Title: Lost and Found

Chapter: Seven

Notes: Quotes are from ‘Everybody Loves a Clown’ and ‘Simon Said’.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean drove to the Roadhouse site, keeping an eye on Jo in the rearview mirror. She didn’t look out the windows, sitting with her hands clasped on her lap, staring at the front passenger seatback, a pensive scowl on her face. He recalled seeing that scowl once before: after Ellen had told her about his dad’s part in Bill Harvelle’s death. This time, Jo wouldn’t say what was wrong, remaining silent.

He could feel the tension growing in the car between all three of them.

The site had been cleaned up, all of the pieces of the Roadhouse rubble gone, leaving a bare lot overgrown with weeds. A ‘for sale’ sign hung at an angle from a post. Dean parked and got out, slamming the door closed. He hadn’t spent nearly the amount of time here that Jo had, nor did he have the emotional investment she did, so he thought he’d see some reaction from her. He hoped to see a reaction.

She got out, looking around at the site. He thought he saw her chin quiver and stepped close to her, watching for some sign of recognition.

“Jo?”

She walked around the site, her steps slow. Occasionally, her gaze would raise, as though she was looking at a building that was no longer there.

Sam leaned against the car. “She remembered something this morning. I think it was something about Carthage. Clammed right up.”

“You talked about Carthage? What did she say?”

“Just that you wouldn’t tell her anything. I said I wouldn’t either and she had a reaction. Looked like she was in pain.”

“I don’t like seeing her hurting.” It made him remember Carthage all the more and how he’d felt at that moment he’d been carrying her into that store. He’d seen the shock and pain on her face and it had seeped into him. Dean hated the reminder of that day.

“Do you think we’re hurting her by forcing this?”

Were they hurting her? Maybe. It seemed to Dean though that her pains got worse the closer they got to places she was familiar with. He crossed his arms. Jo was staring up again, right at where the sign on the front of the building had been. “I think she’s remembering something right now.” He raised his voice. “Anything, Jo?”

Her shrug was unconcerned, almost bored, and definitely too casual. She was putting on a show for them.

Sam sighed and slid his hands in his jeans pockets. “You sure about that, Dean?”

“She’s seeing something whether she’ll admit it or not. Don’t you see it, Sam?” It was inconceivable to him that Sam didn’t notice it because it was obvious to him.

“Not really. She looks bored.”

Dean glanced at him. “Dude, you need to brush up on your observational skills.”

Jo picked her way back over the uneven ground to them and he told her to get in the car, already planning the route to their next destination in his head.

He and Sam had never stayed at the house, but they both knew where it was. It was a tiny ranch house only a few miles from the Roadhouse. It was far enough that Ellen had had privacy and a separation from her work life and still close enough that she could be there in minutes. Dean pulled up to the curb. They didn’t go inside, as another family lived there and were at home, but Jo stared at it the same way she had the Roadhouse site. If she wasn’t remembering, at the very least she was feeling that the places were familiar to her.

The cemetery was last before they headed out to Bobby’s. Dean was hyper-sensitive to Jo’s reactions, noting the tiny things she was trying to hide. A flash of pain in her eyes, either emotional or physical. The sadness. The tension in her posture. Dean saw it all and was impatient for the hurts to all finally go away for her.

She stood over the stone, one hand raised, fingers rubbing at her forehead and temple. When she spoke, he heard frustration loud and clear in her tone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jo didn’t want to get out of the car. Getting out meant she’d have to move and attempt to pretend everything was normal when it wasn’t.

She opened the door and got out, taking Dean’s invitation to walk around only because she was too antsy to stand still.

Being here was a bad idea.

She felt as though her brain was scraping against her skull and it wasn’t stopping. The pressure and pain just kept increasing, rising like a pitcher being filled up. The images she kept seeing were flashes that were too quick to make sense. She could scarcely notice one before another was eclipsing it, over and over.

That woman again. A man in a leather jacket, smiling and laughing with that woman, drawing her close despite her feigned protests and kissing her with a fervent passion. Jo playing a video game. Putting money in a jukebox.

More and more, confusing flashes that gave her no insight into the life Sam and Dean were calling her real one. They were all scenes in a barroom and as Jo walked around the site, stepping carefully so she wouldn’t trip over debris tangled in the weeds, she could almost see the ghost image of a building and a neon sign.

Somehow, she managed to give Dean a indifferent shrug when he asked if she remembered anything. His frustration manifested in a curt, “Get in the car then.”

The house he drove them to sparked more scenes, ever faster, speeding through her mind. Too fast, too many, there and gone before she could actively attempt to process them.

