Title: Lost and Found

Chapter: Two

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo’s apartment wasn’t a standard building. It was an old house divided into four apartments, with two up and two down. It didn’t appear anyone was there. Sam slipped around to the back, keeping close to the hedge. There was a porch along the back of the house, upper and lower. He took the stairs up. Jo’s apartment was the one on the left. There was a dim light on in the kitchen. Sam let himself in and looked around, taking his time. He knew she was at work and, he took a quick glance at his watch, Dean should be going in to see her, give or take a few minutes and depending on how long he sat or stood outside watching her.

They’d both sat outside the diner yesterday and all day today, watching her, reassuring themselves that it was her, and reminiscing about her, preparing themselves for whatever they’d find. Dean had remembered a few things he hadn’t and vice-versa. Slightly naïve Jo. Spitfire Jo. Determined and hell-on-wheels Jo. Confident in her own skin Jo. Differing facets of one woman. As a consequence, Sam was as enthusiastic to talk to her again as Dean was.

He’d lost the rock-paper-scissors to be the one to go in the diner. They’d played five times, Sam deliberately letting Dean win in the end only because Dean was so eager to see her. He’d hardly stopped talking about her during the long drive, musings on her current circumstances, memories of the past, and beneath it all had been the hope that her being alive meant he might get that chance he’d never gotten with her before she’d died.

It wasn’t too difficult to read between the lines there, not when Dean had been actively trying to redefine what the words ‘normal life’ meant to hunters. They’d already had a few conversations on girlfriends and hunting and how the two could be managed if they ever, by some chance, found women who’d take them as they were. It could be managed, they knew it could. They’d both seen hunting families. Chances were, however, whatever women they possibly ended up with would need to be hunters themselves, or at least part of a hunting family.

Jo was both of those things.

Fervently, Sam hoped that reunion with Jo went the way Dean wanted it to, all smiles and hugs. It’d be nice for something to go right for them, but he didn’t think their luck would change now. The circumstances surrounding her resurrection indicated strongly that their luck wasn’t going to change. In fact, Sam was pretty sure every thing that could go wrong was going to. He was ready for that. Hopefully, Dean was too, because Sam strongly thought they were going to have to force Jo to go with them; that she wasn’t going to go quietly or with any sort of enthusiasm.

The apartment was small: living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. There weren’t many belongings scattered about the rooms and the furniture had a motel style look to it. Bland. Average. This could have been a model home for all the real personality in each room. There was little art work on the walls or personal pictures. It was almost like Jo was prepared to leave quickly if need be. She didn’t keep many groceries, the cupboards and fridge almost bare. Sam looked over the selection, noting that she had a few bottles of that beer she’d liked on the bottom shelf of the fridge, which sparked an interesting question in his mind.

Was it just memories that had been changed or had her personal preferences been messed with as well? When Zachariah had done sort of the same thing to him and Dean, he’d chosen to mess with their personal preferences as well as the memories. From what he saw in the apartment, it looked like it was only her memories that were screwed up.

Sam went to the closet in the bedroom and opened it. She didn’t have many clothes there. A few blouses, jeans, jackets, and some obvious work shirts. In the dresser were t-shirts, tanks, underwear, socks and a couple zippered, hooded sweatshirts. With what he found in the clothes basket, he hypothesized that she had just enough clothes for a single week in any given season, pieces that could layer easily, like what he and Dean did.

Sam did find a gun, hidden away near her bed, studying it with a speculative stare. He bet her skills were as sharp as ever no matter what her memories. He took it and the bullets.

In the bottom of the closet was an overnight bag. He set it on her bed and opened it, then slowly filled it. A couple pairs of jeans, a few shirts, her boots, the phone charger from the living room. He did it just in case Dean could talk her into going with them. It’d be nice to have Jo travel with them for a bit, get to know her again. She’d been a fun woman to be around and he thought they’d have a blast traveling across the U.S. with her.

He was wondering if he should pack toiletries and underwear or let her do it, when the front door opened and slammed shut. Sam slowly peered out of the bedroom. It was Jo. In a second, Sam knew something had gone horribly wrong. She was upset, fear on her face. Quickly, he withdrew into the shadows in the corner, trying to be very still as he listened to her cry.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was her. Thank God it was her.

Those thoughts had been a steady refrain in his mind for hours and he found it funny that he was actually having trouble deciding to go in and talk to her. He felt strangely shy, hesitant to start down the difficult path he suspected was ahead of them. It’d be great if this went easily, but when in his life had anything ever been easy? He was king of the hard road of life it seemed.

