A/Ns: Okay, I'm a liiiiitle late on that whole Sunday posting thing, but it's a nice long chapter this time. I think I'm going to keep the two-week posting chapter for a while longer, but in the meantime, all the next chapters are also pretty long (almost two chapters long, each), so that should balance it out a bit!

Chapter Warnings: Andy and Sam actually get to do things this chapter! Jo's playing hide-n-seek, where she neither gets to choose her hiding spot nor be the seeker, Dean's having some more chats he really doesn't want to have, Andy's really rocking the whole mind trick thing (enough so that this Author is gonna have to kick the poor kid out of the Scooby Gang soon if only so he's not a magical solution to *everything*), and Jo's a badass, but you all already knew that, didn't you. Oh, and Tom's up to terrible, no good, dirty rotten things that includes a not-really-cliffhanger-but-also-yeah-kind-of-a-cliffhanger.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 35

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean ran. His feet hit the decades old cement hard, scattering dust and the dregs of city drainage as he pounded past. Meter after meter of tunnel flew by until he could see the cross section ahead and the chamber that lay just beyond.

"Jo!"

The hunter burst into the circular room, but it was silent. Empty. He spun, checking each of the metal-covered slots in the walls, even when he already knew he wouldn't find her. Because they'd change things – he'd changed things – and that crap never came without god damn consequences.

"Jo?"

The cry echoed in the empty space, and Dean knew he'd have to head back to the surface. He had to regroup with Sam and come up with a plan to find her.

They would find her.

-o-o-o-

Persephone left the Prophet's house at precisely six pm, as she did every day, this time to Chuck's teasing smile and a promise of Jo Harvelle's fate when she returned in the morning. Unlike all the other days, however, it would seem she would not be completing the mile and a half walk back to the new motel the demons had set her up in. Tom was leaning against a car seven blocks away from Chuck Shurley's residence, watching Persephone approach on foot.

Her demon babysitter wasted no time with his usual pretentious preamble. "Where are the Winchesters now?"

She eyed him, her distaste for her personal guard no secret. "Philadelphia."

"Specifics, Princess," Tom demanded with a raised, unimpressed brow.

"What do you want, demon?" she spat in reply, shouldering the purse he'd provided her on day one of this ruse. "The Prophet's writing is no more specific than that. The Winchesters are in Philadelphia."

He stared at her, likely to assess whether or not he believed her. Not that she cared, either way. She just so happened to be telling the truth, and whether this demon believed her or not was not her problem. Personally she hoped he didn't, just to tick him off all the more.

"You know, if you're lying to me, Azazel is going to hear about it."

Persephone hardly appeared affected by the threat, even if Tom knew she took the yellow-eyed demon a lot more seriously than she took him. She crossed her arms and stared her babysitter down. "Does your daddy fight all your battles for you, then?"

Tom's returning chuckle was dangerous, but he shook his head and opened the driver's side door even as he shoved off the side of the car.

"Get in." The demon climbed in without looking at her, starting up the engine immediately. Persephone glanced over her shoulder, the way of the Prophet's house, and Tom rolled his eyes. He jabbed one finger in a downward motion, gesturing to the passenger seat. "In, Princess."

He hardly let her close the door before he was pulling away.

-o-o-o-

Dean's phone was ringing by the time he made it to the top of the ladder. Well before Sam's hand appeared in front of his face to help haul him the last foot to the surface. Dean didn't even bother fishing the thing out of his pocket. It was surely Ellen; they'd missed their check-in. Didn't matter now, anyway; she'd be on the first flight out whether he answered it or not. Right now he didn't really have the time or emotional bandwidth to tell the woman he'd lost her daughter a second time.

"Where's Jo?" Sam asked, glancing back down the hatch when Dean was the only one to come up.

"He got her," Dean answered, already on the move. He pushed past a Andy as the kid hopped down from the cab of the cement truck they'd clearly stolen.

"What?" Sam barked, even as Andy picked up on the obvious tension and not-rightness.

"What's going on?" he asked, worry evident in his voice as Sam pushed past him as well. Dean was heading back for the apartments, not quite running but certainly not taking his sweet time. Andy glanced between the retreating brothers and the open sewer entrance. "Where's Jo?"

When it was clear he wasn't going to get an answer, he took off after them.

"Dean, talk to me." The younger Winchester caught up pretty quickly, his stride much longer. The three, Andy running a bit behind (he was considerably shorter than the two giants he now hung out with), made it back to the apartment to the distant sound of sirens. The woman they'd rescued – Teresa of 2F – must have made it to the surface before Sam and Andy showed up in their borrowed truck, and gone screaming to the nearest phone to call the cops.

They so did not have time for more crap.

"We got the girl out, but Jo was- we were...arguing. We weren't paying attention. It was stupid." Dean didn't pause as he talked, running through the foyer and hallway to the elevator, punching the call button way harder than was necessary. He should have shoved Jo up that ladder. Damnit, he'd spent the last six hours lecturing her about amateur hour and then had been no better himself. "Holmes must have realized we raided his victim collection. He came after us, in the tunnels. Ripped Jo right out of my arms."

