Chapter XI

/

"And it's almost noon and I ain't got nowhere to go."

- Superbad, Travie McCoy

/

"Who is that?" Jo questioned, trying to peer inside the room.

Dean stopped her before she reached the open door, taking her shoulders and steering her away. "No one you have to worry about."

I heard Meg cackle and glanced into the storage room, my hand on the doorknob. "Are you going to tie her up too, boys?" she asked, her voice strained. I could tell she was having difficulty keeping up her sarcastic, venomous facade. Still, she leered at me from the chair she had been tied to for the past few days. "Did you tire of me already?" she asked, her voice sounding falsely innocent.

I wondered if she had pissed herself yet.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean growled, reaching beside me and taking the doorknob from my hand. As he pulled the door closed he leaned his head close to mine. "Don't let them see each other," he told me before joining Jo in the kitchen. She was looking nervously at the storage room door, but she quickly turned her gaze to me as I walked up. I was trying not to stare at the spot on the kitchen floor where Dean and I had... yeah.

"Who was that?" she asked. "What did she mean, tied up?" Maybe it was a mistake to bring Jo here, but there had been no other choice. I wanted her close and I still needed to speak with Meg. This was just how it was going to be.

Dean sighed heavily. "Listen, Jo. Sam and I are in a bit of a... pickle, so if you could ask the least amount of questions possible, we'd really appreciate it."

Jo gasped, clutching the kitchen counter. "Are you guys in trouble with the mafia or something?"

"Something like that..." I muttered.

"I totally want in on this," she exclaimed, her voice giddy. "I can, like, go undercover or something and seduce men to learn information. I could help you!"

"Maybe next time," Dean mumbled. "But right now I need you to resist your curiosity and just trust me when I say you don't want to know any more than you need to. We only brought you here because it seems to be the safest place for you right now. Those men at the shelter were after Sam, and they may have seen you, so we want you close now, but not too close. Understand?"

Jo turned large, unblinking eyes towards me. "Why were they trying to kill you?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "My stepfather wants me dead, and it seems he's sort of a big deal," I explained, unwilling to go into much more depth about my situation. Dean was right: the less Jo knew, the better.

"Is he like the kingpin or something?" she asked, jaw hanging loosely and openly now. The girl obviously watched way too many movies.

"It doesn't matter," I replied. "Please just drop it, Jo."

She closed her mouth and stared at me intently for a few seconds. I was afraid she was going to protest, but then she nodded once. "Consider it dropped."

Dean went to the stainless steel refrigerator and pried open the door. "You guys can help yourself to anything I've got, though I'm afraid it isn't much." He pulled out a canister of vanilla yogurt, complete with plastic spoon. "I've gotta feed the bitch," he grumbled before heading off to the storage room.

"Wow," Jo said as we watched Dean disappear into the room. "You guys are the real deal, aren't you? Guns, hostages... I think this is the most excitement I've had in a while."

I gave her a bizarre look. "You call being shot at exciting?"

She shrugged her shoulders, smiling at me. "Beats crappy sex with strangers."

I frowned and her smile disappeared. Without it, she looked worn out, and I found myself wondering if she had been sleeping well recently. Looking at her now, I realized she had been shaken up more than she was letting on.

"You okay, Jo?" I asked her softly, touching her arm. It seemed that small amount of contact was enough to break her, because suddenly tears were brimming in her eyes and her bottom lip began to quiver. Not once had I ever seen Jo cry, and the sight made something lurch inside of me. It seemed wrong.

"They almost killed you," she said, her voice shaky. "They shot Dean and they almost shot you. I almost lost you."

A tear slid down her cheek and I began to panic. I didn't know how to comfort her or how to stop the flow of tears, but I couldn't stand to watch her cry, so I pulled her towards me and hugged her. The scent of cherries immediately wafted around me, mingling with the faint odour of cigarette smoke. I clutched her tighter.

"I'm still here," I said.

I heard her sniffle but then she laughed, like she had remembered something funny; an inside joke she could share only with herself. "Sam, I think I love you."

I stroked her hair, praying that the tears had stopped. I didn't want to feel that empty helplessness that had lurched inside of me again. "I love you too, Jo."

"No, I think I'm in love with you," she stated, as if she couldn't believe it herself, and then I was leaning back, holding her at arm's length.

"What?"

She wiped away the remaining tears from her cheeks. "I've always been," she said. "And that night when you kissed me-"

"Hold on a second," I interrupted her, because what she was saying wasn't computing fast enough in my brain. Jo... Jo was in love with me? I cocked my head to the side. Had there been signs? Had I missed them all?

