Hunters Harvelle: A Supernatural Spin-off
Summary: In season 2, Jo took off to Minnesota to hunt by herself against her mother's wishes but in season 5, Ellen mentioned she and Jo had been hunting together 'for some time'. This is my version of how the two overcame their differences and came back together. Set in between seasons 3 and 4, Jo is hunting a Wendigo in Vermont and runs into trouble. This fic has an OC, Colby (from ReginaSong's season 4 trilogy but you don't have to read those stories first) and Sam and Dean are only in it through reference. This is not a romance but is instead a story about courage, family and friendship, set in Kripke's wonderful world of bloodthirsty monsters and awe-inspiring human bravery.
Author's Note: After watching 'No Exit', I will admit I wasn't a big fan of the character Jo. But she redeemed herself a bit in 'Born Under a Bad Sign' and let's face it, in 'Abandon All Hope', she totally rocked. And Ellen – well, Ellen always rocked! So all you Jo-haters, I encourage you to give this fic a chance. (BTW, this is definitely NOT a Jo-Dean fic).
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Kripke's masterpiece. I'm just filling in some of the gaps he left us to play with. :-)
Warning: Possible spoilers for seasons 1 to 3. Some swearing (not much, but a little more than you would likely see on the show). There will be violence and killing because, after all, this is a Supernatural fic.
CHAPTER 1 - A Disheartening Sizzle (Prologue)
Near Highgate Falls, Vermont (Season 4)
It was dark by the time Jo finished scratching the last of the Anasazi symbols into the ground surrounding the hunting cabin. Its two residents, a couple of game-hunting buddies from Maine, were having a noisy game of poker in the lamplight of the cabin's main room, swapping old stories from their glory days and repeatedly expressing their relief about getting away from their wives for the week. Both were oblivious to the danger they were in and completely unaware their lives were currently in the hands of the young woman sneaking through the woods outside.
Jo had met the two older men at suppertime in the main hunting lodge that was situated a couple of miles closer to town but, despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to talk them into packing up and going home. They were both convinced the recent disappearances were just city-folk getting lost or wandering off drunk in the middle of the night.
"Besides," they had scorned, "even if it is a bear, we'll be safely tucked away inside our cabin for the night so you needn't worry your pretty little head o'er two ex-army Rangers such as ourselves."
Jo knew better. She'd had no qualms about taking the men's money during a friendly poker game over supper, answering back with practiced ease to their suggestive jokes, slipping in just enough sass to keep it civil but at the same time making it clear that 'it' just wasn't gonna happen. She had grown up in a bar, hustling everybody from local drunks to shrewd, street-smart hunters. Tom and Russ might be a little crude, but that didn't mean she was about to let them get eaten by a Wendigo.
The perimeter now secured, she gathered her flaregun and homemade blowtorch and hunkered down in the shadows at the side of the cabin to wait for the beast to show up. Wendigos, creatures in Native American folklore that were believed to once have been humans who had turned to cannibalism, were extremely fast. She figured she'd only get one shot at it once it discovered the line of markings prohibiting it from reaching the cabin and its intended prey.
By three o'clock in the morning, Jo found herself feeling painfully stiff in her crouched position. Still continually scanning the surrounding area for movement that could possibly be a Wendigo trying to approach the cabin, she allowed herself a quick stretch of her cramping muscles. As she rose, however, she spotted a man walking silently across the grass from the direction of the supposedly empty cabin across the moonlit clearing. She ducked quickly back down to avoid being seen.
Damnit. She had thought Tom and Russ were the only occupants in the remote cluster of cabins of the Big Buck Hunting Cabins and Lodge. That was the reason she had focused her stake-out solely on their digs, essentially using them as bait. She held her breath as she watched the newcomer approach. He was a stocky man in a heavy, dark coat and she didn't recognize him from the lodge. Until he neared the cabin, he wasn't inside the circle of symbols she had drawn and was therefore completely vulnerable. She let out a sigh of relief as he strode up the front steps and knocked sharply on the door, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
The light was still on in the cabin but the only sound she had heard for the past three hours was a steady chorus of drunken snoring. The man on the porch didn't bother knocking twice but instead let himself in. She wondered briefly if she should alert Tom and Russ. If this guy wasn't a friend of theirs, they could get up in the morning to find all their gear and valuables gone. She decided instead to hold her position. If the schmucks got robbed that wasn't her problem. She was only here to keep them alive.
