A/N: This has been eating at me for quite a while now; I just couldn't get it on paper. The story takes place after 2x17 (Heart) but before 2x18. Even though this is posted after 2x18 aired, I haven't seen it yet and I don't read spoilers so the story shouldn't spoil anyone else who hasn't seen 2x18. How does the movie disclaimer go? Any similarity to actual events is coincidental. It's the same with this story. It does, however, play on events up until 2x17, and especially from the episodes Born Under a Bad Sign and Heart.

Disclaimer: more than one reader has told me they're surprised to find out I'm a man, so now I feel like I need to state that up front: I'm a man. Nothing special here—I drink, I swear, I fight. I also just happen to write. I'm also experimenting a little with writing style and the use of past and present tenses.

Inspiration: I'm all about the violence and supernatural beings and great writing, but SN lacks a hot chick. Then we met Jo—problem solved. Apparently, her character's gotten a bit of a mixed review—some viewers and FanFiction writers don't like her all that much. They say she's a little naïve or pushy. That's cool, that's your opinion. I think she's a great character. She's open to so much growth, and I feel like Jo and Dean really have chemistry. Plus, the writers left that scene between Jo and Dean completely unfinished with that whole "I'll call you later" line. I'm sure that'll play a role in a future episode. I also found out that the actress who plays Jo, Alona Tal, came to America after serving in the Israeli army. And come on, nothing's more of a turn on than a beautiful girl who knows how to handle a weapon…

Note: This is unbeta-ed, not because I don't have a beta, but because I've been shirking my writing duties for so long that I'm embarrassed to send something to her that isn't related to the multi-chapter L/L that I am also writing. So, Robinpoppins, I'm sorry—I hope you'll forgive me. I swear, I'm writing, but this wouldn't leave me alone. This is a double-shot, so it is complete.

To the writings…

"If the phone doesn't ring,
You'll know that I'll be
Out in the eye of the storm."
'If the Phone Doesn't Ring It's Me,' Jimmy Buffett

1.

Of course he didn't call. It had been three days since she had spoken with him. Jo knew—she knew—that he wouldn't call, but knowing that couldn't keep her from wishing that he would. Just to let her know that everything is fine. Men are so predictable…as long as Dean's in control—or at least feels like he's in control—he doesn't really consider that she was being put through the ringer too. But make Dean feel a little vulnerable—take away his control—and he'll need someone to help him through. And damn her, despite everything, she would want to be there for him.

It was late, and she was clearing tables in the dimly lit bar as she replayed their last conversation for the third time that hour. She kept coming back to the tone of Dean's voice. Jo had never heard that tone before, and she knew then how personal Dean's vendetta had become. It wasn't just about saving his brother, or sending the demon that had possessed Sam back to Hell. It wasn't even about stopping evil. It was about revenge. Payback, pure and simple. And it scared her to imagine what Dean would do to get it. No, that wasn't quite right; she was scared because she didn't know what he would do to get it. Because Jo didn't know much about revenge, not really. Oh, she knew about loss, and anger, and frustration. About grief, and about growing up in a broken family. And about hunting—not as much as Dean knew, of course, but enough for her to understand that it is less about glitz and glamour and more about long periods of tracking followed by short bursts of fear and violence. So she thought it was fair to say that though Dean was more experienced, she understood his emotions. Except when it came to revenge.

When her father died, or was killed—she wasn't quite sure how to phrase it after the Demon's revelation—on his last hunt, she remembers that in addition to the hurt and the pain, she felt a passion to destroy evil. She still felt it; it was part of what drove her to be a hunter. But it took many years for this general emotion to evolve into a parallel desire to destroy what had killed her father. What she felt was more along the lines of justice…She wanted justice for her father; she wanted that thing to be punished for taking him away from her and her mother.

