Beauty.

Indescribable beauty.

That was the last thing Joanna Beth Harvelle remembered as she lay dying on the floor of some shit gas station in some shit town that was about to become the site of another fuck you gate to hell. She'd been pissed and more than a little embarrassed that before she could make a difference she was being blown to shit. But, if she had to pick the single worst moment, it was when Dean Winchester pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't because he liked her, it wasn't because they could be something, no, it was pity. Pity and his indulgence of her school-girl crush on him. It was somehow both the worst and best kiss Jo had ever had.

She hadn't seen her life flash before her eyes as her vision dimmed. She hadn't even had some last great epiphany before everything went away, not that she thought 'well this sucks' counted as one. No it had all just kind of been, well, over. End of the story. And then the world had gone to white. It started in the corners of her eyes and moved inwards until her entire vision was tunneled. But she hadn't been afraid. It was hard to be afraid when the white meant the agony that had occupied every fiber of her being was going away. She had fought it, of course, but it had been a loosing battle. She had been caught in some impossible pull, in some indescribable tide. She swam against it but there had been one final, great undertow and then, just like that.

She was gone.

There were no words to describe what took her vision. Whatever she had dreamed, whatever she had thought, it was nothing compared to what she had experienced. But it was only a glimpse, a glimpse of impossible beauty and eternal peace.

Then her eyes cleared.

Jo Harvelle found herself on the red carpeted floor of an empty building. She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Coughing she struggled to breath and for a moment she felt like she wouldn't be able to. But her lungs remembered and she inhaled, air rushing into her. Gasping she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her hand scrambled over her stomach, across her neck, fingers searching for the wounds that she knew she wouldn't be able to find. Everything was healed. No Hell Hounds claws, no explosion that would have torn her to shreds, there was nothing. Jo's eyes caste around the room, searching for whatever force had brought her there but she could find none.

Slowly she got to her feet, on legs that a moment ago she hadn't been able to feel. She was dressed in her old cloths, except now they had no sign of her blood, of the gravel she had fallen onto, nothing. Carefully Jo looked around, trying to see where she was. The place she stood in was deserted but the two doors she could see were open. However whatever lay beyond them was lost to the light. All around her she could see marble sloping high towards the precipice of the dome. Two massive pillars stood framing a pace clearly designated for worship of some kind. But what stopped Jo were the lanterns that hung just above her head. Starting at a central light they spiraled outwards, brightly lit globes spaced every few inches that hung on a wire tract. The chandelier took up the entirety of the room, there must have been over three hundred lamps.

"Three hundred and sixty five, to be exact."

Jo turned to look at one of the entrances. The light seemed to enter the structure in its purest form but it soon solidified into a shape. The man who stepped out of the light was not beautiful, not as Jo would have expected. His features were sharp and strong but there were flaws there, perhaps his eyes were a bit too close together and his bottom lip was a bit too full. He could have stood to shave as well. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, a few strands falling over his features. But it was his clothing that stopped her. The man was wearing a well worked leather vest and braces on his wrists. Though he wore pants, he wore no shoes. Around his waist she could see a belt designed to hold a scabbard and a sword, though neither was there. A red sash was worn there as well, the color bright and jarring against the darker colors of his garb.

The man walked forward with almost animalistic grace, seemingly not perturbed by Jo's sharp inspection. He approached her until he stood a few feet from her, his hands loose by his sides. Jo kept her body angled almost perpendicular to his, giving him the smallest target in case he decided to attack. But she got the distinct impression that no matter how skilled she was if this man had meant her harm then she would have suffered already.

"Who are you?" Jo questioned looking at him sharply.

"I am Michael," he said showing her his palms in what she knew was an old show of peace--that he was unarmed.

"Micha--" she stopped, "wait, Michael the Archangel?"

"Yes," he said simply.

Jo looked away, letting out a breath. There was a time when she wouldn't have dreamed about talking back to an Archangel. But considering she was dead, she figured she had very little to loose. She would have thought, given she had yet to hear a single good thing about him, that he would have denied it or let her guess. But despite all the bullshit he had pulled with pretty much everyone she knew, he was strait forward with her. Worse, he didn't even have the grace to look ashamed at what had been done in his name.

"You're an asshole," she said looking at him. Michael arched an eyebrow, "what you did to Dean--and Sam, and Castiel, it was completely out of line."

