Follow One Storm Upon Another (2/3)

[little_missmimi]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Art Post | Master Post

Reading in the car isn't ideal, especially with the crappy shocks of Jo's car (and especially with a stomach full of greasy hash browns), but there are a few hours left to drive before they get to Johnston, which is the last place Sam's cell phone GPS put him. The books are full of information on vampires and how to kill them, and the graphic descriptions make Jess a little nauseated. "Even some hunters don't think they're real," Jo says idly. "Only a few people who've come through the Roadhouse have, and it didn't go real well for them."

Jess shudders, pushing away thoughts of Dracula and blood loss, and moves on to something else. There's no such thing as a genie, but in Islamic culture, Jinn occupy a parallel world and have free will to grant wishes. Sometimes they trap people in their fantasies, keep them there and feed on their blood, but she doesn't know the benevolent to evil ratio of Jinn. Probably not great, seeing as how there's plenty of information about how to kill them. Even so, she wishes that when she wakes up tomorrow, she'll be in California, with Sam wrapped around her, and that none of this will have happened.

It's the last thing she thinks before her head hits the pillow that night.

*

A car horn blares, waking Jess from her dream (sitting beachside in Hawaii drinking a margarita, an old favorite). "Sam?" she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning, baby." He kisses her, completely oblivious to her morning breath and bed-head. "Sleep well? You were out for awhile-scared me a little."

She opens her eyes a little more, realizes it's almost noon. "Another one of Tyler's crazy parties?"

Sam looks more worried now, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. "You don't remember? Must've gotten more wasted than I thought you did." There's ibuprofen and a glass of water on the bedside table, and he passes them to her carefully.

"Guess so."

He clears this throat awkwardly, and then says, "Look, Jess. We, um...we need to talk."

We need to talk. Those are never good words, almost always preface a breakup. Her heart races and her throat tightens a little.

Sam presses on, hand still resting on Jess's shoulder, gone stiff and impersonal now. "I just don't think I can do this any more."

"What?!"

She was sure he was going to propose after he got law school settled; she saw a sheet of paper with potential rings on them in his sock drawer. It just doesn't make sense that he'd end things. They're great together. When he's with her, he never takes himself too seriously, and he keeps her wild streak in check. They don't disagree about much (except books, and movies, and television, and music, but she's weaning him off of pseudo-indie bands and Bond movies), and when they do, they respect each others' opinions.

"I just don't think we want the same things anymore." Sam starts to head for the door, and then-

A car horn blares, waking Jess from her dream. "Sam?" she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Um," a voice says, and it's not Sam. It's Jo, hand resting lightly on Jess's shoulder. "It seemed like you were having a nightmare. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," is what she says, though she wants to say no, it turns out my boyfriend actually is a hunter and I'm in the middle of nowhere looking for him.

"Good. We're doing physical training today. I'm still working on getting you a gun-"

"A gun?" She's never fired one before, and the thought of doing it scares her.

"Only way to kill werewolves and black dogs, among other things. Remember? It was in one of the books we got from the library. To get rid of ghosts-temporarily-you put rock salt in a shotgun cartridge and blast 'em with it. You can't hunt and not know how to use a gun."

It makes sense, of course, but she still doesn't like it. She's always hated the idea of them. Her parents were big supporters of gun control, worrying especially about concealed weapons, and using one-or the fact that she's going to use one-feels like as big a betrayal as not telling them that she left Stanford after Sam left (they had enough to worry about, between her sisters growing up and her dad's rapidly-expanding practice), and that her leave of absence is indefinite.

"You still in there?" Jo waves a hand in front of Jess's face. "Get dressed, and dress warm. Once we're outside, we're outside for a long time."

Wind sprints come first, and those are hard enough. Sam's dragged her ass out of bed a few times at some ungodly hour to run with him, but it was always warm and there was no resistance pushing her back. She wants to take a scorching shower, curl up in a ball, and sleep, but Jo makes her struggle through push-ups, crunches, and leg lifts before allowing her a water break. Her lungs are burning but she has a feeling she's far from done.

The next day, gas cans from the trunk end up as makeshift weights for Jess to lug around the field. They're a lot heavier than they look, and they didn't look light. "Keep going!" Jo yells. And when Jess tries to slow down: "Faster! Come on!" Jo's like a personal trainer, only worse; this kind of exercise must count as some kind of torture.

It's no better at night. In the evenings, there are all kinds of drills: mythology, creatures and spirits, weapons and fighting. Jess practically has to pass out before Jo will call it a day. Even though she knows she has to train before she can kill, Jo puts her through a shitload of it. Jess can't help thinking that if she hunts enough demons, she'll get the one that killed Sam's mom, and that'd be worth giving up her old life.

Days pass, and Jess starts to get a little more used to this new life. Her internal body clock protests the early mornings and all-night drives, and it takes her stomach some time to get used to greasy diner food and almost no fresh fruit or vegetables. She's used to pushing her brain, not her body. Jo's a hard-ass, so training is torture, and it's not even the kind of exercise where she knows she's making progress, but the awful running-through-molasses kind. Everything aches when she's finished for the day: shoulders, calves, feet. Even her nails ache.

