A/N: Thankyou so much for all the reviews, comments, suggestions, critiques! They're much appreciated, and they make my day.
Be patient loves- the romance is yet to come.
Upon taking a seat at the café, Jo immediately found something to channel her rampant thoughts. She enthusiastically took up the bread knife and began swinging it through and around her fingers, flicking it down each time to hit the table with a resounding 'tap' noise.
Tap… tap… tap…
Sam gritted his teeth and staunchly chose to observe the menu, but Dean was not so civil, eyeing the knife with the greatest distaste.
"Do it once more, Jo… I'll stick it where the sun don't shine."
Jo eyed him mirthfully. "Dean, it's Chicago. The sun doesn't shine here anyway."
Dean continued to stare daggers at her until she relented and obligingly set down the bread knife with a sigh, dragging the menu towards her.
She was tossing up between pancakes and waffles when a brisk buzz in her pocket alerted her that her phone was ringing and Gia Farrell's 'Hit Me Up' began to play.
Ignoring the brothers' mutual looks of amusement and disgust, she flipped open the phone.
"It's Bobby," she said, pushing back her chair to stand. "I'd better take it."
The buzz of the café was distracting so she walked out onto the veranda before connecting the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Jo, it's Bobby."
There was a pack of teenage girls by the verandah, giggling shrilly to themselves about something and squealing occasionally in shared mirth.
"Damn it," she snapped irritably at them before putting the phone back to her ear.
"Just a second, Bobby."
She made her way down the stairs into the deserted parking lot before she tried to speak again. The silence was almost deafening compared to the noise of the café.
"Yeah?"
"I've got a lead on your case. Still in Chicago?"
"Yep. What've you got?"
"The murders- the first five, at any rate, I haven't got around to the last two- all five victims were fully fledged hunters. Demon hunters, specifically."
"And they were all in Chicago? Coincidentally? At the same time?"
"Well, not coincidentally. Look, it's a little difficult to explain…"
"If this is about the Wyoming, gates-to-hell thing, I know about that. The Winchester boys showed up a few days ago and they've been, ah, lending a hand since then."
"Oh, good. Well, be careful, Jo. Don't let yourself be caught off guard. Hellhounds can be nasty little bastards."
"You think it's a hellhound, then?"
"Looks like that way. But anyway, you and the fellas should go check out the other two murders, see if they have any connection to hunting or any other anomalies."
"Thanks, Bobby."
"Don't mention it. Look after yourself, Jo."
With that, the line went dead and she stowed the phone into her pocket. Immediately she felt the sudden sense of disquiet, as if there was something watching, something waiting. Jo whirled, cautious, to survey the area. She saw, or more felt a movement amongst the shadows of the car park before the silent vigilante seemed to recede back into the darkness.
Jo allowed one more swift look before she shrugged it off and made her way back towards the café.
She found a latte and a breakfast bar waiting for her, courtesy of Dean- and while she'd have preferred pancakes, she was grateful and spent a good five minutes on the coffee alone.
"So, anyway, what did Bobby have to say?' asked Dean finally, having bought a cappuccino for himself, trying to get it down as fast as he could without burning his throat.
"Victims one, two, three and four were all mauled to bits by the same beastie, and were all demon hunters. Bobby's thinking a renegade hellhound."
"I'm still thrown by the fact that we were able to see the thing," he noted with furrowed brows, finishing his cappuccino with a flourish and immediately licking his scalded lips.
"Maybe.. because… it's not targeting? It's just mauling any hunter that gets in the way? Which would explain why it was visible to us," mused Dean with a shrug.
"That's pretty clever, Dean," admitted Jo ruefully. "I'm used to the intelligence coming from Sam, not you."
Dean replied by patting the seat of the café seat fondly with a blithe grin.
"It's because I'm sitting on my 'thinking chair…'"
"No more 'Blues Clues' references please, Dean," replied Jo with a wince. "The thought of you watching Nickelodeon wounds my soul."
Sam began to laugh and Dean looked mildly ruffled, but shrugged again and reclined back in his chair with a lion-like yawn.