A cemetery was next. It took awhile to find the stone they were looking for and Jo suppressed a whimper as a sharp pain lanced through her temples. She stumbled, Dean’s hands catching her, keeping her from tumbling to the ground.

“You okay?”

She really wished he’d quit asking that. She was far from okay at present.

“There.” Sam pointed. “Right over here.”

Jo stood between them, looking down at the stone. ‘William Anthony Harvelle’. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes and she wasn’t entirely sure why. That name…. Jo knew she knew it somehow. She knew the name, had known the man, and he’d meant something to her. But what?

‘He passed away.’ An empty coffin lowered into a grave. Rain making muddy puddles around the gravesite. ‘It was a long time ago.’ Herself looking up at Dean. ‘He was a hunter.’

She took a step back from the grave, then another one. ‘I want to go. Can we go please? I mean it. Can we just go?”

“Why?”

She wiped her perspiring hands on her jean clad thighs. “I…I don’t see the point of this. It’s a grave, Dean.”

“Whose grave?” He faced her.

“I don’t know,” Jo continued to back up, shaking her head, “and I don’t really care.” The tears she’d been fighting began to fall in a hot rush and she wiped at them, hating that they were seeing her cry when she didn’t understand the reason for it.

“See, I think you do care, Jo. I think that somewhere inside your head, you know who he was and you remember what he meant to you. I don’t think that’s something Zachariah could completely take away from you. Trust me. I get what that man meant to you.”

“I’m not standing here in a cemetery,” she protested, those tears clouding her vision. “So we might as well go wherever you two have planned next because I’m heading for the car.”

“Wait.” He reached for her, hand grasping her arm and Jo twisted.

“Get off me!” He wasn’t letting go, his other hand on her too, his grip hard. Jo tugged, trying to desperately to get free and was unable. The tears kept coming and all of a sudden, she didn’t want to run from Dean. She wanted to accept solace in his arms.

Where would be the harm in it? What harm would come from letting him hold her while she cried?

With a hitching breath from her sobs, she stopped fighting him and stepped close, laying her head on his chest. “My head hurts and it won’t stop,” she told him in a whisper. “It really hurts, Dean.”

He embraced her. “We’ll get you something for that,” he told her, one hand cupping the back of her head. “Sam?”

“Last dose she had was last night.”

She felt Sam’s hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

“You knew?”

“She mentioned she had a headache, so I gave her something.”

Neither rushed her back to the car, Sam digging out a bottle of pills and handing it to Dean, who shook out a couple. Jo dry swallowed them and got in the backseat. She laid down and, as they began to drive, she let herself be lulled into sleep.

The man before her had a commanding presence and she hated him. Jo knew she hated him without knowing who he was. This man had hurt her and shown no qualms about doing so.

“Joanna, Joanna.” He clucked his tongue. “You know, I never thought anyone on this earth could be any more of a pain in the ass than Dean Winchester, but you…. You.” The man shook a finger at her almost playfully. “You are steadily climbing to that spot of dishonor. I’ve given you one job, just one, and you can’t even do that right.”

She backed up as far as she could go, heart pounding fast, terrified of him.

“You’re just like your stubborn bitch of a mother. Two peas in a pod.” His smirk chilled her clear through to her bones. “Let’s fix that once and for all.” His hand stretched out….

Jo woke up screaming, sliding across the backseat as the car fishtailed. She sat up, reaching for the door handle and tugging even before the car was stopped, tumbling to the ground and scraping her hands, scrambling towards the ditch.

“You’ll do what I tell you if I have to slice and dice your brain to make you obey.”

She threw up in the weeds, the heaves increasing the pain in her head, a pain that wasn’t lessening despite the pills she’d taken earlier. As she was crouched, she felt an arm go around her stomach, bracing her until the heaves were done, and a hand holding her hair back from her face. It was Dean, his body warm against her. She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The throbbing in her temples made her vision seem to pulse in and out of focus.

Sam knelt beside her, holding out the water bottle that had been in the backseat with her. “Here. Have a swig.”

She rinsed her mouth and spit, then carefully took a sip. When her stomach didn’t rebel again, she took a drink, then another, finishing the bottle. Slowly, Dean and Sam stood, giving her room. Jo rubbed her forehead with the fingers of both hands. She couldn’t think straight and gritted her teeth.

“What did you remember,” Sam asked and she didn’t have to look up to know there was kind concern in his eyes because she could hear it in his voice.

Jo was in no mood for kind concern and pushed up to stand, her legs shaking. The headache made her snappish and when Dean reached for her arm, she lost it. All of her frustrations at not being able to escape them and at her ongoing headache and flashes of weird memory reared up. She whirled, punching at him.

