Hey everyone! Sorry it took me over a month to write this (yikes!) and I promise I will update more often. I had some family stuff going on these past few weeks, but the majority of that is cleared up now, so I can work more on writing! I've got some ideas, so hopefully you guys will like them and this story will actually work out!

Xoxo Zabby

For Lucy

Jo had always liked the dark. She knew she shouldn't, her father had taught her that ages ago, but there was something about the pitch blackness that comforted her, made her feel warm and safe no matter where she was.

Black was constant. This place, however, was not.

This blackness was something completely different from the color that had comforted Jo as a child; it enveloped her into its enormous, suffocating arms and threatened to swallow her whole.

Jo knew she'd died, but she had never heard of any afterlife like this.

Jo looked around, trying to get a grip on her surroundings and stifle the paralyzing fear that had taken over her body. She started with the simple things. She was lying on the floor; it was cold and hard, maybe concrete. Jo took a deep breath and told the fearful part of her brain to shut up as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Jo couldn't see more than a foot in front of her face and what she did see was pitch blackness. Briefly afraid that she'd gone blind, Jo held one hand close to her face, relieved when she saw the faint outline of her hand. Wherever she was, Jo had both her vision and her body (although neither of them were doing her much good at the moment) and that comforted her. Jo stood up then, hoping that she could see more from a higher viewpoint.

She couldn't.

Swallowing the panic that had risen in her throat, Jo decided to explore, because, even in her most terrified state, Jo Harvelle couldn't bear standing around waiting to be rescued. As she staggered around with her arms stuck straight out in front of her, Jo tried to determine her location. This was definitely not heaven; heaven wouldn't be this dark, or terrifying. Purgatory? Jo didn't think so. Purgatory would probably be a lot more violent than this. Hell? She froze; hell was definitely a possibility.

Jo's eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip harshly, trying to stop herself from breaking down. The tears poured down her face anyway and she bit down harder on her lip. The metallic taste of her own blood soon filled Jo's mouth. Shit. She explored her lip carefully with her tongue, wincing slightly when it stung. Jo sighed; oh well, at least she knew she was human.

Taking what seemed like her millionth deep breath, Jo resumed her shaky walk, forcing herself to stay calm and racking her brain for all the things she knew about hell. She'd done quite a bit of research once upon a time when a…friend was in hell. Jo exhaled sharply, trying to focus on the information instead of the person who'd been in hell, because if she did think about that person, she knew she'd start crying again.

After walking a few more steps, Jo spotted a faint light that grew larger with every step she took. She broke into a run and soon found herself in a sort of hallway, which stretched as far as the eye could see and was filled with doors. Every door looked different, but each had a single window. Jo breathed a sigh of relief; this place definitely wasn't hell.

Jo approached the door nearest to her and leaned in close to look through the window. She jerked her head back almost immediately; inside the room, Jo saw a man strapped to a table while a different man skinned the other alive. She yanked on the doorknob, but found it locked. Jo pounded on the door and threw her weight against it, screaming and trying desperately to get the person to stop, but they were completely oblivious to the racket she was making.

Jo clapped a hand over her mouth, attempting to contain the scream that threatened to escape her lips. She scrunched her eyes shut and turned around, running a few steps down the hallway and leaning her back against the wall. She was shaking like a leaf and buried her face in her hands.

Jo was totally and utterly powerless, and that was the worst feeling in the world.

After a minute or two, Jo decided to move on; she couldn't help the man in the room and there was no use staying slumped against the wall. Gritting her teeth, Jo walked further down the hall and looked into the first window she saw. She could just make out what looked like a girl sitting at a kitchen table drawing a picture. The girl was small, maybe around five, and was talking animatedly to someone who was just out of Jo's line of sight. She was grinning from ear to ear and Jo grew even more confused. Where the hell was she? A man was being tortured in one room and a little girl was drawing pictures in the next?

