“You Would Come”
Supernatural
Dean, Jo, Sam, Ellen; slight Dean/Jo
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Setting: No real setting. Sometime in season two.
Summary: “I did not suffer, my love. I was only waiting for you.”--from “You Would Come” by Pablo Neruda
When Jo died, Dean didn’t think much of it. Hunters did that all the time--die.
No, it was when Jo came back that scared the shit out of him.
**
The first time Dean saw her, he thought he was dreaming.
He tossed and turned all night until she appeared to him.
Somewhere outside of Vegas in the desert.
Sam slept in the other twin-sized bed in the motel room, lightly snoring with the blanket pulled up to his chin.
Goosebumps sprouted on Dean’s arms, but it wasn’t from the air-conditioner.
Jo.
She stood at the window. Moonlight drew a dark blue silhouette around her. She had on a dress. White, frilly with lace, no sleeves. Her feet were bare.
Jo in a fucking dress.
Yeah, he was definitely dreaming.
He turned his back in bed and closed his eyes. He could still feel her gaze on him.
Dean didn’t dare turn around.
**
Dean never told Sam about Jo at the window.
It was just a dream, he told himself.
And what was the point of freaking out over a stupid dream?
**
There was a second time and a third time.
On the fourth time, in a motel room in Philly, Dean stared at Jo. He was awake. He knew it.
And there she was. At the window in that damn dress. Just looking at him.
She turned, smile on her face, and walked through the window.
Dean didn’t move for a moment. He knew she wanted him to follow, but follow her where?
He debated on waking Sam up, but decided against it. Jo wanted something from Dean, not Sam.
He tossed on some jeans and left the room.
Outside, Jo waited for him at a bench near the door to the front office.
He stood there, unsure of what she wanted him to do.
Her gaze moved to the bench. He sat down.
“Okay,” he said.
Jo joined him on the bench. Her eyes lit up like she wanted to tell him a story, but she didn’t open her mouth.
Instead Dean opened his.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He didn’t know why he was apologizing. Maybe because he was alive. Maybe because he left her behind. Maybe because that was all he could offer her.
**
Dean stayed on that bench until the office attendant came to open up in the morning. Newspaper tucked under one arm, cup of coffee in the other hand.
“What are you doing out here?” the worker asked, lifting his brows.
Dean glanced at the empty space next to him. Jo was gone.
It suddenly hit him.
Jo was gone.
**
When Sam was in the bathroom, Dean called Ellen.
The woman’s gruff voice was quick to dismiss him. More than two weeks had passed since Jo died and Dean hadn’t bothered to call her. Sure, Sam had called to check in, but Dean just passed along a message offering him his sympathy.
Sympathy that Ellen hadn’t accepted.
“You have some nerve, boy,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
And there were those words again.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do think I’m doing?” Her voice trembled.
“Listen, Ellen.” He paused, wondering if he should keep going. “There’s something I have to ask you. It’s about Jo. Have you--have you seen her?”
It was quiet on the other end. Dean thought she might have hung up, but then she spoke.
“Have you seen her, Dean?” The question was heavy with longing. Hopeful even. Hopeful that maybe Jo was still here, no matter what shape or form.
In the bathroom, Sam turned off the shower.
“No,” Dean said to Ellen. “I haven’t.”
Lying to her was much easier.
**
South of
He sat on the hood of the Impala. She stood next to him, still dressed in that white dress and her feet still bare.
“You cold?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He kept his gaze on her. She looked real, alive. He hadn’t tried to touch her. Afraid to actually. His fingers might slip through her chest or maybe he’d touch cold flesh.
He didn’t know which was worst.
“Can’t talk?” he said.
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
She shrugged.
“Well, hallelujah,” he sighed.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t mean that.” He smirked.
She crossed her arms, eyes still throwing daggers.
“You mad at me now?” he said.
Nothing.
“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” He chuckled.
She put her hands on her hips, head tilted.
And then he said, “You know, I kind of miss this.”
Jo dropped her hands, her face softened, daggers turned to dark pools. She moved closer to him.
“You too?” Dean said.
She nodded.
She was in front of him now. He lowered his gaze to her naked feet. She had cute feet. He never noticed that before. All he remembered were shoes covered in mud and leaves.
He looked back up at her.
Her lips were in a straight line. Cheeks pink. Hair golden under the moon. Real. Alive.
He still didn’t want to touch her.
**
Jo came back.
She kept coming back.
At every motel. In every city. Every night.
She came back.
**
“Why?” Dean asked.
The two of them sat on the curb of the sidewalk. Motel in
She shrugged.
“You don’t know why you’re here?” he said.
She shook her head.
“Then, why me?” He looked away. “Can’t you go rattle some chains over at the Roadhouse or something?”
But, he was lying.
He didn’t mind these late-night visits. This secret.
He liked being able to talk, the sound of his voice, words beyond “I’m sorry” and “I can’t.” He liked that someone was there to listen, without interrupting and without judging him.
It’d been so long since he felt that way.
Jo tucked her hands under her legs like a child being scolded.
He sighed. “I didn’t mean that.”
This time there was no smirk, no laughter.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said.
**
The sun was out when Jo stepped out of the shadows and in front of Dean. He stopped in his tracks.
This was the first she had appeared to him in the daylight.
He turned to Sam, who was standing a few feet away from him. Sam hadn’t noticed anything. Still searching for clues on the vampire attack in the old warehouse.
Jo turned a corner away from Sam. Dean went with her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Her eyes were wide as she swayed her head from side to side. Her hands pulled on the fabric of her dress.
“Say something.” He forced himself not to raise his voice. “Damn it, Jo. Just tell me.”
