Hello, my lovely Dean/Jo shippers. This is actually my first Dean/Jo and my very first Supernatural fanfiction. I recently started watching the show in a two-week marathon. Dean/Jo was my OTP from the very moment they had a scene together. There was just so much chemistry between them. Then I watched Abandon All Hope and cried my way through.
And then there was hope again when the producers revealed that Jo would come back on the show! And since I don't have anything else to do I started this fanfiction.
I apologize in advance if there are any logical mistakes. Like I said I watched all the episodes in a short-time row. Also, please tell me if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes since English isn't my maternal language. I'm German. English is my first foreign language.
The story is set after season 6 and the places and names are all made up by the way ;)
Well, I think that's enough. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!
Not Just A Memory - Chapter 01
Penrose, Pennsylvania
"Okay, fill me in again," Dean said as they got out of the Impala. He straightened his tie. They were posing as federal agents again.
"Uh, killing spree. Nationwide. Victims presumably hunters. Though Bobby couldn't confirm yet if there is always a hunter involved. Whatever it is, it first kills the family and then hunter himself. "
"Probably doing him a favor after killing his family," Dean muttered as they walked up to the house.
"Considering the brutal means it took to kill, not really. All things bloody and violent."
"And this is worth looking into because…?"
"Whatever it is broke pattern. This time it killed the hunter but not the family. Or the family got away. The police report wasn't so clear on the details. Fact is – "
"Fact is Mrs. Hunter is alive and we can interrogate her," Dean finished the sentence for him.
"Exactly."
Dean rang the bell. They waited a moment before the door was opened by a tall, brunette woman in her mid-thirties.
"Yes?"
"Uh, Mrs. Jones?" She nodded. "FBI. I'm Agent Fellow. This is my partner Agent Mitch," Sam introduced them and they showed their badges. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband if you don't mind."
"I'd rather you leave. I already told the cops everything," she replied hesitantly.
"I promise we'll make it quick," Sam assured her.
His gaze met Dean's. The woman looked frantic. She appeared nervous and fumbled with the doorknob.
She hesitated a second but then she gave in.
"Fine. Come in."
She stepped back so they could enter, and closed the door behind hem. Then she led them into the living room. As they crossed the foyer the brothers took a look around. The house looked like a well-established home. It was fully-furnished. There was a row of family pictures standing on a shelf over the fireplace. All this represented peace and quiet and family life.
Dean knew it all too well. His life with Lisa and Ben had been that way. And he wondered…
He exchanged a glance with his brother who nodded in silent agreement. They were thinking the same thing.
"Please have a seat," Mrs. Bones offered and settle in the armchair.
They accepted her offer gratefully and took a seat on the sofa opposite of her.
"Mrs. Jones, did you… uh," Sam began. "Like I said we would like to know a few things about your husband. For starters, what did he do for a living?"
"He was a mailman," she answered.
Dean raised a brow. "A mailman?" he repeated skeptically.
"Yes," she affirmed, surprised about his skepticism.
"Huh..."
"Uh, has he always been a mailman?" Sam tried to overplay Dean's comment.
"Well, no," she replied. "He used to be a salesman. He traveled throughout the states on business trips."
Another glance was exchanged. Bingo.
"Okay then," Dean said. "Ma'am, why don't you tell us what happened?"
"Why don't you just ask the cops?"
"We did but we believe – no, we know," Dean corrected himself. "that you left out a couple of important details. So would you tell us please because we don't have all day."
"Agent," Sam rebuked him. "I'm sorry, we had a rough week," he added apologetically to Mrs. Jones. "My partner is a little on edge."
Dean gave the woman his sweetest smile but silently thought to himself Jeez, you think?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mrs. Jones evaded.
"Oh, come on!" Dean exclaimed. He was growing irritated.
"Agent." Again Sam employed that sharp tone. "More empathy, please. After all Mrs. Jones lost her husband the other day."
"And my son," she added in a shaky voice. Tears filled her eyes.
Dean's head snapped from Sam's into her direction. "That wasn't in the police report, was it?" he asked her. "Why didn't you tell the cops about your son?"
"Because I didn't know what to tell them!" she blurted out. She got up, started pacing and gesticulated wildly with her hands.
"I don't know what happened to him! I – I saw something. You wouldn't believe me if I told you – "
"Why don't you try us," Sam said. "If we don't, at least you have gotten it off your chest, right?"
"But believe me, Ma'am," Dean added. "We' believe you almost anything. Even if you told us the Easter bunny came rolling in on a skateboard and sang Christmas songs while dancing polka with your husband." He couldn't help but grin at the mental image. "We have our own definition of crazy."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, clearly not amused by his brother's exaggeration since all it did was scare the poor woman even more. "Ma'am, please take a seat and tell us what happened," he encouraged her and pointed at the armchair.
She sighed. "You're not gonna believe me," she predicted. "Fine." She sat back down and folded her hands. Obviously to calm herself down. She took a few breaths before she began to recap. "We were just here, my husband Derek an I," she sniffed. "Watching television. Then suddenly our son Richie appeared out of nowhere with a kitchen knife! Everything happened so fast... He – he..." She started to hiccup. "He plunged it into Derek's chest."
"What happened then?"
"It's all blurry. I drank that night. I was imagining things."
"Try us," Sam encouraged her softly.
"Something got out of Richie, I think," she continued.
"Black smoke something?" Dean asked.
"Yes," she affirmed puzzled. "How did you – "
"Please go on."
"Well, Richie collapsed onto the ground. My husband was barely alive. He mumbled something about salt and flower water – "
"Flower water, huh?" Dean said.
