Body of Years

CHAPTER 1

The night air was cool, crisp, and saturated with the thick, heady aroma of freshly turned earth. Jo's breath was visible in small puffs as she panted, throwing the last shovelful of dirt over her shoulder and out of the grave.

The lid creaked and dirt showered back as she pried the casket open with her crowbar. A grinning skeletal face awaited her. The jaw was no longer attached to the skull but the rest of the bones were laid out in the same position the man had been buried. A few scraps of clothing littered the casket floor. With no trace of revulsion, Jo quickly and evenly covered the bones with salt. She tossed her crowbar and shovel over the lip of the grave. Jo briefly glanced up to notice that sunrise was fast approaching. Damn. She needed to get out of the cemetery before the grounds keeper performed his morning rounds.

Jo's back, shoulders and arms ached as she hauled her lean frame from the earthen depths. Wasting no time, she rolled to her feet and grabbed a packet of matches from the back pocket of her jeans. The match flared as it ignited, briefly illuminating her dirt-streaked face before she let if fall directly onto the remains. Satisfaction coursed through her veins as it always did upon finishing a hunt. The angry spirit would be put to rest with the burning of his final remains.

Back at her apartment, Jo stripped off her sweat and dirt streaked clothing. In the tiny bathroom, she stared at her naked figure in the mirror. Her arms and legs were spotted and speckled with bruises and cuts, some larger than others. Jo's knees were so bruised that it looked like they were perpetually dirty. But underneath the battered surface of her skin, Jo could see and feel the hardness of her muscles that had been absent two months ago. She sighed involuntarily as she stepped into the now running shower. The calming effect of the water felt good, but it left her mind clear to wander places she usually didn't want it to go.

Tonight had been Jo's fourth hunt in two weeks. A couple months ago she would have been thrilled with all the solo evil-smiting she had accomplished. But the Jo from just a couple months ago was a different person than who she was now. That Jo had not been raped. The attack had happened in Duluth, Minnesota. She had vacated the city early the following morning because she would not stay in a place that a demon had tracked her to so effortlessly. She had always considered herself strong and street smart but had been proved wrong on both counts. Hell, she hadn't even known that her rapist had been possessed by a demon. Then, Jo had been too weak to fight back. She would never be too weak again. Soon she had found herself in Wyoming, where she chose to stay for about a month. Currently she had stationed herself in Boston, Massachusetts, where she was forced to accept a real job to pay for her gas and food.

Since her dad had died she had always wanted to be a hunter. Now Jo found that she needed to be one. Jo had to live every day with the raw, ugly pain of what she had let happen to her and what she had learned. Soon she found that hunting was the only way she could push away the hurt and shame that doggedly followed her. Hunting allowed her the strength to get up in the morning. Hunting was all she would allow herself to think about. If Jo allowed her focus to deviate she knew the pain would rush back to her; The pain of truly knowing how her father had died, and the agony of repeatedly imagining how she could have prevented what had happened to her in Duluth.

Jo spent her time researching when work interfered with her hunting trips. On her coffee breaks at work she would sit in her truck and pore over newspapers, old manuscripts and various clippings. Sometimes when it was real slow she would even open up her files on the bar. She would always be careful to slide them out of sight at the first sound of front door opening. Months ago, Jo had considered her self strong and capable. She had been wrong then but she was not wrong now.

Jo emerged from the shower and towelled off quickly. She threw on a t-shirt and finally collapsed into her lumpy bed. Sleep was approaching her quickly as exhaustion hit. Jo was almost tired enough not to think tonight. Almost. I should have known better. Her consciousness whispered it to her as she fell asleep, as it always did now. I should not have turned my back on Sam Winchester.

6 months later...

Sam dropped his duffel bag onto the bed and began picking up random articles of clothing and crumpled case notes from around the small motel room. Dean's bad singing could be clearly heard over the sound of the shower. Sam shook his head and smiled to himself as grabbed one last stray sock off the mustard colored carpet.

He zipped up his now full duffel and flopped down onto the bed. Dean usually took an abnormally long time to get ready in the morning but after last night's hunt, Sam could hardly blame him. Before Sam had managed to dig to the corpse to salt and burn it, the particularly vengeful spirit had pushed an antique wardrobe on top of Dean. Miraculously, Dean had not broken one bone but had acquired a myriad of new bruises. His brother tried to act as if they weren't bothering him, but Sam wasn't fooled. Sam would be driving today, despite any protests his stubborn brother might have.

Dean emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later with a fresh shave and damp hair. "Took you long enough!" Sam grinned at Dean, "Makes me wonder what you were doing in there so long".

Dean yawned and rubbed his hand through his wet hair, "Its payback for all those times that I have had to wait for you to get your fancy espresso, Francis."

Sam rolled his eyes,"Whatever. Lets get going. I'm driving today".

Dean rounded on Sam "The hell you are! You-" Dean's ringing cell phone cut the argument short.

Sam reached for the phone while Dean grabbed a fresh shirt from his bag.

Sam flipped open the phone. "Yeah, Sam here", there was a brief pause. "Hey Ellen, what's up?" Dean looked at Sam with peaked interest. Dean could hear Ellen's voice but could not make out what she was saying. "We'll look into it". Sam hung up the phone. Dean looked questioningly at Sam. "Ellen needs a favour." Sam answered the unspoken question.

Dean frowned "And we are driving all the way to the Roadhouse? Look Sam, Ellen is a nice lady- ." Sam cut him off.

"Ellen says Jo's been missing for several months".

Dean still looked skeptical. "And Ellen called us because?"

Sam frowned at Dean's nonchalance and continued, "Apparently she sends a postcard every couple months but Ellen hasn't got any since August. She waited for a while, hoping Jo was just being Jo but... Ellen finally tried calling her cell and the number was disconnected".

Dean didn't look convinced. He casually scratched the side of his chin. "Maybe Jo is just spreading her wings or something. Ellen might just be overreacting- you remember how overprotective she is, the woman caught a freakin' plane to chase after Jo, thinking she needed to save her."

Sam answered quickly "You might not remember Dean, but Jo did need saving. And we kinda owe Ellen for lying to her about Jo being with us in Philly. We don't have another job lined up so I don't see why not. She might actually need our help."

Dean pursed his lips then shrugged. "Alright then, I give in. Off to save the Damsel in Distress- again."

The younger brother rolled his eyes. "So, Sam, where exactly are we headed?"

Sam slung his duffel on to his shoulder. "Ellen hasn't heard from her since she was in Duluth."

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