only counter so much of the booze in John's system, sadly it couldn't make him any smarter. "What do you mean 'seeds'? What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped stubbornly.
Mephistopheles looked at his summoner with amusement, "Oh that is rich. You don't know do you? Nothing at all about what you're forcing your sons to become. Such a sad little puppet." he cackled.
John rushed the possessed priest with fury pressing the gun to his face. "Tell me about my sons you monster!" he demanded, slamming the possessed body to a wall. "Fallen angel or demon, you will answer my questions!"
The fallen looked at the man with amusement. "Oh no, it's not that easy Mr. Winchester. You see, I have a dire need to mess up the plans of others, and you summoning me will help me with that desire. First we make a deal, then I tell you everything you want to know and more."
The haze of booze was still clouding his judgment, but even then John was no foolish enough to deal with any devil. Even one that claimed to be a fallen angel. "No deals!" He stated harshly, "You tell me what I want to know or I blow your brains out!"
"Fine." The priest relented, rolling his eyes dramatically, "Your sons are the current keys to ending this world and releasing the true king of hell. Good enough?"
John slammed the priest's head against the wall a second time. "Not good enough." He pulled back the hammer on his pistol as he pressed the barrel to his captive's forehead.
"Oh that is precious." The body at the end of John's pistol laughed. "There's little point in threatening me. You lack a weapon that can harm me, your body is ready to collapse from stress and the poison in your blood, and honestly..." The priest ripped the pistol from John's hand and lifted him into the air by the collar of his alcohol stained shirt. "I am far more powerful than you."
John grunted and gasped, grabbing at the offending arm. "Let me go you son of a bitch!" John protested, "Let me go!"
"Not a chance Mr. Winchester." The spirit rolled its head and stretched its shoulders. "You will deal with me. Or I will go to plan B."
"And what's plan B?" John growled out.
"Your boys die, I destroy their souls and scatter their remains across the globe to ensure that they can never be resurrected." The thing in the priest's body replied simply.
John's protesting and struggles ceased. "What's plan A?" he croaked.
The priest smiled, "We make a deal."
"What sort of deal?" John grunted uncomfortably.
The priest released his captive gently, setting John down on the bed. "You see John, as the oldest male of the Winchester line still alive, you are in the unique position to make a deal for your family. There are some very old rules to dealing with the patriarch of a family after all." he explained. "The deal I want is this: The Winchester family cannot make deals with demons, angels or any other outsider apart from me. In exchange, I will supply your family with any protection, weapon, or knowledge that it is my power to give."
"What's the catch?" John asked, rubbing his sore collar bone. "Your 'deal' is too good to be true."
The priest scowled, and in an instant the father of two felt true fear creep into his soul. The thing did not chance, but the very feel of its presence became the definition of wrong. "Your sons fit the very specific criteria to start the Apocalypse. They are the true vessels of Lucifer and Micheal, and so many other specific little details I wont bother rambling. If you accept my deal, the only way your sons can be damned to hell is by suicide!"
"Why would they be damned to hell?" John asked disbelieving.
The Priest's eyes were anything but kind as they stared down on John Winchester like he was standing on the precipice of hell."Your son Dean is a righteous man. The starting salvo to the end of days is for a righteous man to spill blood in hell. Now tell me, what would little dummy dean do if you and Sam died on him? Hmm?" he asked mockingly.
"No..." John whispered, mortified. The realization was a hammer blow to the man's metaphorical heart.
"Exactly. Dean would play into the hands of hell and sell his soul to save the both of you, because your all he has. It would be charming if it wasn't so pathetic." the spirit mocked.
"How does your deal help them then?" John asked, still suffering from the revelations.
"If you lock them out of deal making with others then there is no risk of them damning themselves because you lack the capacity to be a real father to them. You spent years degrading Sam's accomplishments and whittling down Dean's self worth. A decade was spent eliminating any chance of the two of them forming permanent connections with others properly. Because of your obsession with finding a yellow eyed demon, they are the perfect puppets to doom humanity."
The priest cleared his throat, his threatening presence diminishing to nothing. "As for any catches, there is one final catch. I will be taking your body as my own."
John glared at the possessed priest. "Why don't you just possess me like you did the guy you're wearing now?"
Mephistopheles glared, "This man allowed me in. Even with my soul warped and twisted by the morning star I am still bound by the laws of the angels. I need permission to take a vessel and use my power in this plane to its full potential."
John looked at the floor, the booze was quickly leaving his system from the constant mental shocks. "So if I say no, the boys have to die, but if I say yes they live?"
Mephistopheles looked down at his key to thwarting his tormentor. "Yes."
John looked at the door to his hotel, "What happens to me afterwards?"
"You'll pass on. I have no need for your soul. The moment I take your body, you will die. I will try to make this as painless as possible"
"Will I see Mary again?"
"Perhaps. All I can tell you is that, despite your faults, your soul will still go to heaven."
John continued to gaze at the door, his mind torn.
"Why are you doing this?" John asked, the conversation having sobered him up rather quickly.
The fallen angel in the skin of a priest looked at his personal key to thwarting the plans of heaven and hell with a thoughtful expression. "I want revenge of Lucifer for dragging me to hell, and I want to return to Heaven. What better way than to ruin the Apocalypse for both sides?"
John took another long pull from his nearly forgotten bottle. "Do I have to answer immediately?" he asked calmly.
The possessed man pulled back the sleeve of his left arm, John could see signs of a heavy rash and peeling skin on the limb. "Unfortunately not. This vessel is ill prepared to carry me in this world and is falling apart. The longer this man is my host, the more damage to him. He has perhaps two more hours before he will die from exposure to me."
"Why am I any better?"
"Your bloodline has long been the host for the archangels, the commanders of heaven. While in the host I was little more than a foot soldier, nevertheless, countless ages in the pits have given me power that is just shy of them. Your family can hold my essence without decay."
The patriarch had another question, "What do you intend to do with my body?"
"What do you care? Have I not offered enough." the spirit asked, slightly annoyed.
"Humor me." John quipped, "It will help me decide to tell you to piss off or not." he said simply, taking another drink.
Mephistopheles sighed, but complied to the man's request. "I intend to protect your kin until the Apocalypse is impossible to occur, and slay every Pagan deity that has yet to die from a lack of faith. I want to earn my way back into the host, and I will purge every layer of hell if that is what it takes."
John didn't reply, instead he tipped the bottle back, draining it of its last drops.
The spirit was losing patience, already he could feel the host body suffering from his presence. "I have been patient long enough John Winchester, what is your decision?" Mephistopheles questioned.
"This is for the best..." John's head dipped, drawing in a deep breath and trying to hold himself together as he made his choice. He held out a hand to bind the pact.
"Deal."