Dean watched Jo through the large front window. He could see her clearly. She was as slim as ever, her hair loose about her shoulders, and an apron tied low on her hips. She was cleaning a table, her back to the door. He hesitated a moment, trying to think of what words he should say, and went inside. She didn’t turn, continuing to bus the table.

“We’re closing up for the night. Sorry.”

“I’ll take a coffee to go then.”

Slowly she straightened, her back stiffening.

He smiled, wanting very much for her to turn and see him. Maybe just seeing him would bring all those memories back to her. “Jo?” He stepped closer, greatly desiring a glimpse of her pleased smile. It’d go a long way to easing the pain he’d felt at her death to see that sassy grin of hers in person instead of on the ghost in his mind.

She turned, but it was anything but the pleasure of seeing a friend in her eyes. There was shock, confusion, and fear there, and for a brief fraction of a second, he thought she had recognized him as her friend on some level. Fear though? Jo had never been afraid of him. Why was she?

No, not just afraid he realized with a jolt. Terrified. She seemed to pale under the fluorescent lights, her dark eyes a sharp contrast to her skin. He recalled Cas saying something about Zachariah giving her the memory of a bad life, but what in those memories caused that expression? Especially directed towards him?

“Dean.” Her gulp was audible. “What…What’re you doing here?” Her voice broke in the middle of the query.

“Came to see you.” He frowned, gaze doing a thorough tour of her, then the diner around them.

“How did you find me this time?”

This time? “An angel told me.” The mention of an angel did nothing. There was no indication that phrase meant anything to her. He raised his brows. “Angel?”

She dropped the cloth in her hand and retreated, stumbling in her haste, knocking over the plates and glasses stacked to one side of the table. They fell to the ground with a crash, plates and glasses splintering into pieces. She jumped back out of the way, made a hissing noise, and glanced at the door into the kitchen.

Dean moved forward, intending on taking her arm and making sure she hadn’t gotten cut by any of those pieces, but she continued back, his hand grasping at thin air. “Are you hurt?” She didn’t answer and he stepped over the mess, following Jo around the counter. As he rounded the end, he noticed a blown up picture of him tacked to the beam by the register with a scrawled message that said ‘shoot on sight’ beneath it. What the hell? It made him stop in his tracks, looking from it to her. “What’s that?” He pointed to it.

A very large man barreled through the door into the kitchen with a shotgun, followed quickly by a smaller man, also armed.

