Title: Nothing and Everything

Part Two: Retribution

Chapter 41

~~~~~~~~~~

Timing was everything now. Lachesis checked her watch, then her orders, and got to work. Thus far, everything was rolling around right on schedule, but she knew just how fast that could fly apart once the Winchesters were actively involved.

~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after Sam left, Gwen turned her attention to the mess that was currently their dining table. It had been a standoff: her and Jo against Sam and Dean for going through the mail and filing anything that needed filing.

She sighed. I should’ve known it’d be me taking care of it, she thought.

Neither Sam nor Dean had ever seemed to notice the now two towering stacks. It was like they had a blind spot. Claiming they weren’t used to getting mail was no longer an excuse she’d accept, as they’d been here long enough they should be used to it.

Sitting down with a cup of caffeine free peppermint tea (it seemed to soothe the mild nausea she had most days), she began to go through each piece. Several on top were checks and she’d deposit them tomorrow morning in the business account. There were catalogs and magazines addressed to their various aliases, including a thick catalog from that adult website Dean liked to frequent. She half wondered if he got email offers from them as well and decided it was a definite probability.

Gwen opened each envelope and sorted the contents into stacks according to who it was for, with post-it notes that had what action was needed: read, sign, pay, etc. It was the same sort of system Patricia had used, only her supplies had been slips of paper and tape.

An hour passed in relative peace. Jack remained asleep on the blanket on the floor to her left. He’d played, then fussed so much when she’d tried to get him to nap that she’d let him keep playing until he’d passed out, a stuffed animal clutched in one hand and an army of plastic cars and trucks surrounding him. She smiled at the heartwarming picture he made and lifted a large manila envelope addressed to Dean from Rufus. A notebook beneath it caught her eye. That looked like…. Setting the envelope aside, Gwen reached for the composition notebook.

It was. The last missing journal.

Her heart beat faster, a sweat breaking out on her skin. How long had it been sitting there under all that mail? If Jo, then she, hadn’t gone on strike, Sam would’ve had it to work from. She read a few pages and felt an urgency slip over her at a paragraph of the text.

‘I shouldn’t have changed it so much, I know, and I am sorry, but these improvements make the binding near impossible to break. My spell should be the final incarnation of it, a perfect binding. Nothing else will be needed ever. I hate to think what could happen if someone tries to bind him without my version. Gave Neal and Patty a key to my storage unit in case he, somehow, gets loose and they hear about it before I do. Bill took a key, but had this look on his face, like he didn’t want to take it or contemplate the creature ever getting loose again. Tough. We’re in this together now, all of us. He was pissed when he realized that was what the spell meant, but it’s for the best. It is. The binding is the best it’s ever been and ever will be. It’s a small price to pay.’

For the best. He looked to have been trying to convince himself of that as she read a short ways further. He’d kept writing that, over and over. For the best. Was that moment the beginning of the end for their friendship? Was that when the Three Musketeers fell apart? Thoughtful now, Gwen got up and retrieved Sam’s notes from the bedroom. She’d start by reading Aaron’s spell.

He could’ve been a teacher, for he’d written out each piece with a translation and notes on where he’d gotten some of the information. He’d listed Brenda/Lacey, a demon he’d tortured, and a creature he’d only listed as ‘consort to mother’, whatever that was.

One section made her draw in a sharp, alarmed breath. Surely he hadn’t been that arrogant?

The text spoke for itself and Gwen fully understood just why Aaron had been trying to convince himself of the rightness of his changes to the spell. Aaron Bennett had used a dangerous form of blood magic, the sort that often went wrong when humans tried to use it. It was a demonic form, complete with demonic language. No wonder two of those words had puzzled Sam and Dean so much. They weren’t Enochian. They were demonic, a medieval version of a demonic binding, complete with blood use.

Ronnie and Ham were right. He’d used anything, researched anything, and gone where no one should go. Gwen’s heart broke a little for him. The problem and downside with the sort of binding he’d used, and he’d freely admitted it in the text, was that it changed the spell forever. He’d strengthened the binding, yes, but he’d also bound the Campbell, Harvelle, and Bennett lines to the soul stealer. They were forever cursed to be the ones to bind him.

Oh hell. The things they were all going to have to tell their kids some day….

Gwen wiped tears from her cheeks and reached for Sam’s notes. She had to see how far off he was and get the changes to him before disaster happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the most part, the people Jo had known in high school looked mostly the same, just older, with all of the things that came with aging. Some had gained weight, some had lost, but all had aged more than Jo had thought possible in fourteen years. The star basketball player (the school had been too small for a football team, much to the disappointment of the district) now had crow’s feet by his eyes, a pot belly, and a hairline that was several inches higher on his forehead than it had been. The class stoner, Andy, was still a stoner and a good advertisement for abstaining from drugs. Jo felt a slight letdown as she studied her old classmates.

Mostly, they all looked…sad. For several of them, high school had been their glory days and they were coming down off that high hard. It was truly sad.

She picked a few more people out, matching names to older faces and then she saw her. Heather Holt. Jo spotted her as she led Dean across the gym again. Just as Jo had suspected, she was in a formal party dress and looked the same as she always had. Her reddish brown hair was in perfect curls and her makeup was flawless. Didn’t it just figure that Heather had remained the same?

Jo smirked a little at having guessed the code correctly.

Heather approached, looking at Jo with first a curious, then pleased expression. For a second, Jo would swear Heather was glad she was there, which was bizarre. Heather had hated her. She couldn’t actually want Jo to be there.

“Jo Harvelle!” Heather took Jo’s hands in hers and gave her a European kiss on each cheek. “Wow! You look fabulous! Not like you’ve had two kids at all.”

That refrain was getting old.

“How do you do it? I’m not being condescending here. I read your information sheet when it came in. Career, mom, wife…. I don’t know how any woman does it all, but it looks like you do.” There was that same grating too sincere voice and overly bright cheerleader smile. “Is this your husband? Hi,” she held out her hand for Dean to shake, “I’m Heather, reunion coordinator.”

“Dean.”

“Dean,” she repeated, her extremely interested gaze sliding down him and back up in a blatant perusal that had Jo’s blood boiling in seconds. “Lovely to meet you.” Her attention returned to Jo. “We must talk later, Jo. Really catch up. I mean it. I want to hear all about the past fourteen years.” She made an enthusiastic squealing noise. “If you’re staying over, we could have breakfast tomorrow morning. Let’s. Please say yes. I really want to get together before you leave town. I mean it.”

“We’ll talk about it.” When pigs flew.

Heather touched her shoulder. “Awesome.” She pointed at the refreshment table. “Make sure you try the punch. It’s a family recipe I just had to try out for tonight.”

Dean watched her stroll away and Jo punched him in the arm as hard as she could. “Don’t look at her.”

“She seems nice.”

“Nice. Nice? Are you nuts? She’s psychotic. That woman tortured me for four years and laughed the whole time. Did you hear her just now? ‘Let’s have breakfast tomorrow.’ What was that all about?” She looked around the room again. “And we sent in money for dinner. Where the hell is the dinner we were promised?”

It didn’t even look like there was a place set up for it. Maybe it was in the old cafeteria?

