AN: PLEASE READ... this is not a fluff-filled story of how Jo enjoyed every second of her encounter with possessed Sam. If rape or abuse are triggering to you, I would strongly advise that you just leave this story right now. You've been warned, so any of you reading this are doing so by your own accord. Enjoy.

One For The Road

"How about one for the road?"

The moment Sam Winchester's voice slid smoothly across the room, Joanna Beth Harvelle felt the hair on her arms prickle. She turned, expecting to find Dean as well, but the younger Winchester brother stood solitary at the entrance. Jo quickly recomposed her face to hide her disappointment.

"Well, you're about the last person I'd expect to see," she said truthfully. After the last time she had seen the hunting duo, she didn't much anticipate that one of them would just waltz into a bar and ask for a beer as if nothing had happened.

"Well," Sam said as he continued into The Sandpiper, a slow grin working across his face. "Guess I'm full of surprises." His hands were placed ever so casually in the pockets of his coat as he came closer. He leaned against a wooden post, raised his eyebrows and never quite closed his mouth. Jo watched him carefully with what she hoped was a look of utter nonchalance, while inside her emotions were a boiling mess of rage, contempt, confusion, and a bit of relief. Sam was the first familiar face she had seen since she left home, and where one brother went, the other was never far behind. Jo didn't want to think about who exactly he was behind at that moment, but the idea that Dean could be near was a comforting thought.

"So, can I get a beer?" Sam asked. Jo smiled at him, allowing the turmoil inside of her to give way to a cheerier disposition. "Sure, one beer," she said, offering him a more enthusiastic gesture as she headed to the fridge. She could push away her opinions of John Winchester for the sake of a friendly face from her old life. When she returned, Sam was sitting at the bar, already watching her return.

Jo handed him his beer and immediately busied herself with cleaning the tables. No matter if Sam was there or not, she had to finish her job. She wouldn't admit to herself that the more time she spent looking away from Sam, the more time she had to sort out her conflicting emotions. Her suspicion on his presence was a nagging ache inside of her though, and she couldn't help but ask in what she hoped sounded like friendly curiosity.

"So how'd you find me?" she asked. She could almost say that the brothers were just in Duluth on a job, but there was nothing supernatural happening in the area. She kept a close eye on the papers and the conversations that went on at the bar, so she would know if something was happening to attract the Winchesters. Since there was nothing to keep them in the area, she could only assume that they had arrived looking for her. She half hoped that Sam was here to say that they needed her for a job, until the image of her father killed as John's bait flashed into her mind, and she was consumed with a new hope that Ellen had sent them to hunt her down and bring her back to the Roadhouse. At least she could say no to that much.

Sam placed his unopened beer back on the bar and tapped his hand, turning on the stool to face her. "Well, it's kinda what we do, y'know?" he said, offering her a small smirk.

"Speaking of 'we'," Jo said before she could stop herself, "where's Dean?"

"Couldn't make it."

A hot wave of annoyance washed over Jo as she placed the beer bottles on the counter. So they knew that she was here, and he couldn't even take the time to drop by? Dean's inconsideration didn't surprise her much, but it hurt nonetheless. Unless, of course, Sam meant that Dean wasn't even in town, which made for a whole new list of questions.

"So what're you doin' here, Sam?" Jo asked, the first question on her new list. There had to be a reason for him to show up without Dean there to drag her kicking and screaming back to Nebraska. "I mean, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

Sam held her gaze for a short moment before looking down, sadness creeping into those eyes of his. Jo watched as they changed from green to brown in the conflicting lights as he furrowed his eyebrows in search of an answer. Dean was the obviously attractive brother, but she had to admit that Sammy had his own appeal as well. She wasn't interested, of course. He was a Winchester, and, despite her infatuation with Dean, she couldn't trust either of them.

"Well, that's why I'm here," Sam said finally. He began to remove his jacket, and Jo couldn't help herself from watching the way that he moved. "I kinda wanted to square things, y'know?"

Jo's attention was quickly lost from his little sentiments by the strange burn that peeked from beneath the rolled up sleeve of his dress shirt. It was an angry looking mark, a circle with a line that appeared pretty fresh by the way that it stood raised and red on the inside of his forearm. It almost looked like a brand, like the ones that were given to cows, but the symbol was strange.

"That looks like it hurts," she observed, choosing to comment on the burn than pay any mind to his proposition.

