Spoilers: Some for 5.10 Abandon All Hope.

Pairing: Jo/Lucifer

Rating: R-ish?

A/N: I wrote this for a Girls of SPN fic exchange over on LiveJournal. It's a bit smutty, but hey. That's what was requested. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

This was never the way Jo imagined she'd meet her end.

She'd always wanted to be a hunter, and she'd always known the dangers of the job, but this? This was just cruel. A hunter's life is supposed to be dedicated to saving the lives of others at the risk of their own, and that wasn't what Jo had a problem accepting. Saving Dean had come naturally – as soon as she saw him go down, her body reacted on its own and she dove in without thinking. Ellen was so keen on trying to keep her away from it, but it turned out she was built for the job after all.

Yet that still wasn't what bothered her. When she felt that Hellhound's claws slice into her flesh as smooth as butter, that blinding pain spread across her vision until she was seeing white, her only thought was 'Did I get him? Did I save him?' Never once did she curse Dean Winchester's name or cry for mercy from the agonizing pain that had her holding in her insides. Jo wasn't so weak. Or at least, she liked to believe she wasn't. She was a little scared, sure, and she didn't want it to end like that, but there wasn't anything in the world that could make her regret saving her friend's life.

No, what bothered her was that after so many years of begging for this freedom, of training and practicing and researching in secrecy, of waiting for her moment of glory, Jo couldn't let go.

She didn't want to go, and she hated herself for it, but having Ellen there with her in those final moments was more than she could've ever asked for. It was selfish and it was weak but she was terrified and God, did it hurt. She didn't want to die and she didn't want her mom to go with her, and as the world slowly started slipping away from her, she was desperately trying to hold on. She wanted to go home and listen to some outdated music in a jukebox that only worked half of the time. She wanted to walk around a bar full of people with tales of grandeur that were almost certainly exaggerated but only that much more exciting. She wanted to take it all back and keep herself from putting them in this fucked up situation. She didn't want to die.

"I will always love you, baby."

The words were fuzzy, more of a murmur in the back of her mind than a final farewell, and Jo struggled to understand them. Her mother was holding her, getting ready to sacrifice herself in the effort to stop…something, but none of that made sense to her anymore. She was losing the battle, falling away into oblivion, and she tried calling out to Ellen, tried telling her that she loved her too, but the words never came. The slow beating of her heart in her ears faded into silence, the heavy weight of her limbs becoming lighter than air, and in a matter of seconds, all her pain melted away.

Jo woke up alone.

It took a moment to register in her mind but she realized that she was no longer bleeding to death on the floor of a convenience store. She was nowhere at all, had to be nowhere, because this room looked a lot like her old bedroom before the Roadhouse was burned to the ground. It was impossible, but only slightly more impossible than the voice that came from behind her. It was both comforting and horrifying at the same time, and she froze completely at the sound of it.

"Joanna Beth…"

Her heart would've jumped right out of her chest if it was beating, and her breathe would've gotten a lot more shallow if she was breathing, but she was quite noticeably not, and somehow that realization did not help in any way. She turned to face him slowly, as if unsure whether or not he'd actually be there, and instantly felt her eyes gloss over at the sight of him.

"Dad…" There he was, William Anthony Harvelle, standing in the doorway wearing the same old leather jacket and soft, loving smile Jo remembered him by. Tears spilled down her cheeks, a powerful storm of emotions wracking her brain as she spoke shakily, "I'm dead, aren't I?"

Bill laughed once dryly, "'fraid so, sweetie." That was all it took, and Jo sank down onto the bed separating them, crying loudly and uncontrollably into her hands. He sat across from her and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently and speaking in a soft, fond voice, "Hey now, there's no need to cry. It's okay."

She looked up at him then, eyes red and reflecting a world of guilt and agony, "How could it be okay, Daddy? I got us killed. Me an' Mom, I got us both—"

He shook his head and interrupted her, "No, baby. You did great. You were so brave." She let out another sob and Bill took her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder as he held her, "I'm proud of you, Joanna Beth Harvelle."