Jo starts going out on solo hunts, and Jess gets impatient that Jo won't take her along, frustrated that she's not doing anything to find Sam. It's not until she mentions how good she is at research-Jo's weak spot-before Jo concedes. The job the find looks like it'll be simple, but it's nowhere near Jess thinks Sam is, and when she points it out, it turns into an argument.

"I just don't see why we're doing it. Sam's halfway across the country, and we're not even trying to find him!" Jess knows she's whining but doesn't really care. Jo promised they'd do everything they could to track Sam down, and right now that's not happening.

"We'll get to him," Jo says. "You signed on to hunt, though; not to only take hunts that would lead you directly to him."

Okay, that's fair, Jess thinks. She didn't say she'd only take hunts near where Sam is, but it's disappointing to not be anywhere close to him.

"The point of hunting is to help people, and that's what we're doing," Jo continues. "It's going to take some time to find Sam, but we'll do as much as we can to find him. I promise."

"Why should I believe you?" Jess asks. She's not going to risk her life and go on a bunch of hunts if she's not getting anything-namely, Sam back-out of it.

Jo's lips thin into a hard line. "You have no reason to," she agrees. "But the stuff we hunt wrecked your life. Don't you want to make sure that doesn't happen to anyone else? Don't you want to make the world safer?"

She thinks back to Mary's death, and how that hurt Sam's family. She doesn't want other people to go through the same thing she did, or worse. "Okay," Jess concedes. "But this doesn't mean I'll stick around if we go too long without trying to find Sam."

"I'll take what I can get," Jo says. "Doesn't mean I won't be pissed if you leave. Ready to get to business?" She waits for Jess's nod before continuing. "Okay, this one's a salt and burn. Remind me again what that is."

"When people die, they don't always go peacefully. Sometimes, for whatever reason-anger, revenge, love-their spirit sticks around, and that's what ghosts are. They haunt houses, or bother people, and they need to be laid to rest," Jess recites. After Jo drilling facts into her brain, what she learned is practically muscle memory. It sounds awful, though. It's one thing to lose someone, and it's another to constantly be reminded of that loss.

*

Digging the grave is the hardest part. They've got two shovels but only one flashlight, so they have to take turns digging. It's not raining, which is a small miracle, but it's dark, which just makes everything harder.

"Could you go any slower?" Jo snaps. "We'll be here until morning at the rate you're working."

The shovel hits something hard, and Jess doesn't think she's ever been more relieved. "Guess not."

The corpse is about ten years buried, maybe twenty. Jess pours salt on it, and then gasoline; Jo lights up a book of matches and tosses them in before her fingers can get burned. Easy.

Once it starts to burn, though, the smell turns her stomach. It's awful. She barely makes it away from the flames before she turns and vomits, bent nearly double with the force of it. It doesn't stop when her stomach's empty-she spits bitter vile out before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Jo rubs her back and smoothes Jess's hair off her forehead. "Got some water in the car. Painkillers, too, if you want."

"Thanks," she says weakly, falling asleep while the pavement flies by underneath them.

*

Jo plays with her knife when she's nervous or concentrating, twirling it between her fingers; when they're sitting at a table, it leaves little nicks in the wood or Formica. She likes her toast so black Jess wonders how she can eat it without choking, and she never bothers to unpack anything except toiletries, living out of her duffel bag. She listens to her music too loud and her mother about almost nothing.

When Jess goes out early one morning for coffee and bagels, she makes sure to get Jo's black, because she can't see her drinking anything else. "Here," she says, and hands Jo the cup.

Jo takes a long, appreciative sip, and then makes a face. "Please tell me you brought cream and sugar."

"Yeah, in the bag."

She dumps two containers of cream into the cup, and tears open all the sugar packets Jess snagged for later (about six or seven). "Tell anyone I do that, and you're dead," she says.

Jess can't help but smile. "Whatever."

*

She shoots a gun for the first time on a dusty back road in Tulsa-Jo wanted Jess to build up her strength and learn hand-to-hand combat before dealing with firearms. The sky's gray with twilight, but it's not so dark that Jess can't see the cans Jo's lined up on the wooden fence.

Jo hands her a gun, which is lighter than Jess thought it'd be. "Most of the time, we use rock salt in a shotgun shell-sometimes herbs, depending on the creature-but you don't want to try a sawed-off just yet. This is a Dillinger. They're easy to handle. A good gun for a beginner."

There's some recoil after Jess fires it, but the act alone throws her; she falls back, catching herself before hitting the cracked, dry earth.

"You're okay," Jo reassures her. "Everything's okay. The shot wasn't bad, but you're going to need to work on your aim if you want to kill anything." She steps closer to Jess, easing in behind her and letting her hand fall on Jess's hip. "Stand like this." Her body tenses, and shifts as Jo positions her; this time, Jo keeps her hands over Jess's as she fires.

The shot goes straight through the can this time, ripping into the aluminum and knocking it onto the ground.

