A/N: Answers! Or some of them, at very least. If I've accidentally missed out on something I was intending to wrap up, feel free to let me know. This one was fun to write- but also very difficult.
Thank you so very much for the reviews! Without them I wouldn't be writing so quickly, if at all. Every review makes me grin like an idiot, so please, take a few minutes out of your time and I'll be very grateful.
Without further ado….
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Stop being an idiot," protested Jo with a hiss, though she knew in the scheme of things her laments would go ignored, if noticed at all.
Just as she thought he might, Dean laughed, the noise rumbling like thunder through his chest, jarring her breathing momentarily- such was his closeness. Her lungs convulsed, her throat working hard for air.
"Not a very pleasant reception, I must say," breathed Dean thoughtfully, leaning back just far enough so he could survey her staunchly set jaw. He brushed a hand down her cheek. Jo turned her head, refusing to acknowledge his touch.
"See? I thought you might have missed me, Jo. You and I had such a heartfelt chat last time we met…"
Dean's eyes flared momentarily and the realisation hit her like a brick to the head. It certainly wasn't Dean talking at the moment- It was the Duluth demon, the selfsame demon that had taken over Sam not too long ago- the demon that had wreaked havoc on her mind with the sinister truth of her father's death. She stiffened immediately, repulsed.
Dean seemed to notice the recognition.
"Ah, there we go," he crooned, cocking his head. "I knew we would get there eventually. Underneath the blonde hair and those impeccable brown eyes, there's a brain hiding somewhere, I'm sure…"
"You son of a bitch," spat Jo, bristling. If she had any control over her limbs, she'd have slapped him as hard as her arms would allow.
Dean raised both brows and snapped out his leg momentarily, kicking her hard in the shin before he replaced it against her calf. Jo flinched but made no noise, riding out the sudden sting until it ebbed and left.
"Careful, Jo- That's my mother you're talking about," said Dean, flashing those flawless teeth in a deranged smile that didn't suit his handsome façade. Jo made a noise of disgust.
"It's never wise to say nasty things about one's parents. Don't you agree? Of course, sometimes it's necessary for the truth to be told…"
"Maybe now you'll understand even a fragment of the horror," said Jo, breathing heavily in order to get enough air into her body, "…of defeat. How does it feel, without dear old Lucifer there to hold your hand? You and the rest of the demons?"
Jo meant the words to hurt, but in all honesty, Dean didn't look stung at all. If anything, he looked pleasant, conversational, with that strange malign air that followed demons like the plague.
"Well, for one, Jo- Lucifer doesn't exist. What mindless dribble. It's a bit wounding to think that you would believe in something so incredibly naïve."
"Liar," snapped Jo, fire raging through her veins. She wanted to hurt him, this son of a bitch. She wanted to bite him, but the knowledge that it was Dean's body he was in control of held her back. "None but Lucifer know that hell is hell…"
"Nicely said, Jo, but complete crap," said Dean in his characteristically haughty demeanour, grinning scathingly.
"Quoting the Bible to prove that Lucifer exists is just about as credible as quoting Dr. Seuss to prove that the Cat in the Hat exists. Fallen Angel, indeed…" Dean chuckled in obvious amusement. Jo gnawed at her tongue.
"I'm surprised couldn't see the truth earlier, Jo. Come now. The memory loss? The hellhounds? You of all people should know that hellhounds hardly have the mental capacity to chase their own tail, let alone murder people of their own accord. I've been under your nose and in your head for a good month now and you never even batted an eyelid…"
"I'm going to kill you," she snarled, exchanging a heated glare with Dean and refusing to break eye contact. "I swear to god I'm going to kick your ass."
"Maybe you will, maybe you won't," he replied in a sing-song voice, eyes rolling back with an airy, delighted sigh that a small child might make after being presented with a large lollypop.
"But the fact remains that I still have you pinned up against the wall in your underwear, alone, in a dark apartment… Not to mention the hounds of hell at my beck and call and as you might remember they can be devilishly apt at finding fatal flaws… excuse the pun." Dean chuckled, still oozing a natural-born charisma and confidence that seemed to come with the territory. She doubted the demon would be able to knock that out of him even if he tried.