"Dad!" Jo cried, clinging to the back of his shirt and burying her face in his broad shoulders. She didn't know if this was supposed to be Heaven, but it was close enough for her. Seeing her father again, hearing him say those seven words – Jo couldn't be happier. She could spend the rest of eternity surrounded by that age-old smell of worn leather, listening to that deep, tough voice that used to ease her into sleep so many years ago. Before she died, Jo had wished for home, and there was no better definition of home than in William's arms. It was perfection at its finest.

But perfection can only last for so long.

"I'm gonna need that strength of yours, Joanna."

It was startling and out of place, so Jo pulled back away from him reluctantly. Had this been any other time, where they weren't both only just smudges on the threads of time, she would've agreed in a heartbeat. It was her father, for chrissake. There wasn't a whole lot she wouldn't do for him. But something about it was off and her instincts were telling her to run while her heart told her to stay. Feeling conflicted, she blinked away the last remnants of her tears, "What?"

He smiled, and there was something so very wrong about that, but Jo couldn't quite place her finger on what. "See, this," he gestured to the room, "isn't actually Heaven, or Hell for that matter. It's more like…Limbo, a place in between. When you were so unceremoniously ripped from the land of the living, you had attachments. Regrets. You didn't let go. And now you're…here. Which is a good thing, too, because it would have been much harder to find you if you hadn't."

"Who are you?" she croaked, her throat closing up as she felt her dream caving in on itself. She didn't really need to ask to know, but every fiber of her being was desperate for her to be wrong. Despite her internal pleading to whatever divine creature decided this was just, Bill smiled in a way that could shatter hearts like glass panes in a hurricane. A deep hollow sinking began to make itself known in Jo's gut.

"I think you already know. And I think you already know what I want from you, too."

"What are you talking about?" she sniped, trying to keep up her brave front and glowering at him as if she actually stood a snowball's chance in Hell against the Morning Star. This was fighting a losing battle, and she didn't even try to hide the shaking of her tiny frame. She was terrified, but she wouldn't let go without at least trying.

"I need you, Jo. We'd make a great team, you and me. We could make him say my name."

Trembling at the very idea, she stumbled over her words when she spoke, "No. No way. You can't make me. I'd die first."

Bill's eyes softened and he reached out to place a thumb against the tears that had just begun rolling down Jo's cheeks but she flinched away so he merely shook his head. "You seem to forget. You already did. And look where we are now. Both you and your mother are gone, and it was all for nothing."

Her eyes widened. Did the world just stop spinning? "…What?" It couldn't register in her mind, the thought that everything they went through amounted to zilch. It just didn't make sense. They had a plan, a battle strategy, and there was just no way that nothing came of it all. Her entire body froze, and the way Bill just grimaced slightly sent her stomach turning. She felt like she might be sick.

"The Colt can't kill me. Dean tried, shot me clean between the eyes. It was pretty unpleasant."

"You're lying," she argued with distressingly weak resolve.

"I'm really not. I have no reason to lie. If it had worked, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" If looks could kill, Jo's desolate glare would've sent Lucifer straight back to Hell. "I'm not the one you should be mad at, Jo. They sacrificed you for this fight, and they failed. They left you to die and accomplished nothing. You didn't deserve that. Even I can see how cruel that was." She closed her eyes and turned her head away, cursing the fact that that was her exact thought as she laid there dying. This was wrong, all of it, so why did he make so much sense?

"Jo," he said, and when she didn't respond, he reached out to her once more, "Joanna."

"Don't," she barked, moving away from his hand and looking up at him with red, tired eyes, "Don't you touch me with my father's hand, you monster."

Because it would only make it harder to keep saying no.