He made a mental note to chew out that angel of his acquaintance who hadn’t bothered to tell him any of this and had only a few seconds before the second man swung at him.

~~~~~~~~~~

A surging of pure joy warmed Jo at the sound of Dean’s voice and she turned to face him, her gut urging her to go to him and embrace him even as her mind screamed at her to run away before he hurt her.

Jo told her gut to screw off and beat a hasty retreat from him.

“Run, Jo!”

She needed no encouragement as Jake and Alan started towards Dean, hurrying out the back and into the alley. They could be counted on to keep him busy long enough for her to escape. Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest, her stomach trying to crawl out her throat. That confusing reaction she’d had to seeing Dean sickened her. She hated him, knew she hated him, so how could she be happy to see him?

Maybe she was screwed in the head a little.

She slammed the door to her apartment and locked it, leaning against it for several minutes, trying to catch her breath. Jo sobbed and slid to the ground, tears clouding her vision. She cried for long minutes and when the flood of tears slowed, she pushed herself back to stand, legs shaky beneath her. She started towards the kitchen, glancing to her right into her bedroom as she passed the door. Jo stopped walking and backed up. Her lower lip trembled.

There.

On her bed was her overnight bag, open and with clothes in it.

Dean had been there in her apartment.

“No,” she moaned. It was all over. This place was no longer a safe refuge. She was going to have to run and move quickly before he caught up to her again.

She hurried to it only to see a movement out of the corner of her eye. Jo whirled, expecting attack. The man from her dreams stood there, the one with the shaggy brown hair and understanding expression. His hair was different and he looked older than in her dreams. His gaze was apologetic.

He held his hands out at his sides in a non-threatening gesture, showing her he had no weapons. “Hey, Jo.”

Sam, she thought. His name is Sam. “Sam,” she whispered. But how did she know that? There was a flash of strange memory then, one at odds with her mind. She recalled him, not Dean, grabbing her in that bar and slamming her head down. Jo shook her head. Wrong, it was wrong. She didn’t know him, had never met him. With a whimper, she whirled….

And ran right into Dean coming towards her from the living room. He’d apparently picked the lock.

Her throat wouldn’t loose those screams she wanted to vocalize, only a dry whisper slipping free. His hands grasped her arms and he shook her.

“Calm down! Jo, just calm do--”

With blind terror, Jo kicked her leg out and, satisfied to hear his grunt of pain as her foot connected with his shin. One hand release her and she punched him as hard as she could. The contact hurt her hand, her knuckles throbbing. “Oh, you mother fu --” She got in another kick to his shins for good measure, the rest of the expletive muttered under her breath.

Dean stumbled back, releasing her, his hands going to his eyes and nose. “Damn it! I can’t see now! Shit! Sam!”

Sam, however, grabbed her from behind, lifting her, his embrace so tight her breath whooshed from her, black spots dancing on the edge of her vision. Jo twisted, attempting to kick, to hit, to anything that might gain her freedom. Unfortunately, he was so tall in comparison to her that all the head tossing in the world wasn’t going to connect her head with his face.

Don’t let them bring you down, she told herself. It was advice her self-defense instructor had given. Never let a man get you onto the ground because once you’re down, there’s a good chance you’re not getting back up and if you do, it won’t be in a good condition.

She heard her own voice in a keening cry, still not a scream, as she tried to fight Sam’s hold. He turned. Her feet found the wall and she kicked at it. They fell hard and with a crash, knocking over a chair in the process. If her neighbor downstairs was home, he’d be calling the police right now. She hoped he was calling the police because she’d love to have Dean locked up for breaking and entering and assault. She’d press any charges they’d let her against him.

Jo was stunned for a few seconds from the fall, but not as much as Sam would be from getting the floor to his back combined with her weight on his front. She wiggled free and flipped onto her hands and knees. Just as she moved to stand, Dean was back, pulling her arms behind her. She felt cold metal on her wrists and knew that this was it.

He’d caught her. Again.

A desperate, defeated cry left her. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when he gagged her, too. Jo winced, still kneeling, bracing herself for the feel of his fist and the angry words he’d let loose in her ear, waiting to be thrown to the ground, punched hard in the stomach to where it felt like she’d forgotten how to breathe. She waited for retribution.

It didn’t happen. What Dean did do confused her. He embraced her in a tender fashion, his hands gentle, holding her tight, her face pressed to his chest. She smelled fabric softener, a hint of soap, and aftershave. “I’m sorry, Jo,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you in cuffs, but you’ll understand eventually.”

To her left, Sam coughed and groaned, slowly sitting up. “Oh geez, that hurt.” He looked at them, chin jerking up a little. “Since when do you carry cuffs on you?” He rubbed his chest.

“Since I realized she wasn’t going to come quietly and there’s no going back.” One hand raised, stroked her hair and it felt like he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “I was afraid this would happen.”

“You should get some ice on that eye.”

“Yeah, I know. Take her.”

She was transferred from Dean to Sam, Sam helping her up and to the couch with an incongruous, solicitous air. In the kitchen, she heard the rattle of ice cube trays as Dean got ice. He was back in a minute, holding a makeshift ice pack to one eye.

“You know, Jo, this is the same place you hit the day we met. Makes me a little nostalgic. Hurts as much as I remember.” He shook a finger at her, expression almost playful. “You’ve got one helluva punch.”

“Good,” she spat around the gag, though she didn’t recall ever punching him and certainly not the day they’d met. This had been the first time she’d literally fought him. Never before had she so much as slapped at him, yet in one night, she’d punched him and kicked him twice. It was empowering -- as long as he didn’t return the gestures.