"Now, what does this remind me of?"
Dean paused dramatically, posed as if he were deep in thought, chewing absently on his lower lip. He snapped out of it fluidly as soon as the memory came and smiled wickedly at her, his face only inches away from hers.
"Oh- yes. That's right. 5:36pm, 1991… Friday the 13th of December, coincidentally. Call me a sucker for theatrics, Jo, but I just love to pay attention to detail. It makes everything so much… clearer. Do you remember what happened that day, Jo?"
Jo refused him the satisfaction of an answer. She turned her head away and gazed stalwartly to the edge of the room.
Dean pressed a finger to her windpipe, making her head spin from the lack of oxygen, her throat and lungs convulsing violently, attempting to re-compensate for the lost air. She gasped.
"Come now, Jo, It's not polite to ignore people…"
"No!" she choked finally as her vision began to swim. Dean immediately let go of her throat and patted her condescendingly on the cheek.
"That's much better. Everything flows a lot smoother if you co-operate. Where was I?... Oh yes." He bared his teeth again in a dog-like smile that made him seem decidedly vicious. Cruel. It was a very good indicator.
"That was the day your daddy-o and Mr. John Winchester tried to chase after me like the stupid, contrived little heroes they think they are… Yes, I know I'm being redundant by calling your father 'stupid,' that much is obvious, he was terrifyingly easy to kill…"
Incensed, Jo could do naught but spit in Dean's face with all the force she could muster. Indifferent, he lifted his free hand to his face to wipe it away, pursing his lips petulantly as he did so.
"Fuck you," breathed Jo, shaking with rage.
"If you want," he purred quickly with a dirty smirk, but wasted no time in returning to the matter at hand.
"I'm afraid I glossed over what really happened that fateful night, didn't I? Left out the specifics, those mangled juicy details? Well, you see, Jo- John was waiting, watching, for me of course, and your father was the worm on the hook, dangling there, all ripe for the picking. They thought they were being clever, you see, and they were, but John jumped the gun like an over-excited little schoolboy and left me right at your papa's elbow. So you know what I did? I jumped into your daddy's head, turned around, and shot at John. Bang, bang, bang, down he goes. But John, the cunning bludger, he stood up and fired them right back."
Dean paused then and shook his head dispassionately, clicking his tongue. Jo's eyes were brimming with tears and she had to fight with all her might to keep herself from dissolving into waves of grief. It was killing her, knowing this- Why couldn't he just leave her be?
"So your papa went down. John, well, he's a good shot, he'd hit your father in all the sweet spots. The arms, legs, shoulders, you know the drill. He didn't hit anything vital. All he needed to do was splash him with a bit of holy water and I'd be in the stratosphere in no time. But he didn't want to take that chance. He didn't want to risk me getting away. So he waited until your pa had his eyes closed to try and block out the pain, brought a .45 to his temple and Whammo! Gone! Your dad was blasted into the stratosphere instead, brains and all, and I was free to make my merry way back down to hell to see better days. And John, well, by the time he'd realised his little mistake, all he had to show for it was about 200 pounds of dead meat and an empty pistol castridge."
Dean began to laugh and by now Jo had no control over her emotion- the tears were running silently down her face and she was wracked with involuntary sobs, so fierce she was sure she was about to cough up a kidney. And he was pressing her so tightly against the wall that she felt her arms and legs beginning to numb.
"But tick tock, like you said, Sammy will be back soon and we can't have that. By the time Dean snaps out of it, he'll be a few yards short of a paddock, I can assure you. I don't need to send anything after him- he'll be gone in due course. It's much easier to chip away at the people he loves, and watch him fall apart like a lego toy. I watch from above, popcorn and all. It's very entertaining. Didn't you ever wonder why Dean showed up at this hunt, Jo? Hmmm? Coincidence?"
Jo gasped and shook her head, the tears staining her cheeks and her shirt, and Dean's forearm. She'd lost all the dignity she had long ago- given that she was pressed against the wall in her bra with her skirt hitched up somewhere around her waist and tears streaming down her face, there was no room to be compromising.
