Pain gives way to light and peace. Dean takes Tessa's hand, not even questioning her presence, and follows her into his afterlife.
When he steps around the corner of the wooden building to his right, the Reaper is gone. He throws a nonplussed look at his surroundings. As he takes in the sign that reads Harvelle's Roadhouse and the sunshine of a summer's day, he tries to place the memory.
"What the…?" Dean mumbles, noticing the Impala parked not far away, to the right.
"It's not a memory," comes a soft reply from behind.
Dean turns to face Jack, who smiles at him from one of the chairs on the front porch. He beckons Dean to join him and Dean sits in the chair across from the young God.
"It's good to see you again, kid," he says, and Jack's smile falls a bit.
Dean picks up on that and frowns. Jack's uneasy look can't mean anything good.
"It's just…" Jack sighs. "I'd hoped it wouldn't happen so soon."
"Yeah, me too," Dean says, running a hand across his face.
They lapse into a strange sort of silence and Dean takes in his surroundings again. Ellen's roadhouse, though long gone on Earth, had been a safe haven for him and Sam, short lived as it was. Here in Heaven, it has an ethereal quality. Otherworldly, even. Makes sense, considering where it is. Dean wonders why Jack chose this place to greet him.
"So, how's Heaven these days?" Dean asks, having come up with nothing else to say after the long pause.
"Oh, it's a much different place now," Jack says, smiling again. "You remember how people used to be stuck in their best memories?" At Dean's nod, he continues. "I tore down the walls separating everyone, rebuilt the whole place to make it something people could share. Everyone can visit whoever they want, not just soulmates."
"That sounds like an awesome place to retire," Dean says, breathing in the cool breeze. "The way it was before, reliving your greatest hits…" he sighs, shakes his head. "That felt more like a prison. Better than Hell, but still a prison."
"That's why I changed it," Jack says, clasping his hands together and leaning back. "I also came to an agreement with the Empty. Got a few angels back. Tessa's the new Death."
"Explains why she was the one picking me up," mumbles Dean, his chest constricting—or feeling like it, at least—like it's trapped in a vice. "And Cas?" he asks, barely above a whisper.
"He's here too," Jack says, tilting his head sideways. "He wanted to be the one to greet you, but I asked him to hold off on that front. There were a few things I wanted to tell you myself."
"Is he… okay?" Dean can't help the tear that slips down his cheek. He takes a swipe at his face.
"Yes. He's socializing, even." Another smile accompanies Jack's answer. "I think he's doing his best to drive my mom up a wall. And a few others, too. Not in a bad way, though."
Dean laughs as he tries to imagine that. Cas, fretting about the new state of Heaven, attempting to make friendly conversation with people, some of them having no idea who he is. Dean's glad his friend is happy.
"So," Dean says after regaining his composure, "was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"
Jack stares at the few passing clouds for a minute and closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. When he looks at Dean again, his eyes seem to bear a heavy sadness. Something akin to a chill runs down Dean's spine, but he only swallows hard and listens.
"After I'd returned from the Empty," Jack starts, "I asked Tessa to take on the mantle of Death. The universe needed balance and a lot of reapers had died. I brought some of them back too, but Billie turned down the position. Reclaimed her post as a reaper, though. Then, the angels and I started restructuring Heaven and, for a while, everything seemed fine."
"Until it didn't," Dean chimes in.
Figures their happily ever after couldn't last.
"Sort of," says Jack. He runs a hand up and down the armrest of his chair for a bit. "One of the souls residing here was asking about her daughter. Said they'd died together, but only she'd been admitted into Heaven. They were both hunters and the daughter was killed by a hellhound."
Dean sat up at that, back ramrod straight, feeling as though someone had pulled the chair from under him. He knew only of a handful of people who'd been killed by hellhounds, but just one who'd died together with her mother. That narrowed it down a whole lot.
"Was…" he clears his throat when it closes up, "was her name Jo Harvelle?"
It's an effort to get the words out. His voice sounds raspy to the point of almost being inaudible. This can't be happening. Jo was supposed to be at peace, surrounded by her family. Not missing from Heaven.
"Yes, the daughter," Jack says. "We looked for her everywhere. Rowena eventually found her in Hell's dungeon, so deep down that there's no wonder no one ever looked. I think that not even Crowley knew she was there."
"Didn't Chuck throw open all the doorways to Hell when he got all pissy last year?" Dean asks.
He's trembling, hands white-knuckled in their grip on the armrests.
"He did," Jack says. He seems a bit perplexed. "But he sealed that one tight years ago and, for some reason, didn't open it again. Jo said that just the one demon knew she was there and only he could open the door. Tessa managed to force her way in, though."
"So you brought her here?" Dean just about dares to hope for some good news. "She's free?"
"I gave her a choice," Jack says. He fidgets with his hands a moment, then continues. "Rowena has a bit of a rebellion on her hands. A very powerful demon is trying to wrestle the throne from her."