He got up and walked over to the window sill. He grabbed one of the vases and pulled out the flowers. Then she sniffed on the liquid in the vase. "Holy water," he told Sam matter-of-factly before he splashed the contents of the vase over Mrs. Jones.
"What the – What are you doing?" she exclaimed indignantly.
"Sorry, Ma'am. It's a routine. I had to test you," the older Winchester apologized.
"What happened afterwards?" Sam inquired as Dean re-joined him on the sofa.
"I hurried into the kitchen to call an ambulance. That was when that woman showed up."
"What woman?" the brothers demanded at once.
"I've never seen anything quite like her. Her eyes... they were all black and – "
"What did the woman do?" Dean wanted to know.
"She left."
"What, she left? Just like that?"
"No. I... I was a mess. I must've accidently tipped over the salt shaker and then she backed away. I went back into the living room for my husband to see her leave through the window."
"Excuse the silly question, Ma'am. But what kind of salt do you use?"
"Excuse me?"
"What kind of salt do you prefer? Iodized salt... sea salt... rock salt...?"
"Rock salt. Derek preferred rock salt," she answered confused.
Dean's gaze met Sam's. Derek had definitely been a hunter.
"That's it?" Sam asked Derek's wife.
"No," she answered in the negative und dissolved into tears. "She took my son. Derek died a moment after that," she concluded. "What happened to my son?"
"We'll do everything we can to find answers to that question," Sam promised her.
"Ma'am, do you mind if I take a look around the house?" Dean inquired now.
"Well, no, I guess."
"Great. You do some grief counseling here," he told his brother.
"I'm going to tell her," Sam let him know.
"You do that. Be right back," Dean said and walked out of the living room just when Mrs. Jones asked "Tell me what?"
Dean knew exactly where he had to go to determine that Derek Jones had been a hunter.
The basement.
At first glance there was nothing unusual to detect. The basement was full of family things and mechanic devices. But Dean's hunter eye didn't overlook certain details. In this case the certain detail was a carpet. Who spread a carpet in the basement? Only someone who…
He flipped the carpet.
"I knew it…"
Below the carpet was a devil's trap sprayed around a wooden hatch. Dean pulled the hatch open and stared down. A wooden latter led downstairs, probably into another room, and presumably a panic room.
He turned around looking for a flashlight but then he spotted the little cord hanging next to the latter. He pulled it and a light went on.
"Here we go…" Dean muttered and climbed downstairs.
When his feet made contact with the ground he turned his head around to take a look. Yes, he was definitely in a panic room. He found a chair with restraints, complete do-it-yourself demon torture equipment and another devils trap painted on the ceiling. Everything he needed to confirm that Derek Jones used to be a hunter.
When he returned to the living room Sam was nearly finished telling Mrs. Jones about her husband's second life.
"You should try to find out if your husband had a safe deposit."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because that is what hunters with a family do. They have a safe deposit and usually leave a letter in which they explain everything," Dean told her. "They always make preparations for the What If in capital letters."
"Okay…"
"I know that's a lot to take in, Ma'am," Sam said softly. "You might want to get professional help but for your own good I advise you to leave the demon part out if you talk to someone about this."
"You should also talk to your husband's side of the family. Hunting is often a family business," Dean added explanatorily.
"Okay, I will," Mrs. Jones replied. She was still pale. Well, who could blame her? After all, it was a lot to take in…
"You're not really federal agents, are you?" she then asked.
"No. We're hunters. Just like your husband used to be. And we would appreciate if you didn't tell anyone that we were here."
"Of course."
"Alright then."
The brothers got up, ready to leave.
"We'll let you know if we find out anything about your son," Sam assured Mrs. Jones.
"One last thing," Dean said. "Could you give us a description of the mysterious woman?"
"I can give you even more," she replied. "I can draw you a picture of her."
"Well, yeah, that would be great," Sam said amazed and exchanged an admiring glance with Dean.
Mrs. Jones got up, walked over to the sideboard and pulled out the top drawer.
"I have a Liberal Arts degree," she explained when she returned with a crayon and a sheet of paper.
While Mrs. Jones drew a portrait of the demon woman who had killed her husband Dean and Sam were discussing the case in the kitchen.
"Do you believe her?" Dean asked his brother.
"The part that she didn't know what was going on? Yeah. Her reaction was pretty believable. If she's lying she's good at it."
"I don't get it, man. Why leave her alive and go for the kid?"
"You've got me there. You think she wanted the boy all along?"
"Look like it. The father had to die so that he wouldn't come after her with his past and all. That actually makes sense. But the woman… a lose end. She talks. Why keep her alive? And why leave so suddenly? Just because she tipped over the salt shaker? No way. Something stinks."
"Dude, you honestly scare me when you try to think like them," Sam said, staring at him.
Dean stared incredulously back. "Really, dude? That coming from you?"
"Well yeah," Sam said when Mrs. Jones called that she was done.
They walked back into the living room.
"Here you go," she said and handed Sam the sheet of paper.
The younger Winchester looked at it and froze.
"Holy crap…"
"What?" Dean demanded and wanted to take a look himself but Sam shielded the sheet from his view.
"Uh, nothing. It's nothing, really," Sam lied and tried to make the sheet disappear.
"Oh, come on, Sam. How old are you? 12? Gimme that!" Dean snapped and reached out for the sheet."
"Fine," Sam gave in, dismayed and handed him the sheet. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Dean rolled his eyes. He looked at the portrait of the mysterious woman. Then he gasped.
"What the…?"
He was staring at a perfect portrait of Joanna Beth Harvelle.
To be continued...
Well, that was it. The very first chapter. I hope you liked it! If you do, drop a line, please? I live on feedback :)