Warning, you may need tissues, depending on how good a writer you think I am lol.
Sam brushed dust and glass off his clothes as he pushed himself off the ground, "Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be." He whistled as he received four pairs of eyes staring at him incredulously. "What?" He scowled brushing glass off his shoulder.
Dean shook his head rolling his eyes as he turned to face Lacey. "Well, looks like we're done here." He said wiping the knife off on his pants.
Lacey glanced down at the still body of Ursila and immediately back up at Dean, "What about that?" She pointed to the dead woman pooling blood on her flooring.
"Oh, uh," Sam interrupted coming to stand next to his brother, "We'll take care of that." He smiled reassuringly.
"We will?" Chuck squealed nervously from the couch, inching away from the dead body he was surely going to be touching in the near future.
"Yes Chuck, we will" Dean growled at him. He turned back to Lacey flashing a charming smile, "He's new."
Lacey shoved her shaking hands in the pockets of her jeans, "Okay," She nodded taking a shaky breath, "Well, thank you, I guess." She bowed her head slightly before she looked up at Jo. "And I'm sorry, by the way. I was pretty mean to you in school... and earlier today..." She trailed off shuffling her feet nervously, kicking around a stray piece of glass. "So, I'm sorry."
Jo nodded reluctantly. "Thanks, I guess."
Lacey turned reaching for an envelope in between a pair of books on the bookshelf behind her. She took a step forward handing the envelope to Jo. "Here." Lacey ran a nervous hand through her hair as Jo took the envelope, "I guess you won't be coming back into town anytime soon." She chuckled lightly.
Jo smiled tightly, "No, I don't think I will."
Lacey returned Jo's smile sincerely, "Well then, have a nice life," She giggled politely, then more seriously she added, "Good luck, Jo. With everything." Waving her manicured hand over the chaos of her once immaculate living room.
Jo nodded knowingly following Lacey's gaze. Her eyes stopped on a smashed picture frame of Lacey and Jack's wedding day. Jo smiled to herself knowing Dean would never leave her to clean up this mess, let alone leave her to deal with it's creator. No matter how perfect Lacey's life seemed, it wasn't even close to what Jo had. "You too, Lacey."
xxx
Margo was long gone by the time they got back to the motel. Jo wasn't surprised, she half expected to walk into an empty motel room.
Dean dropped his duffel bag on the table as he followed Jo into the room, shutting the door behind him. "We'll head out of here in the morning," He reassured her.
"Alright," Jo sighed as she slumped down in one of the arm chairs.
Dean watched as she leaned one elbow on the table resting her head on her hand. She looked physically exhausted and, more importantly, sad, "You okay?" He asked as he took a seat across from her, as he began pulling guns out of the bag to clean them.
Jo studied his methodical movements, pulling handguns and rifles out of the bag, laying them flat on the table, pulling them apart before finally meeting her eyes with his insatiable emeralds. Jo nodded, smiling just enough to reassure him, though the movement barely reached her eyes. "I'm okay. Just a little bummed is all."
Dean frowned as he nodded handing her a gun to clean. "What about?" He asked wiping down the barrel of the shot gun with an old rag.
"Margo." Jo answered deflated, shrugging her shoulders. "It's just," She paused, taking apart the hand gun. "I told her about all this stuff. About hunting, everything."
"You feel responsible." Dean finished for her, knowing the feeling himself all too well. "I get it, but you're not. Margo is a full grown woman who made her own decisions." He reasoned.
"I know that," Jo nodded, turning her attention back to the gun in her hands. "But it doesn't make me any less sad."
Dean stilled his actions to look up at her, a feeling of helplessness washed over him. "I'm sorry." Dean whispered. They were the only words that he could think of that could convey his sentiment, though they seemed to fall flat. Sam had always been better with comforting people, Dean was the tough and unreachable sibling. But with Jo around, Dean couldn't think straight, he couldn't find that confidence that normally got him through these kinds of situations. All his bravado was sucked away by just a glance from Jo.
Jo shrugged again, looking up from the gun to meet his gaze, with a true smile. She knew he had trouble expressing himself, or really any emotion at all, and the fact that he was trying, meant everything to Jo. Her heart squeezed with adoration at the helpless look on his face. "It's okay." She whispered back.