I heard Dean exit the storage room but did not look over Jo's shoulder to watch him. I was still too stunned by Jo's unexpected confession. The truth was, maybe a few years ago I would have been able to return the feelings. When I had first met her I had even had a crush on her, but that had quickly turned into affection that was close to what one held for a sister.

Jo seemed to take my silence as an answer. "Is there someone else?" she demanded to know, her eyebrows knitting.

I faltered as I went to answer the question, my eyes involuntarily flicking towards Dean. He was sitting on the couch now, his eyes watching us carefully. I wondered how much of the conversation he had already heard.

"Damn, I knew there was someone else," she complained. "Is it Rebecca? I see the way she's always looking at you at the shelter. Damn slut... She already has so many boys around her yet she always needs more."

I saw Dean stifle a laugh behind Jo and I felt my cheeks grow hotter. "No, there's no one else, Jo. I don't even know who Rebecca is." It was the truth.

"She's the one who's always playing pool even though she can't play for shit. She just does it so she can bend over and tease the boys. Don't ever fall for it, you got it, Sam? I swear, if you ever-"

I grabbed Jo by the hand and led her to the bathroom, leaving Dean on the couch where I could imagine he was bent over double with a hand clamped over his mouth, barely managing to control his hysterics. I shut the door behind us and faced Jo, making sure that she was focusing on what I was saying.

"Jo, there is no one else. I just don't think of you in that way."

"Is it because I turn tricks?" she asked earnestly. "I'll stop, I swear. You told me you wished I'd stop, so I will. I'll get a real job and I'll make honest money. I got myself tested recently and I'm clean. I won't have sex with anyone else but you. I promise."

I was taken a little aback by her forwardness, but then I realized that this was who she was. I sighed. "Jo, listen to me. It's not because of your work. I do want you to stop because I care about you and I don't want you to get hurt, but that's because you're like a little sister to me. I can't have... I just can't imagine us taking it any further than that."

She hung her head, looking down at her bare feet and her bright blue toenails. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Jo. I wish I felt differently, but-"

"Maybe in a few years?" She raised her head again, hope shining in her eyes. "We'll both be older and I'll be more mature. Maybe then you'll think of me differently?"

I shook my head. "I just don't see it happening, Jo," I told her gently. I didn't want to hurt her, but I didn't want to lead her on either. Giving her hope was the worst thing I could do right now, because it would hurt ten times worse in the future, after she wasted years waiting for me and I still felt the same way.

"It's not fair," she pouted. "I'm hot, aren't I?"

I chuckled, nodding my head. "Very."

She frowned. "You're not gay, are you?"

My eyes widened. "No, I-"

There was a loud knock on the bathroom door. "Come on, you two lovebirds," Dean's voice called jokingly. "Get out here so we can take another crack at getting the bitch to sing."

"Give us a second!" I called back. Then I cupped Jo's face in my hands and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. "You're beautiful, Jo. One day soon some great guy is going to realize that and take you away from this life."

She scoffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "My very own Prince Charming? Yeah right. That's fairytale stuff."

I smiled. "If the evil stepparents exist, who's to say the Prince Charmings don't?"

"Whatever," she muttered, but I saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Come on," I said as I draped an arm around her shoulder, and we exited the bathroom together. The storage room's door was open and I left Jo in the main room as I went to see what progress Dean had made. As I approached I could hear Meg speaking, her voice immediately grating on my nerves.

"That's all I know," she stated firmly. "You're just wasting your time now."

"You're the one who's wasting time, seeing as you may not have much left," Dean replied. As I entered the small room I saw him empty his gun's clip, looking at the bullets before inserting them again.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Then just shoot me already," she said. "That's better than dying from boredom after being tied to this chair for so goddamn long."

Dean snorted. "No one dies from boredom, Meg."

"Just tell us where John is," I snapped.

Meg pierced me with a glare that was pretty intimidating coming from a woman tied to a chair. "How many times do I have to tell you dumb shits... I don't know."

"I think you do," Dean said, crouching in front of her so that they were on the same eye level. The hand he held his gun with was balanced casually on his knee. "I think you're protecting him."

Meg scoffed. "From what? You? A pair of chuckle heads with a gun? Please."

Dean smirked. "You know we plan to kill John. You also know we have the motivation and the skills to do it."

"You see, that's what I don't get," she said as she leaned her head to the side in a questioning expression. "You may have the skills," she said to Dean, looking him straight in the eyes. "But what the fuck is your motivation?"

"John had my mom murdered," I spat, feeling the need to clarify why the bastard should die.

"Whoopy-fucking-doo," Meg sneered as she continued her stare down with Dean. "What's that got to do with Dean, here? It wasn't his mother."