The elevator doors opened with a ping right as Dean was considering just booking it up the stairs. Andy finally caught up to the two of them, bracing himself on the wall as he panted from the impromptu sprint. Sam grabbed his arm and hauled him into the small elevator for a devastatingly slow climb. Thank god there wasn't elevator music, at least.

"So what's the plan?" Sam fidgeted beside his brother, worry clear in his eyes, while Andy caught his breath.

"If she's not in the basement, then- then maybe she's in the walls." Dean didn't have a clue how much weight that idea actually held, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Holmes traveled through the walls, and that's where he'd grabbed her the first time. If his torture chamber was out, then the walls were all that was left.

Dean prayed that wasn't just false hope talking, because he didn't have a plan B.

"Then we need sledgehammers and crowbars." Sam announced with a nod, and Dean took comfort in his brother's own assuredness. The elevator doors pinged open and Dean rushed out, Sam behind him, still tugging Andy along, the poor kid. Lucky for them, with Dean's foreknowledge of Holmes' liking of the walls, they'd hauled all that stuff up from the Impala when they'd first arrived.

Inside the apartment, they divvied up the gear (after Dean almost took the door off its hinges bursting through it). Sam and Dean took a sledgehammer each, Andy a crowbar, and they were back in the hallway within minutes. Splitting up made the most sense, and the three barely even had to discuss it. Dean would take the top three floors, Sam and Andy the bottom. They didn't waste time on details, the younger men hitting the stairs while Dean punched the button to call the elevator once more.

They would find her, he told himself. He said it again and again as he waited for the damn slowest car on the planet. They'd find her. They had to.

-o-o-o-

It was dark and dusty and very, very cramped. When Jo came back to, she found herself upright, unbound but pinned so tightly between four paneled structures that she could barely move. The initial panic over being trapped wasted several precious minutes and was worsened by the fact that each frantic breath expanded her lungs beyond what there was physical room for. Jo berated herself to calm the hell down until she was finally able to slow her breathing enough to work within the confines of her surroundings.

Wherever she was, it was dark. Almost too dark to make out details, but as her eyes slowly adjusted, she could see just enough of the pipes on either side of her and the ribbed wood inches in front of her to realize she was inside a wall.

'Oh god,' she thought, leaning her head back against the hard surface behind her, trying to take in a deep breath. She was shaking. 'Dean said he got me in the walls. Shit, I am so screwed.'

Jo took several more deep, calming breaths and reminded herself not to panic. Panicking would only make it worse, and she didn't have the time to waste. As her pulse slowed down, ever so much, her hunter instincts kicked back in, and she started looking around for anything she could use. Jo didn't know how the ghost even got her wedged into the small spot she was currently stuck in. There was no way she would be able to get out. The space between the two sets of pipes holding her up was barely enough for her breadth-wise, and the distance between them and the wall she was facing was only a couple of inches. No way she'd be able to squeeze past, even if she could wedge herself free.

The young hunter tried to shift her weight to free an arm. Her dad's hunting knife was in her right boot. If she could somehow shimmy down enough to get it, she might be able to dig her way through the wall directly in front of her. It felt like brick at her back, though she couldn't be sure, so it was more likely that she was facing the interior of the building and had a prayer of pushing her way through. She just needed room to work.

The first three attempts were utterly futile. There just wasn't room to bend her knees or her back, whether it was lifting her leg up or crouching down. She couldn't reach the knife. Jo bit back tears, panic and desperation warring inside.

'Pathetic,' she snipped at herself. 'Crying isn't going to get you out of this.'

It didn't stop the water from gathering in her eyes, but it did rally her for a fourth and fifth attempt. They were equally fruitless, and she let out a low-pitched scream of frustration and helplessness. She leaned forward enough to press her forehead to the dusty, cobwebbed wall. Even that she could barely do in the small space.

"Jo!"

The hunter picked her head up off the wall at the distant, muffled call. But it had definitely been there; someone was calling her name. When it sounded off again, a voice she now recognized, Jo practically jumped up and down – or she would have, had she the room.

"Sam!" She screamed it at the top of her lungs, stomping her feet and hitting the walls and pipes where she could. Anything to make a racket. "Here! I'm here!"

"Jo!" His voice was much closer now, right through the wall, and she sobbed in relief. She could hear him in the hall, and someone else too. Probably the kid, since she didn't hear Dean's voice. "Hold on, Jo, we're gonna get you out of there!"

There was more muffled chatter and then knocking on the wall. He was looking for studs. And probably her, too. So she knocked back to give Sam a clear idea of where she was. If they were going to punch through, she really didn't want it to be directly in front of her, with no more than three inches between the wall and her stomach.

His knocks moved further to her right, by about a foot, and then silenced. The quiet only lasted a second (though it stretched on for an eternity), before a crash shattered the wall. Jo turned her head to the side, eyes screwed up tight as dust flew about in the small space. Drywall and wood splintered as a sledgehammer ripped into the thin gap between the interior and exterior wall. As Sam pulled the tool away, light filled her prison, and Jo gasped at the illusion of free air, even if it was dust-filled and choking.

"We're coming, Jo!" was the hurried response to her coughing fit. The sledgehammer hit again and again, widening the hole until Sam could stick his mop of brown hair through. He turned his head immediately to the left, and looked about as relieved to spot her as she was to see him. "Hang on, I need to widen the hole."