Vaguely, she was aware of them wrestling her to the car and Dean telling Sam to, ‘Get us to Bobby’s’, as he got in the backseat with her. His weight pressed her into the seat, his hand covering her mouth -- until she bit at it.

He cursed. “Drive faster, Sammy,” he barked out.

She didn’t know how much time passed, merely that it was spent in a cycle of fighting him, recovering, and fighting him again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam drove. It wouldn’t take long to get to Bobby’s now. They’d only been about twenty minutes away when Jo had woken up screaming.

Dean stayed in the backseat with Jo. She seemed to have developed a ton of extra arms and legs, fighting him tooth and nail, as though the closer they got to hard truth she could see, the more she’d been programmed to resist.

He was feeling quite beaten up and was ready to tie and gag her again if he could get her in the right position.

There was the sound of sirens.

“Uh…Dean? We’ve got a problem.”

“Don’t stop, Sam.”

The siren’s followed them to Bobby’s house. Sam got out and opened the door, taking hold of Jo, who grabbed anything to keep from being pulled out. The seat, the door handle…the waist of Dean’s jeans. As a consequence, he was half pulled out with her.

“That’s a cop car,” Jo screamed as Sam hoisted her up onto his shoulder. “You two shits are in such trouble now! Put me down Sam!”

Dean sat up. Bobby had come outside and Sheriff Mills was getting out of her car. “Hey, Sheriff,” he called out. “You look really pretty today. New hairstyle?” He directed his most charming grin at her.

She put her hands on her hips as she approached. “You’re lucky it was me out there, Dean. Do I want to know what’s going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam told her in a smooth, serious tone that was somewhat marred in effectiveness by Jo’s thrashing and yelling.

“It is too what it looks like,” Jo’s interjected, pounding her fists on Sam’s back. “It’s kidnapping!”

“Ignore her. She’s not in her right mind.”

“Got that right,” Dean muttered.

Bobby came over and bent, looking at Jo. “What the hell --” He stepped back in a hurry as one of Jo’s fist almost connected with his face. “It really is Jo.”

“Please help me,” Jo yelled. “My name is Joanna Elizabeth Dunn. I’m from Rhode Island. I was kidnapped from my apartment --”

“That’s not her name,” Dean said loudly over her.

Jodie cocked her head. “Demon?”

“No.”

“Other supernatural creature?”

“No.”

“Do I want any details whatsoever?”

“Probably not.”

“Did you kidnap her?”

“That part might be true,” he conceded with a nod.

She sighed. “Dean….”

“Give us twenty-four hours, Sheriff. Please.” He held up his hands. “I promise, if we can’t get some resolution on this in another day, you can come back here and drive her off yourself.” He didn’t tell her that if there was no resolution, they’d be leaving at hour twenty-three, before she could come back for Jo.

Jodie’s expression indicated she knew exactly what he was planning to do. “Twenty-four, Dean, but I want answers when I get back.”

“We get ‘em, you get ‘em,” he agreed.

With a final long stare at Jo and Sam, Jodie got into her car and drove off. Dean heaved a sigh of relief and led the way inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo was beginning to feel sick from Sam’s shoulder against her stomach when he finally set her down inside the house. She staggered back, gasping for breath, and turning.

Her dad was right there.

But while it was him, it wasn’t.

She backed away from him, and Sam and Dean, running into the fridge, sliding past it, feeling herself beginning to lose her balance. Her hands grasped at the kitchen counter and she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

She saw him sitting in a wheelchair, herself at that very kitchen table drinking with the dark blond woman and the man in the suit from the diner, and herself at the fridge, Dean propositioning her in a semi-vague manner.

More and more. The scenes whirled, dizzying. She gasped for breath, still unable to get that air she needed. The pounding in her head seemed to echo the beating of her heart.

Jo fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean ran to catch Jo as she fell, dropping heavily to his knees as her limp form dragged him to the floor. “We’d better get her in lock down before she comes to.”

They put her in the panic room, Sam volunteering to sit outside the door for awhile so Dean could explain the situation to Bobby. They sat at the kitchen table with coffee, Dean spilling the tale of what they knew so far and admitting that while she appeared to be regaining memories, they were at a loss as to how to escalate that. “It’s all just pieces. The most she admitted to remembering at one time was when Meg possessed Sam. Other than that it’s,” he shrugged, “pieces, like I said.”

“Called Castiel to see if he’s got anything?”

“Thought we’d see if you had any ideas first.”

Bobby thought a minute. “Well, I do have one, considering what you’ve told me so far.” He elaborated, a simple plan that might actually help. “It’s still a long-shot, but no more so than what you were already doing.”

