Gone
xxxx
I'm sorry that this has nothing to do with Dean going to hell. In all honesty, I just can't get anything going there. I don't know if the new season will change that, but right now Jo and her family are refusing to speak about it.
And, in my defense, I started this long before we knew that the answer to the question, "What would Dean do if he thought Sam died?" was, "Sell his soul to the devil. Obviously."
So, this is set pre-deal, sometime in season 2. Strangers and Angels 'verse. Duh. :)
xxxx
Jo Sweed pulled a load of damp towels out of the washing machine and shoved it into the drier. Slamming the door shut, she cranked the knob on the control panel to its hottest setting and stabbed at the start button. The drier rumbled to life, and, stepping back, Jo contemplated the baskets of dirty clothes and linens on the floor and tried to think through the remainder of her laundry strategy for the morning.
Hotel sheets next and then the family's? Or start with personal stuff and do the business baskets last? Kids, then strangers, she decided.
She hummed to herself as she pawed somewhat apprehensively through the boys' clothes, wondering if there was anything in there she should have known about a week ago and hoping not to find a dead animal or a half-eaten sandwich in among the jeans and t-shirts. It wouldn't be the first time for either.
Knocking on the front door made her straighten from her task, and she picked up a basket of clean laundry to carry with her to the entryway, leaving it on the bottom stair before she reached for the doorknob.
She swung the door open to find a familiar figure standing there.
"Dean?"
He swayed slightly where he stood, face gaunt, blinking at her. What in the world? And even as she thought it, her gaze flicked past him, wondering where….
Dean took a faltering step forward, bringing her attention back fully to him.
"Honey?" Without thinking, she reached for him. His jeans were soaked and muddied, flannel over-shirt ripped and stained. The gray t-shirt against his skin was mottled looking and limp, stretched out at the collar and hem. She put her hand on his forearm. He was freezing. "Sweetheart…"
"Sam's dead."
It was just a scrape of pain across his vocal cords, and Jo felt the breath leave her body in a rush, ice freezing her blood in the wake of her gasp.
"He's gone." Dean said haltingly, "and I … I didn't …know what to…. " He trailed off, eyes wandering around the entryway until they settled briefly on Jo. Though she wasn't sure he was really seeing her.
Sam …. Jo struggled to think, to speak, throat working before she was able to manage, "You did the right thing, baby," voice thick with unshed tears. "You did the right thing to come home."
Dazed eyes moved off, vague, never resting. "I…" he started, but his voice broke, gaze wandering back toward her and then away again.
"It's OK, sweetheart," she soothed. Even as she spoke, she was guiding him deeper into the house, starting toward the kitchen, but changing her plan when he staggered, stumbling heavily against her.
"'m, sorry," he mumbled, straightening sluggishly.
"When was the last time you slept, sugar?" she asked gently.
The look he gave her was confused, unfocused. He shook his head, "I don't… I…"
"OK," she said. "It's OK."
But it wasn't. It couldn't be.
She managed to get him to the bedroom without either of them ending up on the floor, and she steered him toward the bed. He sat heavily.
Jo put a palm against his cheek. "Do you want to take a shower?" she asked softly. He was filthy and so, so cold.
He blinked down at himself for a long minute. "Yeah," he finally whispered, and she watched him brace himself, bringing himself back to the present—where he was, who he was with. When he looked up at her, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said. "I…."
"Don't, sugar. You don't need to apologize for anything." Carefully, she moved her thumb over his cheek, pale, paper-thin skin.
He looked so fragile, and his eyes closed under her touch.
It took her a second to get out, "I'll go see if I can find you something to sleep in." She hadn't seen the Impala, and he hadn't had anything with him. What had happened?
"OK." It was barely audible, and he got slowly to his feet, moving stiffly toward the bathroom.
Jo stood, unmoving in the middle of the room until she heard the water turn on. Then she sank onto the bed next to her. Sam's bed. She put an unsteady hand to her mouth.
She gave herself two minutes—two minutes to cry, to bite back the sobs she knew Dean would not be able to bear, not then, not ever—before she got up and set to work.
xxxx
By the time Dean was out of the shower, Jo had found a pair of Luke's pajama bottoms and one of Michael's t-shirts that would work for Dean to sleep in. Somewhere she had a stack of clothes the Winchesters had forgotten during different visits. She'd need to find that, sort through what was Dean's, what was Sam's….
Grief slammed into her and ruthlessly she pushed it aside. No. I can't… She stopped that train of thought, forcing herself to focus on something tangible. Dean.
She tapped on the bathroom door while the water was still running. Not hearing a response, she pushed the door open slowly, announcing herself softly before she set the night clothes and a toothbrush on the counter.
When Dean came back into the bedroom, Jo was shocked by how thin he was. She'd known that the pants would be too big, but they had a drawstring she'd thought would do. Even so, they hung on him, puddling on the floor at his feet. And Michael's shirt. She'd actually thought it might be snug on Dean, but it wasn't. It, too, emphasized that he'd lost weight, neck gaping slightly to reveal a surprisingly delicate looking collar bone.
She couldn't help but wonder how long ago Sam had died; how long Dean had wandered, lost, before he'd shown up on her doorstep. But she didn't ask, instead handing him a mug of soup she'd heated up. It was tepid because she'd wanted it to be easy for him to drink, and he drank it down obediently when she insisted. After the soup, she gave him a glass of water, which he also swallowed when she told him to.
Once she was fairly confident he wouldn't starve to death while he was asleep, she urged him down onto the bed, and he went easily, curling on his side without a sound.