Sam looked down at his arm, looking almost surprised at her comment. "Oh, no," he said, brushing it off with a short laugh. "Nah, just had a run in with a hot stove."

Jo wasn't convinced, but she wasn't going to press the matter. For all she knew, Dean had branded him as a prank, but this obvious lie was just another reason for her to never trust these boys, though she had to admit that she had thought better of Sam. He seemed the more sincere of the two, but apparently that meant jack.

She obviously wasn't going to get any more on the burn, so she stiffened and went back to the question she was getting more answers from. "So you were saying something about squaring things?"

His eyes held hers for only a few seconds this time before he cast them down, something that Jo took a great pleasure in, though you could never tell through her cold composure.

"Yeah, um…" Sam paused, licked his lips, and pulled his best face – one that Jo was confident he had used many times before to get what he had wanted. He took a few seconds to sort out his words – or rehearse them in his head, for all she knew – before continuing. "Look, I know how you feel about my dad, and I can't say I blame you."

Now that got to her. Jo felt her walls break just the slightest bit, but she held her ground and let him talk. "He was obsessed… consumed with hunting," Sam said with what Jo thought was a hint of bitterness in his voice. "He didn't care who got caught in the crossfire, and I guess that included your dad. But that was my father… that's not me." He shook his head, finally having enough nerve to look her in the eye. Jo would be lying if she said that his little speech didn't touch her, but she couldn't just welcome him with open arms.

"What about Dean?" she asked with forced casualty. Confusion crossed Sam's face. He furrowed his eyebrows in that way of his and shook his head. "Well, Dean's more like my father than I am… but…" He looked up, and this time it was Jo's turn to avert her eyes. She looked back when he was silent to see a foreign smirk stretching across his lips. He laughed humorlessly before looking away, a new look of absolute contempt taking over his usually impassive features. "Boy, you're really carrying a torch for him, aren't you?" Sam said darkly.

Jo could only raise her eyebrows at him, caught in the act. She had asked too many questions about Dean, and obviously it hadn't gone by Sam unnoticed. She tried to brush it off and looked away, but Sam wouldn't let it drop.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said, his normally smooth voice thick with bitterness. Jo said nothing, but walked away. She didn't have to listen to this, especially not from a Winchester. She started towards the tables until she realized that there was nothing left to clean – spare a single beer bottle – and then quickly stopped in her tracks at the sound of Sam's voice from the bar.

"It's too bad," he said, the malice still obvious in his words, "'cause, see, Dean… he likes you, sure, but… not in the way you want." Jo hardened, reached for the bottle and headed back to the bar, her walls up good and strong now. "Maybe as kind've a… a little sister, y'know? But, romance?" He shook his head and Jo bit her lip, placing the bottle on the bar with a clink. She was quickly growing tired of Sam, and the way he was acting was so out of character for him that she absently wondered if he was already drunk when he walked in.

"That's just out of the question," Sam continued; clearly not ready to let this one go. He laughed, but this one was hard and cruel and forced a surge of unease through Jo's core.

"He kinda thinks you're a school girl, y'know?" he said. Jo's eyebrows shot up. Now she was offended as well as irritated, and her shift was well over. She wasn't even getting paid to deal with his shit anymore, and dear Sam was getting real close to having his ass kicked straight out the door. Then, like flicking a switch, his face went from cruel and condescending to proper gentle Sam. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Jo, I… I'm telling you 'cause I care," he admitted, his voice smooth and sincere again.

"That's real kind of you, Sam," Jo said sarcastically. She was officially done, and searching for kind ways to tell him to get the hell out of her bar when he reached out to drape his hand over hers. His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist. "I mean it," he said softly. Sam had never said much to Jo, so his sudden displays of affection and concern with her romantic life were alarming. She was quite confident in the fact that he was drunk now, though she couldn't smell any booze on him.

"I care about you a lot," Sam said. Maybe he was high, because the Sam Winchester she knew didn't do shit like this. Dean, she could see, but the brothers were so different that this random show was making her uncomfortable.

"Sam, what's going on?" Jo asked, pulling her hand away. She was jerked forward when Sam grasped her wrist tighter and pulled her back.

"I could be more to you, Jo," Sam said easily, never looking away from her eyes.

"Maybe you should leave," Jo answered. This was way more than she could take, and he had overstayed his welcome about five minutes earlier. The fact that she hadn't kicked him out before was influenced highly by her aching need to have a connection to Dean, but even her affection for the older Winchester couldn't make her take this kind of shit from a man.

