Jo sidled through the bar, her lean hips pushing by tables filled with empty and glistening beer bottles, paper baskets full of fresh and peppered fries, and men with sweat stained henleys and a story darker than their 6oclock shadow.

She couldn't find it in herself to hate the place, the dark musty interior, or it's desperate bar-goers whose filthy exterior shamed her into a shower. This place had become her home where nothing else fit quite right. If her mother wouldn't let her become a hunter, then by God she would serve them the best cold beer they could find after their long and hellish hunts.

"Hey Jo!-"

"Yeah, another Long island Long, I gotcha Bill." She shouted over the clamors, silencing the gruff but gentle man a few tables over.

"You're the best," he said with a smile, though Jo wasn't sure how much of that was her great service, or the casual number of beers she had slipped him all night.

As she began to walk back to the bar, she spotted her mother Ellen reaching towards the phone. Normally her mother taking a phone call during business hours wouldn't be seen as unusual, but this call was being taken on the phone reserved only for Hunter friends who needed help in the area. Looking for a case, or maybe just swinging into town ready for some friendly faces.

Jo's heart lurched, suddenly thinking of the Winchester boys who hadn't been in town for a while. Maybe they had called? No, she thought to herself. Last she heard, they were in the middle of dealing with Skinwalkers in Saint Louis. They had too much to do to bother with the Harvelles.

A beer slammed down onto the counter, pulling Jo out of her fantasies and straight into the face of her mother, riddled with wrinkles and worry, but the warmest face a person could ever see.

"Get this to Bill quick, he's startin' to look nervous." She said, wiping the counter beside the bottle, running her hands over her shirtfront. Hand on hip, she ran a finger over a curl slipping on her shoulder. Tired grey eyes ran the expanse of the bar, and a smile creased in her eyes from a wave across the way. Ellen was a busy woman, but she was never too busy for a worried smile.

Jo swung around, zigzagged through tables, placing a beer in front of Good ol' Bill. He smiled warmly, leaning back into his seat and taking a deep breath.

"You know Jo, I remember your old man like it was yesterday. I swear it, he was the best god damned man on this planet Earth. Got me through some sticky ones, he did. Barely got me out alive."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, never tired of hearing stories of her father. His spirit was all over the place, and every hunter who wandered through seemed to have stories of their own.

It wasn't perfect, but at least it was something.

"Jo your Daddy was a great man. Too bad about im'. " Bill returned to his beer, losing himself in his memories.

The night wore on like any other, and as the last few Hunters stumbled out the door, Jo collected the last of the bottles and paper baskets, and headed up to the counter.

Ellen was taking notes on a legal pad as Jo swung around behind the bar, taking her apron off as she went. Dusting her hands off on her worn old wife beater tank top, she pulled at the loops on her jeans until her old blue's were resting perfectly on her hips.

"So who's comin'?" Jo asked, not willing to meet her mother's eyes. The cooler she talked, the less inquisitive her mother would be.

"Nothin' to you" Ellen replied, no words of comfort tacked on. She had been through this enough times with Jo that it needed no sugarcoating. No was No.

"I oughta know whose comin' through our doors-"

"It's the same guys day in and day out," Ellen said, throwing her towel onto the counter.

"Then who called? I know you took a case-"

"Don't worry yourself with it, it's Hunter business. Not our territory"

Jo scoffed, "Not our territory? We serve Hunter's all night long, hand them cases and keep their secrets safe, and it's 'Not our territory?' You've gotta be shittin' me!"

"Joanna Beth! You watch your tone with me young lady!"

"I'm old enough to know what's going on! I want to help!"

"Absolutely not!"

The front door slammed shut, the curtains filtering enough light to shine on Dean Winchester's beat up old leather jacket.

"Actually, I think we could help."

"Not now Winchester" Ellen spat, furiously turning back to Jo, who was already moving on.

"Dean can help. He'll take the case." Jo said,