Yep, I extended the oneshot. It would still work as a oneshot, but I wrote this because I felt like writing and couldnt come up with any new ideas. ;-) So enjoy!
Jo swallowed, fingering the keys. She stepped away from Dean's body and wiped her face with her sleeve, expression hardening. It wouldn't be long now, she mused, as she watched his chest rise and fall. She turned, unable to spend any longer watching him slip in and out of consciousness. She had work to do. She was On A Mission.
The nearest doorframe gave way to an even darker room, and Jo instantly felt the hint of a breeze. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was not alone.
"Who's there?" she called, subconsciously correcting her posture and squaring her shoulders. In this environment, she was likely to be attacked by both mortal and immortal beings. She didn't know which she was more afraid of. "I warn you, I've got a gun."
"Is it done?" rasped a voice from behind her.
"Yes," she replied softly. "Well, it's almost done."
"I didn't ask for almost done." Jo turned to face the man. He was young, very young, with thick hair and acne-scarred skin that looked rotten in the exaggerating shadows cast by moonlight. Barely even a man at all. But that didn't matter, all Jo could focus on were those horrible eyes, almost glowing black. Radiating darkness into an already-dark room.
"It's as good as done. Look." Jo held up the keys. "Now remember your promise."
He laughed. "There's still the matter of the other Winchester."
"I did what you asked. Against all my judgement I followed your orders. Dean is dying in that room because of me. Now hold up your end of the deal. Where is my mother?"
A smile in the dark. It was fleeting, tainted with malice. "No." Jo felt something around her neck, tight and cold. "You're about to learn the most important lesson of your tragically short life."
Jo couldn't do anything but splutter in response. She was being choked, slowly. Grabbing at her neck, trying to free it from invisible hands, she hunched over.
"Never trust anyone who can't die."
White-hot anger, burning from beneath her stomach. And then nothing.
Jo awoke in a cold sweat, her face sticky with old tears and drool. "Not real," she whispered to herself, feeling her throat. She stood up and padded over to the small hotel room sink, grimacing at the uncomfortable feel of her cotton shorts, now damp and bunching.
She splashed her face with water and looked at her face in the mirror. Moonlight pale, and etched with worry. "Not real," she told herself again. She dried her face with a paisley-patterned towel and stared at the window in the mirror's reflection. It was pitch black outside, and oddly cold for a June night in Indiana. Then she saw the headlights.
She stepped outside, only faintly aware that she probably looked strange outside in her pyjamas, and stood staring at the Impala - because she didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see his face this time so she wouldn't have more of those dreams. It shouldn't matter anyway, she thought briefly. She was focused, a hunter On A Mission; useless feminine emotion shouldn't play a part in that exchange.
The jingle of keys broke the silence. "Here," he rasped, throwing them at her feet. "I have no more use for it." She could somehow tell he was smiling from his voice.
She bent and picked up the keys, still cold despite having been in his pocket. A glance through the windows at a tangle of dirty-blonde hair told her that her mother was sprawled out in the back seat. Hopefully alive. Who knew she'd feel so dirty at this moment. "And she's...?" Jo began without any intention of finishing.
Another smile she didn't want to see. "Yes. I held up my end of the deal."
Finished. This time actually finished. I think. Make me a happy chappy (a female chappy?) and review!
