(Untitled)
Jack likes two things most of all in this world: gratuitious violence and the company of a beautiful woman. The nature of his world has conspired against him so far that he's never been able to really combine the two, before. Which he'd always been fine with, for never having known any different
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The miles had rolled away, tick by tick, through the state line with a broken state sign reading only "Wel" and hanging sideways. The rest of it gone entirely, not even littering pieces. Through the empty dust bowl desolation towns with havoc torn up spots, which she couldn't be sure hadn't been that way for months or years or days.
For about thirty minutes she'd been getting exceedingly more still, her eyes lingering on things longer. "The next right's up three streets, past the first farm road."
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Almost to the middle of her nowhere.
The point where everything began.
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"Ready for it?"
It's sort of like he's asking after her well being.
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Thinking about (her mother's face) Rachel storming of, (the clicking sound the jukebox used to make) how she'd been stupid enough to place her trust in a Winchester again, and (the way hunters smiled victoriously on return) the fact Jack was here. The only one still here.
"The last time I saw it was as a pile rubble. Not even in the piles it fell to since they had to pull out all the bodies and body parts for identification."
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"Would I could tell you what to expect now."
He doesn't do false assurance.
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The road wove on, kicking up dust and rocks the further out they got. The endless land finally producing a steadily growing, unwavering, building shape in the still too far distance.
With what looked like cars and trucks scattered around it.
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Homeport means something different to everyone.
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She hadn't looked back the last time. The real last time. The one where she walked away. There hadn't been a reason to. It had been there; longer than two decades, longer than her whole life. It was always going to be there, or so she had thought.
Her feet moved and she tensed parts of her body without realizing, having to untense each time. The building was standing, but the closer they got small things looked strange even at a distance.
The windows on the side of the building had been busted out. The parking lot had a spray of cars but no people, and they looked, she decided as they were slowing, like no one had touched them in weeks.
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"There's no one here."
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It was a mutter as she got out, her eyes moving quickly across the patio roof and the sign still present, the chair on its side, the cut and color of the wood.
Her feet were taking her forward toward the door, she had to know to touch to see....just needed more, which was how she missed the second car over and it's long thick smear of dried blood across it's side window in the sloppy shape of a hand being dragged down.
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Nothing alive, no. But there are other things here. Dried blood not just on the car, but on the edge of broken glass on the window. He can Read death and danger, but Jo has to see this.
"Be ready," is all he offers as warning. "It's not safe."
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Even if it wasn't hers. Damn Morte.
Drawing her gun from the back of her jeans, face curled into a wary snarl, she advanced on the door as a strange groaning noise, followed by a loud shuffle, sounded from inside.
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But nothing in there is going to touch her.
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Jo, gun still up didn't shoot, and the gasp that came from her mouth was as much a surprise as it was a distraction from her shock.
The first one was Ash.
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Jack steps forward quickly, and again choses his sword over his gun as the man who Jo knew loses his head sharply.
"Shoot!"
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