Jack pauses and looks up at the clouds again.
"A coven of witches, whom I suspect work for said demon," he continues, "used a very old spell to restore Jo's body. We later discovered that they were intending to use it as a vessel for another soul. So I told Jo she could either come to Heaven with me, or rejoin the living if she wanted."
"What'd she choose?" Dean asks, even though he already suspects the answer.
"She decided to go back into her body." Jack grins. He's evidently amused by the recollection. "She didn't want some..." Jack makes air quotes, "hell-spawn to prance around wearing her meat suit. Her exact words."
Dean exhales a laugh as he imagines the exchange. The metaphorical vice around his heart loosens up a bit at the thought of Jo getting another chance to live and grow old. He scrubs at his face and is surprized to find he'd shed a few more tears. He looks back at Jack, who's also smiling.
"Looks like Chuck left us a party favor," he says. Laughs again. "Joke's on him, though."
"That wasn't the only one," Jack replies, growing serious.
"Wait, what?"
Just like that, all the levity's gone down the drain. If Dean were still alive, this is the moment his heart would have started picking up speed. Apparently, even dead men have emotions. Because it feels like he can't breathe.
"After the incident with Jo," Jack answers, looking pained, "I started searching for other anomalies in the fabric of the universe. Couldn't find anything for a while. Until I'd finished restoring all the alternate universes Chuck destroyed. That's when I found one of his threads."
"Threads?"
Dean doesn't like where this is going. Judging by Jack's expression, the latter knows how he feels.
"I went to see Chuck," Jack says and closes his eyes briefly. "I wanted to be sure it was him and not something else. But when I saw the smirk on his face, I knew. And I also realized that I was too late to stop it."
"Do I even wanna know?"
Dean is definitely terrified of that answer.
"Before I took his power…" Jack's voice is quiet now, subdued, "before we even confronted him, he'd woven a thread of fate, just in case he'd lose the upcoming fight." Jack's gaze becomes downright sorrowful. "I think he wanted a certain ending to your story. So he made sure it wouldn't be a happy one, no matter the outcome for him."
"He wanted one of us to die," Dean whispers. He covers his face with his hands and leans his elbows on his knees. "When he couldn't get us to off each other, he spun it so that one of us kicked the bucket anyway."
"Yeah…" Jack's answering whisper sounds like it's coming from miles away. "When I got to the barn, Sam had just left with those kids to get them home. He's coming back, since your body is wrapped up in a sheet."
Silence falls for a while, thick and tense. Oppressive. Dean tries to process the fact that, even with Chuck powerless, they were never truly free. Chuck still had the last laugh, still got his way, like the spoiled brat he is.
"I know I said I'd be hands-off," Jack's voice breaks through the ringing in his ears, "but I think that would be extremely unfair, considering all Chuck's put you through." Jack grasps his shoulder and Dean lifts his head to look at the young God. "And after all those times you've saved the world, you deserve a choice at the very least."
"What choice?" Dean croaks and internally curses himself for the way his voice fails him.
"I can't completely undo Chuck's handiwork," Jack says. He frowns. "But I can fix some of the damage, so that you would survive, make it so that you can return to your body. Nothing more than that. It would cause the thread to reattach to you and we'd be back to square one." Jack lets go of his shoulder. "You'd have a long and painful recovery, but you'd be free of Chuck's machinations."
"And door number two?" Dean asks, steadier now.
"You could stay here, if that's what you want."
Jack's answer is gentle. He looks at Dean with so much warmth in his blue eyes, that Dean feels the chill-like sensation that'd taken hold of him dissipate.
"If I… if I go back," Dean says, struggling to order his thoughts, "will Sam be alright? It won't affect him?"
"I believe that Chuck's original story ended with your death." Jack considers for a moment, then continues. "I think the rest of the anomalies were woven into the… epilogue, if you will, with Sam in mind. Whatever that entails, it's probably going to change and adapt, if you decide to return."
He pauses for a bit again, his gaze catching on the Impala. Jack knows how hard Dean took being Chuck's puppet, it's written all over his face.
"I won't promise that nothing bad will ever happen, Dean. I can only give you this one choice. One chance. Then we can take it one step at a time. And I'm determined to put right at least some of Chuck's wrongs."
Dean is suddenly reminded of the smug look on the former God's face every time he'd taunted them. He's sure the bastard has the same look now, convinced that he'd succeeded in writing the ending he'd always wanted. That he got his cake and got to eat it too.
Unable to sit still anymore, Dean stands up and starts pacing. Jack says nothing. Just gives him the time to process.
But Dean's made up his mind. He won't be Chuck's pawn anymore, that story is over. The rest of it, Dean will write himself, with no one else pulling the strings or deciding the plot. And he's determined to throw a wrench in every single one of Chuck's plot bunnies.