Sam sat beside her, touching her cheek, trying to get her attention on to him. “Jo? Jo, look at me a minute.”

With reluctance, she pulled her gaze from Dean.

“I’m going to lower the gag. Please don’t scream. Okay?”

It was apparent to her that making any noise was useless. If her neighbors were home, they would have been banging on the door by now. She nodded and he lowered the gag.

“You do know me?”

She nodded, even though she didn’t know how she knew him. “Your name.” Her mouth was already dry from the gag despite the short while with it.

“First name?”

“Sam.” The name came easily now.

“Last?”

Try as she might, it wouldn’t come to her, frustratingly on the tip of her tongue and no further. “I don’t…. I don’t remember it.”

He gestured at Dean. “His name?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Interesting. You recall Dean’s name and not mine.”

She glanced at Dean across the room. His worried stare was unsettling. “You don’t have to do this,” Jo whispered to Sam. “It’s assault. It’s…it’s kidnapping. You don’t have to help him.”

His hand raised again, thumb stroking her cheek. “It’s not Dean I’m helping, Jo. It’s you.”

Sweet sentiment. The bonds and that gag he put back on her then ruined it, however.

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel’s phone buzzed a discreet, barely there low buzz in his pocket. Dean or Sam, he wondered, flipping a mental coin and coming up with Dean. Actually, usually, it was Dean calling. He pulled it out and looked at the phone. Dean. As he debated answering it, it went to voicemail. Castiel began counting. At fifteen, it buzzed again. He accepted the call and before he could even get a standard greeting out, Dean was making it plain that he’d ignored Cas’s advice to let Sam speak to Jo initially. That immediately put him in a fouler mood than he was already in.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation despite having known that’s exactly what would happen. Why did they do that? Why did they sometimes completely disregard his observations? He did tell them things for a reason, which they’d know if they bothered to listen to him on occasion.

He hadn’t told Dean about the details of Jo’s memories mostly because he knew that in order to understand her situation to the fullest, Dean needed to see her worst reaction to his presence. He needed to witness just how frightened she was so that he might understand the scope of what had been done to her and handle her with some gentleness. He also hadn’t been certain that seeing Sam and Dean wouldn’t bring her true memories rushing back, thus negating those false ones. A two-part reason for not telling him.

Besides, Dean had stopped listening by that point in the conversation anyway and even if Castiel had managed to tell him, he didn’t think Dean would have heard the words. He did that a lot and not only to Cas. He also did it to Bobby. From experience, Cas had known it was futile to try to tell Dean anything else right then.

Sometimes, both Dean and Sam both were far too single-minded and downright thick. Not to mention that they behaved like he was their personal go-to angel, there for them to call upon for answers to everything. Did he look like the embodiment of all knowledge? Hadn’t they learned yet that there really were some things he simply didn’t know? Obviously not, as he continually had to remind them of that fact. Still, they persisted. Was he not speaking English? Castiel would swear he did.

Frankly, he missed those days of Dean mentoring him in the ways of humanity as he’d slowly fallen towards it. Not the falling part of course, but that camaraderie, that friendship that had built. He longed for that. Even then, though, they’d looked his way for answers, as if having been an angel meant he’d had access to all knowledge. He had no idea where that assumption had come from. Was it because sometimes he had had the arcane knowledge they’d needed? Both of them should understand research -- especially Sam. The knowledge had come from doing research into things that interested him.

He tuned back in to the conversation. Dean was wanting to know where he was and why he wasn’t there watching over Jo.

Castiel glanced around him, taking in the muddy ground that had the distinct smell of pig excrement and the three angels sprawled there in it, bloody and temporarily unconscious. He stepped over one prone body and through the gate, walking away from the battle he’d finished moments before Dean’s first call.

How did he explain that while Jo may be a big deal to them, to Cas, she was barely a blip on angelic radar; a puzzle to be studied in off moments, like some humans did crossword puzzles? Her resurrection didn’t concern him except in the sense that the other side may or may not have had plans for her and may or may not still have plans for her. She was important to Sam and Dean, not to Castiel. At least not until he had confirmation of current plans for the use of her. Until that moment occurred, however, she was merely a curiosity he would ponder.

Dean would take that badly, mention her death and all that, and not understand the big picture Castiel faced. The really big picture. As in ‘heaven’s civil war that would eventually affect all of humanity if it wasn’t stopped’ big picture. Dean had an amazingly narrow view of reality at times. Castiel really did feel like they were both speaking English, but one of them wasn’t fully understanding what the words meant and it certainly wasn’t him.

And they thought him dim because he didn’t understand some human behavior or a few of those bad jokes Dean made. He knew they were jokes and that they were indeed bad. Did he need to understand why they were jokes?

The truth was, Dean Winchester took Castiel for granted, and he’d had about enough of that. He’d let it go on far longer than he would have from anyone else, which he thought showed how well he liked Dean. As much as he liked, even loved Dean, would it kill him to say ‘thank you, Cas, you’ve been a great help’? Oh no, what he got was ’gimme, gimme, gimme’ without the courtesy of a thank-you.

And now he wanted Castiel to look for Ellen in his ton of spare time.

Not like he was fighting a war against almost insurmountable odds or anything, right?

Dean Winchester was not the center of the universe and certainly not the center of Castiel’s. Cas had just as many, if not more pressing, problems as Dean did to face and Dean just didn’t get it.

Frustrating really.

And it only ever got more so. Sadly.

He concluded the call and was on his way long before his opponents would wake.