"Anyway, my car is still sitting down near that park somewhere, so if you boys can drop me there I can go home, get showered, and change. I'll call you and we can go have a bit of a heart-to-heart with Ms Fawcett."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
When Jo finally parked her car in the garage, the thought of the shower was probably a bit too tantalizing for her own good, and she half jogged out of the car park into reception, keys already in hand.
The hotel manager, a balding, middle aged man named Leslie, looked up briefly over his moustache and acknowledged her with a curt nod before returning to his paperwork.
"Hi, Leslie," she hailed briefly, and he replied with a mumbled hello before she slipped down the corridor and into her room.
She was undressed before she'd even entered the bathroom, kicking off her jeans and pulling off Dean's singlet with a relish, the hangover now gone but the smell of motel beds and alcohol still lingering on her skin. Funny how hangovers seemed to remind her of her idiocy for as long as they possibly could. She shook her hair out across her shoulders and absently turned the water on in the shoulder, humming to herself.
She stepped into the warmth of the shoulder, sighing audibly in relief as the water massaged her skin. For Jo, showering was like a little glimpse of heaven. Some people liked food, alcohol, sex- Jo liked showering. It was a personal fetish.
Midway through conditioning her hair, the light in the bathroom began to flicker- not a very good sign no matter the situation. She could have passed of off as merely a faulty light bulb, but the temperature around her began to drop substantially and any part of her body that was not being hit with the hot water became frigidly cold.
The light died completely and in the foreboding dark she knew immediately that something was wrong. Her hands moved instinctively for her pocket, but she was instantly reminded of the fact that she was showering, and thus currently naked.
Smart, Jo.
She turned off the shower jets and paused a moment to assess the situation. The hairs began to prickle on the base of her neck and she warily pushed open the shower door to grab the towel, using only the light of the moon to guide her.
Footsteps. Shuffling- like padded paws or soft-shod toes, moving with only the faintest noise behind her. Jo whirled to look, but there was nothing but that disquieting emptiness, and that quiet clear noise of approaching feet.
In the inky darkness there was a deeper dark, like a ripple amongst the black. And then the sound of breathing- very, very close by, as if the shadows themselves had a throat and were panting on her neck. Then it wasn't just the wind, there was someone behind her- she was sure of it.
Instinctively Jo swung around, the fingers fanned so she might backhand the intruder. Fingers closed around her forearm to block the blow and she found herself staring the hotel manager, Leslie, directly in the face. In the light of the moon, the whites of his eyes were shining sinisterly. Jo yelped in surprise.
"Leslie?" she exclaimed, jerking away from him in disgust.
Leslie's eyes began to dilate, but they did not stop. His pupils continued to expand until they were inhuman, unnatural, and then onwards until both eyes were completely black.
"Don't worry, Jo," he said in an oddly exuberant voice, baring his teeth in a malign grin. He stepped forward towards her.
"You won't remember a thing. I promise."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Around half an hour later Dean's cell began to ring as he laid waiting on his bed in silence, watching Sam tapping away on his laptop. He could definitely go for some 'Magic Fingers' right now. Watching Sam geeking around was a miserable solution to boredom.
Dean flicked open his cell. "Yeah?"
"Hey, it's me," Jo's voice rang clearly in his ear. He grunted in acknowledgement, prompting her to continue.
"Listen, I have some something. Douglas Fawcett and his wife, Tanya, are both demon-hunters as well. Nothing much else to connect the murders but it's probably worth going to talk to her to see if she knows anything that could help."
"And you know this… how?" replied Dean a little incredulously, hitching his brows at the ceiling as he collapsed back onto his bed.
"Mum told me, they've been through the roadhouse before," lied Jo effortlessly, huffing through the phone.
"But if she's seen the thing, it means beastie is coming some time today, so you better get off your ass and come pick me up before she's turned into dog chow."
"Alright, okay. I'll tell Sam and we'll be over in a few minutes."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The lady who opened the door was very tired, and in Dean's opinion, rather good looking. Unfortunately she had the whole grieving widow sort of vibe around her, which was something of a turnoff.
"Hi," said Dean finally as she eyed them suspiciously, prompting them to speak.
"I'm Dean, this is Jo, and my brother Sam. We're hunters, and we'd like to talk to you about your husband."