Sam's nostrils twitched and his eyes hardened, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A beat of uncomfortable silence fell between them. "Okay," he said finally. He gripped her wrist harder until it went beyond discomfort and edged on pain, before releasing it roughly and standing from the stool. He walked to the door and Jo turned to lean on the bar, finally letting out a breath that she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding. That was too weird. Whatever had gotten into Sam, she didn't like it.

Before she could even sort through what had just happened in her head, she was grabbed by the waist and whirled harshly around. Her arms were forced between her and Sam's chests. He was gripping at her waist, digging his fingers into her sides. Jo balled her hands into fists and struggled, but if there was one disadvantage to being a female hunter, it was that most of the others were twice her size and put up a hell of a fight.

"Sam, get off me!" she yelled, all thoughts of composure and playing cool gone out the window as her main instinct to fight took over. She pushed against his hard chest, but he was having nothing of it. He was easily a foot taller, and a hundred pounds heavier, and any amount of fighting she did was useless when she couldn't move her arms from the way he pinned her to the bar. "Sam, get off me! GO!"

He didn't speak, just forced himself heavier on her body and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back until she leaned backwards over the bar. He leaned over her, his hot breath tickling her neck in the worst possible way. Jo's hunter's instinct had her eyes searching frantically for a weapon, and they landed on the empty bottle she had placed on the bar only a few minutes earlier. She reached for it, one arm free now that Sam was using one of his hands to keep a hold on her hair. The moment she grabbed it and felt a short breath of relief work its way up her throat, Sam's hand shot from her head to grip her wrist with an iron hold. The breath caught and she struggled more, but there was no moving against him. What she wouldn't give for some Holy Water.

"Jo, Jo, Jo," Sam whispered, his teeth baring into an unsettling mixture of a grimace and a smirk. He slammed her hand to the bar with a crash. She felt her wrist break and glass imbed itself into her hand as he took advantage of her split-second gasp to turn her on the bar again. He leaned her forward this time, one hand covering her injured one on the lip of the bar as he stroked her hair with his other.

"Sam, no! Please, please," Jo begged, though she was never one to beg. He held her hair painfully from her neck, and she knew that there was no fighting him, so begging was her only option. Whatever had gotten into him, she knew that this wasn't Sam, and that she could only pray that the real Sam was in there somewhere listening.

She felt him then, hard against the back of her jeans. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Sam, please," she choked as he forced her other hand onto the bar. He pinned them both with one of his, holding them so hard that she feared he would shatter every bone. His hand fell from her hair and brushed its way down her side. He lifted her sweater ever so slightly and his fingertips glided across her middle, working their way to her belt.

"Stop!" she cried, fighting frantically to free herself. He drove his fingers into her side and forced her hands heavier onto the bar, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Please, Sam! This isn't you!" Jo pleaded, her voice thick now with fear and the tears that were building in her eyes from both pain and terror.

He broke her belt and unbuttoned her jeans in two swift movements with his fingers and began to work them down her legs, taking her panties with them.

"Oh, but it is," Sam whispered once he got her jeans down far enough that gravity could take its toll and drag them the rest of the way to the floor. "Isn't this just exactly what my father did to yours? Betrayed him?" He gripped her hair again and forced her head back so she had to look at him. She shut her eyes and the tears rolled down her cheeks. "One would think you Harvelles would learn by now to never be alone with a Winchester," he hissed, bringing his lips down to kiss fiercely at her neck.

"Don't do this to me," Jo begged one last time, her voice catching helplessly. "Just don't do this, Sam, please. You're not your dad. This isn't you." She shook her head as well as she could against his grip, trying with one last fruitless struggle to break free of him. "This isn't you."

Sam breathed heavily on her, bringing his hips forward to grind against Jo's bare skin. The friction from his jeans caused her to wince, but it was only an addition to the discomfort she felt at him scraping his teeth down her neck. He released her hair and her head fell forward, almost hitting the bar. Jo placed her cheek against the sticky surface, her body going limp as she realized that there was no stopping him. If Sam was in there somewhere, he wasn't coming out. She could fight all she wanted, but this was going to happen. She didn't have to accept it, but tiring herself out now would only make things worse. Plans formulated in her head as a meager distraction to the hardness that he pressed adamantly on her exposed self and the kisses he trailed back to her shoulders. He tugged at the neck of her sweater and ripped it until it fell apart around her. She yelped without meaning to, eliciting a dark chuckle from Sam that caused every hair on her body to stand on end.