All she wanted was to be with Bill, to hear him say her name and take care of her like he always did before the accident. And at that thought, there was a horrible ping in her heart; just another mark against the Winchesters, because the truth of her father's death would always be a mystery. She didn't want to look at Lucifer wearing Bill's smile, didn't want Lucifer comforting her with Bill's eyes. She'd rather face the Devil himself.

Surprisingly enough, Lucifer obliged with a small smile of sorts, and Bill's form fell away like ambers from an open flame, leaving an unfamiliar man in his wake. Jo's heart settled a bit, but her stomach didn't, so she crossed her arms over her chest to hold herself together. Without having to look at Bill as she fought to reject him, she felt a little stronger – less like she was drowning in a pool of water and more like she was standing at the edge of a cliff.

It was pass or fail, all or nothing, and Jo was giving it her all.

"Well you, you don't look so tough."

Lucifer gave a fake frown, "Now, now. What do they say about books and covers? This cover is just a children's book gone wrong, but I can guarantee you, there's much more to me than cuddly ol' Nick lets on."

"Lemme guess, red skin, horns and a pointy tail?" This was good. Pointless banter. Jo could do that until the Sun imploded. She hoped that Lucifer could too.

But instead, he smiled that strange smile, so subtle yet saying more than enough, and spoke smoothly, "You know, they did call me the most beautiful angel in all of Heaven."

"You ever hear of modesty?"

"What exactly do you think 'Pride' means?"

She faltered, and admittedly, curiosity settled in where terror should have been. "Let me see, then. What you really look like."

He gave her a once over, contemplating it. "You are already dead, so maybe…" She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, not really knowing too much about all that angel business, but she wanted to know. She wanted to see. Because she was a hunter and it's in a hunter's nature to learn as much as possible about monsters. Right? After another second of thinking, "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"It's for your own good. You could at least try to trust me."

"Trust the Devil. Sure," she scoffed, but she did so nonetheless. There was an intense, bright light that even through her eyelids made her eyes water, but she was filled with a unique warmth, wrapped in a blanked of pure light and for a moment, she was at absolute rest. Then the light passed, and Lucifer said her name softly.

"Joanna."

Three syllables, simple and familiar, but his voice was enticing and made it sound like a wind chime blowing in the breeze or a piano being played in the distance. Music, wonderful and entrancing. And when she opened her eyes, her bedroom was gone, the illusion of the Roadhouse replaced by endless and undisturbed white. She would've missed Lucifer's presence in front of her if not for the startling blue eyes staring back at her from across the white bed.

He was…unbelievable. Sublime. To try and explain the ways Lucifer was beautiful would be like trying to describe the sunset to a blind person. It would be an insult to even try. Jo temporarily forgot that hey, this guy wants her surrogate family dead, and placed a hand gently on his cheek. It wasn't significant in any way, really, just morbid curiosity. Like he was so incredible, she wasn't sure he was real. She had to feel it for herself, and the touch sent chills down her spine both literally and figuratively.

"Cold, I know," Lucifer said in that heart-stealing voice, "Contrary to popular belief, I'm really not 'hot as Hell'."

The words snapped her out of her trance-like state and she quickly pulled her hand away, retreating back into herself but unable to taker her eyes off of him. He smiled, and it was so very different from his human smile. As much as Jo hated it, part of her was melting.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Joanna. I will not hurt you. I will not lie to you. I only want what you want."

"What I want?" she whispered, so lost in the ocean of his eyes that she hardly knew what she was asking, let alone what he was saying.

"Home," he replied, reaching to return the gesture of placing a hand on her face, and this time, she didn't flinch away. She let him touch her and the contact sent a jolt through her body that made her close her eyes with a small gasp. He continued, "I need your help, Jo. I need you on my side."

"I can't," she rasped, opening her eyes and futilely trying to break their eye contact, "I won't."

He shook his head and sighed, "What are you still fighting for?"

"They're my family."

