A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews!
Okay, this is a transition chapter, so it's a bit shorter. I promise, in the next one the action, plot AND the romance will pick up quite a lot. It will be longer, too. Hang tight.
Jo felt as if she were climbing out of an abyss.
She was swimming in an inky dark black, sightless and soundless, smothered from the world around her. It was as she'd been stuck here, in this limbo, for years… like an endless coma, the ultimate sleep. It was like a morose sort of kaleidoscope, with patterns and images made entirely out of blue and black and grey. Sometimes she would see something a little more defined, a little peek into reality. She saw Dean handing her a gun at one point before she was doused once again in the swirling depths, or snatches of voice, sometimes her own.
The transition into consciousness was slow and painful, as if she was scratching her way up the edges of a well, reality flooding over her slowly and gradually until with a jerk and a gasp, she felt her eyes snap open.
She was lying on her back, in an unfamiliar place. The tiles on her back were uncomfortable and cold and she rolled onto her knees, tense, eyeing her surroundings like a sedated lion in a foreign enclosure. It was quiet, eerily so, and she got to her feet without a noise so she wouldn't fracture the silence and alert some waiting antagonist.
She knew right away that she was missing a few hours. She felt bewildered, disjointed, and utterly confused. She didn't know where she was, she didn't know where she should be. Last thing she knew, she'd been showering, back at the motel room…
She turned a full circle and slowly made her way through the corridor in which she'd found herself and into the lounge room.
She saw only the fraction of movement somewhere on the floor, beside the lounge, as an enormous black hound fixed her with red eyes and melted into thin air, causing her to yell out despite herself. A vaguely familiar girl lay on the floor, parallel claw marks running down her leg as if she'd been mauled after trying to run, blood pooling around her mouth. She'd choked to death on blood.
"Fuck!" yelped Jo, hands immediately moving for her pockets where she found, to her immense relief, her cell phone. Her fingers were shuddering as she speed-dialled Dean and put the phone to her ear.
When he picked up, he sounded impatient. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Where the hell do you think I am? In the car, with Sam."
Jo paused as she struggled desperately for words.
"Look… Dean… I need you here. I don't know where I am."
"What do you mean, you don't know where you are?" exclaimed Dean loudly, causing her ears to ring with his vehemence. She winced.
"Shit, what part of it don't you understand, Dean? I'm in some random apartment with a dead chick on the carpet and three more hours I can't account for!"
She could hear Dean swearing on the other end and Sam, demanding to know what was happening.
"Look, we'll be there in about twenty minutes. Stay where you are. Salt the doors and windows. Don't leave the house. Goodbye, Jo."
The line went dead and it took her a few moments to finally shut her phone and stow it back in her pocket.
Jo looked nervously down at Tanya, so still and yet so pristine that if it weren't for the blood running from her mouth and thigh she could have been sleeping.
This had gone beyond coincidence now- twice she'd lost chunks of time into thin air and this time there was no alcohol to excuse it. Each time, someone had died, just yards from where she'd woken. A shudder ran down her spine and she crossed herself as if that might help provide some relief from the cold anxiety and guilt that was starting to gnaw at her insides.
She salted the doors and windows as he'd asked and spent the rest of the time in the Dining room, refusing to go anywhere need the immobile body lest she be overwhelmed with more nausea and guilt. She drummed her fingers on the table for the rest of the while and jumped to her feet the moment she heard the doorknob turning.
"Dean?" she exclaimed, moving swiftly through the kitchen and into the corridor, only to be met by one stony-faced Dean, who promptly splashed half a bottle of holy water straight in her face.
Jo gasped in immediately shock and shivered at the strange, wet sensation.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" she ground out through gritted teeth, dripping like a wet dog.
"Just a precaution," replied Dean smugly.
"Precaution, my ass! You didn't need to use half the freaking bottle!"
Dean shrugged, though he was still smirking like a contented cat that had cornered a mouse. "Just making sure."
"Yeah, whatever," replied Jo crossly, wringing out her shirt. "You just wanted to get my clothes wet."
"Where's Tanya?" said Sam stiffly, shouldering past Dean and arcing his neck to look down the corridor.
"The pretty blonde thing? She's on the floor on the lounge room," she replied slowly with a guarded expression, letting Sam and Dean walk past, though she tailed rather hesitantly behind them. She wasn't keen on re-entering the lounge.
"Was it the hound that did it?" asked Sam.
"Yes," replied Jo staunchly, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms.
"Did you see it?" asked Dean quickly, turning to set his green eyes on her and putting a hand to her shoulder, demanding her attention.
"Yes," she replied again, narrowing her eyes.
"Fuck," growled Dean, his fingers tightening across Jo's shoulders, the intensity of his grip startling her.
"That means it's going after you next."
Jo cocked her head, staring him quizzically in the eye. He'd been acting strange ever since he'd taken up the hunt- erratic, passionate, a do-or-die sort of nature about him that was both stirring and frightening. It was as if this was necessary, or at least very important to both brothers. There was something about this whole thing that didn't quite fit. Something was missing.
Dean seemed to notice her scrutiny and let his hand drop, looking away as if stung. He turned his back and stalked off into the living room to observe the woman's body. Jo heaved a sigh and moved back again into the corridor to get her mind away from the situation at hand. She observed a photo on the mantelpiece of that woman and the strangely familiar looking man. Douglas Fawcett. Of course.
There were strange books on the bookshelves. Even without any prolonged searching she could tell that this couple were demon hunters- Black Dogs, Demonic Omens, Exorcisms, the whole nine yards. She straightened as Dean and Sam walked back into the hallway.
"We'd better beat it before anyone finds us," said Dean gruffly. "I'd like this one to be pinned to another dog attack, thank-you. I don't need any other felonies to put to my name. C'mon, Jo," he insisted, ushering her from the room and towards the stairwell.
"Where are we going?" she asked, blinking back at him.
"To the car," he replied shortly.
"For what?"
Dean shrugged. "To question the crap out of you."