Carefully she perched on the edge of the bed next to him, watching as he blinked heavily, bone-deep weariness finally catching up with him here where she prayed he knew he was safe. She smoothed shaking fingers through his hair as he started to succumb to exhaustion.
"Shhh, baby," she crooned. "Go to sleep."
xxxx
Dean slept for three days. Or at least he didn't come out of his room for three days except to go to the bathroom.
And for the second time in her life Jo was faced with the task of telling her nephews that someone they loved was suddenly gone. Once had been horrible; twice was something she shouldn't have been expected to do.
Older now than when they'd faced the death of their parents, Michael and Jacob had taken the news of their friend's death as one might expect teenaged boys to react to such an announcement. Shock and grief with a veneer of control that cracked late at night or when they were alone with her or Luke.
Tommy, though….
When his parents had died, Tommy had still been a baby – a two-year-old who had only been able to absorb the shattering loss as an immediate lack of Mommy and Daddy, but not much beyond that with Aunt Jo/Mommy/Mama/Mom there to step into the role that never should have been vacant. As he'd grown Tommy'd missed the idea of his parents with a kind of ache, but he'd never really known the grief except as an abstraction.
Sam's death was the first he'd ever experienced in its own right. And it had been devastating.
They all did what they could to comfort the boy even as they grieved themselves, and Jo suspected that Jake in particular gleaned his own comfort from his younger brother when Tommy sat close or climbed into bed with him at night. It wasn't the kind of comfort Jake would seek out on his own; but in giving, he could absorb it himself.
Jo was at a loss as to how to comfort Dean. He'd shut himself away in his room, and she didn't begrudge him that in the least. But she couldn't help being concerned about how long they should allow that isolation and wonder when it would be advisable to force some sort of interaction with the life that was going on around him in spite of his grief.
After a couple of days she'd called Bobby for guidance and been horrified to realize that Bobby hadn't known Sam was dead. Once Bobby had recovered as best he could from the shock of the news and Dean's silence on the subject, he and Jo had tried to figure through not only why Dean hadn't gone to Bobby, but what exactly had happened.
Bobby'd known the boys had been on a hunt in the Pacific Northwest somewhere, but not much beyond that. Jo hadn't talked to the Winchesters in several weeks, so she was completely in the dark. Ultimately, they decided not to push Dean for the moment, but to let him work things out for himself for the time being, hoping he'd tell them himself at some point. They'd made arrangements for Jo to call Bobby when Dean emerged from his room or in a week, whichever came first.
Jo had been able to take only one more day of Dean's silence.
Dean hadn't eaten anything since that initial cup of soup she'd given him, and after three days it was time to try again in terms of getting something in his stomach.
"Sweetie?" Jo knocked gingerly on the door as she pushed it open. There was no immediate response.
"Dean?" She continued into the dim room. It was almost noon, but the blinds did a good job of blocking out the late morning sun. She saw the lump under the covers stir sluggishly.
"Yeah?" His voice was rough, unused, and she wondered if that would be all the acknowledgment she would get out of him. But he rolled toward her, pushing the covers back slightly to squint up at her blearily.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, though she resisted the urge to reach for him.
"You need to eat something, baby," she said.
His brow knitted. "What?"
"You haven't had anything to eat in almost three days," she told him.
She watched him process this, watched the bleak expression settle over his face before he rolled back over, away from her. "'m not hungry," he muttered.
Jo bit her lip, not sure what to do next.
"Mama?" Tommy from the doorway. Jo was surprised to see Dean's shoulders hunch slightly at the sound of Tommy's voice.
"Hey, sugar," she said, not shooing him away, wondering what would happen if Dean had to interact with the younger boy.
Tommy eased into the room. "Dean?" he asked softly, coming to stand by Jo.
Dean stiffened, but he turned his head toward Tommy. "Hey, kiddo," he said quietly.
"Hey." Tommy's voice wavered. "Are you OK?"
It was hard to tell who was more startled by the strangled sob that escaped Dean at the soft question. It was cut off so quickly, Jo wondered for a moment if she'd heard it all.
Dean cleared his throat, rolling onto his back before he answered. "No," he said almost inaudibly. Then cracked the smallest of smiles at Tommy, who smiled back tentatively. "Fooled you, huh?" he asked.
Tommy laughed unsteadily, leaning into Jo. "Not really," he said, wiping at his eyes.
"Yeah." Dean sighed, looking away again.
"Honey, please come have something to eat," Jo said, letting the plea sound clearly in her voice, using Tommy's presence as leverage.
Dean didn't respond for a long time, and Jo didn't speak into the silence, just pulled Tommy into her, holding him tight while she waited.
"'K," Dean finally breathed, and she closed her eyes briefly in relief and thankfulness. "Can I take a shower first?" he asked.
"Of course you can," she reassured him with a slight smile.
She stood, pausing when Tommy took the place she'd just vacated. The boy scooted up until he was sitting with his back against the headboard.
"Honey…," she started softly, but Dean interrupted her.
"'s OK, Jo." He sat up slowly, stretching out haltingly until he'd pushed himself upright, leaning back next to Tommy. Dean raised an arm and settled it around the boy's shoulders. Tommy looked up at him, blinking with surprise at the contact, even as he shifted closer. "You want to hang out with me until I'm ready?" Dean asked quietly, and Tommy nodded, relaxing completely into the man. Dean's arm wrapped more fully around Tommy, and he took a careful, shaking breath before he looked across at Jo. "OK?" he said.
Blinking rapidly, Jo cleared her throat. "OK," she managed around the lump.
xxxx
TBC