“If that works, you’re a genius, Bobby.”

“I’ll set it up.” He got up from the table. “Give Cas a call.”

Sam came in, pouring a cup of coffee and bringing it to the table. “She’s awake and pretending she isn’t. I tried to get her to talk, but she’s not interested. I think seeing Bobby shocked her pretty badly.”

He nodded. Jo wasn’t the type to faint under normal conditions. Dean reached for his cell phone. “Thought I’d call Cas, see if he’s got anything.”

“He might.”

It was sensible to call Castiel, right? As fast as Cas zipped around, surely he’d discovered something to help by now. Dean cleared his throat and dialed, launching into an explanation of what had been going on as soon as Castiel answered.

The reception Dean received wasn’t what he’d expected. Cas was terse, voice clipped and even annoyed. Dean asked him if he was okay. Not that Cas would actually tell him. He played things close. As predicted, Castiel refused to tell him what was wrong, instead stating rightly that Dean had made the decision to help Jo and therefore was his case. Like Cas hadn’t ever helped on a case before. There wasn’t any rule against it that Dean was aware of.

There was a click and silence.

“Cas?” Dean held the phone out from his ear, frowning at it before putting it back. “Cas,” he repeated. With a sigh, he hung up. Great. Now he’d pissed off the angel and wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened.

“What’d he have to say?” Sam sipped at his coffee.

“He hung up on me.”

Sam’s eyes widened in astonishment. “What do you mean he hung up on you?”

“He hung up on me. He’s being pissy about something.” Dean wondered what that thing was. It’d help if Cas actually told them what he was up to in that war of his. “Bottom line? We’re on our own.”

“Then I guess we keep doing what we’re doing.”

“I guess.” He’d been hoping for some insight into what the hell Zachariah had been up to with this. He dialed Cas again. It went to voicemail and he hung up. Calling over and over wasn’t going to make Cas call him back.

This plan of Bobby’s had better work because he was running out of ideas on what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

“She’s remembering, but she’s not and…. Can’t you do something?” Dean’s tone was worried and anxious and Castiel could imagine him pacing wherever he was.

He bit back a few of Dean’s favorite swear words. Swearing wasn’t very becoming to an angel and this wasn’t the time for any sort of real conversation. Why did Dean always call right when he was in the middle of something? He was going to have to go back to keeping the phone off most of the time at this rate.

Castiel glanced around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. At least not until he had the trap set. “No, Dean I can’t do anything. I found her. If I could have fixed her, I would have. I’ve already done something by informing you of her whereabouts. She’s your case, Dean, not mine. Not to mention I’ve been searching for Ellen like you wanted. I do that because I liked Ellen and wouldn’t wish to discover her in the same state as Jo. I suggest you talk to Jo, treat her,” he turned once more, eyes narrowing, “like a friend instead of someone you can yell at for answers. That might help your situation.”

There was silence a moment and then a cautious, “Are you okay, Cas?”

He snorted. “No, but I’m not going to whine about it. You chose to pursue her --”

“The case, not her.”

“Her,” Castiel corrected, impatient with Dean’s tendency to pussyfoot about his motivations. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, he’d chosen to go after Jo to save her because he wanted her. It was that simple. Deep down, Dean wanted Jo Harvelle. Things would be simpler if he’d admit it. “You chose to go to her and attempt to return her to her former self. You wanted that. You made that decision. Deal with the consequences because I can’t help you.” He ended the call, shut down the phone, and slipped it into his pocket, tilting his head back and listening carefully for his pursuer.

He didn’t have long to wait. He heard the flutter of her wings in the air, an almost delicate sound, and then she was there, appearing before him. Alone. They stared at each other. She was truly alone, coming to find him without bodyguards at her side. It was either a gutsy move or a stupid one. He wasn’t yet certain which. Was she that confident of her ability to take him on?

“Castiel.”

“Laurel.”

She stepped across the floor towards him, hands in her coat pockets, and stopped just outside his trap. “I hear you’ve been looking for Uzziel.”

“I hear you’re his social secretary these days.”

“I pass on any meeting times and places he’d be interested in. Are you interested in a meeting, Castiel? Ready to turn yourself in and stop this foolish quest of yours?”

He backed up to entice her to move closer. “Quite the career climb you’ve made recently,” he observed. “From foot soldier to a part of Raphael’s entourage. What sort of favors did you have to give out for that? What deals have you made, Laurel? ” He deliberately taunted her, implying she’d gotten her promotion from something other than battle skill. He, at least, had gotten his slight promotion through Godly favor. Hers was obviously from something else.