"What's the matter, Jo?" Sam rumbled as he returned to kissing her shoulder. He worked his way to her ear, one of his hands now absent as it struggled to remove his own belt. Jo heard the distinct clink of a belt coming loose and felt the color drain from her face. "Is this not quite what you expected your first time with a Winchester to be like?" he continued. The sound of his zipper coming down brought a fresh flood of tears down Jo's face. He nipped her ear in a way that would have seemed playful in any other situation.

Don't think about it. Go somewhere else. Just think about anywhere but here. Go to the Roadhouse. Be at the Roadhouse. It's safe there, Jo. It's safe there with Ash and Mama and everyone you know. You're not here. This isn't real, Jo chanted in her head, a sort of mantra to keep her from dissolving right then and there. If he was going to take everything else from her, she would at least keep her dignity. She wouldn't be a sobbing mess, and she wouldn't scream. Not for Sam Winchester, not for anybody.

"What was it you said to Dean? That most hunters expect to get in your pants with a six pack and some pizza?" Sam said, his fingers returning to her skin. He traced patterns up her thigh and Jo forced her legs together, a final show of defiance.

Sam noticed and laughed a cruel laugh from behind her. "If only they knew that it was as easy as pinning you to a bar. I expected more of a fight from you, Joanna, I really did." He grasped her thigh and tore them apart with the aid of his knee.

"I hope you burn in hell, Sam Winchester," Jo bit out, though she had promised herself that she wouldn't say another word.

Sam's painful laugh filled her head again. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that," he said, coming down over her heavily. She could feel all of him, hot and rigid against her back. He nudged her hair away with his chin to place another falsely gentle kiss behind her ear. "I've got a place saved there already."

The hand on her thigh snaked up to grab her rear, his nails digging into her flesh.

"I'd ask if you want me to count to three, but I'm sure you're already well braced," Sam murmured as he pulled himself away from her ear. He tightened his grip on her hands and brought his free hand down to hold her still. He pulled back and teased at her entrance, exploring it with his tip.

"I'll count anyway, just to make sure you're ready…" Jo could hear him speaking, but she was trying her best not to listen. She closed her eyes and her mouth, trying to go back into her fantasy world where there was no Sam Winchester and no bar and no throbbing ache in her hand and pounding heart in her chest.

"One…" Sam drew out, pushing slightly at her folds before pulling back again. Blood rushed to her face in both rage and utter humiliation.

"Two…"

Jo bit down hard on her tongue, hoping that the pain that erupted in her mouth would distract her from what was going on behind her. She braced herself and focussed on her tongue and her hand and anything that wasn't below her waist, until Sam slammed inside of her so suddenly and quickly that she could almost hear herself tear below.

"Three," Sam grunted as Jo cried out. She could all but feel the way he bared his teeth in triumph as he pulled out and thrust deeply inside of her again, ripping her from the inside. She bit her lip and tried to fight back the tears that worked their way to her eyes.

This isn't happening. This isn't Sam. I'm not here. This is just a nightmare, Jo. You'll wake up. Just wake up, she thought, though the pain that shot from inside her and up through the rest of her body was undeniably real. She was slammed harder against the bar with every move he made, rough and constant as he quickened his pace so that there was no illusion of comfort or break in the torture.

He stopped all of a sudden, but Jo didn't dare open her eyes. He was still inside of her; she could feel the way she throbbed helplessly around him. His body was over her again as he leaned closer, pushing her hair back over one shoulder.

"Are you sure you're not enjoying this yet?" he whispered, brushing his lips down her neck before he bit the supple skin. Jo gasped in spite of herself, this sudden gesture entirely unexpected. Sam chuckled darkly against her sweat-slicked skin. His tongue darted out to lick the place he had bit her gingerly, another crude illusion of intimacy. "I just want you to realize how much I want you, Jo," he said ever so slowly. He pulled out of her, almost completely, before sliding back in slowly and deliberately. He moaned softly in her ear, bringing her lunch up into her chest. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

"Not even a comment, Jo?" he continued, his voice still edging on the uncomfortable familiarity of the real Sam. He continued this tantalizing show of sensuality as he breathed heavily on her neck, peppering it with the occasional kiss and stroking of her hair. It took everything she had just to keep herself from spilling the contents of her stomach right there on the floor.