"I'm trapped," she answered back, practically breathless but trying to keep it together. "I can't move; you're going to have to get in front of me."

Sam nodded and pulled his head back, leaving her alone in the walls once more. He kept at the hole, widening it with every swing. After a half dozen hits, she heard him talking to Andy, and the next swing was from a crowbar, latching onto the side of the gap and pulling. Wood splintered and drywall cracked. A foot long chunk of wall came clean off in her direction. Just a few more and she'd be free.

Jo kept her breathing as even as she could in the dust, her panic just barely under wraps. They were coming for her, they were right there. Still, she kept scanning the darkness beyond the hole of light, where the skinny tunnel continued down the length of the building. She couldn't see much through the dust and debris, but she didn't take her eyes off that darkness for fear of Holmes' dark, soulless eyes in the dark. Dean had been right there too, back in the sewers, and it hadn't mattered. She knew Sam was doing everything he could to get her out as fast as possible, but still Jo urged him on in her head. Their murderous ghost could be back at any minute.

Sam broke through after four minutes, pulling free the largest chunk of wall yet. It was enough, and strong arms pushed into the gap, grabbed either side of Jo, and hauled her out of the wall. She stumbled as she hit the floor of the hallway, but Sam had her, holding her upright as she found her legs.

Andy stood slightly behind them, hovering but clearly uncertain of his place in it. He held a sledgehammer loosely in one hand, and when a door opened down the hallway he turned to it and quickly and succinctly reassured the resident.

"Just fixing a leaking pipe, nothing to worry about. Go on back inside. Finish that latest episode of Oprah; it's a good one!"

The older man nodded, concern bleeding out into a blank calmness that was unnerving, before turning back into the apartment and shutting the door. Jo got the feeling the kid had been managing damage control like that for some time. It was the kind of thing, the obedient way the residents of the building just turned back to their homes – and thank god it was a weekday, with less folk at home – that Jo might have picked up on, were her mind not currently full-handed with trauma and relief. Still, amateur or not, Jo was a hunter, and her brain stored the information somewhere out of the way in the back, where she knew she'd get to it later.

"Call Dean," Sam, instructed the kid as Andy turned back towards them after making sure the tenant had followed his command agreeably. Sam handed over the crowbar, which the kid added to his wall-dismantling collection even as he dug out a cell from his jeans' pocket. "Tell him we got her."

Sam looped one arm around Jo's waist, having to bend nearly double to do it, and started her towards the elevators. They left the gaping hole behind, unworried about the damage or the freak-out bound to occur once residents got a good look. Andy could handle it if they needed him to.

"I'm fine," Jo mumbled, brain still processing her freedom and the close-call. Maybe Dean had a point. Fear was healthy and all, but she never wanted to experience that much of it in a single go ever again.

"He's on his way down," Andy announced behind them as Sam reached the elevator and hit the up button. Jo had been stashed in the north wall on the second floor. Not that far from 2F, it turned out.

"I'm alright," she repeated, pulling away from Sam a little more as they stood there, waiting for the elevator. Her legs held up beneath her, and the woman visibly shook off the last of the panic and shock. "I'm good."

Sam backed off, but not so far that he couldn't be there again immediately. The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding no one was feeling, and they piled in.

-o-o-o-

Dean had made it through a single floor, hollering Jo's name, before Andy's text came in. He'd already dealt with two tenants, one of which, a young woman, had slammed her door shut immediately upon spotting a clearly-pissed-off man running down the hall with a friggin' sledgehammer in hand. The second, and older gentleman, had been visibly shaken but still hollered at him that he was calling the cops before shutting himself up tight in his apartment.

'Yeah, you do that, buddy,' Dean thought, not even bothering to pause as he yelled for Jo again. 'Pretty sure Teresa of 2F beat you to it.'

He couldn't hear the sirens from the top floor, but he'd had no doubt that those cop cars had arrived by now. They would likely sweep the building – twice over now that reports would be coming in of a crazed man with a sledgehammer – so they were on the clock in more ways than one.

Thankfully, as he fetched his phone from where it buzzed in his pocket, Sam and Andy had better luck than he did.

Dean ditched the sledgehammer in the stairwell before hurrying down the stairs. It would do no good to be caught by cops with it. At least this way he could fake some panicked story about seeing the hammer-wielding maniac and running for his life. Luckily, he was only a couple floors up from their home base, and didn't run into any cops on his race down to the apartment Jo had temporarily rented for the case.

By the time he burst back into the place, making sure to close and lock the door behind him, Jo had her game face on and was back in the hunt. And if she shuddered in his arms when he practically tackled her in a way-too-tight-to-be-healthy hug, neither of them said a word about it.

"I'm alright," she whispered against his chest, before clearing her throat and repeating the claim with more confidence. They pulled away, both stowing the awkward silence that followed. Jo dusted herself off, an actual cloud coming off her jeans and shirt, given the state of the walls she'd been stuck in, before planting her hands on her hips. "So what's the plan?"

The brothers were caught between surprise and relieved amusement. A hunter, through and through. Sam had no doubt his brother was right; Jo would be one hell of a badass at it someday.

"You sure you don't want to take a minute?" he asked, and everyone in the room knew he was talking longer than just a minute.