Dean…Dean didn't think in such broad terms, she realized. Whereas her reasons for hunting had funneled from a general calling to destroy evil down to a specific goal of seeking justice for her father, Dean's reasons stemmed from a specific need to hunt down and exact revenge on the demon that had devastated his family to a general hunt for anything supernatural. If he killed other creatures and sent demons and spirits to Hell along the way, so much the better. As long as he kept his main goal in sight: never stop until the demon that killed his mother and destroyed his family has paid for what it did. She wondered if he even made a distinction between supernatural and evil, or if it was all the same to him.

Her ring-tone went off at that moment, and she quickly set the pilsner glasses she was carrying on the bar and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She wished her mom and Ash wouldn't call so late at night. Not that they talked often enough for that detail to be important. Jo had called once when she arrived and once eleven days later, when she had a job and a place to stay, thus eliminating the biggest arguments for coming back to the Roadhouse. And Ash? He had a degree from friggin' MIT, how could he not understand that she needed to finish working so she could sleep? But she knew the Winchester boys: Sam had to feel guilty after everything was over and he was back to himself. He probably wanted to call her mom to let her know that Jo was safe, and Dean was too scared of Ellen to disagree with Sam, because he knew that if Ellen ever found out about what happened from anyone other than the Winchester brothers she would skin them alive. But all that mattered was everything had to have turned out fine. If it hadn't…If it hadn't then Dean would have called. And now she was glad Dean didn't call because she would have had no idea how to help him.

She answered without looking at the caller I.D. with a tired "Hello?" and leaned against the bar. Her feet were killing her so she hopped up onto the bar and listened for a response. When no one answered she swung her feet in lazy circles and repeated herself. "Hello?" she asked, in a slightly aggravated tone.

There was a cough as someone cleared there throat and then spoke. "Yeah, hi… Hey." The male voice sounded a little preoccupied.

"Dean?" She thought aloud.

"Yeah," He said, and then went silent again.

Jo rolled her eyes to herself, how hard can a phone call get? "Where the hell are you? How did it go?"

"It went fine. Sammy's fine." There was a pause and she could hear rustling. "I'm not sure exactly where we are. We're on our way to investigate some strange things going on at a university."

"You guys don't know where you are?" she couldn't really believe that, and she felt a little irritated by Dean's casual attitude toward the situation.

"Hey, I'm the driver and Sam's the navigator. I just take whichever highway he tells me to." Dean defended himself.

"What highway are you on?"

"Well…we're not on the road now," Dean avoided her question and she pursed her lips at that. "Sammy had to stop for a nature break. Which is why I'm calling you—"

"You called me to tell me Sam had to go pee?" Jo broke in, anger beginning to take the place of irritation.

"No!" Dean said loudly. "That's why I can call you right now."

"So you've been too busy until now, and there was no way you could've just found two minutes of time to tell me how it ended! To tell me that you got that thing out of Sam, and he's fine and you're fine and you two are off on another hunt without so much as a piss break until now? Even if you didn't want to talk to me you could've just left a damn voice message!" She was yelling now and she when she stopped the room seemed especially hushed, and she could hear Dean's breathing—slow and deep—on the other side. When he didn't speak for several seconds she spoke again, "Where are you?" She asked a second time, her voice lower but her anger still evident.

"I don't know, we were heading east. Right now we're outside of Bob's Gas 'n Grill. Did you know you could get a souvenir travel mug if you fill your tank and get a meal combo at the same time?"

He was obviously trying too hard, probably thrown off by her anger and just looking for a way to get out of this one-way conversation that was quickly becoming serious. Jo knew he was…uncomfortable at best with serious, and he sounded tired. So she let him change the topic. "No, I didn't." She said in a lighter tone. "What do they look like?"

"Oh, they're pretty cool. They're red and white, about the size of a five gallon Gatorade cooler, and have this really fat guy on the side, who I guess is supposed to be Bob…" Dean trailed off and she heard the Impala door open.