~~~~~~~~~~

Jo’s high school nemesis was a babe, but Dean didn’t tell her that. She was already upset enough that Heather was acting like they’d been friends with all the ‘let’s catch up’ stuff without him openly ogling the woman. Dean thought Heather really did want to catch up.

A movement to their left caught his eye. The woman approaching them could’ve auditioned for Morticia Addams, her long straight black hair a stark contrast to her pale skin. She was too thin, however, and looked a decade older than she should. Drugs, Dean thought. Drugs and alcohol. Had to be one, the other, or both. Her voice was hesitant and husky. “Jo? Hi, it’s Jenny. Jenny Mayweather?” She looked at Jo as if afraid Jo would bite her.

“Jenny.”

At least this time she didn’t pretend she didn’t remember her. What Dean had heard of Jenny was that she was a follower and had always done whatever Heather wanted.

“Well.” Jo’s brows rose and she adjusted that huge bag on her shoulder. “How are you, Jen? You look different.”

“I’m good, I’m…good. And you? Um….” She fumbled with the booklet in her hands. “Two kids, husband, and your own business. Wow. You’ve done well.”

“Are you implying something?” She crossed her arms.

“No! Why?” Her eyes widened. “Did Tanya say something to you?” Now her voice lowered. “Don’t listen to her. Don’t you remember what a two-faced bitch she was in school? She’s just jealous, I’m sure of it. She’s not married. That Schmidt part? The ex she divorced year ago. Oh, and the babies she’s carrying? Twins and she’s not even sure who the father is. It’s sort of sad, really. I hear he was a random hookup.” She put a hand to her mouth, a bewildered expression crossing her face. “Um…. Why did I tell you that? I’m sorry. I don’t….” She took a long drink from her cup. “Must be nerves.” She turned to Dean. “Dean. Dean, Dean…. You’re Jo’s husband?”

