I know, it's been forever since I updated last, feel free to complain all you like, but the reason for my absence was pretty simple - Defending Your Life really killed the Dean/Jo ship for me. I kind of lost faith in the pairing since any romantic feeling between our favourite couple was made out to be imagined - something I do not think jo deserved, but whatever, I don't write the show. Recently I read a wonderful reimagining (if it can be called that, since it was written before the episode aired) of the plot of that particular episode by the ever wonderful Silverspoon and WelshWitch. I think that, along with reading a tonne of unfinished fics and feeling the frustration of the reader when the story just cuts out inspired me to re-visit my little fic. I hope this chapter is worth it, and I promise not to have you guys waiting so long again. I also appreciate the new reviewers I gained during the hiatus - thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! I've included a small recap so you guys don't have to skim through previous chapters.
RECAP:Jo Harvelle wakes up in Carthage, the city where she met her death, alone and confused. She has lost her memories and it is only when coming into contact with Bobby Singer and the Winchester brothers that she begins to have flashbacks of her time in Heaven. It is established through hypnosis that while in the afterlife, she was contacted by deceased hunter, John Winchester, who gave her an important message to give to his sons. Shortly after regaining her memories, she informs her colleagues of the plight of Heaven's souls - The former angel, Castiel, drunk on power, has turned his attention on the souls of Heaven, consuming them to feed his new strength. as he did to those in Purgatory. Jo, assisted by family and friends, is imprinted with the key to a spell which will take down Heaven's new ruler and re-establish the souls to their rightful place. Jo, Dean, Sam and Bobby, are then visited by Heaven's former lord, in the guise of Chuck Surley, who is eager for their help in reclaiming his throne and saving those who are denied their eternal rest. He is vague and enigmatic which frustrates the hunters, but having a lead on the case spurs them into action. Dean and Jo come to blows during their time cooped up in Sioux Falls, rehashing old arguments over his protective nature and her stubborn personality. They eventually share a tender kiss, followed by an honest and over-due heart-to-heart. The next morning, as a contented Dean prepares breakfast for her downstairs, Jo is snatched from her bed without a trace..
It sounded like the flapping of birds wings. That's what he thought at first as it slowly came into focus, but his sleep-addled brain corrected the view to that of a white lace curtain gently dancing in the warm summer breeze that floated through the open window. Distantly, he heard the swell of the vast ocean breaking the shore, and was sure he could make out the scent of sea salt on the air. The sun broke from behind a cloud, and he buried his face into the silky blonde waves of the precious creature in his arms, hoping to squeeze the last few minutes of sleep out of his lazy morning. He moved to inhale her distinct scent, registering that the trademark note of vanilla from her shampoo was conspicuously absent. She smelled like him, and the thought caused a satisfied smirk to play on the corner of his lips.
Guess she can't smell girly all the time if she insists on hunting with me.
He smoothed her hair back from her delicate neck, before he trailed two fingers from her shoulder down the arm of her exposed side, coming to rest on her hand which instinctively laced with his. He inspected it, marvelling at how small and dainty it looked in his own, despite both their fingernails having the similar short, bitten appearance. Hunters couldn't afford to keep them longer than that anyway, as they were usually scrubbing grave dirt or rock salt out from under them, but then again, Jo never did seem the type for manicures. She sighed in her sleep, shoulder rising with the effort, and he couldn't help but think how content she sounded, laying in his embrace, like she belonged there. He pressed a sweet kiss into the juncture between her neck and he collar bone, and the answering sounds he got only spurred on his actions. Letting go of her hand, he walked his index and middle finger further in front of her, across her toned abdomen where he lingered at the lace waistband of her baby-blue panties, tracing small circles there, awaiting her response.
"You gonna make a move, Winchester, or do I gotta give you instructions?" she taunted, her voice thick with mirth and sleep. He chuckled breathily at her ability for sarcasm mere seconds after waking.
"Just thought I'd try my luck, there's always a chance you'll think I'm something else and I'll be on my ass before you can say 'wakey wakey,'" he countered, sliding his hand further up her torso and skimming the thin material on the underside of her breast.
"Guess it's your lucky day, huh?" she replied, turning in the crisp bed sheets to face him.
As he leaned in to silence her smart mouth with his own, the angle of the sun through the window changed, casting a blinding light in his eyes. He recoiled at the intrusion, trying once again to continue his blissful morning, but the light was relentless. Jo's breath suddenly became panicked, and she clutched at his bicep with more force than she should have been able to.
"They found me, Dean, it's them...We weren't careful enough...Dean.. Dean!"
"Dean! Wake the hell up, man, you're dreaming!"
