Author's Note: So I'm still bad at posting regularly, but let me blame that on the fact that I've been struck with two new muses and school work galore, so.

Sorry for any inconveniences!

~ Chapter Fourteen ~

When Jo woke up, it was still pretty dark. There was a dull ache in the back of her head too, she noticed as she scanned about her surroundings. A window was open with billowing curtains right above where she lay, which was soft, squishy and undoubtedly warm. A bed? It felt like a bred, but it sure wasn't hers. Where was she?

As she sat up, the dull ache grew and throbbed against her skull, seemed to press her back down into the bed – where was that from? She couldn't remember much of last night. She remembered being at home for once and having dinner with Daddy and Papa and Alfie. Alfie was finally big enough to use the highchair and Papa didn't have to hold him on his lap anymore. He and Daddy were really happy about that, but Jo couldn't figure out why. She had gotten to help Papa put Alfie to bed after her bath, and either Daddy or Papa – she couldn't remember – took her to bed after that. The rest was a mess of nighttime and darkness, but the thick, muddy splashes of red fear broke up the blackness, making little Jo feel like something horribly bad had happened.

Standing up now, Jo tiptoed across the room, where she could see some dim light passing beneath the door. She gave the door a push, only to find that it was locked; there was a large bar that held the heavy door closed, and probably kept her in the dark room, but why? She could touch it by just stretching her arms, but it didn't budge when she tried to pull it in any direction. Maybe if she pushed it harder?

The idea had come to her head quickly and within moments, Jo was taking a running start, arms outstretched and ready to latch onto the heavy metal bar to give it a big, strong push. The edge of the bar was really sharp though, she realized too late as it dug into the palm of her hand, piercing the sensitive, pale skin, marring it with her own thick crimson blood.

Jo let herself sink to the ground, whimpering in pain, and cradling her wounded hand tightly against her chest, willing it to heal.

The cut hurt, and the blood scared her. She was all alone in a dark room, couldn't remember how she got here, had no idea what happened in the menacing darkness from hopefully last night, and even less of an idea of where Daddy and Papa were. The latter was what scared her the most – her daddies were always around to keep her safe; they kept the darkness away and made sure the monster under her bed wouldn't hurt her.

Were there monsters under the bed in here? The question popped up in her head as she sat against the door, and she crawled across the ground, being careful not to let her bleeding hand touch the ground. Under the bed was even darker than the room, and as far as she could see, it was only dust. No monsters, just dust. That was okay, right?

Climbing back up onto the bed, Jo almost lost her footing on the shaky frame of the furniture, clawed for something to keep her up, catching the billowing curtain in her bloody hand and yanking it down with her. It came tumbling down across the squishy bed, clattering against her head and the floor only a moment after she hit the ground, bringing back the ache in her head even stronger than before.

Clutching her head, becoming more and more sure that the pulsing pain in her head would never stop, Jo wept. Her head hurt her, the darkness hurt her, her bleeding hand, the loneliness, the confusion, the passing time – it all hurt her at once, in a way she didn't even know was possible. She struggled to wipe her tears, and with every attempt to dry her face of the tears, more blood was smeared across her face, got in her hair, and was everywhere it wasn't supposed to be. Her knees brought up to her chest, Jo sobbed, cried out for Daddy, for Papa, for Uncle Sam, Grandpa, someone to come and help her, to get her out of the suffocating darkness before it was too late.

/

The child's screaming echoed through the hallways just as resonantly as they had when her door was closed, and the only sounds heard through the building being the fearful whimpers and cries for her daddies. This was what the Winchesters had come to? A sniveling little blonde girl with severe dependency on her absent parents? Belial loved it.

She had ordered two of her newest monkeys to bring the child to her. She was generous tonight, she believed, seeing as she had allowed the kid to wake up on her own. Maybe that wasn't so generous, seeing as little miss Jo Winchester had found a way to hurt herself and start sobbing in such a short amount of time, but who could be blamed for that? Definitely not her.

The shrieking was growing louder by the second and Belial shifted eagerly in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs beneath her gown, finally deciding on a rather stately and regal pose in the throne: right leg crossed over the left and her arms upon the rests. She didn't dare move as the monkeys shoved the tiny kid through the door, even if the blood-smeared face and tangled mop of blonde, bloodied hair was positively delightful.

"Good evening, Jo."

Her greeting was responded to with more tears and fussing against the monkeys – hardly unexpected. The one and only surprising thing the kid uttered being a short, quiet sentence, twisted with her tears and fright: "I wanna go home."

The villainess grinned at the child's boldness. Maybe there was half a Winchester in her – and that was going to make this game all the more exciting.