“I am.”

“Good. Wow. Yeah…. I need more punch. Excuse me.”

When she’d gone, Jo shook her head. “That’s so like Jenny. She never could keep a secret. I don’t know why anyone ever told her anything. She was always the first one drunk. No tolerance. I see some things don’t change.”

Her sidelong glance at him was mildly triumphant.

“She always look so….” He struggled for the right words.

“Wasted?”

“No.”

“Thin?”

“No.”

“Stupid?”

“No. Gaunt and sick.”

Jo watched Jenny a minute, head tilting to one side as she thought. “No. She’s about thirty pounds thinner than she was back then and her hair was brown, not black. She’s too thin now.”

“Ah.”

“That’s weird.” Jo squinted.

Was it his imagination or did the lighting keep getting dimmer and dimmer? “What’s weird?”

“Where’s the rest of Heather’s crowd?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well….” She crossed her arms. “Jenny’s here, but where’s the other Heather? And what about Toby, Thad, Steve, and Cheryl? They were all attached at the hip in high school. The Satanic brat pack.” She sniffed, her nose scrunching up as though she was smelling sulfur.

“Maybe they couldn’t come. Look in the booklet.”

“What booklet?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“The program you chucked into that bag without even looking at it.” He reached for the bag only to have her turn so he couldn’t get his hand in it.

“I’ll get it.” With a roll of her eyes, she pulled the booklet out and opened it, reading silently, then paraphrasing what she was reading to him. “Heather Rickman is some big-shot international lawyer for a company I’ve never heard of. She’s in Japan and unreachable. Toby Tucker, whereabouts unknown. Thad Bruckner….” She frowned. “Made a fortune by taking over his dad’s car dealership right after graduation, then died in a car accident four years ago. Steve Roberts went from being janitor to being a bigwig in the company he worked for and went missing on a hunting trip four years ago. Cheryl Sussie had a successful rising career in clothing design but was murdered in San Francisco four years ago.”

That was an awful lot of ‘four years ago’. The math worked out to ten years after graduation. Dean started to get a feeling in the pit of his stomach, like maybe, just maybe, Jo had been right about there being something going on with her classmates. “Interesting.”

“Yeah…. Oh look. Cole Carson is in prison.”

“Who’s Cole Carson?”

“The guy I had the biggest crush on junior year. I was totally pathetic, me and half the girls in the class. Huh. He’s in for auto theft and fraud. Must’ve gotten sloppy.”

It wasn’t lost on Dean that he should be in prison for both of those things and a whole slew of other things. “Did Ellen tell you he was trouble?”

“Of course she did. She told me every guy was trouble and out for one thing. Same thing she said about you.” Her gaze, slightly amused, lifted from the booklet. “Boy, you are, too. Trouble through and through.”

“Good thing you don’t always listen to Ellen.”

“She liked you though. Hated Cole with a passion. ’Course, him stealing some of the Roadhouse stock may have had something to do with that. I think what pissed her off the most about him was that she knew he took it and couldn’t ever prove it.”

She kept up a running commentary on her classmates as they trickled in to the gym, that commentary broken only when a short, beefy man with a large beer belly and thinning hair spotted them and yelled, “Babe!”

“Oh crapsticks,” Jo said, half stepping behind him. “Hide me, Dean.”

“Why?”

“It’s Vinnie Briani.”

Before Dean could ask for clarification, Vinnie had crossed the room and was lifting Jo and spinning her around and around. It made Dean dizzy just watching. When he set her down she staggered against Dean. He steadied her with an arm around her.

“Jo-Jo! Babe, you are still smoking’!” His hand shot out, punching Dean lightly on the shoulder. “Hot ain’t she? Ain’t she hot? Mmm-mmm. Better with age.”

“Vinnie’s dad drove one of the beer trucks that came to the Roadhouse,” she explained. She didn’t need to explain that Vinnie had pursued her back then. Dean could just see it.

“This little cupcake was quite the tease in high school. All us guys had tight pants, if you know what I mean. You get what I mean?” Vinnie laughed.

Dean was beginning to understand Jo’s aversion to her high school if Vinnie and Tanya were the average specimen who’d attended. “Vinnie, was it? I’m Jo’s husband, Dean.”

Vinnie levered a knowing stare his way. “Then you definitely know what I mean.”

“Vinnie! Yo, dude! There’s no keg!” A man in a muscle shirt, shorts, and flip-flops spread his arms. “All Heather’s got here is artsy-fartsy punch and bottled beer.”

“I’m talking to Jo-Jo here!”