"I thought you were feistier than this." He was talking just to drive her mad. She couldn't go away and pretend this wasn't happening if he was right there, in her ear, his breath on her neck and his length inside of her, moving so easily that she could swear he thought they were lovers. But he was doing this to ruin her. She couldn't get away, and he would draw out every agonizing moment until she broke.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Jo growled through gritted teeth. Sam stopped, mid-thrust, and snickered. "Oh, that's much better," he groaned, finally putting an end to his intimacy game. He plunged inside of her again, back to his relentless thrusting until a low moan came from deep inside his chest and his juices were spilling from inside of her.

In an instant, he released her hands and pulled out; bringing both of his hands to grasp her hips and lift her onto the bar. He placed himself between her legs and pinned her wrists back to the bar before she even realized they were free.

They were face to face now, but Jo refused to open her eyes.

"You're a lot of talk," Sam murmured as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck before bringing himself back to face her again. "But you won't even look at me. C'mon, Jo. Tell me how you really feel."

Jo squeezed her eyes tighter, set her jaw firmer. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't look him in the eye, because whatever this was, it wasn't Sam, but the eyes she would have to face belonged to him.

Sam sighed softly at her defiance, his humorless laugh shaking his chest against hers. "C'mon, Jo…" Sam hummed. He nudged her with his nose, almost innocently. "Just tell me what you really think."

Jo opened her eyes, though she kept them narrowed viciously. Sam's lit up with a kind of glee that made her stomach churn. "Ah, there we go. God, you're beautiful." He was positioned at her entrance in this new position, ready to start again. Her legs were free, but what good would they do? She couldn't move enough to kick him where it hurt, and her hands were trapped. Yet… she could move her head now.

"I'm going to kill you," she enunciated purposely. "Soon enough Dean's going to come straight through that door, and when he does, I'm going to get my gun and put a bullet between your eyes." She could only hope that it was true.

Sam's face lit up even brighter then, his sardonic grin stretching across his face as his eyebrows shot up. "Oh, that's what I like to hear," he said, bringing himself up to brush at her again. "Tell me more," he moaned.

Jo thrust her head forward in the hardest headbutt she had given in her entire life. Their skulls cracked together so hard that Jo's neck snapped back at the impact. Her vision went double as pain exploded behind her eyes, but that was only temporary if she had been able to do as much to Sam. Her answer came in the form of a sharp laugh and hands pushing even harder against hers on the surface of the bar.

"That was even better," Sam said. She was dizzy. She couldn't see straight, and stars were bursting in her vision. She could hardly pick out Sam, so when he released her wrists and grabbed her by the face, her muddled mind didn't even think to fight.

Sam's lips came crashing down over hers; his hands forcing her jaw open so that his tongue invaded her mouth. Their breath mingled and Jo was sure this time that she would be sick, but nothing came out of her mouth spare a muffled sound of protest. The throaty "heh" that came from Sam was caught in her mouth as he kissed her hard and passionate before pulling back. He released her jaw and went back to grasping her hands just as Jo's vision regained a semblance of normality.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a gentler kiss. He suckled on her bottom lip and pulled back again before she could bite. Jo bared her teeth then clamped her mouth shut again, along with her eyes. Would this ever end?

"Just… so beautiful." His voice seemed distant and surreal as his kisses trailed between her breasts, tugging at her tank top with his teeth. Jo fidgeted to try and retain some of her modesty, but this only forced another laugh from Sam.

He backed up, yanking Jo off of the bar with him. He held her close to his body, his eyes never leaving hers.

"It's a shame, y'know," he said softly as he kissed her tenderly again. His tongue slithered out to slide delicately across her bruised and beaten lips. He pulled back and released her broken hand to stroke her hair affectionately. "It didn't have to be this way…" he whispered. Before his words even registered in Jo's mind, Sam had spun her around and slammed her head against the bar with a deafening crack.

He lifted her limp body onto the bar, broken glass mingling in her hair as he pulled up his pants and buckled them casually. Sam ran a finger down her jawline, Jo's face almost serene in her unconsciousness. Sam lowered his lips to her neck and breathed in her scent deeply as a grin spread across his lips.

"Or maybe it did."

AN: There you have it, in all of its horrifying glory. Reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading. 3