Dean reached for her hand across the table and Jo silently linked her fingers with his.
Xxx
"Phew," Chuck exclaimed as he threw himself on the bed. "I'm glad that's over."
"You didn't even do anything." Sam complained, tossing his duffel bag on the opposite bed. "You sat in the truck while I burned the body."
"I was the look out," Chuck defended himself, leaning up on his elbows.
"Yeah sure." Sam rolled his eyes, pulling the legal pad out of his bag. He dropped the pad on Chuck's lap and took a seat facing him. "Tell me about this key." He demanded.
Chuck's body sagged as he flipped to the last page he had written on, turning it around to show Sam.
"Jo?" Sam questioned, staring at Chuck's messy scribble. "She's the key? Key to what?"
Chuck shrugged flipping the pages to the front, "I don't know man, it was like a memory. Only it wasn't mine or Jo's, and it's kind of hazy now." He explained.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, "What do you remember?"
"Well," Chuck scratched at his scraggly beard. "Not much. Pain," He noted, "A lot of pain. And then some guy saying, 'Don't you know what you are?'" He lower his voice an octave to mock the voice, "And then, 'Some key'. Clearly taking about Jo."
Sam leaned back on his hands mulling over what Chuck had just told him.
"He was talking about Cas too," Chuck exclaimed as if just remembering. "Something about the guys dad not telling him something."
Sam cocked his head at that. "What?"
Chuck's lips puckered in his attempt to recall the words, "Something like, 'I guess Father didn't tell him' or something to that effect."
"It was Lucifer." Sam stated with out a doubt, his heart dropping to his stomach with the thought.
"How do you know that?" Chuck asked leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
"She's only been in contact with two angels as far as I know." Sam thought out loud. "Castiel and Lucifer." He ticked the names out on his fingers.
"What does that mean?" Chuck's brows furrowed as he tried putting the pieces together.
"I don't know," Sam rubbed the back of his neck, absently staring at the legal pad, "Did Jo read that?" He pointed to the discarded pad.
Chuck shook his head, "I don't think so. Or if she did, I doubt she got that far. She didn't say anything about it."
"Yeah, neither has Dean." Sam sighed, taking the pad and stuffing it in his duffel bag again. "Let's just keep this between you and me for now. When we get back to Montana we can tell them about it."
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, laying back on the bed, "Let's give them a bit of bliss before we rip it out from under them." His words dripped in sarcasm as he placed a hand under his head.
xxx
Dean watched Jo sleep in the iridescent glow of the television. He had taken turns between that and clips of an old football game. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, sighing, as Jo's eyelids fluttered as a dream played itself behind her eyes. He silently prayed that it was a good one. He flipped of the TV, groaning as he pushed himself out of the arm chair.
The glow of the blue neon motel sign out side cast the room in an opalescent haze.
Dean's eyes slowly scanned her sleeping form, clad only in one of his t-shirts and shorts. His gaze stopped short at her side where he knew there should be scars. There should be deep, dark, angry scars under that shirt.
Dean's mind kept flashing the vision of her being clawed open by the invisible beast. Her blood pooling under her on the speckled tile, while she looks at him with those hope filled whiskey colored eyes. Even then she still had hope.
He shook his head to dispel himself of those kind of thoughts. She's here, she's alive. She's safe. He repeated in his head like a mantra.
He pulled back the covers, crawling into bed and nestled behind Jo, pulling her to his chest. Jo turned, half asleep into his embrace. "Night," she murmured, laying a hand flat against his chest, her leg instinctively entwining with his.
"Night, Jo." Dean whispered as he placed a kiss to her crown.
Dean was never one for cuddling in his sleep with a woman, in fact he used to hate it. He just felt claustrophobic and trapped. But with Jo? The scent of vanilla and gunpowder surrounding him, he wouldn't be able to sleep any other way.
With her in his arms, he could forget everything. The monsters, the pain, the guilt, the loss, everything. Nothing else mattered but being here with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her impossibly closer.
Xxx
The sun threatened to blind Jo as her black army boots kicked up dust on warn path splitting a meadow of tall grass in half. It reminded her of movies she had seen featuring an Irish country side, all hills covered in flowing green grass, only stopped by large jagged gray rocks forming walls along the small mountains of lush land.