Jo continued her walk down the hallway, more determined than ever to find out where she was. She looked into the window of every door she passed. Jo saw more scenes of torture, a man flying a kite, a few surgeries, a prison execution, a college graduation and every single door was locked tightly. No matter how much she yelled and banged on the doors, Jo was totally invisible to the strangers in the rooms. In fact, it wasn't until forty-three doors and a dozen or so hours later that Jo saw something (or rather someone) she recognized:

Dean.

He was running through what looked like Bobby's junkyard. The window followed Dean as he weaved through the mangled cars. Jo craned her neck, looking around for whatever was chasing him, but saw nothing. He finally tripped on something (maybe a stray tire?) and fell against one of the smaller cars on the lot. Dean appeared to be on the verge of tears at first, but the look in his eyes quickly turned to anger as he picked up a fallen pipe and started hitting the car. He was yelling something that Jo couldn't hear. She reached up a fist and banged on the glass, but Dean couldn't hear it.

As Dean's swings grew increasingly angrier, Jo became more and more anxious, doing everything she could to draw his attention to her. Dean was obviously distressed and Jo knew how destructive Dean got when he was upset. True, Jo didn't exactly know what he was upset about (she wasn't even sure how long she'd been in the hallway), but she'd be damned if she didn't do everything she could to try to stop Dean from hurting himself or someone else. Jo yanked on the doorknob, twisting and turning it so harshly she was sure it would break off at any second, but it never gave way. She focused her attention on the rest of the door, throwing herself at it and screaming Dean's name at the top of her lungs. He never flinched, didn't even acknowledge her. He just kept smashing that car.

Jo saw the piece of glass coming before Dean did. She froze, cringing as she watched the shard slash across his upper arm. Dean paused, glancing briefly at the wound before sinking to the ground. Jo could see the tears in his eyes and felt her heart shatter when she finally looked at his lips and read what they were saying. Jo had never been very good at reading lips, but she sure as hell knew her own name when she saw it, and Dean was saying it, over and over and over again.

Jo.

Jo felt like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs, like her legs had been turned to jelly and her head to pulp. She slumped against the door, tears welling in her eyes as the realization struck her that Dean was crying over her.

The strongest man in the world was breaking down because of her.

"Dean," she whispered, tracing his frail outline in the window pane, "I'm sorry; I'm so, so sorry." Wet hot tears streamed down her face and, just as Jo was about to start having a full-on sob attack, a haunting voice spoke clearly behind her.

"Try the doorknob," it breathed. Jo whipped her head around, panicked eyes searching for the voice's origin, but she was totally alone.
Trying to ignore the shivers that ran down her spine, Jo turned back to the door, frowning at the voice's suggestion. The doorknob was locked; she'd spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get it to work with absolutely no success. "I already did, asshole," she muttered. But, just for the hell of it, Jo placed one hand on the doorknob and twisted it roughly. Much to her amazement, the door swung open and into Bobby's junkyard.

The cool November air rushed against her face and Jo breathed it in hungrily as her eyes locked on Dean's still-shaking form collapsed against the car. She stepped one foot through the door before glancing back towards the dark hallway. Jo was hesitant to go through; a small voice in her head told her that this was too easy, that this was all just an elaborate trap and she would end up in some boiling pit in the depths of hell, but, with one glance at Dean's quivering form, Jo knew she wanted to take the risk.

If there was one thing Jo couldn't handle, it was seeing the people she loved in pain, and hell, she loved Dean. Jo had fallen in love with him the moment she'd pressed that rifle against his back in the Roadhouse all those years ago. Their first kiss was full of everything and nothing all at the same time; she could taste sorrow and heartbreak on his lips and that hurt her more than hellhounds ever could. With one kiss, Jo tried to tell Dean that it was okay, that she didn't blame him, that meeting him was one of the best things that had ever happened to her… Their first kiss had been their last, and Jo was determined to change that.

She stepped cautiously into Dean's world, letting the door swing shut behind her. Jo glanced over her shoulder and found that the door had completely vanished. She raised her eyebrows with vague surprise, but decided to investigate it later.

Right now, there was a sobbing Winchester to deal with.