Keeping them alive suddenly became an issue when she heard a scream from inside the cabin. A scream of utter terror that ended abruptly with a horrifying gargling sound. In an instant she was on her feet, racing up the porch steps two at a time towards the open front door.
She paused on the threshold, her heart skipping a beat in horror at the gruesome sight before her. Tom lay on the floor face-up, his plaid shirt ripped to shreds exposing a hairy beer belly complete with gaping, bloody hole in its center. Russ was still alive, his eyes wild and frantic as they stared at the beast currently holding him up against the far wall by the neck.
Jo raised the flare gun and fired at the figure, which was definitely not that of the man she had watched walk in here. Instead it was a much bulkier, dark creature covered in what appeared to be slimy, leather-like skin. Her mind registered that it didn't fit the general description of a Wendigo, which were said to be tall, thin creatures with bony, stick-like claws, but she made a quick, inward plea that the flare gun would work anyway.
It didn't.
The projectile struck the creature in the middle of the back then instantly fizzled. Jo had been reaching for the torch but opted quickly for her shotgun instead, swinging it around from the sling on her back and firing. After barely flinching at the impact of the flare, the creature had snapped Russ's neck with a loud crack and spun on its new attacker as it dropped the man's body to the ground. The salt round that landed in its chest forced it back a couple of feet but it regained its balance almost instantaneously and lunged forward.
Jo took a step backwards as she pumped the shotgun and fired again. Her aim was dead on and she hit the advancing creature center mass. It hesitated briefly but kept coming, moving unnaturally quickly. She got one more round off and made it two steps out the door before it caught up with her, ripping the shotgun out of her hands and throwing her forcefully back inside the cabin. She careened over the wooden table and slammed into the mounted head of a seventeen-point buck on the wall, biting back a cry of pain as the deer's antler tore a decent sized gash in her side. Dropping to the ground next to the woodstove with a hard thud that had her seeing stars, she sluggishly struggled to get to her feet before the creature reached her again. It stomped heavily into her personal space while she was still on her knees and a sudden rank smell swept over her. It was like sewage, or damp laundry and mud.
No swamp, it was definitely swamp.
Whatever the smell, Jo was too preoccupied to give it any more thought than her initial identification. She no longer had the flare gun or the shotgun and the creature was practically on top of her. She pulled her lighter from her pocket and flicked it on, depressing the trigger on the torch as she did so. Flame shot out of the small tank and straight up into the face of her attacker.
She heard a disheartening sizzle and saw the end of the flame being quickly extinguished as soon as it hit its target. A heavy hand swung across inches from her face, sending the torch skittering away across the floor. The hand recoiled for another strike as the young hunter scrambled away along the wall, reaching instinctively for the knife she always kept at the small of her back. Though she didn't much like her chances with a four inch blade, it was the only weapon she had left and she jabbed it upwards at the leathery mass hovering menacingly over her.
She felt the blade strike its bulky arm with a squishy sounding clunk but was unable to stop the hard blow it landed on the side of her face. She was slammed down on the ground and the pain from the back of her head smashing into the hard floor didn't even get a chance to register before her vision went blank and her mind swirled in waves of disorientation. She fought in vain to regain lucidity and groggily realized the final blow she was expecting hadn't come yet. In fact, she wasn't even sure the series of gunshots she was suddenly hearing was real.
As she lay on the floor struggling for breath, a blurry shape appeared above her, its abnormally huge head lowering to hover over her face. Still clutching her small knife, she swiped her arm at the figure, desperate to fend it off before she lost consciousness. She was unsuccessful and felt the knife being pried from her hand as blackness finally descended around her.
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