She followed her feet down the path, trusting that they knew where she must be.
Birds started chirping happily in their trees as Jo rounded a large mound of Earth. She turned seeing a small hut made of long planks of wood and thatch appeared seemingly out of no where. Smoke poured welcomeingly out of the make-shift chimney.
A burly man with a bow hung over his chest stomped out of the small forest on the other side of the house. Jo was in clear view of the man, though if he saw her he did not acknowledge her.
A woman stepped out of the house and onto the porch, placing her hands on her hips, in a displeased gesture. Inexplicably, Jo knew this was anything but. The woman seemed to glow, so radiantly bright with love for the man in front of her. The man gazed back at her with the same look with a hint of pride. This was his family.
Suddenly, the sky's start to darken. An impossibly large storm cloud began to roll over the tree tops rapidly. The birds, once joyous and free, streamed across the skies trying to escape the impending doom.
The man's eyes grew wide with fear as he watched the woman on the porch in terror. She was surrounded by black menacing smoke circling her like prey. She clawed at the air, turning, trying to fight them away. They're demons. Jo tries to run to the woman, to yell to her, but her feet are glued to their spots and her mouth would not open.
Jo watched in horror as the woman was over taken by the demons, at least three of them trying to shove their way into this poor woman's body. The shrill, terrified screams of the woman pierced Jo's ears. Jo's heart shattered as the man fought with all he could to get to his love, only to be too late.
The woman dropped limply into her lover's arms, dead. The shadows of the demons flew off into the sky, chasing the storm cloud as it evaporated.
The man clung to the dead woman in his arms, pleading with anyone who would listen for her life to be restored. The cries of a child mingling with his sobs. He tore his gaze from the woman in his arms and toward the house, conflicted on where he was more needed.
He took one last longing look at his lost love before his large calloused hand wiped at the tears on his face. He scooped the woman up in his arms, and marched into the house.
Jo's feet turned away from the house on their own and continued down the same path. The long dark green grass slowly turned into wheat. The long thin golden stalks intermingling with the grass until there was no green in sight. The silver top of a silo shone like a beacon in the fading sun. Jo's feet began to quicken until she was in a full out run. She came to an abrupt stop at a mailbox, the name Ferris clearly written on it in a perfect scroll. Jo looked up at the small farm house. Ferris was her mother's maiden name.
The slamming of a car door pulled Jo's attention down the driveway. A man exited his red 1957 pick up truck, slinging an old army duffel bag over his shoulder from out of the bed.
A woman stood on the porch wiping her hands on her apron with a growing smile on her face. She too glowed at the man, just like the last. The sun setting behind the barn in the distance giving the world as a whole a happier feel.
Dread began to pool in the pit of Jo's stomach as the storm cloud began to roll over the top of the silo.
Jo turned back to the scene in front of her, the howling of a dog calling to it's brother's out in the distance. Only Jo knew better. She knew it wasn't a regular dog. The stench of decay and death threatened to choke her as it came closer to the woman. A shiver ran up Jo's spine, hell hounds.
The woman pushed away from the man, her apron loosening from his grip. She jumped from the porch, running as fast as she could from the beast. She screamed for the man to run, to hide, to escape, until she was tackled to the ground. A spurt of crimson blood staining the golden wheat field.
A small voice screamed from the second floor of the house. A small brunette child stood in the window.
"Ellen!" The man screamed as he rushed in the house, the apron still clutched in his grasp. "No, look away!"
Her feet quickly shuffled back up the drive with out her instruction. Her eyes never left that second floor window. The small girl being swept up in her father's arms was the last this she saw before the wheat became taller.
She looked down at the path, watching her feet kick pebble after pebble, until it was nothing but gravel. Jo finally looked up to see the front door of Harvelle's Roadhouse. A black 1967 Impala was parked out front. Jo cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell of beer nuts, blood and beer assaulted her senses.
A young Ellen Harvelle sat at the only table with a working light above it, a man with dark hair sat across from her.
"I'm so sorry, Ellen," He pleaded for her forgiveness, "You got to know I did everything I could. You and Bill are like family to me." He reached across the table to take her hand in his.