The woman brought a hand to her temple but seemed to accept them at face value and nodded, stepping back to let them in. Dean inclined his head shortly and Dean made his sheepish little apologetic face. Jo seemed to connect immediately with the woman, extending a hand to touch her arm without a word, acknowledging in that little gesture all the shared grief.
Immediately the woman began to sniffle as she led them into the lounge room, wiping the tears from underneath her eyes.
"My name is Tanya. Please, sit down."
They did so and allowed a moment or two to settle before Tanya sat down on the footrest opposite, fronting all three up at once. Jo leaned forward, imploring.
"So, what happened last night?"
Tanya shrugged listlessly.
"It was around… maybe… two or three in the morning. We'd already been up once before, there'd been someone in the house…"
Dean and Sam shifted slightly on the spot but Jo remained unwaveringly still, observant, almost uncharacteristically quiet.
"Anyway he was up again, but he didn't wake me so I assumed there was nothing of… of note, happening. Then he yelled out and I got up and he was on the lounge room floor and there was this enormous black dog above him, and he was choking on his own blood, scratched to an inch of his life or less and then the thing vanished. I called the cops, told them it was a Doberman, because vanishing black dogs don't tend to gel well with the authorities these days. But his windpipe had been bled out from the inside and the coroner had no clue, of course."
"You know what it was?" asked Sam, cocking his head. The woman was holding up surprisingly well for somebody whose husband had just choked to death on his own bodily fluids. The lady shook her head.
"We're guessing hellhound or black dog, to cut a long story short," said Dean bluntly. "It's the sixth murder within four weeks. Douglas filed a report two days ago to the authorities about a stray black dog, yes?"
Tanya nodded.
"Twenty four hours later… well, it's the same sort of deal, every time. Thing is, if you've seen the thing, that means it's coming for you tonight and unless you let us help you you're going to end up just like your husband did."
She seemed a little overwhelmed at that, but once again seemed to take their word for it and nodded a little tentatively.
"Great," said Dean, rubbing his palms together. "So…"
Jo immediately, and somewhat subtly, made her move on the situation.
"We need equipment, at very least," said Jo finally, getting to her feet and laying her hands on her hips.
"Salt doesn't seem to come to much good on these suckers, so…"
"What was it was it that Darrow used back in Rosedale?" Dean asked Sam hurriedly, clicking his fingers as if that would assist in bringing the memory back to mind. "Goosefrapa…?"
"Goofer Dust," corrected Sam dryly, hitching an eyebrow. Dean nodded and clicked his tongue.
"There's a bar just out of Chicago, down to the east of Navy Pier. It's called something like 'Diamondview,' and it's a hunter's pitstop, so you'd probably be able to dig something out there," said Jo coolly, unperturbed by the urgency of the situation.
Dean looked at her quizzically.
Jo shrugged. "I worked at the Roadhouse, I know these things. Trust me, Dean. I'll stay here and we can salt the house, hold the fort until you get back, so to speak. Do you have the pistol?"
"Yes, but you can't have it," replied Dean defensively in the manner a small boy might defend a treasured trinket. Jo appraised him only with a vaguely pissed-off expression of amusement.
After a moment's pause, Dean huffed and shrugged, taking the Beretta from its place at his waist and handing it to her handle first.
"If you jam it, the binding-and-gagging-in-Utah threat still stands," he added as a precautionary measure as he and Sam moved out the door. Tanya smiled as they left, but Jo didn't. She could hear them walking down the stairwell and waited until she could hear the snap of the door closing down the bottom before she moved away.
"They're two interesting sort of boys," said Tanya in an effort at making conversation.
Jo turned in a distracted way as if seeing the other blonde for the first time. Jo tilted her head in acknowledgement and ran a hand along the top of the lounge.
"Huh. Guess so," she purred distractedly, eyes roving over the room around them. Every inch of the leather, the carpet, the benches, the tiles, the walls…
"So, uh, do you think we should… start salting the windows and doors?" suggested Tanya half-heartedly in a tone that suggested she was new on the hunting scene.
Jo met her eyes rigidly for a good few moments, the intensity of the stare causing Tanya to squirm involuntarily on her seat. Then, unexpectedly, Jo broke into a twisted grin.
"No, I don't think so," she hissed, locking the door behind her.