"Alrighty then." Sam and Dean Winchester had been leaning against the plain, off-white walls of the motel reception when Jo made her way back to them from the from the front desk. "They're out of rooms, so I guess I'm bunking in with you guys for the night." She blew out a quick, steady breath and looked up at the brothers, raising an eyebrow, daring them to the disagree. Dean took her up on the dare, screwing his eyebrows in confusion. "But there's another motel just next door?" He asked her, almost sarcastically, seeing he had won this very minute argument. Jo's gaze held briefly as she tried to form a reasonable excuse to his logical question. Then it dropped, and out stumbled the truth. "Well, I-I." She exhaled again, this time her breath more pressured. "I, don't really want to, you know, want to be alone right, right now." She fiddled with the hem of her undershirt that peeked out. Dean could see how much effort it took to spit out that one mess of a sentence. "Right, don't worry. Actually it's probably better if you stick with us anyway, you know, just in case we haven't quite got the spirit of Old Man Fugly yet." It was a lie, all three of the hunters knew it, but Jo smiled gratefully, and Dean's heart leapt to see a familiar playful spark light up in the young girl's eyes. "Oh! 'Course." She giggled softly.
Sam watched the exchange and couldn't help a small smile appearing on his lips. He could really see the love that the two could potentially share in the future. Back when Dean was sour with grief, and Jo with patronization, their conversations, though still brimming with chemistry, were much, for lack of a better word, meaner, neither giving the other the time of day. Now, with their chains long broken behind them, they just seemed to fit. "I'll lead the way then." He chippered. Walking between them, he pushed open the door and began the walk to their motel room, thrilled to see Dean holding the door open for Jo in the rear view mirror of a parked car.
Sam should have known that the pleasant atmosphere between the two hunters couldn't last. The minute they followed him into the room the bickering began.
"I'll take the floor." Jo stated casually, tossing her rucksack off her shoulders and onto the empty floor space at the end of the beds. "What? No." Dean started. "The bed's yours, I'm sleepin' rough tonight." Jo cocked her head as she turned to face the older Winchester. "Why? It's your room, you paid for it." She replied.
"Because you're the girl. That's just how it works." He snapped. Jo's eyes narrowed into slits, and both Winchesters felt and fought the urge to cower in fear at the uncanny resemblance her expression had to one Ellen Harvelle had used way too often on anyone and everyone at some point in their relationship with the fiercely protective woman. "Okay, I'm going to ignore that sexist comment and hit the hay." She seethed. "Tomorrow morning, if you're done with being an ass, Dean, we should get to working out how I played Jesus and how to get my memory back."
Dean, albeit reluctantly, trudged over to the bed closest to the door, fatigue surpassing his stubbornness. Sam stood between both beds. "You know, Jo." He tried half-heartedly. "You should really-"
"Sam? Just don't."
Sam didn't need another word. Without speaking, Jo picked up her bag again and headed to the bathroom to change, resolving that she'd take a shower in the morning, too tired for tonight. After changing into an old, plain t-shirt and leggings, she left the bathroom and threw her bag back to the ground. The boys had already gone to bed, and whilst Sam still had a small light on and was awake reading, Dean had turned off the overhead lights and fallen to sleep. Walking over to the closet next to the door she retrieved a blanket and laid down on her side, curling in her legs and crossing her arms over her chest. She slept naturally like this, but she suspected it hadn't always been this way. That it was different now.
Now that she was still, that she had nothing else to think about, nothing else to busy her mind with, her head returned to the faded echo of her mother, and she felt a million different kinds of grief roll over her. She thought that it must feel worse than if she could remember all of it. She felt like she was running into a wall, desperately trying to breaking through it, just to remember her. She cried silently for what she remembered, and harder for what she didn't. She felt that nothing she felt was enough, because she couldn't grieve properly for something she couldn't remember. Eventually, she cried herself into a slumber.
As she slept, images of Carthage clouded Jo's subconscious, just as it had clouded Dean's earlier. The brunette from earlier, Meg, she remembered her name to be now, stood with one foot tucked next to the other, almost as if she was about to turn around, or she was leaning against a doorframe. Jo could see Dean in front of her, talking to Meg, whom she knew now to be a demon now as well. Then there was growling, Hell hounds, and running. She felt her chest grow tight as Dean yelped. She turned back instinctively to come to his aid, despite his urgings for her to keep running. He fired shots, some even hit the invisible beast. Then she turned, and it hit her. The hellhound tore through her skin like tissue paper, and her own screaming bled into her mother's as strong arms picked her up.
The doors of the hardware store burst open, and the rest of the scene was a blur of pointless talking and arguing that inevitably ended with her finger on the trigger, the memory of Dean's lips on hers the last sense she felt. Her mother sat down next to her, and they exchanged their last words; pathetic little words that did nothing to express what they knew the other was feeling. Then Jo's gaze faded to black, but she still felt the explosion make quick work of the mess of bones, blood and guts that was her body. Then there was nothing.