Jo leveled a glare his way that could have withered men twice his size (which was saying something). "I said I'm fine. Now tell me how we're gonna get this son of a bitch."

"I like her."

The brothers, in the middle of exchanging an entire conversation in a single look, both turned to Andy, who was still holding the sledgehammer and crowbar. His sheepish chuckled died out along with the dopey smiled he was aiming at Jo, who looked both affronted and proud, and then pissed off by the latter.

"Don't even think about it, Romeo. She'd eat you alive." Dean rolled his eyes (especially once Andy balked, then blushed red, then stammered that that wasn't what he'd meant, he didn't, he wasn't- uh…shutting up now) and turned back to the actual hunters in the group. "We need to get back down to the basement. Sewer. Whatever. We'll set a trap."

"What's the bait?" Jo asked without missing a beat. It was pretty obvious by the way Dean hesitated that there was only one real possibility.

"We'll…figure something out."

"You got a problem using what we already have?" she countered immediately, and Dean clenched his fists.

"Don't you think you've had enough for one day?" he practically barked back, but she hardly flinched. Harvelle women were made of some incredibly strong stuff. Even so, Dean could see through the brave face she was putting on. She didn't need to, but he knew that would never stop her. It hadn't stopped her in the face of death, slowly bleeding out in a hardware store.

And that was one thing he did not need to be thinking about that right now.

Jo, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, re-rooted him in the present. "It's how we did it in your vision, isn't it? And it worked."

Sam turned to his brother, a bitchface already forming. "Vision, huh?"

The older Winchester groaned loudly, the sound almost coming out a growl. He scrubbed a hand through his hair harshly, both embarrassed and annoyed as he stared down #5 on the list of Sam bitchfaces. "You really wanna play the 'I told you so' card, now?"

Sam's expectant look said yes, yes he did.

Before another word could be spoken, which most likely would have come from Dean as he tried to get them back on track, there was a heavy knock at the door. All four hunters froze, eying whatever crap kind of fake wood doors were made out of these days.

Andy raised his hands placating, warding off the others from making a move. "Don't worry, I got this."

He crossed over to the door before anyone could tell him otherwise, and opened it enough to slide his body against the frame. Whoever was on the other side wouldn't be able to see in much, but it meant the hunters couldn't see who was out there, either. "Officers! What a pleasant surprise."

All three hunters moved quickly and quietly away from line of sight of the door, backing up to the other side of the apartment where it would be harder for anyone, including the cops in the hall, to spot them. Luckily, the dining room table, currently laden with crowbars, sledgehammers, and guns, was also out of line-of-sight.

"What can I help you gentlemen with?" Andy's falsely cheerful voice was almost too much, and Dean might have smacked the kid, if he didn't know the psychic had other means of handling nosy cops.

"We got reports of a couple men in the building with sledgehammers. There's damage on the second floor, evidence of someone trying to take down a wall. You know anything about that or seen anything suspicious?"

Andy scratched at the stubble on his chin in thought, and Dean resisted the urge to throw something at the kid. Given the looks both Jo and Sam sent his way, he wasn't the only one. "Nah, can't say I have. Heard some commotion this morning, though. Something about a missing girl? This got anything to do with that?"

The cop shifted on the other side of the door, and it was a second voice that answered this time. "We're unsure at this time, though the woman has been found, safe. We're looking into it."

"Oh, well, that's great to hear! Glad she's alright. You fine gentlemen are doing an excellent job. You go finish your sweep, make sure the neighborhood's all good and safe. No need to worry about us."

"Of course, we can do that." There was a shuffling on the other side of the door that Dean could only imagine was the cops already turning away from the apartment. "Thanks for your time."

They left as quickly as they came, no more fuss, and Andy closed the door. He turned back into the apartment with a grin. Jo, hand still on her hip, immediately turned to Dean. It would have been impossible not to hear the way Andy's voice dropped a couple octaves on that last line and took on something not quite normal. Or the way the cops just moseyed on along their way without question.

"You gonna tell me he's psychic too?"

Dean looked like he didn't want to be having this conversation at all, but given that neither Sam nor Andy were backing him up, he just leveled the woman with a glare. "Yeah, he's got powers, alright? Can we get back to the murdering ghost in the walls?"

"How many of you are there?" Jo didn't even acknowledge his pissy words, looking between Sam and Andy. "You all have gifts, right? How- or why?"

She was too smart for her own good, but unlike his brother, Sam wasn't going to underestimate that. He knew what it was like to be treated with kid-gloves, and Jo didn't deserve it. "We don't really know. Azazel did something to us when we were kids."

"Azazel?" Jo scrunched her face up, brow furrowing. The name didn't ring any bells, but something about the way Sam said it…. She straightened as it clicked. "Wait, you mean the demon you've been hunting? The one that killed your mom?"

Her voice dropped on the last part, and Sam just nodded. She glanced at Dean, who shrugged a single, aggravated shoulder. Damnit, they had more pressing things to worry about right this second.

"We can hash this out later, alright?" he insisted irritably. "Right now, we need to take care of Holmes."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the walls and floor started shaking. The four of them scrambled for purchase, widening their stances or gripping onto counter tops or nearby chairs as the entire building trembled. It felt like an earthquake. Whatever it was, it didn't last long. Several pots and pans rattled off their shelves, some of their equipment rolled off the kitchen table and clattered on the ground, then it was over. As soon as the earth stopped moving, the four of them locked eyes and ran for the door.