Amusement flickered in the Archangel's eyes and Jo saw red. Her fists balled but he gave no sign of rising to her threats, as if any words she hurled his way would do nothing to affect him. There was nothing worse than that really--nothing worse than feeling helpless. And that was how Jo felt. She hadn't been able to really kill a Hellhound anymore than she had been able to keep her guts inside or even stay alive long enough to press the damn trigger herself. And now a freakin Archangel was standing there, amused at the fact she had called him an asshole. Granted, he was an Archangel and he had probably called a lot worse, but still Jo couldn't help but be a little more pissed at him.

"Your anger, while understandable, is useless," Michael told her.

"You're going to give me the anger-leads-to-the-darkside speech?" Jo demanded in disbelief, "so what, because I'm a little pissed I'm dead I'm in trouble? That's such--"

"You are not dead," Michael said.

"Bullshit and I don't think--" Jo stopped, "what did you just say?"

"I said you are not dead," MIchael said, "you are fatally wounded and, in a few moments, you will be dead. But as of this moment, you are not," Jo narrowed her eyes, "I am here to offer you a deal."

"You want to make me a deal?" she demanded, "wow, I'm not sure I believe that," Michael looked at her, obviously confused, "well you haven't tortured me for months, so I'm just a little confused."

"Understandable," he said, 'but I'm afraid my time runs short," he sighed, "Lucifer has seen fit to take another Vessel and I am inclined to follow. His release of Death will signal a crucial turning point in the War and I fear that if I do not improvise another Vessel, there will be no point in waiting for Dean Winchester."

"So I'm your 'improvisation'?" she questioned crossing her arms, "I'm hurt."

"You are dying," Michael said, missing the joke completely.

"Thanks I know," Jo snapped, "so what do you want from me?"

"You are willing to listen," Michael said, "i did not think you would agree to do so this easily."

"I'm not agreeing to anything," Jo said quickly.

"You know then," he said, "that I cannot force you to do anything. All I can do is offer you a choice," Jo nodded slowly, "well, our time is short. Here is your choice. You may return to your body, living out your last moments in agony before the components of your makeshift bomb tear your flesh apart," Jo winced at the thought, "or, you can let me use you."

"Use me how?"

"The man who built this," he said motioning to the structure they were in, "believed that he would always rule over his land. He believed his law would transcend the physical limit of time and in that way he too would do so," he lowered his hands to his side, "he was wrong. We do not live forever, Joanna, but in the short time we walk the earth we must live."

"Yeah, in case it escaped your notice, I'm laying on the floor of some crap gas station with my insides on my outsides, ten seconds from blowing that place to fucking hell."

"You will not survive long enough to push the trigger," Michael said. Jo glared angrily away, torn between rage and tears at how utterly useless she was, "but," Michael continued, "if you let me in you will become the greatest force in this battle."

"Let you in, let you in where?" Jo questioned.

"Let me in," Michael said.

"Didn't answer my question."

"I need a Vessel," Michael said, "I am too powerful to have just anyone serve and Dean is still my ideal Vessel, but you will work--"

"Wow," Jo said, "you really know what to say to a girl."

"My brother is unleashing Death. I must stop him or there will not be a world to save. You are dying. Your weakened body will be healed and revived by my power. But i need your permission to occupy you, to use you. That is the only way."

"So let me get this strait. You want to use my body to save the world and in return your going to heal me?" Michael nodded, "what about Dean?"

"What about Dean?"

"You have to promise me you're going to leave Dean alone. No more sending damn Angels after him to get him to say yes. You take me and you be happy with what you have, got it?" Michael opened his mouth, "oh, and Castiel and Sam. You have to keep an eye on them too. Especially Sam. He's in a lot of trouble and if he goes Dean's not going to make it."

"Yes," Michael said.

"Yes?" Jo repeated, "no negotiating? You'll do it all?"

"We are running out of time!" Michael said, obviously not used to being negotiated with, "I agree to your terms. Will you act as my Vessel?"

"Yes," Jo said.

Michael held out a hand. Jo looked at his palm and then at the Archangel. Before she could regret her decision, she thrust out her hand, stopping it just before it touched Michael's. The Archangel's eyes widened but Jo spoke before he could say anything.

"My mom--" she began.

"There is nothing I can do for her," Michael said.

