Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sucks to be me.
AN: A little filler fic for those following the Joanna 'verse (Forever Meets the Dying Girl, The Boy on the Shore). The actual sequel should be making an appearance soon, but I thought I'd give you a snippet of things to come. The lyrics and title are taken from 'Second Chance' by Liam Finn.
Remember Me
In his dream the sun is shining, and when Jo looks up at him the light catches in her pale hair.
The Roadhouse is still and empty around them, and the jukebox is playing softly somewhere behind them. He doesn't know the tune, and the words make him nervous.
You stand around your haunted home
Those demons won't leave you alone
Don't forget me when you grow old…
He can see every detail of her face, the faint scar under her left eye and the patterning of dark brown and deep amber in each iris. He can count the barely-there freckles over her cheeks and nose, and the exact curve of each long dark eyelash. He sees the gentle bow of her mouth, the warm shape as he draws the pad of one thumb over it just before he kisses her.
From behind closed eyelids he can see the light that surrounds them, here the music still playing. He takes her hand and she closes slim fingers over his.
You stand around your haunted home…
Jo's lips part under his, so very distracting, so he almost doesn't here the flames until they're surrounded by them. When he does, the roaring is so great it's not a roar at all.
It's a snarl.
Those demons won't leave you alone…
This isn't the Roadhouse anymore, it's the hardware store in Carthage and the place is full of fire and smoke. Through the swirling light and shadow, Dean can see awful familiar shapes. The hounds of hell stalk with their dark hackles up, each appearing as a burning hollow in the flames, each evil eye like a glowing coal. Their voices rip at the air, and Dean feels that fear fill him up again. This has happened before, is happening again…
They're looking at Jo.
"Jo –"
He leans into the touch when she touches his face, fingertips mapping his brow, cheek and jaw.
"Its okay," she breathes.
There's the sound of fluid hitting the floor. Dean looks down…and draws a ragged breath when he sees the wound. Blood pours from her side, though she never flinches, and the demon dogs' snarling sounds like twisted laughter.
"Jo," he says again, hearing the panic in his voice.
She looks so sad.
"I know," she murmurs, face still close to his, her voice for him alone. "I know."
She kisses him. His grip on her hand tightens. He can feel her tears flowing warm against his face…feel the heat of the flames…taste the salt in her mouth that crying always brings. The blood pools steadily around their feet. The flames rise higher, hotter, licking up the walls and covering the ceiling. He rests his forehead against hers and breathes, "I'm sorry."
When he leans back to look at her, the eyes that look back at him a full of reflected hellfire and sparks fall from her parted lips. The flames hiss over the pool of blood and up her sides, consuming her.
Her hand grips his once then falls away.
"Dean –"
"Jo, no!"
Don't forget me when you grow old…
The world goes white with fire and dark with smoke, and the last thing he sees is her face full of fear and haloed by her pale hair, the silver ring – his ring – a burnished circle of white at her throat.
When he wakes in the cooling dark of Bobby's spare room it's with tears on his face that he won't admit to later and the wrenching memory of her mouth under his.
---
Far away, Azrael walks in the world, and feels her vessel stir in their shared mind-space.
Jo is dreaming…