There were cops congregated at the entrance when they got to the foyer of the building, taking the stairs in case the quake knocked out the power or wasn't done yet. There weren't too many officers, three or four squad cars' worth at the most. They were otherwise engaged trying to calm the residents that, like the hunters, had flooded downstairs as the earthquake subsided.

As they darted past out the front doors, they heard snippets of the conversation.

"Minor earthquake-"

"-say it was localized beneath the building-"

"Reports coming in that part of the sewer collapsed-"

Dean exchanged looks with Sam and Jo as they got out onto the street. There were more people gathered at the mouth of the back alley that led to their stolen cement truck and the entrance to Holmes' sewer of terror. A cloud of dust – the same color as the crap coating the walls and floor of the sewer tunnels – hung in the mouth of the alley, keeping people back like a natural barrier.

Clearly, their ghost was throwing a temper tantrum that his secret club house was no longer secret. They'd played their trump card too early, and now it looked like they were out of the game completely. God, Dean hated the pissed off ones.

"Great," he cussed, throwing out an arm. "That's just great."

He spun in an agitated circle. Sam waited it out, Andy glancing between him and Jo, before asking, "What do we do now?"

Jo chewed on her lip, never a good sign. "So… how hard would it be to salt n' burn bones encased in cement?"

-o-o-o-

"Okay, so we need a crane, jackhammers, and a vat of acid." Dean resisted the urge to rub his forehead. "Why does this sound like the plan of a Batman villain?"

"We're never going to be able to get that stuff unnoticed," Sam interjected, not wanting to rain on their brainstorming parade, but also trying to face facts. They were back in the apartment, and things were not looking up. "Even if we skip the phosphoric acid and trisodium phosphate-" no doubt the hardest components for them to get, at least in the quantities they would need to dissolve the concrete encasing Holmes' skeleton- "and just go for cracking the cement in two and burning what's inside. We'd still need the crane to lift it out of the ground and jackhammers aren't exactly quiet."

"So, what, we're calling it quits?" Jo's tone obviously said there was no way in Hell they were doing that. But as the brothers exchanged silent looks, they had to admit they didn't have a next step.

"Uh…" The three hunters turned to Andy as he raised his hand, like they were in friggin' kindergarten and had forgotten he was a member of the class. "I can do all that."

The three of them exchanged further looks, but Andy just smiled widely.

"Trust me, I totally got this."

-o-o-o-

The kid got the city in on it. They had cops cordoning off the Holy Cross Cemetery, just outside Philadelphia, where Holmes was buried. Excavators were called in on an emergency, must-happen-this-instant gig, and they brought with them the big guns. That included a crane and the archeological equivalent of CSIs on scene. Andy talked his socks off the entire night, wrapping anyone and everyone around his little delusional pinky. Sure, they'd all be hella confused the next morning when they realized they'd excavated H.H. Holmes' grave on the word of a kid who swore he had convincing evidence – so convincing that they all believed him – that America's first serial killer hadn't, in fact, been executed and the body they'd buried had been a fake, so they needed to check ASAP. What's more, they'd be even further confused when it occurred to each of them in turn that not a one of them had actually been present to see the body or perform a DNA test. They'd only have the word of a kid that confirmed it had, in fact, been Holmes' body and they were all good to go. But then, all of them would have the same confusing memory, so it had to be true.

Weird, but true.

It took the entire night and half of the next morning – with Dean running to the airport to pick up Ellen when he glanced at his phone finally and realize he had twenty six missed calls from the irate and worried-sick woman – but the five of them walked away from the cemetery having burned H.H. Holmes' bones with no one the wiser, reburied the two halves of cement that had survived the flames, and told everyone it was all good, they could pack it up and go home.

Hopefully, no one tried to unbury the no-longer-existent body in the future, or they would be in for one hell of a surprise (and a whole new level of conspiracy theories.)

-o-o-o-

"Handy to have around," Jo commented of Andy, around three in the morning as she and Dean stood at the edge of the operation. The crew had set up flood lights, for Christ's sake, as they prepared to exhume the cement block via crane. Dean had never been part of a bigger circus in his life, and the sheer number of people involved and literal spotlights on them made all hunters present twitchy as all get-out.

"You're telling me," Dean harrumphed beside her.

She turned to him, and the hunter realized he'd left himself wide open for a conversation he didn't want to have. Damnit. Jo was too damn good at that and he'd walked right into it. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Jo-" he started, but with the look she leveled his way, he just sighed.

"You see the future, Sam see's people's deaths, and the kid can Jedi mind trick anyone?" Jo uncrossed her arms, trying to convey that she wasn't attacking him, here. But she deserved to know. "I'm betting there's a story there."

It took the older hunter a minute, but finally, he told her what they knew. What they were supposed to know in the current timeline, at least. "It's all connected to the yellow-eyed demon."

"Azazel."

"Yeah. He did something to Sammy- uh, to all of us."

"What?" Jo's expression was caught between sympathy and horror. Dean didn't exactly blame her.