~~~~~~~~~~

What the hell could Castiel possibly be doing that it took him this long to answer the friggin’ phone? He was angry that Cas hadn’t told him Jo’s memories, letting him go in cold, thinking it wasn’t too bad. Plus, he was worried about Jo. She kept looking at him like she thought he was going to throw her down and have at her one way or another. Not the sort of looks he’d ever gotten from her.

Dean adjusted the ice pack on his face, tried calling again, and was rewarded this time with Cas actually picking up. He started talking. “You know, you could have warned me about the big ole picture of me with the ‘shoot on sight’ sign across the bottom of it!”

“I assumed you’d be a quicker draw.”

“Quicker dr…. Cas.”

“You’re a hunter, Dean. They aren’t. You’re experienced. They aren’t.”

“Yeah. But more than hunters can be damn good shots.”

There was silence and then, “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh? While I appreciate the vote of confidence, a heads-up would have been nice.”

“My apologies.” His voice didn’t sound apologetic, he sounded distracted. “I assume you’re not injured?”

Not by either of the men anyway, he thought with a sour glance at the closed door to Jo’s bathroom and at Sam waiting outside. It had taken a panicked woman to hurt him. “I’m fine. You looked in her memories, right? Care to tell me why she’s afraid of me and why that large guy with the shotgun in the diner wants me dead?” There was silence again, a long enough one that Dean thought Cas had hung up on him. “Cas,” he prompted.

“I’m here, Dean.”

“What, did you go through a dead zone? Spill.”

“She thinks you’re her ex-boyfriend.”

“And what does she think I did to her?”

There was another moment of silence.

“Tell me, Castiel.”

When he spoke, his voice was blunt. “You’re the former lover who won’t go away, tracking her down, bringing her back, using violence to threaten her, both physical and emotional tactics. You alienated her from family, friends, and she’s been running from you for years. She believes she managed to get away in 2009 long enough to start a new life. I did tell you it wasn’t a good life they gave her.”

Dean swallowed hard, Jo’s expression making horrible sense now. His free hand curled into a fist around the makeshift icepack, knuckles whitening. A sense of outrage on Jo’s behalf began to grow inside him. He’d like kill Zachariah a second time and if Raphael was involved, he’d like to kill him too. The bastards had taken away who she was and turned her into someone who was far from the fearless Jo he’d known. “You let me go in alone with Jo thinking I abused her every way under the sun? What the hell’s wrong with you, Cas? She could have really killed me!”

“She’s no memory of her hunting skills, Dean. I sincerely doubt she would have managed to injure you and if you’ll recall, I did tell you to let Sam speak to her first.”

He snorted. His face proved that theory of her inability to injure him wrong. “She’s highly dangerous with or without her memories. Where are you anyway? I thought you’d be here watching her, making sure she didn’t go anywhere.”

“You have her details. If she’d left, you would have been able to find her using them. I’ve seen you do it before. I decided she was safe where she was.”

“What about Ellen? You find any trace of her anywhere? You’re looking for her, right? Tell me you’ve found some sign of her.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Of course. I’ll be following her trail the next few days. Might even be weeks. Depends on where it leads.”

Weeks to follow a trail? When Castiel could search an entire town in a blink? Whatever. “You think Zach only brought Jo back?”

“I don’t know what to think. I’ll contact you when I have information.” The ‘not before’ part was heavily implied.

“Alright. We’re going to head towards Bobby’s, take the long route and hit a few places Jo might remember.” Namely, the site where the Roadhouse had once stood, the house she’d grown up in, and her father’s grave. If he could think of anything else, they’d include it as well.

“I suggest you skip a visit to Carthage,” was Castiel’s dry suggestion before he hung up.

He ended the call, put the phone in his pocket and sat on Jo’s couch. He’d had a horrible feeling they’d need to steal her away, but Cas’s explanation made gaining her trust very hard, especially since they were going to take her with them against her will. Dean had already made up his mind. Jo had to go with them to see any thing that might bring back her real memories. Or any person. It was simply how it had to be.

She was going to be suspicious of every move he made. Maybe it’d be best if he let Sam take care of her on this trip. She didn’t seem to be scared to death of Sam, only him.

Dean leaned his head back. This journey was going to be painful for all of them one way or another.