The man walked over. “Harvelle? Dang, I could still fit you in a locker. Look at that tiny ass.”

“Rich, hi.” Jo made a face like she’d smelled something rank.

Rich saluted her. “Harvelle. You seen Marsha Bailey yet? Chick’s ass got the size of a hippo. I can’t believe I tapped that in high school.” He shook himself like a dog did. “Course, she was about a fourth the size then she is now….”

“I’d still tap her,” Vinnie confided.

“This party is dead,” Rich announced. “Heather used to know how to throw a party, but she’s gotten hoity-toity. I’m heading out to the bars. You in, Vin?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Harvelle? You and your guy coming?”

“I think we’ll stay here awhile,” Dean told them. “See if it livens up.”

“Good luck with that.” Rich snorted. “I think it’ll be dead all night.”

“Well,” he started when they’d gone, “they seemed to think of you as one of their own.”

Jo shuddered. “God, don’t say that! Vinnie always made my skin crawl and Rich was one of Heather’s group.”

He left her to mutter to herself and went to peruse the selections on the refreshment table. Hadn’t that paper Jo had gotten had something about dinner on it? The bowls of chips, pretzels, and mints certainly didn’t count, nor did the punch and bottles of beer on ice. A woman approached him. Jenny. She started in like the Ancient Mariner and Dean listened, fascinated by the torrent of words that spewed out of her mouth until she reached for the punch ladle and paused to pour and drink another cup. He made his exit, returning to Jo and sliding an arm around her waist.

“I know what’s wrong with Jenny Mayweather.”

“She’s a moron?”

“She’s an alcoholic -- and she had wild monkey sex with Heather Holt’s boyfriend and is feeling the guilt. He’s not the only one, either. Chick’s been making the rounds.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me. Said she recognizes she has a problem, but has no motivation to do a damn thing about it. Started telling me all about it, then got sidetracked by how much she admired you in high school.”

She snorted. “She is blitzed.”

“I think the admiration part is genuine.”

“Dean. She was runner-up for prom queen and little miss popular. Why would she admire me?”

“She said you didn’t take crap from anyone, got in more fights than some of the boys, and all the boys respected you.”

“I only got in two fights and I know for a fact Tommy Hinshaw didn’t respect me. Not to try what he tried.”

Tommy might not have respected her then or respect her now, but he certainly feared her. He covered his crotch with both hands every time she walked by him. Dean thought she might prefer the fear. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Nothing is wrong here. It’s a class reunion.”

“I’m not overreacting,” she said in a sure tone.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Nope.”

“Jo.”

“My gut is screaming it’s all wrong.” She pressed a fist to her stomach.

“It’s nerves,” he insisted, except he wasn’t too sure of that anymore.

“It’s instinct.”

“It’s you hoping something is wrong so you have an excuse to shoot people.”

“Your point?”

“Relax.”

“No.” Turning, she sashayed to the refreshment table he’d just left, her flounce marred by the huge bag she was carrying, a bag he realized was big enough to hold Jack in it and he was big for his age. What on earth did she have in there? He no longer believed it was a change of clothes.

Dean sighed.

“Uh-oh,” came a flirtatious voice from behind him. “Trouble?”

He turned. Heather was smiling in a delighted way. “No more than usual.”

“Too bad. Jo always was a bit wild.”

“I like her wild.” He studied her a moment. “I ask you something, Heather?”

“Sure.”

“You and Jo weren’t friends, were you?”

Her smile faded. “Not really. I’m not sure what we were exactly.”

Jo had a few words for it.

“I don’t know, I…. I wish we had been friends is all. I’ll admit I regret how things were back then. It’s never too late to make friends, right? Convince her we should have breakfast. Please?” She smiled again and moved towards the door.

Somehow he doubted Jo would be willing to be friends with Heather. Shaking his head, he went to the table and picked up a punch cup, sniffing at it. “Someone spiked the punch. Doesn’t smell like vodka.” He raised the cup, intending to take a sip.

Jo grabbed the cup and dumped it in the trash. “Don’t drink that piss.”

He sighed. He seemed to be sighing every few minutes now. “Honey, you know I love your attitude, but dial it back a few notches.”

“Hmmph.” She passed him a bottle of beer and took one for herself. “Mass demonic possession,” she said, opening the bottle and taking a long swig.

“No.”

“Cursed object.”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

He put an arm around her. “Face it. They don’t remember it the way you do.”

“Pod people.”

“No. I think Heather really wants to be friends.”

“No way in hell that bitch wants anything but to screw with my head and make me miserable. Mind control.”