"Maybe I don't like it when innocent women are slaughtered," Dean stated simply.

She laughed, the sound dry. "That's fucking hilarious coming from you. Such bullshit. Besides, Mary wasn't innocent at all. She was a fucking whore."

"Hey!" I yelled, but Dean raised a hand and I reigned in my anger.

"You love him." His voice not didn't hold a tinge of spite or sarcasm or mockery. He stated it simply, like it was a fact, and I immediately saw the affect his words had on her. She turned rigid in the chair, her eyes rounding. But then she seemed to catch herself and her eyebrows cut downward in loathing.

"Go fuck yourself," she hissed. "You don't know shit. You don't even know who the fuck you are."

Dean rose to his feet and turned around, beckoning me to follow as he left the room. As I shut the door behind us I looked at him quizzically. "That's it? We got nothing from her."

"She isn't gonna tell us, Sam," Dean said, his voice slightly frustrated. "She's right. We're just wasting our time."

"She's not taking us seriously," I exclaimed angrily. "We have to show her we mean what we say, that we'll kill her if she refuses to answer."

Dean shook his head. "Maybe, but it might not work, and then we'll just have a dead body stinking up the place."

"Screw this," I sneered. "Give me that gun and I'll do it myself."

I held my palm out for the firearm, but Dean only looked at me. He raised his eyebrows. "You think you could actually do it?"

I was about to answer him when I suddenly realized that Jo was sitting on the couch, her arms resting on the back as she watched us, no doubt listening to our conversation. I faltered for a moment, and that was enough hesitation for Dean, who seemed to think he had received his answer. He swiftly walked away, heading towards the kitchen. "We've got to come up with another plan," he called over his shoulder. "Let's take a rest tonight."

I almost stomped the floor in frustration, but stopped myself from acting childish.

/

Almost a week passed where we all fell into a simple routine. I helped Dean clean and bandage his wound every day and I watched with satisfaction as it continued to heal. Jo and I spent most of our time in the loft. I was frustrated often, upset that we didn't have any plans regarding my stepfather. Dean had forbidden me to speak with Meg, locking the storage room door with a key he hid from me. Still, he didn't interrogate her himself, only opening the door once and a while to bring her food or to allow her to go to the washroom. Sometimes I'd hear her screaming when she was left alone, hurtling insults at us, but during those times Jo turned up the volume of the radio Dean had bought. Then she'd dance around the room and I was reminded of the days before my mom had died, when me, Jo, and Ash had hung out similarly at the shelter.

On the third night, Dean left the house when we were sleeping. I awoke at the sound of the front door closing and was going to follow him, but when he drove off in a black car I had never seen before and figured he'd bought some time ago, I gave up immediately. I had no money to pay for a cab, and there was not much of a chance I'd find one around the neighbourhood anyway, seeing as it was mainly buildings under renovation.

I awoke the next morning to find that Dean had already returned. When I questioned him about where he had gone he shrugged his shoulders and told me he had gone to take care of some business. Later that day I heard on the radio about the deaths of two New York police officers, one who went by the name of Carl Lenox, the man who I knew worked for my stepfather. Apparently they'd been involved in a car crash while pursuing an unidentified car. I knew Dean had been involved in some way, but he avoided a definite answer when I brought the subject up.

By the sixth day, I was furious. Not only was Dean keeping me out of the loop, but he didn't even have the decency to admit it to my face. It was like he was taking over for me. It was my mom who we were avenging. It was my stepfather we were planning to eliminate. I recalled Meg's question, about why it even mattered to Dean, and suddenly I was wondering the same thing. Why was he helping me? Why was he going through the trouble?

As I fumed on the couch I watched as Dean prepared a sandwich in the kitchen. Jo's legs were draped over my lap, her sleeping form clad in one of my shirts which swamped her small frame. The radio was blaring, drowning out Meg's screams of outrage, and I wondered how Jo could sleep with all the noise.

Slipping out from under her legs, I made my way to the bathroom, deciding to take a shower to calm myself down. The frustration building within me was ready to detonate, but I was afraid of how large the explosion would be. I was about to shut the door behind me when Dean pushed it open, doing the deed for me. He pinned me with his gaze. "You're angry, aren't you?"

"No, I'm fucking chipper," I snarled sarcastically as I began to remove my shirt. "Get out. I'm taking a shower."

"Sam, no one's talking. It's like John disappeared into thin air."

I glared at him. "Maybe if you let me help you we'd have better luck."

"It's too dangerous," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Didn't you tell me we were going to return fire with fire?" I asked, jabbing a finger at him. "What the fuck happened to that plan?" I began to remove my belt, my fingers fumbling with the device as I tried to keep my cool but failed miserably.

