Well I found a bit more time to update- this story should be wrapped up pretty quickly from here on out- one long or two small chapters should do the trick. Hope you enjoy.

NOW

AS JO PUSHES OPEN THE DOOR TO HER MOTEL ROOM she watches Dean struggle to his feet—he seems completely unsteady, but he refuses to accept her help and leans heavily into the brick wall beside her. She studies his strong jaw line black and green from an old bruise forming on the right side, the line of stitches above his eyebrow, the stubble on his face. Even with the discoloring and out of place stitches it was still Dean. But then there were his eyes. Flat, green and empty. There was simply nothing behind them.

As he leans against the wall Jo scans over him quickly, pausing when she realizes that there is a darkening area spreading across the bottom of his shirt. It was beyond probable that Dean was hurting way more than he was letting on. Hiding injuries under the layers of clothing he was wearing.

"Are you bleeding?" She asks.

Dean looks down at his shirt, looks back up at her and nods, "It's fine." He asserts.

"You don't look real great right now Dean." She says her concern genuine, "I can stitch you up if you need me to." She offers, hoping he will take her up on the offer—because she's not sure he's in the right mind to sew himself up tonight.

Dean's head snaps up at her offer, his eyes wide, "Naw, it's fine Jo." He repeats quickly brushing her off as hastily as he can, "Really."

Jo sighs, hesitates for a long moment at the door and shakes her head thinking to herself, something here is completely off. Stepping in the doorway she watches him carefully, thinks about all times she'd imagined in the past the day Dean Winchester would show up at her door. In most of those daydreams he shows up and sweeps her off her feet—carrying her off in the sunset, he's the white knight on a horse kind of fantasy. In other dreams he shows up like a page out of a horror novel—there to tell her that something has happened to her mother or someone at the Roadhouse. In that capacity Dean Winchester is her worst nightmare. But tonight—God knows what role he was taking—fantasy or nightmare—she was leaning more toward nightmare.

DEAN SLAMS THE DOOR TO THE BATHROOM SHUT, pulling off the three layers of clothing that he has covering his upper body. His hands are shaking more with each layer that comes off.

Taking a few deep breaths he struggles to quiet the pounding in his head, to block the memories from earlier in the night—to stop the memories of the previous week from rushing back. His stomach lurches at the few memories that make their way through the wall he's tried to put up, and before he even has a chance to stop it he chokes up a mouthful of bile and falls to his knees.

Tears fill his eyes, and he hastily brushes them away. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was he supposed to do now? His life was quickly spiraling out of control. It was moments like these—moments where things were so fucked all to hell— that he really, really wished his dad was around just to tell him what to do. He really wished he had Sam's fucking annoying company to help him sort out the last few days.

His hands begin to tremble again, this time relentlessly; he groans and leans over the toilet choking up another mouthful of acid. Wiping the final string of vomit from his lips, he sat back allowing himself the opportunity to fall over to his side and slide down the wall. To his relief the feeling of the cool damp tile on the bathroom floor began to sooth his head, calm his stomach.

It takes a few moments to regain his composure, but Dean manages to push himself back up into a sitting position, and ready himself to pull of the last layer of clothing. The blood had begun to harden, adhering his shirt to bare skin as he waited for those two hours outside for Jo to make it back to her motel room. Now that its glued together the slight tug needed to pull it off was enough to make his head spin again.

Underneath the final layer of cloth, Dean stares at the old bruises and stitches that fade into the newer, darker splotches that cover his body. Using the wall as his support he stumbles toward the shower and turns the hot water on and exhales sharply as he steps in.

As the hot water hits his bruised and battered body it elicits a groan from the back of his throat. The events of the past few days haven't exactly gone as expected, but even if it didn't end the way it was supposed to—at least he knew it was finally over. It's that thought that finally sends him over the edge—and for the first time in nearly a week Dean lets himself feel the complete gravity of the situation he's been in and breaks down completely.

FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BATHROOM DOOR Jo Harvelle listens to a series of sounds that send wave after wave of concern down her spine. Something about the entire situation is screaming at her, creating warning bells that aren't going to be silenced anytime soon.

Pulling the cell phone from her purse, Jo hears the sound of Dean vomiting and feels her chest tightening. She can't believe the screwed up mess that Dean has landed on her doorstep with, actually, she can't believe that Dean is the actual screwed up mess.

Scrolling through her contact list she presses the send button and sits down on the corner of her bed. Exhaling she closes her eyes and prays silently, please—please just pick up.

"Hello?"

An exasperated breath rushes from her chest, "Thank God Sam," she says hurriedly, "please tell me you're okay."

So the next update (or two) will focus on what Dean got himself into after he dissapeared on Sam- and it will of course reunite the boys- because well... Sam is pissed. Gotta have a chance to work that out. Hope you all have enjoyed the ride so far. Thanks for all the reviews and feedback- its been great!

And as always any feedback you have at this point I would love to hear- just leave me a comment! ~L