A/N: Thankyou a tenfold for the reviews, questions & suggestions. They keep me going.
And here comes the plotline.
ooooooooooooooo
When Jo opened her eyes, she was momentarily convinced that she'd been hit by a freight train.
Every muscle was screaming. Her bones felt as if they'd been melted to a sort of molten jelly- every limb felt as if she'd been charred for a long period of time under an intense flame. To top it off she had the worst headache she'd had in years. A mind-numbing migraine. Quite frankly, she felt drunk, and she had absolutely no idea why.
"… the fuck?" she slurred groggily, pushing herself up into her hands to look around, head spinning.
She registered the sounds of the road- other cars and a humming engine. Her fingers curled around the leathery seats so she wouldn't go toppling into space.
"Morning, sunshine," said Dean cheerfully, looking over his shoulder back at her flushed face. The streetlights outside told her that it was still night-time.
"What the hell happened?" asked Jo, bringing a hand to her forehead as if that might ease the thumping, hammering pain.
"Jesus christ... Got any aspirin?"
"In the trunk," he replied shortly but made no move to pull over so they might be able to retrieve it. Jo groaned under her breath.
"You got pissier and pissier until the bouncers turfed you out. Hence the looking-like-shit right now."
Jo ignored the insult and narrowed her eyes, blinking.
"I had one beer," she argued pointedly, making an effort to speak coherently but her traitorous tongue caused the words to blur together at the edges. Not a particularly convincing argument.
Dean shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jo. But from what I saw, you chugged down a good three before you went out on your own."
"On my own? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You took a few more into the ladies' and didn't come out again. We eventually found you out the front, on your ass, pissed as a freakin' mule. By the sounds of it, you still are. Go to sleep."
"Like hell," replied Jo, feeling blindly for the window. "Pull over."
Dean didn't reply, but indicated as an emergency bay loomed up ahead on the right and pulled to a stop. Sam turned around and watched her, scrutinizing. Jo discarded her jacket, felt for the handle, missed it a few times, finally found it and wrenched open the door.
Staggering, and almost unable to control her protesting legs, she made her way toward the very edge of the road, near the bushes, and commenced to empty her protesting stomach until she felt positively sick and feeble. What the fuck?
With a groan she patted down the pockets of her jeans, feeling around for her mints. Eventually she found a tin of Eclipse and habitually pulled them out, taking two to rid her mouth of the taste of alcohol and vomit. She dusted her hands on her shirt.
A warm, sticky substance across her shirt made her pause, and she drew back, observing her fingers. In the dark she couldn't see, but she brought it to her face, immediately recognizing the strong scent of blood.
"What the fuck?" she repeated for the umpteenth time, this time aloud.
"Jo?" a tentative voice asked, reaching for her arm, forcing her around. The brightness of the streetlights was dizzying. Sam's concerned face swam into view.
Sam felt the sticky warmth of her shirt and paused, concern turning into bemusement as he observed his hand. Immediately he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into the light of the street-lamp, fingers curling around the material of her shirt and extending it horizontally. The light revealed the bloodstains running down the material of her top.
"What the hell happened?" exclaimed Sam, alarm etched on every line of his face.
Jo mumbled feebly, unsure of herself.
"Aspirin," she demanded instead, her mind not really feeling up to any challenges. He could wait.
"Sam?" asked Dean, making his way over from where the Impala was parked in the bay.
"What's wrong?"
"Jo," Sam explained immediately, though Jo could barely hear him from the blaring in her ears. "She's got blood all down her shirt and arms. It's everywhere, Dean."
She could hear indistinct sounds of concern and surprise. Outrage, maybe- she couldn't be sure. Dean's hot hands reached out and pulled her face towards his. His green eyes bored into hers.
"What happened?" he insisted, forceful.
Jo didn't care how many deep and meaningful looks he gave her right now. At the moment, only two syllables mattered.
"As-pirin," she enunciated clearly, furrowing both brows. Dean's expression became determined.
"Jo…"
"Freaking hell, Dean!" she exclaimed, spurred to exasperation. "I'm not saying a damn thing until you haul your ass over to that car to get me some Panadol!"
He glared at her, and she glared right back. After a moment he seemed to understand she wasn't budging and with an obliging sigh and a hard stare he turned, trudging over towards the trunk.
Jo slumped. The effort involved in even that short confrontation drained her. She felt Sam's strong hands on her waist, awkwardly attempting to keep his distance while simultaneously keeping her standing. Any other time, she'd have laughed.
Dean came back not long later with a packet of Paracetamol and a bottle of water, both of which Jo snatched from him with only the briefest mumbled thank-you.
She moved back towards the Impala and they followed her. Dean was immediately at her side whenever her knees gave way, physically lifting her back onto her feet. They settled her on the back seat of the Impala, her legs facing out of the car, watching her rigidly.
After a moment her vision became slightly clearer and she blinked up at them, headache ebbing.
"I don't ever drink like that," said Jo finally, redemption weighing heavily on her mind.
"You know... I never drink like that."
"What do you remember?" asked Sam softly, cutting her off.
"Uh. Kicking Dean's ass at poker… the guys laughing… I was set to be dealt out at the end of the hand… that's about all."
Dean flushed slightly. Jo suspected he wished she'd managed to forget about that particular part of the night. She grinned haphazardly at the floor.
"And the blood?" asked Dean, referring to her bloodied arms and torso.
Well, that had her stumped. Jo blinked up at him, raising a hand to block out the infernally bright light.
"Um," she mumbled, pulling back her shirt to reveal her toned stomach, smeared slightly with blood but free from any lesions or wounds. Jo tugged her shirt back down and shrugged.
"Not my blood. I don't know- it's like… like I've lost a few hours. Christ, I can't even remember the second beer."
Den paused.
"Well…. What the fuck?"
"Yeah," agreed Jo, pressing a palm to her forehead and wincing.
"No, really," repeated Dean with obvious sincerity. "What the fuck, Jo? How can you lose all concept of time after the first beer, sobriety by the second, and wake up in the gutters soaked in blood on the third? Christ, you hardly even spoke to us once you'd started yourself up."
"I'm sorry," she replied vehemently, feeling somewhat hard done by. "It wasn't as if I had any say in the matter,"
"Someone's obviously been hurt, Jo," he retorted viciously. "Someone might have died tonight. We don't know."
"Leave her be, Dean," put in Sam finally as Jo was rendered lost for words.
"She clearly doesn't have any comprehension of what happened tonight. It might have been possession, third person control, something like that."
Dean looked irate, but nodded stiffly. Jo gazed up at them in silence.
"Look," said Sam finally with a shrug.
"Come stay in our motel room for the night at very least. You won't be able to drive home alone. We can try and sort this out tomorrow."
Jo swallowed the bile pooling in her throat, eyelids already fluttering. She didn't have the energy to argue right now, and she didn't really give a shit whose bed she slept in, or how hard the floor was. All that mattered was sleep.
"Sounds like a plan," she mumbled, voice hoarse from the effort of keeping herself going.