"I'll go back," Dean says, coming to a stop and plopping down in his chair. "If you say I can finally be free of that asshole, I'd like to try my hand at living my own life for a change."
"I'm glad you made that choice," Jack says, smile almost blinding now. He gestures around. "This'll all be waiting for you when the time comes."
"Thank you," Dean says. His voice catches and he turns to stare into the distance. "I don't deserve your kindness. I was a complete ass to you after…"
"It's okay, Dean," Jack cuts him off, puts a hand over one of Dean's. "You're part of my family and every family has its ups and downs."
He looks away for a second, takes a deep breath. Releases it.
"I know I hurt you," he continues, "and I'm sorry for that. But you and Sam gave me a chance when no other hunter would have. And when Chuck gave you the means to end me, you didn't do it." He squeezes Dean's fingers. "The two of you and Cas, my mom, Mary… you shaped me into the person I am today. And I'll forever be grateful for that."
"I was kinda the really grumpy uncle, huh?"
That's the understatement of the century. Dean chuckles, hoarse sounding, and he can hear the tears in it. They then grow quiet again, the chirping of the birds and the whistle of the breeze the only sounds surrounding them.
Dean uses the hand that's not in Jack's grasp to wipe his face. When his vision clears somewhat, Tessa's standing a few steps to Jack's left, smiling at the scene.
"Is it time?" Dean asks and gets a nod from both Jack and Tessa.
"I think it's safe to say," Jack murmurs as he stands up, releasing Dean's hand, "that, from now on, Chuck's hold over the course of your life is well and truly broken."
Hearing that, Dean stands too, a feeling of relief washing over him. His strings have been cut. He can move on his own. Finally, there's a real shot at free will. Dean is determined to take it and, along the way, mess up any other threads Chuck's woven into the future that awaits him. Just before he takes Tessa's hand again, he addresses Jack once more.
"Can you tell Cas…" his voice catches on the name and he clears his throat. "That I'm sorry for what happened… Tell him that I'll try to see myself the way he did. That I'll try to let myself be happy. But I want him to be happy too. Will you… will you tell him that for me?"
"I will," Jack says. "Although, being hands-off means that angels won't be allowed to interfere in human affairs as much, maybe someday, he can visit."
"That'd be nice," Dean says, struggling to swallow what feels like a huge lump stuck in his throat. "He's still my best friend and… I never told him how much that means to me."
"He knows, Dean. But I'll make sure to relay your words."
Dean nods and turns back to Tessa, takes her hand. He gives her a shaky smile, which she mirrors.
"Thanks again, kid," he says, looks to Jack one last time.
The latter waves, then blinks away from the porch of the roadhouse. Tessa's grip tightens infinitesimally. Dean looks at her and is reminded of their past interactions. Someone else whose death he'd felt guilty about.
"Are you ready?" she asks.
"Yeah," Dean whispers, straightens his back and squares his shoulders.
He closes his eyes as everything starts to get blurry. The roadhouse fades away. There's a pull in his chest, a chill running along his spine. The feeling of returning to his body crashes into him like a cold ocean wave. Then the agony, like fire, spreads from his back to… everywhere.
Dean chokes on his first breath. There's pain, blinding pain, for a few seconds. Followed by the welcome release of darkness as he passes out.
Three weeks earlier, Earth time
Jo had long ago gotten used to the quiet loneliness of the cold and dark cell. The only light source was a grate in the ceiling of the chamber, through which hellfire shone to illuminate the space around her. Not much, but better than utter darkness.
She squints as shuffling reaches her ears. It's coming from the other side of the solid iron door and she tenses, expecting her tormentor's return. The demon hadn't paid her a visit in a very long time. Jo prepares herself as best she can for whatever new kind of torture he's cooked up.
It's always the same kind of schedule. He sometimes finds new ways to hurt her and it takes what feels like an eternity for him to get bored. Then he leaves her in solitude for ages, comes back when she least expects it and starts again. She never knows what he'll come up with, whether it's going to be something new or a repeat of the previous session. It's never anything physical, though.
When he'd first locked her in that dungeon—so deep down that the screams from the other souls couldn't even be heard—he'd promised Jo he would never touch her. Not directly. She was going to be his experiment. What he did, though, was show her others being tortured.
First, it was family. Her mom and dad. Then Ash. Friends, like Bobby and Sam. Dean. The latter had, for some reason, been the worst. It'd felt realistic in a way the other ones hadn't. And she hadn't been allowed to look away.
She'd realized that it was all an illusion when Osiris had pulled her out for that farce of a trial. Dean was obviously still alive by that point. Which meant that everything else was also not real. She'd promised herself then that she wouldn't give in, no matter how dead set on breaking her the demon was.
Afterward, he'd changed tactics. She'd fallen for it the first few times when Dean had suddenly come to her rescue. He'd come to get her out. Until they'd gotten caught and she'd had to watch him die. Whether it was demons or hellhounds, they'd always been found out and stopped. Another illusion. She'd been naive enough to think that she could escape somehow.