But, for whatever reason, whatever rules had been set in the afterlife, she wasn’t allowed to speak.
He tried to be gentle with her and asked again, “What’s wrong?”
All she could do was shake her head as if she was trying to ignore something, someone.
Dean glared at her. Fuck gentle. Fuck fear.
His arms shot out for her shoulders and grabbed her. He could feel her. Touch her.
Their eyes connected. Wide. Stunned.
Jo began to shake.
He whispered her name.
Jo began to scream.
**
Then, Dean knew why Jo was screaming.
**
It was Sam who found Dean laying on his side, alone on that concrete floor in the warehouse.
“Jo,” Dean murmured.
Sam helped him sit up. “What did you say?”
Still groggy, he glanced at his hands. Hands that were just clutching Jo. Hands that were now empty.
Dean moved his gaze to Sam. His little brother. His only family. His life.
Take that away and Dean had nothing.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
Dean got on his feet, shrugged off the question, and walked off.
**
Dean hadn’t expected Jo to return that night, but she did.
They stood under the flashing neon lights of the motel sign. V-CA-CY it said.
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
He thought he had left those words behind.
She kept her arms wrapped around her body. Now, she was the one was afraid of being touched.
“So,” he cleared his throat, “it’s true? What I saw.”
She looked away.
“I’m really gonna do it.” He blinked back the tears. No use in holding them in. “It’s really gonna happen.”
When her eyes found his, they glistened with the same tears.
Above them, the sign hummed with electricity.
**
Five weeks and two days after Jo died at the hands of a
demon, Dean woke up in a motel room in
No one stood in front of the window. No blond-haired girl with sad eyes, a white dress and bare feet.
I must be dreaming, he thought.
When morning came with still no sign of Jo, Dean finally returned to sleep.
**
The next day, Sam’s eyes turned yellow.
**
Numb.
Dean was numb.
He could feel it.
His hands were sticky with blood. Propped up against a brick wall, he examined the gash across his stomach. Fuck. He could see his insides.
He coughed, gurgled on more blood, and watched Sam take his last breath.
Sammy. His little brother. His only family. His life.
Take that away and Dean had nothing.
Loud sobs escaped his lips.
He had known about this day. Ever since his father had whispered in his ear.
Ever since he had touched Jo.
**
Above them, the sign
hummed with electricity.
“I can’t,” Dean said.
He thought he had left
those words behind.
He knew Jo couldn’t
reply, couldn’t offer him anything to comfort him, but he kept talking.
“I can’t do it. I
can’t kill Sammy. I can’t. I won’t.”
He was babbling, but
the words spilled out of him like the tears in his eyes.
“I can’t,” he said
again.
But, he had seen it.
The knife in Sam’s
hands, his eyes yellow, lips curled, taunting Dean. It happened in an instant.
A flash of the silver blade. A blast from the gun fire. And both brothers were
down.
Dean stared at the
large moon in the sky. It hung low, close to the horizon. It matched the color
of Jo’s dress. Maybe that was where she came from every night.
And maybe when the sun
rose from that same horizon, that was were she disappeared to every morning.
**
Dean saw that same horizon as he laid dying next to Sam’s body.
Sam’s body.
It wasn’t Sammy anymore.
Dean twitched, struggled to breathe, concentrated on the rising sun, and disappeared where the sky met the earth.
**
When Dean woke up, he saw moonlight stream into the dark motel room.
Vegas--Philly--
He was everywhere.
He rubbed his eyes and saw her standing at her usual spot in front of the window. Jo in the white dress, hair falling down her back, and bare feet on the carpeted floor.
He remembered he had a routine. He checked the bed next to him. Sam wasn’t there. He put on pants and shoes and went outside to meet Jo.
They stood in the middle of the deserted parking lot. The neon sign at the entrance read: V-CA-CY. The NO came on.
He waited for Jo to say something, but then remembered she couldn’t talk.
She held out her hand for him.
He hesitated to take it. The last time he touched her, she screamed. And he knew why.
She wiggled her fingers. It had to be okay now.
Dean took her hand, interlaced their fingers, and held on.
Jo smiled and squeezed his hand.
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” she said.
Her voice. A memory come back to life.
He cocked his head, raised a brow.
Like what?
But the words didn’t come out.
Couldn’t come out.
It was his turn to listen now.
**
Moonlight brought him back.
The Roadhouse was quiet. Too quiet.
He craned his neck, listened, and heard it.
Soft sobs came from a corner.
He let the white beam lead him to the crying woman.
Ellen.
She huddled in the corner with her hands over her face.
He wondered if he would be doing the same thing right now if he had survived. Rocking back and forth in a dark corner with nothing but your tears. Isolated. Alone. All your loved ones gone.
He knelt down next to Ellen.
She sniffed, lifted her head. “Dean?”
He nodded.
“You came back,” she said.
He nodded again.
“And I’m not dreaming?”
He shook his head.
“Are they here too?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder.
Four other figures stood in the direct path of the moon. Floating. Wavering. Temporary. Mom. Dad. Sam. And Jo. His family.
They were still Ellen’s too, but she couldn’t see them. She could only see him.
Whatever reasons, whatever rules in the afterlife, prevented her from doing so. The same ones that didn’t allow him to speak.
“Are they?”
Ellen’s voice made him turn back to her. He nodded.
Her chin trembled.
“I still miss her, Dean,” she said. “I miss her every single day. And you and your brother. If there was only something I could have done--”
He shook his head. There was nothing anyone could have done.
“I just--” Ellen sighed. “I just wish there was someone here, you know? To talk to. To listen.”
He knew exactly what she was talking about, how she felt.
Dean leaned against the wall and slid down to sit next to her.
And he listened.
THE END