"That sounds…disgusting." Jo replied, trying to smile and hoping he could feel it in her voice.

"Yeah, well, be glad you don't have to drink from it, or eat this crap they call a cheeseburger." There was a shuffle and then his voice was more hurried. "Look, I've gotta go, we're about to leave." The Impala door slammed shut.

"Sam doesn't know you're talking to me, does he?" Jo realized with a smirk.

"Jo, we're about to leave."

"Why'd you keep it from him?" She asked, enjoying this little twist.

"Goodbye." Dean was clearly frustrated. Jo heard a door open again and Sam's voice saying something about French-fries.

"Save a cup for me." Jo teased him.

"I will not save a cup for you." Dean said.

"Call me later." She told him.

She heard Sam clearly now, "Who're you talking to, man?"

"None of your damn business." Dean snapped, and then spoke into the phone. "Yeah, I will. Bye." The connection cut off suddenly and she was alone again, sitting on the bar and swinging her feet. Thank God they were okay. He won't call—at least not for a while—but thank God they were okay.

"Ah, the stories we could tell.
And if it all blows up and goes to Hell.
I wish that we could sit upon the bed in some motel,
And just listen to the stories we could tell."
'Stories We Could Tell,' Jimmy Buffett

Dean turned the radio up a little and glanced down at the instrument panel of the Impala. He eased his foot off the accelerator when he realized he was doing eighty-five again—with that warrant out for him he had to watch his speed more than ever, and this late at night the only other people on the road would be drunks and cops. The gas gauge was tickling the eighth-of-a-tank line; he would have to stop soon. Sam was dozing in the passenger seat, and he found he was listening to Robert Johnson again. Damn…Dean's pretty sure that man did sell his soul to the Devil. He was one hell of a guitar player.

Dean wished he could be a good man. Wished he could be stronger—both physically and mentally. He wished he could be emotionally available. Wished he could let someone else help him, be there for him. Wished he could finally get used to silence and solitude instead of searching for something more and settling for a one-night-stand in its place. But if he could do that, then he wouldn't be a good man.

It was a paradox, and it frustrated Dean to no end. He was becoming increasingly morose and depressed, and he knew it. Sam watched him like a stray dog; leery of someone he doesn't really understand. Part of that was Sam's fault—he'd spent the better part of the last two months asking if Dean was okay, asking if he needed some help dealing with Dad's death, or telling him to just let it out. Jesus! Dean thought with all those college classes Sam went to he would have at least heard of grieving in silence! How hard could it be to understand that he just flat out didn't want to talk about it? Talking and crying and hugging wouldn't bring Dad back. What he could do was fix up the Impala. It didn't matter that the car was absolutely totaled. It was a project, and it was his way of being close to his dad, of grieving for his dad. When John gave it to Dean, he told him to take care of it and it would take care of him. So that's what Dean was doing: taking care of it. He channeled his energy and his emotions and worked with a ferocity that scared Sam and Bobby. He only lost his temper once, and no one was looking then, so he didn't think it really counted. And when he worked on the car, he was so incredibly focused, so dialed in, that things finally were okay. Problems had solutions, logic mattered, and he got tangible results at the end of the day. He could see how far he'd come, and how far he had left to go. Life was simple, and he liked it.