“No.”

“Come on. You gotta work with me here, Dean. This is not normal. Jenny Mayweather is acting like we were best buddies. So is Heather. They both hated my guts.”

He heaved another sigh. This was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The music changed, ‘Heaven’ by Bryan Adams beginning.

Dean set his bottle down, then snatched hers and set it beside his. “Come on.” He curved his hand about her bare upper arm, tugging her with him across the room.

“Where are we going?”

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, drawing her into his arms. “Here. Dance.”

Jo adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. It was digging in something horrible now, the weight giving her a kink in her neck and making the muscles in that shoulder ache. Raising her hands, she clasped them behind Dean’s neck, letting him draw her close. “You want to dance?”

“I do and so do you.”

Heather Holt was scowling in their direction and Jo couldn’t resist leaning against Dean and smiling, rubbing it in that she was happily married and Heather was still flitting from man to man. Heather’s scowl deepened. Dean began to croon the lyrics in her ear. She tried not to wince at how off-key he was.

“….nothing could change what you mean to me….”

“Since when do you know the words?”

“Since it’s one of your favorite songs.” A line of soft kisses was pressed to her neck.

“You listened.”

“Jo, honey, I always listen, even when you think I’m not.” His hands swept along her back, the touch tickling when his fingers met bare flesh.

“Mmm. So that means you are listening when I tell you something is going on here?”

He drew back a fraction. “Jo….”

“Come on, Dean. Why is Heather staring at me? Why won’t she stop staring at me? Why is she wanting to be friends, if what you say is true?”

“I don’t know? Because you’re hot? Maybe she has latent lesbian tendencies and thinks you’d be a fun time.”

“You are so not funny.”

“She told me she regrets how things were back then, okay? Don’t you think it could be possible, even slightly, that she’s changed and wants to apologize or something?”

Heather? Apologize? “Did you drink the punch?”

His arms tightened around her. “Let’s just dance, Jo, okay?”

“Sure.” As the song came to a close, she said, “Something is going on and I’m going to find out what.” She returned to the refreshment table and pulled out Sam’s flask. Time to add some extra kick to the punch and see what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

It took far too long for Balthazar to find Castiel and when he did, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “You’re working for Death now? Are you insane, Castiel?”

Castiel turned to face him. “I’m not working for Death. I’m working with him.”

“It’s the same thing, Cas. Working with him means you’re working for him because he has his way every time.”

“Relax, Balthazar. Everything is under control.” He slid his hands in his pockets and was looking far too relaxed for the circumstances.

“Of course it is. Are you aware of what’s headed your pets’ way?”

“Friends,” Castiel corrected with a stern glance at him.

“Whatever they are to you, Castiel, you have to intervene.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” A slight glimmer of unease began to appear, but still not enough.

“Does it matter?”

“Things will play out as they have to for balance.”

“Keep telling yourself that. How many?” Balthazar crossed his arms.

“How many what?”

“How many hunters have died these months while you’ve done Death’s errands?”

“A proportional amount to the monsters. When the soul stealer is imprisoned --”

“Balance, I know. You’ve kept Sam and Dean from ending that creature for a future balance that Death claims will be present. Has it occurred to you that he might want all the Winchesters out of the way?”

Castiel sat on the edge of the desk. Finally, he’d stopped looking so calm and cool. “All?”

“Sam, Dean, and Jo, then Gwen. All of them. They and the soul stealer all upset his precious order. He can get rid of them in one fell swoop.”

“Now who’s seeing plots?”

Balthazar paced for a moment. “Tell me, Cas, why Sam is rushing off to deal with that creature without all the tools he needs to stop it?”

He seemed to pale, brows drawing down in a suspicious frown. “What do you mean?”

“The entire sequence is what I mean. The one Aaron wrote. He’s left already, ignorant of what his dead father-in-law damned them all with. He’s planning on using a spell that he thinks will circumvent those changes.”

“Impossible.” Alarm flashed across his features. “I put the book he’d need on the table where he’d find it with plenty of time….” He shook his head and seemed to finally come out of his calm mood completely, standing and moving close. “Are you saying that Sam never found it?”

“I am.”

He paled further. “No.”

“Yes. Are you absolutely certain your buddy Death doesn’t have plans for them that you’re unaware of? The Fate I spoke to was sure things won’t end well for the Winchesters. She seemed to think Sam and Dean Winchester are headed for a dirt bath for good.”

Castiel didn’t look too certain of anything anymore. “Sam needs that information. He and Dean need it. Without it --”

“It’ll be a massacre. Theirs.”