"Jo, maybe-"

"You don't have to tell me," she said quickly, looking away, back at the excavation site as they lowered the newly freed block of cement to the ground. "But maybe I can help. I want to help, Dean."

"Don't think you can," he answered honestly. "But… I'll hit you up if that changes, alright?"

She smiled at him, the kind of sad look of comradery that only emotionally stunted people really understood. The kind that spoke volumes more than either of them would ever be capable of putting into words. They were bred of the same elk, Harvelles and Winchesters.

"Yeah, alright."

They headed into the mass of people gathered around Holmes' tomb, even as Andy started telling people to go take a coffee break, not to worry, they'd see to the rest of it.

-o-o-o-

"You're something else, Andy," Jo had said as they piled into one car at seven in the morning after having lowered the cement back into the grave and left behind a crew of soon-to-be confused city workers to finish up the re-burial. It was a tight fit, especially with Ellen sitting stony and silent in the front seat. The kid, oblivious to the tension, blushed a happy red at the compliment.

"I try," was all he said, practically preening in an innocent way that meant he totally got away with it. Anyone else, Jo probably would have decked 'em.

The trip back to the Roadhouse was tense and quiet. Not unlike the first time Dean had made the world's most awkward family road trip. He kind of wished he'd been able to keep Ellen out of it this time, not only for the awkwardness that was the near-eighteen hour trip, but for everyone's sanity. They ended up stopping halfway through the night, pulling into a motel just off the highway.

It was at Dean's insistence that he couldn't drive it all in one go and no one else was driving his baby, but in reality, he was pretty sure all five of them were about to lose it. They all needed a break to stretch their legs and their personal space. Even Andy had picked up on the quiet tension and sat, a fifth wheel awkwardly pressed against the passenger side window in the back, tapping his foot until someone glared at him hard enough that he stopped. For eighteen hours.

Ellen got herself and Jo a room from the small motel office without speaking so much as a word to anyone, including her daughter. No one argued with her, and Sam followed right after, getting them a room of their own (both Jo and the middle-aged woman behind the front desk raised eyebrows at the request for just two beds, no cot needed, but Dean's unblinking deadpan stare dared either of them to say a word about it. Jo walked away with two viciously raised eyebrows and a wicked smirk). They settled in their rooms respectively, barely a word spoken.

Or, at least, they settled on the surface. Sam and Andy were arguing who got which side, which was adorable, and Dean took his cue to leave when both of them chucked their pillows at his head.

He found Jo standing outside her own room, ice bucket wrapped in both hands, leaning against the cinder block wall and looking for all the world like she was avoiding going back inside. Dean nodded his head towards the picnic table a couple rooms down, then meandered that way, hands in his pockets. Jo followed silently.

She set the ice bucket on the wooden surface, hopping up beside him. "Hey."

"Hey," he answered back with a weak grin. "Got a minute?"

"Like I'm just dying to go back to quality mother-daughter time. Didn't you know the silent treatment was my favorite?" she said dryly, chuckling with him when he shook his head. Yeah, he could imagine.

A not unpleasant silence stretched between them, and Dean finally sighed.

"Look…" The older Winchester hung his head and scrubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously. Man up, Winchester. Dean picked his head back up and turned to Jo. "Your mom is pissed, but she's gonna be more pissed at us tagging along than you hunting."

Jo frowned immediately, her first response of, "You let me handle my mom," quickly overrun by her second, "Wait, why? This was my choice."

His lack of response was probably telling, but Dean was having trouble forming the words. He knew what Jo's dad had meant to her. Knew she'd gotten years less with him than Dean had with his own dad. He wished he could switch their positions. He really, really wished he could. "Your dad and my dad, they hunted together."

"Yeah, I know. It's how my mom knew your dad."

"Yeah, well…" Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. Jo deserved the truth, and he hoped hearing it from him this time would soften the blow. He didn't know whose sake he was hoping for more, though. "My dad was on the last hunt your dad went on…"

Jo quieted, easily picking up on what Dean wasn't saying in so many words. She looked away, struggling to swallow herself, now. Dean sat in silence, letting her work through whatever she needed to. If she needed to yell, to be pissed, to blame him, he'd take it. He'd taken it before and he could take it now.

"Was it his fault?" she finally asked.

Dean struggled to answer. "I don't know."

"But you think it could have been." Jo was too damn smart and too good at reading people – at reading him – not to come to that conclusion easily enough. Dean didn't know what to say. "My mom must think so, or she wouldn't be angry about you guys hunting with me."

The older Winchester sighed, hooking his fingers together to keep from balling his hands into fists, or worse. He couldn't quite look at his companion, instead staring out at the empty road and the darkened fields beyond. "Dad wasn't exactly known for knowing when to quit. Or drawing safe lines in the sand, Jo."

She didn't respond right away. Dean still couldn't quite look her in the eye, especially as she stared straight ahead, unseeing. But he was pretty sure there was a sheen of water over those fierce brown beauties.

"But you're not like that," Jo finally said, voice soft. Understanding, in ways Dean didn't think he deserved. "Neither of you are."

When it became obvious that he didn't agree, she turned more towards him, her body language not unlike her mother: booking no room for argument. "Are you kidding me? You both came after me, tooth and nail, Dean. And you showed up in the first place! You easily could have died." She swallowed, glancing away to blink that water out of her eyes and angrily swipe a hand beneath one. "If it's true your dad got my dad killed…then you're nothing like your dad."

