Jo had had a strange feeling ever since meeting the stranger Dean in the park. Like something was missing. A hole in her chest. Like she should remember something, but just… couldn't.

Her friends had noticed a change in her attitude, and so had her fiancee, and she was constantly being asked if she was all right. "I'm fine," was always her reply.

Saturday was bitterly chilly, and Jo had herself wrapped up in a sweater. Her blonde curls fell and shielded her ears from the cold air as she walked briskly through the parking lot towards the small coffee shop.

She needed to sit down and think — hard — with a cup of hot coffee. And not the crap coffee she made at home. Something brewed nicely and served expertly.

The bell dinged above the door as she opened it, stepping inside. Jo closed the door behind her quickly so that the heat of the building wouldn't escape.

She ordered a caramel macchiato with plenty of whipped cream and waited by the counter for the barista to make it.

Sniffing through her cold nose, she glanced around the building. Her gaze stopped at one table in particular. Well, more accurately, the man sitting there. It was Dean. There were papers spread across the table. Newspapers, printed papers, articles, and a small leather-bound notebook. She watched him curiously as he mulled over them and underlined certain words. He was alone, sitting quietly.

Jo waited impatiently for her coffee, and when it was finally done, she picked it up quickly and made her way over to his table, her heart pounding in her chest.

"It's Dean, isn't it?" she asked, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear nervously. She knew his name. Of course she did. But she was going to play this as cool as possible.

The sleeves of Jo's sweater were too long for her, and she used them to shield her hands from the heat of the cup of coffee she held.

Dean looked up at her, a small smile on his lips. It faded when he recognized her. "Jo," he said quickly. An awkward second later, he swallowed. "Ah, yeah. It's Dean," he nodded, looking slightly disappointed.

"Can I sit here for a second?" she asked, pointing at the empty chair across from him.

"Yeah, lemme just clean this up," he said as he scooped up the papers and placed them face down, snapping the leather-bound book closed and setting it gently on top of the stack.

Jo sat at the table and placed the coffee on its smooth surface, her hands still encircling it. "What are those?" she said, glancing at the papers.

"Just work," Dean answered. There was silence, the only sound that of coffee being brewed, for a moment between them. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, trying to catch her eyes.

Jo looked up at him. His face was earnest. He looked utterly concerned. Too concerned for a stranger she'd talked to for only minutes days ago. He had folded his arms across the table and was looking right into her eyes.

She couldn't help the flutter she felt in her stomach. "No, I'm actually not," she answered as he held her gaze. His green eyes grew sympathetic as she watched. "This is goin' to sound real crazy to you — it sounds crazy to me — but… Ever since we talked, I can't shake this feelin' that… That I know you or somethin'."

Dean nodded. Why was he nodding? Surely she was insane.

"I mean, I have this feelin' like there's somethin' missin'. But I never noticed it until after I talked to you the other day," Jo elaborated. Her brow furrowed when she noticed that a small smile was tugging at his lips. "What?"

Dean shook his head and laughed lightly. "I just… I know what you mean, Jo. I know exactly what you mean."

"No," she shook her head. "No, you're supposed to tell me I'm crazy. You're supposed to roll your eyes and give me the number to a doctor. This is ridiculous!" she rambled.

"No, Jo, it isn't," he smiled at her. He spoke almost as if he knew her.

"Yes, Dean, it is. I've never met you," she said, her voice slightly panicked. "I'm engaged."

"I realized that," he replied coolly with a nod.

Her mouth hung open just barely as she stared at him for an extended amount of time.

Thoughts swirled in her head so furiously that she felt the beginnings of a headache forming.

She set her jaw and straightened her shoulders. "Fine then. This'll prove I'm crazy. For some damn reason, I could swear your last name is Winchester. But it isn't."

Dean laughed and leaned back in his chair. "Dean Winchester at your service," he smirked. There was a pause for a moment before he spoke again. "Winchester is my last name, Jo."

She snorted incredulously. "Very funny," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is it?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "My mom named me. I've always liked my name."

"Ha ha ha," Jo laughed sarcastically, preparing to stand.

Dean leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his jeans. He opened it and pulled a few cards out, sifting through them for a moment before he held one of the plastic credit cards out to her. It was worn and looked older than any of the newer, shinier cards.

She took it from him and examined the name on it for a minute. Dean Winchester.

Jo looked back up at Dean with wide eyes and her mouth agape.

"It's been a real long time since I've seen you last, Joanna Beth Harvelle," Dean said, his face absolutely serious. There were no hints of a smile or joke in his eyes.

Jo felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She could barely breathe. How did he know her name?

"What?" she gasped.