The two of them had never gotten along well even under the best of circumstances. The phrase ‘mutual dislike’ adequately described their feelings towards each other. Laurel had always wanted more than where she was on the angel hierarchy, not content with her lot. His own new higher level of power and status in that hierarchy would be irritating to her, especially if her own level of power was static within her promotion.

Her brows pulled down into a frown and she took two more steps right into his trap. “What do you want?”

Castiel lit the circle on fire and watched his sister angel squirm in that tight circle, her sudden panicked expression rather satisfying. When she settled in the center with a murderous glare his direction, he raised his brows. “Let’s talk resurrections.”

“I don’t know anything about the Harvelle women!”

Castiel took a few steps closer to her, tilting his head a fraction to one side. “I never mentioned them. Why would you assume I was referring to them? Are they perhaps on your mind for some reason?”

She knew she’d been caught, lips thinning into a tight line. “You think you’re so smart, Castiel.”

“What was the plan for them? You might as well tell me. I’ll get the information from you eventually.”

“Tell you? So you can kill me?” She scoffed at that. “No.”

“Maybe I won’t kill you.”

“If you don’t, Raphael and Uzziel will. I lose either way.”

“Why would they kill you?”

“The information on the women is privileged.” She crossed her arms. “What’s my incentive, Castiel? Will your side give me asylum if I tell you what I know?”

He saw the gleam of calculation in her eyes. If he promised it, she’d take it long enough to double cross him. The pain of those things he had to do in war welled up, but Cas shoved it back. No matter what happened, he was going to have to kill her before she killed him and it would likely be today, right here in this building. The only way he’d leave with the knowledge she had was over her dead body. “Of course.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. You’ll have asylum until you no longer wish it.” He assumed she’d no longer wish to have sanctuary fairly fast after she was done telling him what she knew.

Her chin raised. “Thank you. You weren’t supposed to find either of them. They’re supposed to be hidden, everything they knew turned upside down to keep them from acknowledging the hunting life or wanting to go back to it.”

“That was Raphael’s plan?”

“Yes. We were to neutralize them, keep them out of the way. They weren’t to return to hunting and certainly not together. Together they’re dangerous and add them to the Winchester ‘friends and family’ plan and they’d get in the way in a most irritating fashion.”

“What was the original plan?”

“If the Apocalypse failed, they were Zachariah’s ‘sleeper agents’.” She smirked. “He planned to manipulate the Winchesters into finding them and hopefully, the women would manage to kill them.”

“Hopefully?”

“There was…incentive added into their memories. You already discovered Jo Harvelle’s, haven’t you?”

“The abuse angle.”

“Yes. A desperate woman, frightened, ready to end that abuse once and for all.” She crossed her arms.

“Raphael wanted them neutralized.” Of course he would if he was trying to get the Apocalypse restarted. He didn’t need anyone killing Sam and Dean before that happened. “How was Jo neutralized?”

“She wasn’t. Not fully anyway. You interrupted before Uzziel could complete the task. He was removing key memories Zachariah had sanctioned when you arrived. He fled.”

Which meant that there was a good chance Uzziel hadn’t closed the connection before leaving. If he’d been in a hurry…. It was possible that the planted memories could begin to break down beneath any sort of reason. If Sam and Dean could poke enough holes in the things she claimed as memories, they might collapse like a house of cards. “And Ellen? What of her?”

Her smug expression faltered. “We’re having trouble locating her. She’s been moved from the location Zachariah put her.”

Interesting. Who would move her and why? He thought there may be more to this than he’d initially considered. “Why wait so long to neutralize them?”

“Going through Zachariah’s…files…has taken awhile. We only recently learned of them and since we can’t have either woman killing the Winchesters….” She uncrossed her arms, her hands sliding into her coat pockets. “I’ve told you what I know. May I have asylum now, Castiel?”

Raising his hand, he made the flames go down, his other hand taking hold of his sword in readiness for the attack he assumed she was going to begin. “You may.”

Laurel walked towards him.

He was disappointed to discover he was right.

She attacked as soon as she was level with him. The fight was dirty and hard. She was stronger than she looked. Castiel managed to get the upper hand and shove the knife into her chest. He let her body drop and stood for long minutes staring down at her body.

“I’m sorry, sister,” he whispered.

He headed out, searching for Uzziel’s trail. He’d find Uzziel and through Uzziel, he’d find Ellen. And then, maybe, he’d hear a ‘thank you’ from Dean.

A burble of laughter escaped Castiel’s lips. Somehow he doubted he’d ever hear that phrase from Dean and if he did?

Surely the Apocalypse would be upon them again.