"Well, because he wants an answer, of course. What better way to help save his soul than to skip right to the root of the problem? He thinks if he can find a way to kill the… how do you say it… 'beastie,' then all of his problems will be solved! Lo and behold! A magical solution! Unfortunately for Dean, never mind how many packets of platinum-sterling bullets he carries around with him, there will always be more hounds in hell then there are bullets on earth."
"What the fuck are you on about, you sadistic little bitch?" she snapped waspishly, very much wanting to move away but without the room or strength to do so.
"Oh, didn't they tell you?" asked Dean delightedly, though Jo could tell very well he already knew they had kept Jo in the dark.
"Well, sweetheart, one of my father's gifted children- Jake, skewered young Samuel like a chicken kebab and Dean sold his soul to get him back. Touching, isn't it? Shame, he's only got ten months and thirteen days left until he's as good as canned mince. But tut tut, the clock is ticking and it's about time we draw out little conversation to a close. Because, you know, as fascinating as it has been, I need to get a move on. Sammy's next on my list of priorities, you see, and you're starting to bore me with all these tears and swear words."
"Go to hell," she hissed vehemently.
"Exactly," replied Dean with a swarthy nod and a hungry smile. Then without warning, he stepped away from her and bodily hurled her to the floor, startling her into a frightened yelp. She connected with the floorboards and the breath was knocked from her lungs as if she'd been stuck by a hammer. She looked up, eyes streaming with pain, to see a maniacal-looking Dean standing above her, eyes wide and gleeful as if there was no greater thrill on earth than killing for pleasure.
There was a scratching at the walls, resounding growls like the thrum of an old motor. A wind whipped past the windows and then stopped at the door and Jo watched in silent horror as an enormous, behemoth-like canine stepped over the unfinished line of Goofer Dust. Dean had never finished sealing the door. Goddamnit.
"Tell your daddy I say hello," chuckled Dean sardonically as the dog slowly stalked it's way towards Jo, moving like a wildcat stalking a defenceless mouse. Jo attempted to scramble back, perhaps get to her feet, maybe defend herself.
Then it was there with a fluid speed, moving from one place to the next in the space of a millisecond, and Jo felt a horrendous pain like a thousand stabbing knives on her thigh, like rusted fangs, a fetid rot that spread through her body and soul like poison. Her vision blurred almost immediately- and there was someone screaming, screaming like a banshee. It wasn't until she felt herself gasp for breath that she realised it was herself.
Bang. The sound of the door flying open. Sam's face had never been sweeter but Jo was positive that it was too late, even now. There was an unearthly pain spreading up her insides and everything seemed to be jarring, stopping. She was screaming again.
Dean looked surprised that Sam had returned so quickly but his face twisted into a snide snarl of malice. He stepped gloweringly towards Sam- but something stopped him.
It was as if he were gripped by a sudden seizure. Jo could half-see the awareness flicker in his eyes, determination overriding lust, blood ties overcoming hate. Dean was fighting the son of a bitch for all he was worth and Sam could see it, too.
Making a split-second decision, Sam reached down to the half-empty bag of Goofer Dust lying abandoned by the door where Dean had left it before, and with a grunt of excertion, hurled it at his face.
It connected with Dean's body in a haze of brown and his eyes dilated madly. He was squealing like a stuck pig, writhing to his knees, and then without warning a thick stream of blackness erupted from his mouth, fleeing through the vents and out into the daylight.
After a moment and through that thick rich throb of pain, Jo knew that the dog had vanished, too, for the moment at very least.
Dean was on the floor, looking nauseous and bewildered, exhaustion pressing at his features.
Jo wanted to wriggle over and kick him somewhere painful but she knew that she wouldn't have the strength if she tried. She was bleeding. She could feel it.
Sam looked down at Dean with a look of hard relief and partial disgust, his lip twitching.
"Nice to have you back," sighed Jo with the reserves of her strength before she succumbed to instinct and fell unconscious on the motel-room floor.