His eyes shot open only for him to squeeze them closed again from the glare of oncoming headlights. Sam's hand was curled round his upper arm, and his younger brother was shaking him almost violently in an effort to get a response. Dean leaned forward and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, willing the last images of his dream – Jo's terrified expression – to disappear. It was then he realised that none of it was real. The sun had been headlights on the highway that Sam was now hurtling down in a vague north direction, the breeze, the Impala's central heating, the sea salt on the air – protective rock salt. He took a deep breath, wishing his brain would occupy him with something, anything but his dream almost-lover who had visited him every night since her disappearance over two weeks ago.
In the months following his stint in hell, Dean Winchester had experienced nightmares which would make the most hardened demons' toes curl. With around forty years' worth of material, each night was an exercise in the sick and twisted memories his brain managed to piece together with the sole purpose of clawing at what was left of his sanity. He'd been toyed with in every way imaginable – the physical torture had been relentless without the reprieve of a certain death; They would always stick him back together again. The mental torture was worse. Hallucinations straight out of the goriest horror movies, starring everyone he held dear were only made worse when his sadistic captors would reach into his battered psyche and pluck out his most cherished memories, perverting them in the most vile ways in an effort to break down the already cracked pieces of his spirit. Dean would take a hell-dream over this torture any night.
She was gone. Taken right out from under his watch without a sound. That morning, though it began with so much promise, had been the start of the nightmare he now found himself in.
*FLASHBACK*
He balanced two coffee mugs on the faded and worn tray, rearranging the weight so it was distributed evenly. He did have a pretty large flight of stairs to climb, and he'd be damned if he lost Jo's breakfast half way up. Ignoring Sam's amused stare over the top of the now tattered newspaper, he grabbed silverware out of Bobby's top drawer and slotted it in beside the plate of stacked pancakes, pausing once again to make sure he had everything he needed. A satisfied smile ghosted over his lips, and he picked up the tray, walking determinedly towards the hallway, still clad in just his boxers. He slowly ascended the staircase, stalking almost soundlessly, the way he had been taught so many years ago. Who knew his extra skills could come in handy elsewhere? But he wasn't hoping to catch some vile creature off guard this time, in the hopes of ridding the world of its existence. No, this time he wanted to surprise the girl he'd finally admitted to falling for, who he'd shared the most exhilarating night of his life with by just talking to, the girl he'd left sleeping in the room at the end of the hall, curled up in the remnants of his warmth on the sheets.
The door was still ajar as he'd left it, and he wondered briefly if his and Sam's heated conversation in the kitchen had been overheard, but he couldn't make out any signs of movement from inside the room. So Jo was a heavy sleeper. Something else new he'd learned about her in the past twelve hours. He nudged the door open more with his elbow, allowing himself more room to manoeuvre the tray through, and looked towards the bed. He felt a slight twinge of disappointment when he couldn't see her small form still curled up in the sheets, and assumed she'd woken already and had gone to take a shower. He set the tray down on the bed and left the room once again to seek out the bathroom. Listening at the door for sounds of running water, he could hear none, and his brow scrunched in confusion.
"Jo?" he asked, knocking lightly on the wood panel, but the door just creaked open. There was no-one inside. His heart started to beat slightly faster as he wondered where she had gone. Had she left? Maybe last night had been a little too much for her in the cold light of day. No, she would have had to pass the kitchen on her way out, and she couldn't have slipped past him and Sammy. He turned his attention away from the empty bathroom and continued down the hall, looking in the open rooms as he passed.
"Jo? You up here? You ruined my surprise, you know. Guess that's the last time I make you breakfast in bed," he quipped, feeling none of the light-heartedness his voice portrayed. Something was very wrong here. He turned round slowly in the middle of the hall, when something caught his attention in Jo's room.
"Jo! You in there?" he called, racing towards the still empty room. He crossed the threshold and whipped round in circles, trying to find the source of the blurred shadow that had walked across his vision. From behind him, a low, menacing growl rumbled, freezing the very blood in his veins. Just like that, it was gone, leaving him uncertain he'd even heard it. A vile smell reached his nose, and he all but gagged as he stumbled to sit on the bed, knocking the tray of forgotten breakfast onto the floor on the other side.. He had never smelled sulphur this strong before.
Sam, hearing the crash, launched himself into the room in a panic, wielding a rifle.
"Dean? What's going on? Where's Jo?" he questioned, taking in the devastated look on his brother's face. Just then, his attention was called to the small window at the far side of the room. There was a thin pile of mortar on the floor underneath the ledge, and the window was ajar. Walking towards it, he could see a twisted pole of iron – Bobby's built-in protection – ripped out of the frame and bent upwards, breaking the barrier against demonic entities. As he made his way across the floor, the stench of sulphur hit him like a ton of foul-smelling bricks. He spluttered and threw his hand over his nose in protest.
"Su-sulphur?" he coughed at his catatonic brother. Dean didn't move, staring off into the middle distance.
"They got her, Sammy."