"I know," Jo looked down, "but is she going to be--" Jo swallowed, "is she going to be with you?"

Michael's eyes softened as his hand moved forward, grasping hers. Before Jo could open her mouth to ask anything more, Michael stepped forward, bringing their grasped hands in between their two chests. Jo could feel the leather of his clothing against her knuckles as the Archangel leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Jo inhaled sharply as a strange feeling filled her body. She felt warm, not unpleasantly so, but nice, as though she had stepped into a warm bath. The flames did not bubble up like water, rather they nipped upwards, like fire. Jo felt them at her toes first as they moved upwards, past her knees, to her thighs, her waist, her chest--all over until her body felt engulfed by the fire. Her fingers tightened on Michael's as the Archangel stood with his lips pressed to her brow. She realized that his lips were moving, his voice soft and in a language she could not understand. When he was finished and flames had encompassed her completely, Michael stepped back.

"Go in Peace," he told her.

"Amen," Jo replied, her voice little more than a breath.

And so Jo Harvelle existed, cocooned by flames that did not burn her.

She watched everything. Watched as her body did things, things she would not have believed possible. She watched the anger in Dean's eyes as he was flung across the room, swearing like a drunkard in one of the most sacred placed on earth. She struggled through every gasp, every smack, every everything that Michael did. In the rare moments when she could see her reflection, be it on polished marble or in the glass of a car, she had to admit it looked pretty badass, watching her petite blond form throw people telekinetically across parking lots. The only truly offsetting thing was the emotions. She was pretty numb but the waves of rage she felt came from Michael. In the moments when he was the most angry, it was hard to take that, hard to distinguish herself from the Archangel even as the barrier he had placed around her ensured her they were two separate beings.

The only thing they seemed to share was the grief.

She felt it, knowing her mother was dead. Ellen had always said Jo was something of a Daddy's girl but Jo knew that wasn't the case. She was her mother's daughter through and through. But now her mother was gone. If Jo had been aware of herself enough to cry, she would have wept until there were no more tears in her eyes. But she couldn't even do that. Her only comfort was knowing that she was going to make sure that the fuckers who killed her mom were never going to hurt another mom again. She hadn't, however, expected the grief from the Archangel. It was worse than the anger even. Bone deep and more profound than Jo could have even comprehended, the grief seemed to weigh on the Archangel like an anchor, dragging him down to some impossibly deep depth.

It had taken Jo a while to figure out what it was. Despite being so close to the Archangel, she didn't know what he was thinking or what he had been through. It was not until he had gone to the library to look at the picture of Michael defeating Lucifer in that art book that she realized what it was. Michael had cried that day, though it had only been a single tear streaking his face--well, her face if she was thinking properly. Jo had realized then that Michael was grief stricken by the loss of his brother, by what he had to do to him and she knew that if Dean ever had to do anything like that to Sam, he'd break too. And despite being a great man, Dean WInchester wasn't an Archangel. Jo was instantly glad that she had made him promise to protect Sam too.

The first time Jo felt any kind of pain was when Michael left her body.

Even then it wasn't really pain, more like a tearing sensation as the flames flickered and then died completely. And even then the pain was more like coldness. Coldness and emptiness. She felt like she was Alice who'd drank the potion and found herself in a dress a hundred sizes too big. Except she was not Alice and the dress just happened to be her body rather than a garment. Jo felt too small for her own skin and while she would have liked to think that she had the common sense not to drink a strange potion, the fact of the matter was that she had willingly given the control of her body to an Archangel. So maybe she did not have such great sense after all.

Powerless to move, Jo heard voice swimming above her. The tones were alien, the words unintelligible to her ears. She could no more understand them then open her impossibly heavy eyelids. She didn't know how long she lay there waiting for the world to come into focus, for her body to once again be the right size.

"You cannot continue to pretend that you have done nothing wrong, Gabriel," a voice sharpened and became clear in her ears.

"Hey, I'm not pretending I haven't done anything wrong. But, lets face it, I didn't screw the pooch like you did," the first voice made a sound of disbelief, "you're the one blew up another Angel."

"Castiel needed to be taught a lesson for his defiance."

"And you're suddenly the 'Hand of God'. Wow, I must have missed the party."

"You missed much while you were down her cavorting with humans," Raphael spat.

