RATING: M for minor language

TITLE: Prologue: "The Gate Opens"

FEATURING: John Winchester, Azazel

PLACE: Clifton, Wyoming (Devil's Gate)

DATE: July 11, 2006 (Late Night)

It was cold, especially for a July evening. But if it was just the weather or his nerves going haywire, John Winchester couldn't really say either way. Gingerly stepping over the iron railway ties which surrounded the cemetery, John did a quick 360 of his surroundings, to make sure he was, indeed, alone. Though he had little doubt that somewhere, deep in the darkness of the night, Azazel had one of his spies trained on him, watching his every move, and his every falter.

A short, pensive breath escaped John as he walked slowly towards the large ornate door, The Devils Gate, his eyes still slipping from side to side to make sure he wasn't about to be accosted. As he reached the door, John extended a hand and gently traced the pentagram shape which surrounded the lock. It was worn smooth and ice cold, something he felt he could relate too right about now.

Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he slowly withdrew the Colt, the weight of it in his hand cementing the fact that this wasn't a dream, or rather, nightmare. This was happening. The demon was going to win and John was doing his dirty work for him. If this were the Marines, John Winchester knew he'd be considered a traitor and would pay dearly for it.

But Dean would be alive.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he brought the Colt to his temple, knowing he could easily end this himself, without lowering himself to being a demon's minion. But, for John Winchester, he knew that would be taking the coward's way out. And Dean would suffer for it. And Sammy would be left alone, to fight off Azazel and his foot soldiers.

And he couldn't let either of those things happen.

With a shaky breath, John opened his eyes, the look in them showing his was fixated on the task at hand. He lowered the Colt to the lock on the door, reflecting only momentarily on what he was about to do, before pushing it in solidly. With a twist to the side, there was a small sounding click and, for a moment, he feared that either he had done something incorrectly or that Azazel was playing him for a fool, to see how far he would take it.

Within seconds, however, John was proven wrong on both accounts. A somewhat subtle buzzing noise began to reverberate from in and around the Devils Gate, causing him to take a few steps back, his eyes wide as they focused on the structure. The buzzing sound quickly grew into a high-pitched whistle which was accompanied by bangs that made it seem like there was something, something large, on the other side of the door that wanted out. In a way, John supposed that was exactly what was happening.

Stumbling further backwards, his gaze still glued on the door, the hunter barely had time to duck before the Gate burst open, sending a sharp, blue bolt forward which lit up the entire Devils Trap surrounding the cemetery. A sudden explosion to the side and John tumbled to the ground, only able to watch as the first plumes of thick black smoke began to billow forth out of the Gate. It was like an endless candle flame being snuffed out in the sky, something like a metaphor for the hope of mankind.

For several moments, John remained frozen on the ground, the full understanding of what he had done finally sinking in. It was one thing when you knew you had no other option and were acting altruistically to save a life...It was another entirely when you saw the results of that action for yourself, live and in person. Closing his eyes, John almost willed something to strike him down right now. He did what he had to do, Dean would be saved.

Of course, like most events in his life, it never went the way he wanted, and from behind a gleeful voice broke his reverie.

"Well, will you look at you. You did it. You actually did it," Azazel crowed as he crossed the broken threshold of the cemetery, "Who knew that you were such a sentimentalist, John," He moved towards the hunter, clapping him on the back, "I'm proud of you, buddy!"

Lurching to his feet, John turned and glared at the demon, unrepentant hatred in his eyes. His voice was low, cold, as he spoke, "Don't you ever, ever, call me your buddy," Casting a quick glance back towards the Gate, John continued, "You have better held up your end of the bargain,"

With a head tilt and a grin, Azazel replied, "Do you not believe I am a man of my word..."

"You're not a man at all," John interrupted with a grunt, his gaze deadly, his stance solid.

"Oh...ouch..." The demon feigned hurt, and clasped a hand to his chest. "You always know just the right words to say, John," Shrugging off the hunter's glare, Azazel added, "Dean is fine...Sam is fine...They're bonding at the moment. Talking about you, actually..." His grin expanded, "Wanna know what they're saying?"

"No," Was the flat reply that emitted from the eldest Winchester. He was sure whatever it was, it wasn't likely to be flattering and he sure as Hell didn't need emotion clouding the moment.

"Your call," Azazel remarked, moving towards the Devil's Gate, "Isn't it a beautiful night, John?" Breathing in deeply, he yanked the Colt out of the door, "Smell that air. Nothing like sulfur in the night. Romantic, almost," He turned, waving the gun at John, "I'll be holding onto this," As he began to walk off into the darkness, he once more called over his shoulder, "You may want to head out now, John. I can't vouch for all my soldiers here...Might not be safe for you. You make a lot of enemies, you know..." The sound of his chuckle long surpassed his form as the darkness continued to gather.

With one last long look around the cemetery, John began to step quickly back towards his truck. This wasn't going to end well. And there was no place he could go and admit what he had just done. Soon, he would have a mark on his back, once the word spread that he had aided the ultimate enemy. Public Enemy Number One. In the hunter circle, that was spelled John Winchester.