"Exactly," Dean said. "That's a plan. Right now, with no information, we'd be going in blind. When I said that, I meant only if we were prepared. We're not prepared, Sam."

I whipped the belt from my pants and threw it on the ground next to my shirt. "Why do you even care?" I enquired. "Why are you helping me? Why do you care if I'm in danger?" As I asked these questions I unbuttoned my pants, leaving me only in my boxers. I just wanted him to leave, because I really couldn't understand what he was thinking. It kept gnawing at me: why did he care?

He looked at me blankly. I didn't expect him to answer, but then he opened his mouth and spoke. "Because you're all I've got," he said, his voice quiet.

I looked at him and for a moment we were both silent, only the music in the background filling the space between us. "Once you get your memory back I won't be all you have," I stated, the anger unexpectedly ebbing away from my voice.

He shook his head slowly. "What if I don't get it back?"

"You will," I stated firmly, though I certainly didn't know for sure.

"What if I don't want it back?" he asked in an even quieter voice, and it was the first time I saw him look so lost. Even more so than the first time I had met him, when we had sat side by side on the beach and he had only been a stranger with amnesia.

"Why wouldn't you?"

He blinked once. Twice. He was hesitating, fighting something. And then in two quick strides he was in front of me, one hand holding the back of my head as he crushed his lips against mine. I could feel his chest press into me, almost make out his heartbeat, but then he was pushing me backwards and I stumbled as we entered the glass shower. He closed the door and then turned on the water, an icy cold stream immediately drenching my back. I yelped as I jumped forward, knocking into him, but then he swung me around and pressed me against the shower wall, shielding me from the cold water while joining our lips again.

I wondered why I wasn't resisting, but the thought was one amongst a thousand, all jumbled in my brain as I tried to grasp what was happening. Then I felt his tongue gently prod against my lips, begging for entrance, and all thoughts flew from my mind as I allowed him in. The water quickly turned hot and steam began to fill the shower as I tugged at Dean's shirt, trying to lift the soggy mess over his head. We parted for only a moment, but then he was back with me, my breaths coming in short gasps as his mouth demanded all of my attention.

At some point I realized I was only dressed in my boxers and Dean's pants had been unzipped. I reached down between us and Dean stopped everything he was doing and shifted his head back, our lips parting. He looked down between us, at what I was doing to him, and I heard his breath shudder. Then his head was dropping next to mine, his damp hair tickling the side of my face. He groaned, and I felt his hot breath against my neck. Then his lips. His tongue.

Water streamed down our bodies in rivulets as steam billowed up around us. The air had become so muggy it was difficult to breathe, but Dean was making that hard to do already. As he slid his tongue along my jaw line I shifted my hands and gripped the sides of his arms.

"Are you sure?" he whispered into my ear, and I nodded my head, unable to speak. I wanted this. Then he was turning me around and pulling my hips away from the glass. I allowed myself to bend over, placing my hands against the shower wall. As I listened to him remove his drenched jeans and felt him slide my boxers down, I expected the glass to transform into a brick wall, but it never did. Not once did fear grip me.

Dean was being gentle, but I started to get impatient. The next time he moved his hips forward I pushed back and was rewarded with a grunt. He slammed his hand on the glass above me, as if his knees had suddenly gone weak and he had to catch himself before sinking to the shower tiles. "Sammy," he breathed. He sounded like he was in pain but I knew he felt the opposite. I tried to gain purchase on the wall with my hands as he continued, but they squeaked against the wet glass and it seemed Dean was the only one keeping me from falling to the ground. When it was over I felt his forehead on my shoulder and then his hands on my chest.

"I'll make you feel good," he whispered in my ear, and suddenly I couldn't breathe in the muggy air. I tried to gulp down oxygen but he was already spinning me around, pressing his lips against mine roughly. After a few moments he broke away, stepping back and ceasing all contact between us. I felt my chest heave as I stared at him, barely supporting myself against the slippery shower wall. His eyes were hooded as he gazed back, but then they were trailing downwards. I suddenly realized just how exposed I was, but I didn't feel self-conscious, because Dean was returning his gaze to my eyes and I could see the lust that filled them. They were burning with something deep. Something that made my heartbeat quicken.

Then he was dropping to his knees. Before I knew what was happening, I threw my head back, each of his movements causing fireworks to explode behind my eyelids. It wasn't long before it was over. Then he was standing up and cupping my face in his hands. I was exhausted, but I smiled at him. He smiled back, a slight upturn of his lips, and then he was kissing me again. This time it was gentle and long, just are lips involved. It seemed as if we stayed like that for hours, but it was only seconds.

Because that's when everything went to hell.