Jo shakes herself out of the unpleasant memories when the shuffling fades. Quiet settles once more, but she doesn't relax. When nothing happens after another long stretch of time, Jo frowns. This has never happened before. She loosens up. Maybe, just maybe, she'd imagined the sound.
Just as Jo begins to think that her strung out mind is starting to crack, the unmistakable sound of slow footfalls reaches her ears again. Not her jailer, they're too light. A woman, then, which is absolutely no comfort. The demon had never sent anyone in his place. Or even brought another along.
Jo rises from the corner she's been sitting in. The sound of someone approaching gets louder with each step. They stop just outside the door and it's quiet for a few moments.
She remembers the demon mentioning, ages ago, that the cell door cannot be opened by anyone but him. Not even by angels. Nobody would find her so far down in Hell.
After a few beats, a light starts shining through the cracks around the door, outlining it in an ethereal glow. The lock clicks and the door opens. A woman, slightly taller than Jo, steps through. Jo takes in her black hair and blue eyes, the combination of black leather jacket with gray shirt and jeans, and the slender scythe in her left hand. A reaper, by the looks of it.
"Hi," she says, smiling. Jo doesn't move from her spot. "My name's Tessa. Are you Jo Harvelle, by any chance?"
"Yeah." Jo's voice catches and it makes her cough. Tessa's smile grows sad and Jo's shoulders slump a bit. "You're a little late to the party."
"I know." Tessa bangs the shaft of her weapon against the floor and the scythe disappears. "We had a hard time finding you. But you definitely don't belong here."
Jo merely nods, still not trusting that this isn't some sort of trick. Tessa moves a few steps closer. When the reaper extends a hand to her, Jo barely manages not to flinch.
"I swear this isn't a trick," Tessa says, as if reading her mind. "I'm here to get you out. Like I said, this isn't where you belong."
Jo still can't believe this is real, but gathers the resolve to take a step towards the reaper. Then another. And another. When she's close enough, she clasps Tessa's outstretched hand.
The cell blinks away and, next thing she knows, Jo finds herself in a huge, vaulted space. Towering pillars and statues on either side line the walls of what seems to be Hell's throne room.
On the other side of the chamber, there's a high-backed chair occupied by a slender, red-headed woman. In front of her—in a smaller chair—sits a young man. He looks so out of place with his white jacket and jeans, that Jo doesn't even notice she's moving along with Tessa to get closer to the pair.
A few feet from the dais, they stop. The man turns to face Jo with an almost blinding smile.
"Hello!" he greets.
He stands up and waves, then puts a hand on Jo's right shoulder. Warmth spreads from the point of contact. For so long she'd been cold, been alone, that she'd forgotten what it's like to feel.
"I'm Jack. This is Rowena." He points to the red-head. "You were missing from Heaven, so we came looking. Took us a while to find you."
"So Tessa told me," Jo says. "That… that demon… the one who locked me up, he said no one would find me."
"That's because it wasn't him who sealed the door," Rowena says, speaking for the first time. "We think it was God himself who trapped you there and put that bastard in charge of you."
"God?" That bit of information confuses Jo. "Why would he do that?"
"He wasn't a very nice person," Jack says. "He's powerless now, but we think that he had some plans when it came to you."
He steers her, then, towards the chair he'd vacated and Jo doesn't resist. Sits down, stunned.
"When I was reorganizing Heaven," Jack continues, "your mom came to see me. She said you two died together, but only she made it up there." He takes a seat on the dais, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Do you know who the demon is? The one who kept you imprisoned?"
"No," Jo says. She rubs her face. "He never told me his name. Came alone every time. But he always wore the same face. Thin guy, salt-and-pepper hair. Had blue eyes."
"Don't worry, dearie," Rowena says. She pats her on the back and Jo tries to smile. "We'll find him and I'll personally disembowel the bastard."
Jo does her best not to show that she would, very much, enjoy being the one to do that instead. Rowena seems to be the one in charge around here. Jo wonders what she'd missed while she'd been locked away. What had happened to the world—to Heaven and Hell—that so much had changed and both have new faces.
When Jo looks around again, scans the room from her spot, she notices that Tessa's gone. She peers at the other two, studies them for a minute. And it strikes her how much they're at opposite ends of the spectrum of light and dark.
"Who exactly are you guys?"
"Rowena here is the Queen of Hell," Jack says. He looks at the other woman fondly, as if she's a friend. "She sacrificed herself to close up Hell after Chuck—the former God—ripped it open and nearly destroyed everything in the process."
Okay, that was not what Jo expected. The more she hears about that guy, though, the more she's convinced that he's a complete douchebag.