Dean looked away, stomach churning unpleasantly at memories he didn't want to remember, his chest both aching and warming. He wanted to tell the angel in there to back off, damnit. He wasn't worthy of that kind of praise. That kind of devotion or forgiveness. His chest burned all the warmer.

"What if I am, Jo?" he asked, fighting down the nausea and guilt. He resisted pushing against his sternum, poking at the angel inside that wouldn't let him be miserable. Didn't Cas remember that he got this woman – both women – killed?

Jo Harvelle pulled back at the scared admission, blinking at him as her mind raced to follow what he was talking about. It didn't make sense right away, because she was right there, not dead, after a hunt where Dean and Sam had saved her life. She hesitated, realizing that what he was talking about might not have happened yet.

Psychic. That was…gonna take some time to get used to.

"Did you…" she swallowed past the nervousness that coiled in her stomach like curdled milk. "Have you- did you see…something?"

Dean paused for the wrong amount of time, but Jo couldn't really read why. "No, no, not like…that. But I can't be the reason-"

Jo's eyes narrowed as he cut himself off, clearly struggling to say what he needed to say. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look back at her.

"No one makes choices for me, alright?" The fierceness in her voice almost made him laugh. It wasn't funny. It really wasn't. It friggin' hurt, is what it was, because he knew better than anyone that no one got to make their own choices in this life. No, apparently, Time made all the choices for you, the bitch. But Jo's eyes just narrowed further at whatever expression made it to his face. She looked pissed that he didn't believe her, wasn't listening to her. "I'm serious. I get myself killed, it's because of choices I made. I won't accept anything else. You got it?"

This time he did laugh, and it was honest-to-god laughter. Not humorless, not self-deprecating. She was straight up threatening him like he was somehow holding her back by hoarding all the blame to himself. Just like only Jo frigign' Harvelle could. Hell, that woman could out-stubborn Time itself, Dean had no doubt. God, he had missed her.

He smiled over at her, and if it was a watery smile, he ignored the crap out of it. "I got it."

She smiled right back and grabbed the ice bucket. "Now, you gonna leave me to face my mom all alone, or come partake in the scream fest?"

Dean winced immediately, the grimace the only answer she really needed. "No, you know, I think I'd rather live."

Jo snorted. "You're scared of my mom?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes."

The younger Harvelle shook her head, but there was a smirk in her glare. She waited it out, and finally Dean sighed.

"You think I'll make it better or worse?"

Jo shrugged, hopping off the table. He was glad to see her recovering so well. Like nothing had even happened. That was his girl. She rounded back on him, ice bucket held against her torso with both hands, and smirked. "I think if she's busy yelling at you, she's not busy yelling at me."

"Oh gee, thanks." Dean rolled his eyes hard enough his head went with, but he climbed off the table all the same. It was one scream fest he was not looking forward to, but he supposed he'd weather it for the woman next to him.

Besides. He could probably drag Sam into the whole thing and hide behind his brother's gargantuan frame when the Harvelle ladies got to throwing things. Winchester stuck together, didn't they?

-o-o-o-

Chuck stared at the empty lazy boy, still sitting over by his window. He himself sat at his writing desk, decidedly not writing. Stephanie had called in sick that morning. Or, well, she'd called him and reported she wouldn't be making it to his house, but she expected to read that promised progress and more when she returned. No mention of sick, but Chuck deiced entertaining that idea was safer than thinking about the many ways he might have possibly bored her to death, whether with his mediocre writing or mundane babbling, so much so that the woman had needed a day away from him.

Of course, it was Friday, so really, if she'd just waited one more day for the weekend…

Chuck shook his head and reminded himself that he was supposed to be believing Stephanie was sick. And also coming back. Sometime. Soon. Like Monday.

He sighed, having grown weirdly used to having the mostly-silent company in his house or the sometimes hovering presence of someone encouraging him onwards in his work. Weird, really. He'd always been more of a lone wolf (okay, so wolf was hardly a fitting descriptor for him, but shut up, he was taking it). It figured he'd turn out to be a true pack animal after all. Well, maybe a penguin. Penguins lived in groups, but were ultimately independent. And they mated for life, which meant enduring loneliness or isolation in the before and after, right? Yeah, sure, that sounded like it could be right. Chuck was probably a penguin.

(Admittedly, a more fitting pick than a wolf…)

He sighed. There was nothing for it. The scary woman would expect to have chapters to read when she returned, so he really ought to get on that.

Chuck glanced at the empty chair again and frowned with eyes that sometimes looked so much older than a mere thirty-something human. Eyes that grumpily forced their focus back to the laptop, yet kept right on frowning at the blinking cursor, awaiting words to fill the digital page as if by magic. Eyes that wondered if he should be looking a little further away than a computer screen.

God shook His head and opted not to. It was fine, most likely. Yes, it would be annoying if Hell spent the weekend undoing all the progress He'd been making, but, really, it was fine. It wasn't like he was planning on intervening, no matter what Hell was up to with his editorial assistant. He could start again on Persephone, need be.

They'd get there. They still had time. You know, so long as Time decided to keep playing nice.