Then life became complicated again. The demon was picking his family apart, and he could do nothing. It was sick and cruel and Dean felt his hate for the yellow-eyed bastard grow into a white-hot fire in the pit of his stomach. Mom was gone, Dad was gone, Sam was a target. Then he met Jo. And before he could even get used to the idea of having a home base, they were banished from the one place Dean thought they could take refuge at—the Roadhouse. Because of something his father had done. His father…Dean realized his father knew a lot of people who used to be close friends or 'like family once.' But now they wanted nothing to do with any Winchester, and that was making life hard on Sam and Dean. Bobby was a good man; he put the past behind him, realized that Dean wasn't John, and everyone started clean. But Ellen and Jo? Hell hath no fury…Ellen probably thought Dean was the Second Coming of John Winchester. And to be honest, Dean didn't help himself too much in that department, especially when they first met. He was an asshole to Ellen and was obvious about checking out Jo in front of her. But come on, Jo was baiting him; she swished her hips just a little and spoke in that playful, flirty tone, even when her mom was watching them. While they were waiting for Ash to try and track down anything on the demon Dean saw the perfect opening, and he was halfway through his set-up when he felt his smile fade and his sentence end, the words left dangling in between them like a flyer in the wind. She had studied him with a veiled look, wondering if he was going to try and pick himself back up after his stumble. He searched her eyes quickly but couldn't read her, and then he just didn't have it in him anymore. What was the friggin' point?

She never threw herself at him, but they flirted constantly, and he was beginning to feel the chemistry between them. Which reminded him, he needed to call her—it'd been three days since he'd left her with that promise. Not that he'd forgotten—the promise prickled at his mind during quiet times. Like now. He remembered a billboard sign for a Love's gas station a few miles back, they should be pretty close to it. He could fill the Impala and make the call at the same time; kill two birds with one stone.

When they pulled off the freeway Sam jolted awake. "Where're we?" he asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"Just stopping for gas, man." Dean answered. He was slowing down to turn into the parking lot when another sign a couple hundred feet ahead caught his attention. He read the message on the placard below it: Open twenty-four hours. Truckers and pilgrims welcome. If that's not a Jonah then nothing is—he and Sam certainly fit the latter description. Dean changed his mind and kept going.

"Dean? What's the deal?" Sam gestured toward the Love's behind them. "I thought we needed gas?"

"We do."

"Well, then why did we just go past the gas station?" His tone was confused.

"Cause we're stopping here," Dean said

Sam looked up at the sign for the place they had just pulled into. "Bob's Gas 'n Grill? Are you serious?"

"We can stop at a Love's any time. How many times can we stop here?"

"I was banking on 'never' but apparently that's not in the cards." Sam grumbled.

Dean stopped next to the first pump, got out, and put a credit card into the slot to fill the tank. Sam opened the door, stretched, and began walking toward the small building. "Hey, Sammy!" Dean called.

"What?" Sam turned around.

"Get me a cheeseburger if they got it—I'm starving."

"You want the combo? You'll get a free souvenir cup." Sam jeered.

"Sure, why the hell not?"

Sam shook his head. "Why not…" he trailed off as he reached the door.

He came back out a minute later with two huge travel mugs and gave one to Dean. "Here—it'll be a few minutes before the burgers are ready. They have to finish butchering the cow or something like that."

"Whatcha get me to drink?"

Sam grinned, "A Suicide."

"You know, a Dr. Pepper would've been just fine."

"But where's the fun in that?" Sam asked. "I've got to go to the bathroom, I'll bring the food when it's ready."

"Just make sure you wash your hands." Dean called after him, and Sam waved a hand in acknowledgement.

The gas pump shut off automatically, and he topped the tank off before replacing the cap. He leaned against the front of the Impala and took a sip from his cup. It was almost all Dr. Pepper, with just enough of something else to tweak his taste buds. That bastard did it on purpose. Dean had a few minutes of privacy so he figured he should make that call to Jo. He pushed her number on the speed dial and glanced around to make sure he was alone.

"Hello?" Jo answered shortly.

God, she was angry at him already. "Yeah, hi…Hey." Dean stopped looking around and tried to focus on why he was calling. Why was he calling? Because he told her he would, and now he has, so his obligation is fulfilled. What more could he say? Apologize for leaving her behind? Try to explain that this hunt for the Yellow-eyed Demon has consumed him—that revenge has consumed his soul—and he doesn't want her caught in the cross-fire. Because if she saw what he has become it would frighten her, and he doesn't want to scare her away.