"I was a nephilim at first, Lucifer's son. He's dead, by the way." He says that as though it's no big deal. "I took Chuck's power when he attempted to end it all because Sam and Dean wouldn't play his game. And I've been trying to put things right ever since."
Jo's mouth drops open as she realizes that she's actually talking to the new God. The old one locked her up and his successor, practically his grandson, freed her. As if her existence hadn't been weird enough. It's surreal. Then, Jack's words catch up with her and she nearly falls out of the chair.
"Sam and Dean?" Jo asks in a shaky whisper. "As in Sam and Dean… Winchester? They're alive?"
She doesn't dare hope. But she still hears a note of it in her voice as it—once again—catches. On the second name. Her no longer existing heart seems to give it its best shot to beat to the rhythm of Dean's alive.
"Yes," Jack says. "They're the ones who raised me, together with Cas."
Jo almost chokes, as much as that's possible when having no body. Jack looks like he's in his early twenties. If the Winchester brothers are still alive, if they raised Jack…
"How long have I been... gone?" Jo covers her face in her hands, not sure she really wants to know.
"About eleven years," Jack's answer makes Jo's head snap back up. "Because of my... parentage, I grew up really fast, physically. I'm not as old as I look." He cocks his head to the side, as if thinking. "I'm just a little over three years old, technically."
"Oh..."
Jo is both astonished at how that's possible, and relieved that she hadn't spent all that long in that cell. At least in Earth time. Even though it'd felt like an eternity.
Tessa reappears before she can say anything else and Jo startles so badly, that she almost falls out of her chair again. The reaper pats her on the shoulder and murmurs a quiet apology.
"I found two of your rebel demons," Tessa announces with a sideways glance at Jo. "They've convinced a coven of witches to work with them. I don't precisely know why," she casts Jo another glance, "but they've used a restoration spell to rebuild Jo's body. I think they want to use it as a vessel of sorts, I suspect for someone else. Another soul."
"They want to use my body as a meat suit?" Jo says, feeling a jolt of fury for the first time in ages.
"Not if I stop them," Rowena mumbles, frowning, and vanishes. She's back in seconds. "Bollocks! I can't get past whatever warding they've put up."
Jack doesn't say anything, as the Queen of Hell and the reaper converse in a hushed tone. He seems to think deeply and his eyes glow gold for a bit. As he turns to Jo, there is a pensive look on his face, but also—for the first time—a touch of uncertainty.
"I think," he says, "that this is part of Chuck's plan for you. For whatever reason, he wanted someone else to walk the Earth wearing your skin."
"Can you stop them?" Jo asks, a tight lid on her emotions seeming harder with each second.
"I could." Jack tilts his head, as if weighing several options. "But, as I said, I'm trying to right some of Chuck's wrongs. And you died way too young. I can give you the choice to return to your newly restored body. That way, if there's a soul in it, it can't be used as a vessel. Not the way they want to."
"What's the other option?"
Jo swallows dryly. It feels like a lump has formed in her throat and it won't let her breathe. She knows she doesn't need to. She's dead. But her soul seems stuck trying to behave like she's still corporeal. And this offer she's given… This is too good to be true.
"You can come with me to Heaven," he says. Rowena and Tessa are still having a quiet conversation just a few feet away, but Jo is focused only on Jack. "You died sacrificing yourself for the good of mankind. That sort of deed should grant you a place with your loved ones in Paradise." He reaches out and squeezes Jo's shoulder reassuringly. "But, just this once, I'll make an exception and let you choose for yourself."
Jo feels rooted to the spot. On the one hand, she could have peace, join her mom and dad in Heaven. After all the pain and loneliness she'd been subjected to for so long by that damn demon, she could do with a break. But on the other hand, who knows what evil those witches, and the demons they work with, intend to shove into a body that would look like her. The damage that could do to anyone who once knew her, those still alive…
Jo's suddenly reminded of that instance so long ago, when Osiris used her against Dean. She'd almost been forced to kill someone she cared about deeply. Jo can't let that happen again, no matter who those assholes intend to go after. She makes up her mind, then.
"I choose to go back," Jo says, clenching her fists, another bout of anger surging through her. "I don't want some hell spawn to prance around in my meat suit. Not if I can stop it." She pauses for a moment, re-centering herself. "If this was Chuck's plan, I'm more than happy to throw a wrench in it."
"Good," Jack says and claps his hands.
He turns and gently nudges Tessa's shoulder, whispering something in her ear. Jo feels a shiver of anticipation run through her, so she wraps her arms around her stomach. Hugs herself like she'd done countless times before, when she'd felt scared or overwhelmed.
Soon as the plans are made, Tessa extends a hand for Jo to take. It's a monumental effort on Jo's part to grasp the other woman's fingers in her own. She can't help it. During her stay in Hell, Jo'd only been touched by the demon, to taunt her, or by the illusions he'd conjured. Always intended to hurt. And it did. Even if the damage was mental, it still hurt. Far more than any cut or bruise he could have possibly inflicted.