-o-o-o-

On the other side of the country, a clandestine meeting was taking place between two of the world's less divine beings, while a third being of decidedly unknown divine status sat in a car like a child in timeout while the adults talked.

"Nice model. Little younger than your usual tastes." Tom smiled at his brethren, despite the fact that he could hardly stand her twisted, ugly face. Not like his was much better, of course. "Didn't realize you were busy playing jailbait while the rest of us worked."

Ruby's smile was all teeth. Coming from the prom queen wannabe she was currently riding, it was particularly bitchy. "Felt like branching out. Who's the tagalong?"

Tom looked over his shoulder at Persephone, sitting in the parked car a hundred feet away, her warded necklace glinting in the sunlight as she glared at them from beneath blonde bangs like a sidelined bystander. He waved sarcastically at her before turning back to the conversation.

"An asset. But then, we were talking about you." Tom's return smile was feral. "Not even a hint, Rubes? Come on, what kind of secret mission does Lilith have you on?"

"The kind that will stay a secret." Ruby flexed her fingers, playing the nonchalant, bored teenager inspecting her perfectly pink manicure.

Tom just smirked. "You know I'll get it out of you eventually."

The other demon snorted. That was unlikely. Not even Alistair himself could get this mission out of her. Not when Lilith had entrusted her, and her alone, with its completion. But why not rub a little salt in that deliciously open wound?

"You can try," she sniggered, a sickly sweet smile on her borrowed face. "But your sister had a better chance at it."

The demon across from her hissed. Meg had always been a sore spot for him, likely because she was Azazel's favorite, and everyone knew it. Pathetic, Ruby thought, a demon craving praise. Demons should seek only their own approval, and follow others simply out of fear and survival. While Azazel certainly should be feared - he was the last of the Princes, after all – he'd spent more time searching for the key to Lucifer's prison than ruling over Hell. Which left the majority of the true power in Lilith's hands, much to Ruby's benefit.

No, she thought, eying the pathetic excuse of a demon in front of her. She had chosen the right King. Or, should she say Queen.

"I need a favor," Tom switched tactics, and Ruby just smiled lazily at the defeat. The cat who knew the canary wasn't even a challenge to begin with. "The witchy kind."

Even a smear against her pagan roots wasn't going to dampen her victory. Instead, she just picked at the underside of a nail, shrugging one shoulder, and asked, "What do you need?"

The demon produced a glass, top half shattered, jagged edge a reddish-brown with dried blood. "A tracking spell. A permanent one, not a one-time thing."

Ruby crossed the distance between them to pluck the glass out of his hand. His look soured, but he didn't try to take it back. He was the one asking for the favor, after all.

"Well, there's certainly not much here to work with," she chided, if only to see the annoyance in his face, cleverly controlled as it was. "But I think I can whip something up."

"And what will it cost me?" The question was expectantly sneered and Ruby just grinned, all teeth again.

"How about a raincheck? We're on the same side here, after all, Tom."

The demon narrowed his eyes at her guile, but didn't argue. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, if he wanted this spell quick and dirty.

"Give me thirty minutes. I'll be back with your spell." She disappeared with a wink, and he crossed his arms and waited. Exactly thirty-one minutes later, he had his spell in the form of a hex bag and what was left of the cocktail glass, most of the blood gone from the rim. "Light the bag on fire then toss it on a map. Make it a big one, because once it's cast, the spell can't be re-cast. The fire will burn wherever your man is."

"I never said it was a man."

"Please. We all know Azazel has you on the Winchester boy. Does little Sammy keep giving you the slip?"

The only outward sign of his annoyance was a twitching vein near his jaw. "This will last? Fire hardly sounds permanent."

She shrugged again. "Permanent isn't easy, and you didn't give me much to work with. It'll burn as long as his soul does. I recommend putting the map somewhere it won't get wet."

Her helpful smile was anything but. Still, he had what he'd come for. "You have fun playing with your pom poms and pimples, now."

"Always."

Neither demon departed for a moment, both still sizing the other up, waiting to see who would leave first. Tom eventually did, realizing Ruby would wait him out far longer than he had the patience for. She watched him head back to the car with his mysterious blonde and take off, headed East. Once he was gone – and Ruby took every precaution to make sure he was actually gone – she left herself, heading back to Windom, Minnesota and her mission.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: …how many people are going to google which Supernatural character lives in Windom, how many already know, and how many are gonna leave it as a surprise? XD

(I did not know, btw. Totally had to google the town name. I thought it was in Missouri XD Supernatural Guru I am not, but beastmaster am I when Google is at my fingertips.)

(I'm so excited guys. So many things are happening. So, so, so many.)

Fun Fact #412: Holmes' body actually was exhumed on the claim that America's first serial killer had not been executed and that it wasn't his body that had been buried. The body was dug up in 2017, examined, proved to be Holmes', and re-buried. I took a little inspiration for that here ;P I might have totally ignored that the cement never fully set, so it wasn't a block they dug him out of but more like a pit of sludge . But jackhammers are more fun.

Up Next: Timey Wimey is back to being a wibbly wobbly bitch that's taking the boys for a wild handcuffs-and-jumpsuits kind of ride in Baltimore as we deal with dirty cops, missing drug dealers, and a death omen that's not very good at her job.