Old Scars [jo/john, table 01: elemental]
Title: Old Scars
Author: highlandemma
Character(s)/Pairing: Jo/John
Theme: Prompt Table Theme 1: Elemental
Prompt: #07: spirit
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever, nor will I ever (most likely) own anything that is related to Supernatural. The storyline is mine, but that's it. Even this computer isn't mine. *sigh*
Summary: John Winchester comes back from the dead. Jo doesn't know what to make of that.
Warnings/Author Notes: None for this chapter. This would be set sometime before S5 (since I haven't seen any of it) so there may be spoilers up to the end of S4.
Jo woke alone in the guest bedroom, stretching her arms and legs out in the still-warm sheets. She didn't hear anything in the bathroom next door, so she figured John was downstairs. She stretched one more time, then got up and went back to her room to change.
John stood looking out the front window, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. He was wearing one of the flannel shirts Jo had picked up for herself at a Salvation Army--one of the ones that was about fifteen sizes too big for her, but conducive to layering. It fit John pretty well.
Jo poured coffee for herself, adding cream and sugar, and went to stand beside him. She could almost feel an energy coming off of John's skin as she stood there, something strong and hard, one of those "don't touch" vibes, but his face was completely blank as he observed the silent neighborhood. Jo stood long enough to drink half of her coffee before she started talking.
"Missouri Moseley called me a few months ago."
John's eyes widened a little, but he didn't look down at Jo.
"She said she'd had the exact same dream for three nights running--same sounds, trees, colors, everything. I was in it, walking through trees with my shotgun, looking for someone, waiting for someone to show up."
Jo drank some more coffee, reveling in the taste of her own brew, rather than gas station coffee she'd been drinking for weeks.
"She never could tell me who or what I was looking for, but she told me I had to be there, and she told me that I had to be ready. She didn't know ready for what, of course, so I geared up the best I could and headed out when she told me to."
John thought for a moment, drinking his own black coffee. "Didn't know you knew Missouri."
"I don't. Never met her. I've only ever talked to her on the phone; first time was after the third dream, apparently. I didn't ask her how she got my number, or even how she knew who I was. Mom and Bobby have told me enough about her that I'm not surprised. She probably just knew who I was, and conjured my number out of thin air."
That made John smile a little. "Wouldn't be surprised about that at all, myself."
Jo took a deep breath before going on with her story. "I've been in that area for about three weeks now, looking every day, covering the same damn woods over and over again. Missouri was very specific where, and kind of vague about exactly when, but she's not someone I'd question, you know?"
She looked up at him, noticing that the muscles in his neck had started to smooth out and relax a little as they continued to talk. "Last week she called again, left me a message while I was out looking. She said she'd had another dream, but this one was about you...and Sam and Dean."
At the sound of his sons' names, John turned his back to the window and stood in front of Jo, looking down at her intently. "What about the boys? Where are they? Are they okay? Did you--"
Jo held up her hand and reached for John's mouth the way she had in the kitchen, but he dodged her this time. "Seriously, Jo, you have to tell me where they are--they need to know about this--I need to see them."
Jo nodded patiently, reaching for his hand this time. "I know, John. The dream Missouri had about the three of you--she said it was something that had already happened, years ago, with you and the boys in a house somewhere in North Carolina, a small town."
John gripped her hand tightly, but she didn't complain. "She was a little vague, of course, but she said Dean was sixteen and Sam was twelve, and whatever you were hunting nearly killed you, and the boys took care of you when you made it back. That you barely made it back, and that they were really scared that you were going to die and leave them alone."
Jo's hand started to creak from the pressure John was exerting, but before she had a chance to protest, he let go and sat abruptly on the couch behind him, just under the window. Jo managed to catch his coffee mug before it spilled onto the rug, placing it safely on the floor with her own.
"It was a spirit--a pair of them actually--trapped in a house with a family. Mom and dad and four kids," he whispered, his eyes wide and staring as he remembered. "The baby was six months old, just like--like Sam was when Mary died. I got too close, too involved, too wrapped up in the family to do the job right. Those spirits--a brother and sister who'd been murdered by their parents in that house and buried under the basement years and years before--they grabbed the baby and I went after them without a plan. Managed to get the baby back, and I got the salt and burn done."
"But you almost died, and it scared Dean and Sam," Jo prodded softly when John didn't continue.
He nodded, his eyes finally focusing back on hers. Intensity flooded back into them. "Sam and Dean, Jo--where are they? You have to tell me...I need to know that they're..."
Jo grinned at him, wanting to reassure him quickly. "They're fine, last I heard a couple of weeks ago--in Florida somewhere hunting a few vampires. Still together, and they've got just about the best success rate of all the hunters I've ever heard of. Except you, of course."
"Vampires." John snorted. "Hate those nasty fuckers. Last batch I found gave me these scars, almost killed me. Again." He lifted his shirt a little on the left side to show her.
Jo looked at the skin, expecting to see faded scars from all those years ago. What she saw was smooth skin, skin that looked like it had never been injured or battered or hardly even touched by the sun, past John's natural tan.
"Um...John," Jo whispered, reaching out to touch his side just to prove to herself what she was seeing.
John watched, slightly mesmerized, as Jo's face moved closer and closer to his, and he felt the tempo of his heartbeat increase as he watched her lips part--like maybe she was planning to--
"There aren't any scars there."
John looked at his side and saw Jo was right. Before Jo could say anything else, he pulled his shirt off, looking for the other familiar scars he'd collected throughout his first life. His skin was like a blank canvas--smooth to the touch, unscarred completely. He stood, and Jo checked his back, confirming there weren't any scars there, either.
"Well, I'll be..." John murmured quietly, holding his shirt in his hands.