Only time it wasn't like that, was that time with Osiris. And even then, it'd still been painful, because she'd been forced to try to kill one of her few friends.
But Jo fights the urge to pull her hand back. Tessa smiles, seeming to understand. Then, in a blink, the throne room fades away.
When their surroundings come back into focus, Jo realizes that they're in what seems to be a cabin. Tessa still holds tight to her hand, which makes Jo feel calmer about the situation.
Jo looks around and notices that there are candles all around the room. And they're all lit. There's also a big bathtub in the middle of the space, surrounded by a number of people. The witches, Jo suspects. They're chanting. Their leader seems to be a young blond girl, who doesn't look older than mid twenties.
"They can't see us," Tessa says.
Jo's relieved. But she tries not to look in the tub. She knows—by instinct—what's in there, having read about a similar ritual in her dad's journal years ago. In her time hunting with her mom, she'd even seen a couple of failed attempts.
The chanting reaches a crescendo. It's not Latin, nor Greek. Sounds more like Sumerian, but Jo's not sure. Above the water in the tub, a silvery mist gathers. The witches don't give any indication of having noticed it. Only three of them appear to have seen it, and they're the only ones not partaking in the chorus of the spell's words. Jo realizes that they're dressed differently too.
"They're demons," Tessa says then, having apparently noticed Jo's stare. The reaper pulls Jo closer to the tub and waves her hand above the water. The silvery mist dissipates with an enraged howl. Jo winces at the high pitch.
"It's almost time. You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Jo says, trying her hardest not to look at the body submerged in the liquid.
Tessa mumbles something that sounds vaguely like Latin. Or that other language. Jo can't tell. The next instant the reaper places her hand in the center of Jo's chest. There's a tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach. Jo gasps. And finds herself with a mouthful of fragrant water.
Flailing, she grabs onto the edge of the bathtub and pulls herself up. Takes her first real breath in ages. Jo's soaking wet and shaking, but alive. She's alive again.
There's water in her eyes, but Jo can still discern the flurry of movement. She blinks to clear her eyesight, but when it does, there's only Tessa and her. The others have vanished. The stench of sulfur hits her nose, then, and Jo gags.
Tessa helps her out of the tub. She wraps a long sort of robe around Jo's frame just as the door to the cabin bursts open. Rowena steps over the threshold, followed by Jack and a few others. Some of Rowena's demons, probably.
"Bollocks!" The Queen of Hell looks very pissed. "Search the whole area! I want those witches bound and at my feet."
The demons hurry to obey their leader's orders. Jack looks around, a frown fixed upon his face.
"They must have felt us when I took down their wards," he says. He runs a finger along the side of the bathtub. "They seem to have used a very old spell. I can still feel it in the air."
"Yes," Rowena replies, rubbing her forehead. "A very powerful ancient one. I've only ever found it in the Book of the Damned." She pauses and looks Jo up and down. "It's also mentioned in the Black Grimoire."
"Doesn't that one require a sacrifice?" Tessa asks.
That gets Jo's attention away from studying her hands. She still feels like she's in a trance, like none of this is real. Any moment now, she's convinced that she'll wake up from a dream. Or that her jailer will snap his fingers and it'll all turn out to have been an illusion. But when none of that happens, Jo swallows her fear and balls her fists.
"What kind of sacrifice?" she pipes up, before Rowena has time to answer.
Figures that there would be a price for coming back from the dead. These sorts of things are never that easy. And never free.
"It depends on how much needs to be restored," Rowena says. She holds out her hands, palms up, and beckons Jo to place her own in them. "Let me see, dear."
Jo does as she's told. At the contact of skin to skin, Jo closes her eyes. Rowena's hands are surprisingly warm. Heat slowly spreads through Jo's entire body, all the way to her toes. Rowena then let's out a harsh breath.
"Those bitches!" she hisses. "Those cowards!"
Jo involuntarily squeezes the other woman's hands at that, but Rowena doesn't seem to mind. Or notice.
"What's wrong?" Jo asks uneasiness gripping her again.
"I'm so sorry, dearie," Rowena says, tone gentler now. "I'm angry at this coven's spell-work." She bites her bottom lip briefly then continues. "They took the price from your body for the magic they used. Took away your ability to bear children."
At hearing that Jo's shoulders slump. Frankly she'd expected something worse. Rowena, though, seems to take her reaction the wrong way, because she puts a palm to Jo's cheek in a soothing gesture.
"It's okay," Jo says. "It could have been way worse, as far as I'm concerned."
"I can look for a way to reverse that," Rowena says.
"No, it's fine." Jo looks away briefly, then fixes the Queen of Hell with a sad smile. "I don't want to tempt fate. And besides..." her voice catches and she has to clear her throat, "besides I don't think I'll be ready for kids anytime soon."