"They left you behind. They walked away, and let your death go to waste. And for what? To help a God that won't lift a finger to help them? A God that watched you get torn to pieces for His Cause, but never once answered your prayers?" An impossibly cold and soft and wonderful thumb wiped away a tear that was beginning to roll down her cheek, and Jo was searching desperately for solid ground in his eyes. His words shoved her off of that cliff she was trying to cling to and she was falling, falling into his trap, falling into his arms. And she wasn't fighting it.

"They aren't family, Jo," Lucifer continued, matching her gaze in intensity, "They aren't home. But I can give you justice. I can give you strength." His hand slid from her cheek to the base of her skull and he leaned in closer, lips ghosting just above hers as he spoke. "I can give you home."

Jo waited for it, anticipating that last centimeter to be closed, but he bowed his head instead and she felt his lips brush against her neck. She spoke shakily, chest rising and falling in a way she was rather unfamiliar with, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Join my team," he answered, kissing the underside of her jaw and drawing delightfully short breaths from her, "We can build a better world together. Home." He stopped teasing her neck and faced her, perfectly calm and serene in comparison to her fluster. "Join me, Joanna Beth."

Coherent thought was temporarily lost to her in that moment. She was getting dizzy, her chest felt too heavy, it was at least a thousand degrees hotter in the room, and if it was possible, his eyes seemed to be even more beautiful than before. She was lost in them, and she wanted to be lost in them. What he said was wrong and part of her knew that, but the rest of her wanted to believe him, wanted to follow that piercing stare all the way to the ends of the Earth. The Apocalypse, the Winchesters, God – all of it be damned. She wanted home in Lucifer's eyes. She wanted his salvation.

"Yes."

Jo had obviously lost her mind but none of that mattered anymore. Seconds after the word left her mouth, her lips were his and she was filled with an impossible warmth. Comfort. Home. Without breaking the contact, Lucifer laid her gently back on the bed and leaned over her, his presence simultaneously overbearing and weightless. Even after she was naked and he was inside of her, there was no pain. No guilt. Nothing. Everything was washed away and she felt lighter than air, heavier than stone, brighter than the Sun, and darker than absolute solitude.

She was everything and nothing and he was at the center of it all.

His lips abandoned hers to return to her neck, kissing and sucking, and she let out a loud moan. Losing her mind, everything was fading away, and that was when she noticed them: wings, great, large wings that cast them both into shadow beneath their span. Feathery, no surprise there, but they weren't white. Or rather, they might have once been white but were now tinted black and gray as though singed by fire. Jo gasped a little and he froze.

An almost sad smile formed on his lips and Jo briefly though that his eyes should never, ever look that way again.

"You can see them," he said softly, almost resigned, and she reached up to touch them gently.

"They're beautiful," she said as fingertips brushed over soft feathers and they fluttered at the touch. Lucifer closed his eyes for what Jo was pretty sure was the first time during their entire conversation.

"It's no small thing, you know. An angel trusting someone with their wings."

"Does that make me special?" she challenged, smirking just a little. He smiled then, that Earth shattering grin, and leaned down to kiss her.

"I should think so, Joanna Beth Harvelle." And for some reason, the name sounded strange. But she didn't have time to contemplate why; he started moving again and all thought was wiped away for the second time.

The pain from the Hellhound's claws turning her insides to mush was replaced with the warmth of Lucifer's body against hers. The guilt from her mother's death as she refused to leave her was warped into the desire and drive to build a new home. And the anger, betrayal, all the hurt from her time as a living human being became pleasure, joy, elation. Suddenly, it made sense why the name sounded so strange to her. She wasn't that naïve little girl anymore.

This was the new Jo, twisted and torn from the land of the living to the land of the lost. And whether it was Heaven, Hell, Limbo or wherever, Lucifer was the one that found her and gave her exactly what she wanted. Completion. Freedom. Home. Her savior, her light, and she could spend eternity wrapped in his arms.

It was never the way Jo imagined she'd meet her end. But when she opened her eyes after reaching that final high, they were the purest of blacks.

And nothing could ever hurt her again.