They had spent the last two weeks seeking out demons anywhere they could for information. Dean was frantic, and willing to utilise his torture skills if necessary – and even if it wasn't. The trouble was, they had yet to find any. As it had been before Jo's resurrection, the demon world was eerily quiet. There was next to nothing to indicate their presence. The only hell-spawn they'd found had been six days ago, summoning a crossroads demon. They had stood in the dark for close to three hours before she appeared, and she had blinked out of sight again before the brothers even got close enough to question her. Each weather pattern they inspected turned out to be completely natural, and the news was devoid of cattle mutilations or freak accidents. The demonic underbelly was on high alert, and were taking no chances in regard to revealing their motives. For the first time in the Winchesters' lives, they couldn't find a case. Other hunters were of no help either – using the lull in activity as a much-needed break, or they had been unwelcoming towards those they still blamed for the near-Apocalypse. After the chaos of the last few years, there simply weren't many hunters left.
Bobby continued to work on Jo's spell, preparing for the best case scenario, and wanting to be ready when the time came to end this war. Each call Sam received from him seemed to be less promising than the last, and the brothers had no choice but to hope Chuck would make contact – they weren't sure their prayers would reach the correct divine being.
Checking the time on his cell, Dean sighed. It had just passed midnight, marking the seventeenth day since Jo's disappearance. Sensing Sam's questioning glance out of the corner of his vision, Dean adjusted the volume on the stereo higher, as a signal of his reluctance to talk. Not taking no for an answer, Sam turned the dial back down.
"Maybe if you go through it again, we might have missed something," the younger brother attempted. Dean groaned his annoyance while scrubbing his palm over his weary eyes.
"It's not gonna make any difference Sammy, we just have to keep looking."
"Where, Dean? It's been two weeks, have we ever gone that long without a case when we were actively searching for one?"
"I'll find one!" Dean snapped, the stress of the situation and lack of sleep finally fraying his last nerve. He had replayed that morning over and over in his head, looking for any sign before or after the incident which could have indicated who had snatched Jo. The result was always the same.
"The shadow you saw, what was it shaped like?"
"I don't know, it was a blob, a blur across the floor."
"So it didn't look human?"
"It was a split second, Sam, I was too busy running towards it to stop and draw a picture," Dean retorted.
"But if you had to say, would it look more Shadow-man or demon smoke?"
Dean sighed, exasperated at this latest line of questioning.
"It wasn't either, it was barely solid, kind of like hot air coming off the road when it's really hot."
"You mean it was transparent?"
"I guess.. it was more like a-"
And then it clicked. The shape was low to the ground, like a creature on all fours. The abundance of sulphur, indicating the extra power needed to transport a corporeal form rather than a soul...
"The growl.." Dean whispered
"You heard a growl? You never said that before. You mean like a -"
"Hellhound."
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the Impala's interior, and the silence was only interrupted by the static from the forgotten radio.
"Dean, if a Hellhound got Jo, that means she's not on earth any more. You know where she's gone." Sam felt the familiar ache behind his eyes every time he thought about Hell. He just hoped Chuck had been sincere about reinforcing his protective wall. "You know better than anyone."
Dean was still silent in the passenger seat, coming to terms with his latest revelation. He felt a dark dread crawl into his chest and settle where his heart had been. It constricted his lungs with a sickening delight, and he wheezed with the effort of breathing. Unlike Sam, Dean remembered Hell. The very thought that Jo could be there made his stomach lurch, and he gestured for Sam to pull over. The car skidded to a halt on the side of the darkened road and Dean tumbled from the doorway on to his knees, expelling the half a hamburger he'd forced down in the last diner before giving up on food. He sat back on the ground and leaned against the side of the Impala, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.
No.
He refused to believe that all hope was to be abandoned. They would get her back. He was not losing her again.
That last thought sparked a vague memory in him, something he'd read over the last few years of research and tireless, mind-numbing library time he'd been guilted into. It was a phrase, no, a verse that seemed to be nudging him, refusing to let his attention wander. Hope. Abandon.
Yes.
"Sam! Turn the car around, we have to go back!"
"What? Why? Dean, she's not there. We need to keep-"
"We're headed the wrong way, come on!"
Once Dean's door had slammed shut, Sam gunned the engine, peeling the car out into a swift u-turn. The road was too quiet for it to disturb any oncoming traffic. Sam alternated his glare between the deserted road and his now animated brother.
"Where are we going, Dean?"
"South."
"South?"
"We have to go home, Sam. We're going to Lawrence."
Through me you go to the grief wracked city;
Through me you go to everlasting pain;
Through me you go a pass among lost souls.
Justice inspired my exalted Creator:
I am a creature of the Holiest Power, of Wisdom in the Highest and of Primal Love.
Nothing till I was made was made, only eternal beings. And I endure eternally.
Abandon all hope — Ye Who Enter Here .