She was talking again, asking where they were and how everything went. He told her Sam was fine, and turned around to see if he could find a landmark, but the freeway was too far away and he hadn't been paying attention to the upcoming towns or route markers. But what did it matter? He knew where he was going... But apparently that wasn't going to fly with Jo.

"Hey, I'm the driver and Sam's the navigator. I just take whichever highway he tells me too." It was half-true; Sam did most of the navigating, but they discussed the route together so they both had an idea of where they were going.

"What highway are you on?" Jo asked in that tone of disapproval only women could use. Dean wondered if it was some special rite mothers passed on to their daughters, or if it was instinctive. The only thing John had passed on to him was the ability to hustle a pool game.

She was too smart for her own good—he was sure she only asked that question because she knew he couldn't answer it. Well, what the hell did she really want to hear then? What's going on? Why he's finally decided to call her. He tried to explain himself but Jo cut him off angrily. And when she finished chewing him out he couldn't think of a single reason that would justify his actions. Truth be told, he was hoping he'd get her voicemail tonight before she picked up. He realized she was right—he should've at least kept her in the loop. He stared quietly down the road, feeling guilty.

Jo asked where they were again. But she was still angry, and Dean couldn't help but feel that this was just a leading question. She wanted to know what was going on in his head, sit down and have a heart-to-heart or something like that right now. Well, now's definitely not the time or place. This obsession of his—he was big enough to admit that it was an obsession—had become his entire life. That's not something he could sum up in a few sentences over the phone. So he answered her immediate question and ignored the deeper meaning, and thank God, she didn't press him anymore. They fell into their familiar back-and-forth conversation until Dean heard bells tinkle and saw Sam coming out of Bob's with two bags and a Styrofoam cup. He pushed himself up from the car and moved to the driver's side, explaining to Jo that they needed to get back on the road.

But damn her, she caught on to him. And then she was making fun of him for it, teasing and laughing and he could feel her smile in her tone of voice. Sam opened the door to get in, but he was distracted as he tried to keep their dinner from spilling all over the Impala. "I got you some coffee, man." Sam told him. "You got enough ketchup for your fries?"

Dean nodded and tried to focus on Jo—she was speaking again. "Save a cup for me." She told him smugly.

The nerve of that woman! "I will not save a cup for you."

"Call me later."

Dean was about to answer when Sam asked, "Who're you talking to, man?"

Dean turned and saw his brother studying him with that College Boy smile, a handful of fries midway between his mouth and the open bag in his lap. Dean had the absurd thought that Sam could read his mind and would figure out it was Jo. "None of your damn business!" He barked and broke eye contact. He looked out the driver's side window and told Jo he would call her, then snapped his phone shut hard.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, just keeping a promise." Dean said as he started the car.

"This isn't about the case is it?"

"No! Just let it go, dude. It was just some personal business."

"Okay, fine." Sam acquiesced, and then held the second bag out. "You want your dinner? The burger's already got everything on it."

"Yeah, thanks." Dean pulled the burger and his fries out, and then flattened the bag and set it on his lap, using it like a TV tray to hold his food. He ate a fry and was pleasantly surprised. "This isn't bad."

"Yeah," Sam laughed a little. "Good choice, I guess."

The engine roared as Dean merged onto the freeway. He popped the tape out of the stereo and ran his hand through his collection without looking until he came to where the tape should go. A place for everything…made it easier to find things. He searched for another tape, and smiled when he found it. He put it in and turned up the radio, and 'Misty Mountain Hop' came through the speakers. He remembered Jo telling him about hunters using Zeppelin IV to 'get in her pants,' and he couldn't help but feel as if she'd caught him, because he had been listening to Zeppelin earlier that day. Granted, it was Side Two of Zeppelin IV, but still…was that some sort of sign? "What a bunch of scumbags." Dean mumbled to himself.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing—just ready to kill another one of these scumbags." Dean said.

Continued...