Rowena gives Jo's hand another tight squeeze and runs the thumb of her other hand over the apple of Jo's cheek.
"Very well," she concedes and steps back. "But if you ever change your mind, I'm willing to help you. Alright?"
Jo nods, again surprized by the woman's kindness.
"Thank you," she says.
The rumble of a car engine makes them all turn to the open door. It's not very loud, but enough to identify the source. The headlights illuminate the front of the cabin, making Jo squint when she tries to make out what model of car it is. All she can tell is that it's some sort of SUV.
Can't be more demons, Jo thinks. They wouldn't need a car to get around. Civilians stumbling into a resurrection ritual sounds like a recipe for disaster, under normal circumstances. Jo isn't worried, though. She's got God, Death and the Queen of Hell with her, so the chances of something going sideways are very slim. At least, she hopes so.
Jack's eyes narrow as he peers out through the doorway, as if he can see—or hear—whoever is behind the wheel of the car. He can probably do both. The gesture, and the way he moves his head, reminds Jo of Cas so much. It's almost identical. The engine then cuts off, the headlights blinking out along with it.
"I think they're hunters," Jack says.
Jo's first thought jumps to Sam and Dean. But, unless the Impala got wrecked sometime during the last decade, that seems highly unlikely. It would be one hell of a coincidence. Jack turns to her, then.
"Do you know Alan and Jim Montgomery?" he asks, doing that head tilt again.
"Yeah, I do," Jo says. She frowns. "Although last I saw them, Jim was about... ten years old. They're family friends."
Two car doors open and slam shut in rapid succession. Two men, flashlights in hand, make their way up the path to the cabin. They're too far away to see their faces, but Jo recognizes one of them by his gait. And by the sheer bulk. Alan is a big, solid man. Not as tall as Dean, but wider than him. Stocky like a weightlifter.
"So you trust them?"
When she nods, Jack's appraising expression dissipates. He smiles.
"Good," he says. "I'll go talk to them."
In a blink Jack's outside. Jo can hear him talking to the newcomers, his tone calm. Their voices move away a bit, back towards the car, but they don't get in. The sound of their conversation still carries, even though it's unintelligible. No one's shooting, so that's a good sign. Means Jack's talk is being taken well.
Jo suddenly feels drained, bone tired. She looks around, and spots a stool to the left of a boarded up window. Goes to sit in it.
It's such a weird coincidence that Alan and Jim are the ones to find this place. They must have been on the trail of that coven. Jo wonders what else the witches did to end up on a hunter's radar. But that thought brings about a horrible realization that makes Jo shiver uncomfortably. If things had gone according to the coven's plan, Alan and his son would have come across someone else wearing her skin.
That must have been the whole point of restoring her body. Why else do it? The coven and, by extension, the demons wanted one of their own behind enemy lines. Some other soul to walk bearing her image, tricking those who'd known Jo into trusting them. Who knows how much damage they could have done.
If nothing else comes of her second chance, at least those bastards can never hurt her friends. Not while wearing her face. It's such a relief, that Jo feels like crying for joy.
"Are you alright, dear?"
Jo hadn't even heard Rowena approach her. She starts, but manages to keep her seat. Letting loose a short, breathy laugh, Jo nods.
"I'm getting there," she says.
Rowena studies her face for a few seconds. Jo feels a bit awkward, but bears it. The older woman seems nice, despite being the Queen of Hell, and Jack trusts her.
"How old were you when you passed?" Rowena asks, her tone gentle.
"Twenty-four," Jo says. Frowns. "Why?"
"I've been studying the magic they used," Rowena continues, "and sensed that they also performed an aging spell. I believe that they wanted you to look like you'd never died at all."
"Like I survived and aged naturally?"
"Yes." She pauses and looks down, towards Jo's stomach. "Tessa told me that they left visible scars on your body. To make it look like you'd healed."
Jo says nothing to that. Simply parts the robe and looks down, at the same time running her fingers along her left side. The scars are faint and thin, not all that different from what she remembers of the wound. They do have a reddish hue. There's no pain, though. For all intents and purposes, it looks like she survived her injuries. Healed and lived on.
"Maybe Jack can heal those for you," Tessa says as she joins them.
"I'd rather he didn't." Jo pulls the robe tightly around her body again. "I think it'll be easier for me to come to terms with what happened. Tangible proof that it's real."
"Alright," Rowena says. "But if you do change your mind about regaining what they took from you, remember I'm more than happy to help find a way to fix it."
Jo feels a tear slip down her face. It's good someone like Rowena is in charge of Hell. She's a fair ruler, which is an improvement from the previous one.
"Thank you," she says, looking at both women.
"Don't worry about it, dear."
The voices from outside grow louder then. Jo mentally prepares herself. It's been ages since she'd seen another living, breathing human. Ever since the thing with Osiris. And Dean. She kicks that image to the back of her mind. Jo can't think of him right now.