Ellen closed her eyes at his touch, a new wave of tears tumbling down her damp cheeks. She nodded taking her hand back to wipe at her face. "I know," She took a deep ragged breath. "But Bill is still dead." She pushed away from the table, the chair scraping angrily against the wood flooring, turning away from the man.
"Mommy?" A little voice came from the door way. A six year old Jo rubbed at her eyes with her fists, her pigtails from the day before a ratted mess of curls. "Is Daddy home?"
Ellen covered her mouth with her hand as fresh tears slid down her face. The thought of telling her six-year old daughter her father was dead, never even crossed her mind, she had been lost in her own grief.
"Ellen, I could-" The man at the table cleared his throat.
"No, John." Ellen cut him off, "I will take care of my family." She whispered before she turned to look over her shoulder at him pointedly, "You take of yours."
John nodded, bowing his head as he stood up from the table, quietly exiting the bar.
"Mommy, where's Daddy?" Little Jo's tiny feet padded over to her mother.
"Jo," Dean's voice was suddenly calling to the older Jo.
Jo looked over to Ellen and the younger version of herself and they continued with their moment unperturbed.
"Jo," He called to her again. Jo looked around the bar, as if he would just appear out of thin air. "Jo!" The bar around her started to shake, but nothing was falling, glass wasn't shattering, and the shaking only seemed to get worse.
"Jo!" Dean shouted again, shaking her shoulders.
Jo's eyes fluttered open, as she glanced around the room sleepily. "What time is it?" She grumbled rolling over to look at the clock.
"It's almost eight. We're gonna go soon." Dean explained, "You sleep like a freaking rock," He complained, finishing his task of packing his bag, "I've been trying to wake you up for like a half hour."
Jo stretched out her limbs against the sheets, groaning with the movement.
"No nightmares?" Dean asked, zipping up the bag and setting it on the unused bed.
Jo scrunched up her face trying to categorize her dream, "Yeah, I would say that." Jo nodded.
"Good," Dean slapped at her bare thigh playfully, "Go take a shower, you stink."
Jo teasingly pouted up at Dean before she rolled herself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.
Her thoughts constantly trailing back to her dream, she still remembered every step she took. None of it had faded in her mind like a normal dream would. This was up front and center of her thoughts.
She also couldn't help having an overwhelming, unexplainable, feeling that she had to tell Chuck about it.
Xxx
"Alright," Dean clapped his hands, "We all set to go?"
Sam nodded from the driver seat of Rufus' old truck, banging on the side, "Been ready, man."
Dean shook his head, "Don't blame me, dude, I'm not the one that had to go to the diner for breakfast instead of getting it to go."
"Dude, we're still waiting on Jo." Sam rolled his eyes leaning back into the bucket seat, "Will you go see what's taking her so long?"
Dean waved a hand at him as he made his way back to the motel room. "Don't touch my car Chuck!" He yelled as he spied the man looking at the Impala.
"What?" He yelled back faking innocence, then quietly, almost to himself, "I'm just admiring a beauty." He ran his hand up the side of her, tracing the out line of the door with his finger.
"Seriously, dude?" Sam questioned, "You too with that damn car."
"What?" He turned to look at Sam sheepishly, "It's a classic." He bowed his head in embarrassment as he made his way to the passenger side of the truck.
"Okay," Dean shouted as he burst out of the motel room, a wet haired Jo trailing behind him. "Now we are ready to go." He wrapped his arm around Jo's shoulder as she passed pulling her into his side, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, before they parted to get into the Impala. "I'll lead," Dean winked to his younger brother as the engine roared to life.
"Yeah, okay," Sam rolled his eyes putting the truck in gear and pulling out behind his brother.
No one seemed to notice that the amulet hanging from the review mirror of the Impala had become hot and burned its way through the rope that had held it for so many years.
So just side note real quick, this thought "No one seemed to notice that the amulet hanging from the review mirror of the Impala had become hot and burned its way through the rope that had held it for so many years." in my head, started all of this.
Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and sticking with this story. I am absolutely in love with the concept I have created for this story and I can't wait for you all to read it. We're getting pretty close to the end, I really hope you like where this is going so far!
Now, if you wouldn't mind, I mean, if you got time and everything, can you scroll down just a bit...just a tiny bit more, and tell me what you think. REVIEW NOW! 'Kay, thanks!