"Hey, I'm doing Dad's work. Loving human's."

"You play with them."

"And they play with me. They're not bad once you get to know them. And their food,"Gabriel let out an appreciative whistle, "I'd protect them just so I wouldn't have to eat that swill Lucifer makes."

"He never was a good cook," Raphael said after a moment, amusement creeping into his voice.

"You're telling me. He almost killed our reputation. We were telling the other battalions that killing didn't make us vomit for weeks," he let out a chuckle, "last time we ever let him cook."

"Once was more than enough," Raphael agreed, "Joanna, I need you to try to open your eyes."

Jo furrowed her brow as she tried to open her eyes. It was very hard to do, they felt almost tacky, stuck together with something.

"Gabriel."

Something cool and wet was pressed to her eyes, wiping them clean of something. Jo slowly forced her eyes open, though the effort was more than she could have imagined. The first thing she saw was the cracked and chipped ceiling, a tell tale sign she was in some kind of cheap motel. But it was warped, shimmering even. As if she was encased in some kind of giant bubble. Two faces came into her view. One was a blond man, his height clear even from her vantage point. The other was shorter but it was clear that between the two of them that the shorter was in charge. From what she'd read in Angel lore, she thought the shorter was Gabriel and the taller was Raphael. Closely ranked, Gabriel was still the higher ranking of the two. Focusing on the information, on what she knew, it helped to clear her fogged and vacant mind.

"Hello," Raphael said, "Joanna."

"Jo," Jo said, her voice little more than a rasp, "m'name's Jo."

"Jo it is," he said, "I am Raphael," he said, though such introductions were not really necessary, "this is Gabriel. You are in a motel, Michael had business to attend to in Heaven," Jo made to nod but Raphael shook his head, "do not try to move or to speak. My abilities have been focused on your more imminently threatening injuries. There was not time for the simpler things."

The door banged open as a third man joined them. This one was asian and looked absolutely furious. Raphael and Gabriel turned to him.

"Selaphiel, what's going on?"

"I just got a call," he said, "from this guy's sister. The Demon Lords are already here."

"What do you mean they're here?" Gabriel demanded, "do they know where we are?"

"Not yet, but its only a matter of time," Selaphiel said, his eyes going to Jo, "we have to get MIchael back."

"Michael's busy!"

"She cannot be moved," Raphael said, "not without serious risk."

"More serious than Michael's unoccupied Vessel falling into the hands of the Demon Lords?!" Selaphiel demanded, "from now on our priority has to be keeping her safe and Sam Winchester out of their hands."

Jo struggled to move, trying to get her body to do something other than just lay there. Every movement, even the smallest finger twitch, was impossibly hard. Still the urgency that pounded through her was undeniable. They were all in trouble and she wasn't going to be the one who got them hurt. Forcing herself to move, she turned her head towards the arguing Archangels. The movement sent white hot agony searing through her as she felt something tear. She must have made some kind of sound because Raphael turned towards her, his eyes widening. He turned back to her, his hand slipping into the barrier as he gently turned her head back upright. When he withdrew his hands, they were stained red. Whatever she tore had bled.

"Do not move," he said, "your death will not help anyone."

"Yeah, ignore Selaphiel's dramatics," Gabriel said, "he's got a habit of blowing shit out of proportion."

Jo smiled at that. Raphael looked at her curiously and she parted her lips before he could tell her not to speak.

"You guys really do sound like brothers."

"That is what we are," Raphael said, "now rest," he advised, "for a little while. I will wake you soon."

Jo was powerless to disobey as her eyes once more fluttered shut.

And Jo's back! For how long? Who knows! But Michael's going to be back soon. I wanted to spread the stuff I had planned for this chapter out over 2 or 3 of them, just to help the flow of the story. But next time there's gonna be Dean/Jo. Jo has her reasons and Dean, well, Dean's not really understanding them.

Also as we get more into the Archangel/Demon Lord thing I'll be letting you know the actor I'm associating the character with. Kind of like a Dream-Cast thing for the Archangel/Demon Lords. It helps me when I'm writing to picture the character in my head with a distinct voice and appearance.

So remember, the more you review the more I write. Because reviewing lets me know people are enjoying this story. Check the profile, I've got 50 stories, most of which are in production. I like reviews because it lets me know you're reading. So,

Please PLEASE REVIEW!!