Jim is the first to come through the door. Alan's right on his heels and Jack follows behind him. The two look simultaneously familiar, and not. Alan's aged, obviously, but is still as wide as a damn bear. He pales, white as a sheet, when his eyes look her up and down.
Jim, though, is a whole other story. The only familiar things about him are his curls, light brown skin and blue eyes. He'd barely been about a decade old when Jo'd last seen him, just a few months before she died. Now, in front of her stands a fully grown man.
"I can't believe my eyes," Alan says. He looks transfixed. "Hazel's gonna be so happy to see you again." He pauses, draws a breath. "We were all heartbroken when we heard about you and Ellen."
Jo doesn't know how to respond, but nods nonetheless. She's relieved that at least some of the people she'd known are still alive.
"You remember us, don't you?" Jim whispers, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Yeah, I do," she says, voice breaking. She clears her throat. "It's been a while, though, so I don't think I'd have recognized you. Last I saw you, you were the one looking up at me." Jo grins. "Guess it's going to be the other way around from now on."
That gets a chuckle out of everyone, even Tessa. Jo keeps a tight lid on her emotions. Deflects by joking and making light of the situation, even though everything seems so surreal.
God, the Queen of Hell and the Grim Reaper in a room with three hunters, one of them resurrected, is really something else. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, which is hilarious.
After a few more words are exchanged, things explained, Rowena and Tessa depart. The former has a rebellion to deal with, after all. She promises to have some of her forces look out for Jo. Especially since there's a real possibility that her adversaries would want to come for her.
Jo thanks her again, for everything. The two say their goodbyes and vanish into thin air. Jack lingers for a while longer.
"You can come stay with us, if you want," Alan tells Jo after a bit. "We'd love to have you around for as long as you'd like."
"Yeah, mom would love that too," Jim pipes up.
"Y'know what?" Jo says, not even giving it a second thought. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Got nowhere else to go to, anyway."
"Well then," says Jack, "I'll leave you guys to it." He turns to Jo with a soft smile. "Before I go, is there something you'd like me to tell your parents?"
Jo thinks for a moment. She'd love to see her dad again. She misses him dearly. Her mom too. But she wants this second chance she's been given. Wants to live. Not just to spite the former God for locking her away.
She's always wanted to be a hunter and now she gets to continue doing that. So she settles on relaying a message to them, through Jack.
"Tell them I love them," she says, drawing the robe she's wearing tighter around her midriff, hugging herself. "So, so much. Tell them that I'll do my damned best to make them proud and try to be happy. And I'll see them when my time comes."
"I'll tell them," Jack says, "although I'm sure they're already proud of you." He puts a hand on one of her shoulders and squeezes lightly, smiling again. "Take care of yourself, Jo. You too Alan, Jim."
Then he's gone with a nod to the other two hunters, and a wave. There's a poignant silence in the cabin now. Only their breathing disturbs the quiet and Jo is sure that a pin dropping to the floor would sound as loud as a gunshot.
This is a new beginning for her. The first step into the rest of her life, after she thought—for so long, she'd lost count—that she would never have the chance. And, now that she can take that step, Jo's not scared. Not anymore.
"We should get going," Alan finally breaks the silence. "We have a motel room just outside the closest town. You can get cleaned up there and we'll find you a change of clothes."
Jo shakes herself out of her thoughts and they set out to the car. Jim helps her out when the terrain becomes a little rough. She's barefoot and it only now registers. It's going to take a while to get used to being alive again, after all this time.
But she's free now. And with each step she takes, it gets easier. She can do this. Screw Chuck and whatever plans he'd had. Jo is determined to give that asshole the middle finger in every way she can. Alan starts the car and they're off.
Some of the candles continue burning in the cabin even after the hunters leave. A wiry man materializes right next to the old bathtub the witches had used for the spell. He looks around and frowns.
It hadn't exactly gone to plan. No one was supposed to find Joanna Harvelle in the dungeon she'd been confined to. Not to mention that not even angels—of any order—should have been able to open the door. God himself had made sure of that.
He'd obviously not taken Death into consideration. The Grim Reaper must be on a whole other level of power. Unfortunate.
Nevertheless, the first part he and his brethren were working on had been a success. The ritual is still on track. Despite the soul not being the one they'd wanted in the restored body.
"Ah, never mind," he mumbles.
He'd been the one to come up with the idea of putting another soul in Joanna's body. The hunters who'd known her—or had known of her—would have welcomed her with open arms. And then, they'd have died. A form of poetic justice.
A shame, really, that it hadn't worked out. But the important part of the ritual had still been successful. He can feel it in the air.
He smiles. Waving his hand in a wide arc, he causes the whole floor to catch fire. Soon there will be nothing left of the structure. Nothing to attest to the sequence of events that have unfolded tonight. Maybe the metal bathtub will survive, yet he doesn't really care. The next second, he's gone.