Jo paused in the foyer of the Theological Society to look up at a painting of the Crucifixion that hung over her head. Christ, on the cross, his head bowed in suffering but not defeat as a Roman soldier—Longius, her brain supplied—stabbed his side with a spear. She was familiar with the Bible, not as a matter of faith but as another reference book on the supernatural. Her dad, she remembered, used to take her to Mass when she was very little, her mother staying at home to catch a few hours' more shut-eye on her only day to sleep in. The church-going had stopped once her dad had started hunting in earnest. There just wasn't time for it after that.
"No…thanks." The words echoed through the cold, high-ceilinged room. Jo turned and found the speaker standing in the middle of the aisle between the rows and rows of bookcases, about halfway between the door and the fireplace at the far end of the room. His back was to her, giving her only a look at a black coat, dark hair, and a flash of pale skin as he continued talking to the young priest in front of him. Constantine, maybe? He certainly had that pastiness hardcore hunters developed if they'd been on the job too long. Most of the beasties were nocturnal, and eventually the hunters became that way too. Jo, personally, had long given up having that healthy-looking tan she saw in magazines. When you worked in a roadhouse, your hours were almost as bad as if you were out on the hunt. It'd been easier to keep a normal schedule when she was still in school. Classes from seven to two, nap until eight o'clock, then work until closing time before doing homework and going back to bed. A lonely way to live that hadn't left much time for regular friends, but Mom had needed her.
"How about you, ma'am?" the priest asked the woman standing behind the dark man. Again, dark clothes, dark hair, pale skin. There was something about the way the woman held herself that suggested acute exhaustion, though it would kill her to admit she was even a little tired.
Jo moved closer, trying to move as quietly as possible over the hardwood floor. Her wet boots squelched on the floor, and she winced.
"Oh, no—I'm not staying long either," the woman said, her voice low and husky. "I really need to speak with him. It's very important."
"First come, first serve," the man said, a little too loudly for the academic, almost cathedral hush of the place. Ass, Jo thought, and she could tell the woman was thinking it too.
Sam and Dean had disappeared, she realized as she stopped a respectful distance back from the little knot of people. Trying to eavesdrop while making it look like she wasn't. The acoustics of the room made her job alternately easier and harder, depending on who was speaking.
There were two people talking in front of the fire. One was another priest, older, who greeted the woman warmly before drawing her off between the stacks to talk, effectively muffling their conversation. As for the other…well, Jo couldn't make up her mind if it was a he or a she, but whatever the case, as soon as the priest moved away, the man-who-might-be-Constantine stepped up to speak with it. "Still keeping your All Seeing Eye on me?" the man said. He didn't move like a man approaching a friend, but rather like an animal slowly circling another predator. A subtle dance of power that cast the androgynous figure in the business suit as first a peer, then potential prey.
"Well, I could offer something about how the shepherd leads even the most wayward of his flock, but it might sound disingenuous," the suit said in a melodious voice. Jo edged closer, catching a glimpse of Sam between the shelves, moving down a side aisle toward the woman and the priest, an intent and slightly disturbing look on his face. Heaven only knew where Dean had gone.