"Good," Jo says. "Now try it without my help."

Jess practices until it's dark, sunset colors changed into blues and stars beginning to twinkle. Her arm hurts and her ears are ringing a little, but she thinks maybe she can get used to this life.

*

When they're back on the road, following both one of Trevor's leads, and an angry spirit, Jess silently checks her phone, not because she has new text messages, but because she has old ones from Sam still there. Good luck on your test, babe, and I have a surprise for you when you get home ;) and Hey, I'm at Safeway. What's the name of that conditioner you use? The one that smells like oranges. Just reading them makes her have to pinch the bridge of her nose to force back tears. God, she misses him. Having him back would be worth every little thing about him that bugged her: his daily run at five in the morning (he tried not to wake her, but the shift of the bed and his heavy footsteps shook her from sleep every time), the fact that he never put the toilet seat back down. She has no idea why he left, and it kills her.

"Hey," Jo says. "You okay?" She thumbs a tear off Jess's cheek. Jess didn't even realize she was crying. "Guess not. Okay, we're taking a snack break."

The guy behind the counter looks disgusted by the fact that they're buying so much junk food, but she doesn't care. She's got all those empty-calorie treats she was only rarely allowed as a child: Yodels, Fritos, Hostess Cupcakes, king-size Snickers... Jo buys a box of fruit-flavored popsicles, even though it's not that warm out, Diet Coke, and Cool Ranch Doritos. She grabs magazines off the rack, too-Cosmopolitan, Glamour, People.

In the car, Jo blasts feel-good music (okay, the Spice Girls). "Come one, give me one of those dumb quizzes." She puts on a fake girly voice. "What handbag is best for you? How much do you really know about sex? I love those."

"Okay, lemme get a good one. Ooh! 'Just How Naughty (Or Nice!) Are You?' Let's see...Smooching under the mistletoe: naughty or nice? Ugh," she grunts, frustrated. "That's no fun."

They sing along to the music instead, loud and off-key, their voices half-drowned out by the wind. Jo cracks on a high note, and starts laughing so hard she has to pull the car off onto the shoulder of the road. Her whole body's shaking with it, face flushed and eyes bright. When she finally calms down, she's panting, struggling to catch her breath.

And then she kisses Jess.

Jo's lips are cold, and sour with lemon. Jess shivers a little when they touch her own, but she doesn't pull back. Her heart is racing, there are butterflies in her stomach, and her blood feels hot, but in a good way. She's kissed a few girls before, but only when she was really wasted; it's much better sober. And she could do a lot worse than Jo.

It's over almost as quickly as it happened. Jo pulls away. "Sorry, fuck, I just-sorry," she says, and flushes. "I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's-" Jess interrupts, but they both stop talking, leaving only awkwardness in the air.

*

Jess asks about Sam at every truck stop and motel they eat or stay at. It's a long shot, but Jo said hunters frequent the same places (mostly unintentionally). She gets apologetic "no"'s and curt brush-offs; the one affirmative answer she does get is from an old lady who's practically deaf and probably a little senile, so as much as she wants to take that as proof she's getting close to him, she can't.

In Cincinnati, as they're renting a room at the Econo Lodge, she pulls out the picture of Sam, hoping against hope for some news. The clerk is this teenage boy, short and weedy, face acne-ridden. He stares at Jess's chest while she talks, not even making an attempt to be subtle about it.

"He was traveling with his, well...he said he was his brother. But I'm not so sure..." he says. Jess can smell the pot, causing that familiar tickle in the back of her throat.

"What?" Jess asks.

"They just seemed a little...you know...close." The kid looks at her like she should know what he means, some sort of secret message in his eyes.

What the fuck? she thinks. "I'm sure you've got him mixed up with someone else." The clerk's high, for fuck's sake; there's no reason to believe him, and Sam would never do anything like that. "When did they check out?" she asks, wondering if they could still be here, or at least not too far out of town.

The clerk scans the screen of the ancient computer, bloodshot eyes searching for the information. "Uh, last week."

"We'll take that room, then," she says, unable to mask her excitement. She can't stop fidgeting as the clerk gets their key, eager to scour the room for any traces of Sam. He can't be that far away, and there could be clues to where he's headed, or why he left.

The room is small, but clean enough, and there are ugly orange shag rugs covering most of the rotting hardwood floor. It doesn't take Jess long to figure out what's different about this room-there's only one bed.

"He must've given us the wrong room," she says, thinking aloud to no one (Jo always uses the bathroom first thing after they check in, always needs to go after driving for so long). The bed's barely big enough for Sam, let alone Sam plus another person; he'd had nightmares occasionally, since before they started dating. She talked him into explaining them, and he said that he'd always had them, and as a kid that he'd always had them, and as a kid, he'd get scared and climb into Dean's bed. She'd thought it was cute. "He wouldn't...sleep with Dean now," she says.

"What?"

"Never mind." She can't tell Jo, who'll either laugh at her for thinking Sam's fucking his brother, or call her crazy.

When Jess searches the room, she doesn't find much, but there are a few maps in the drawer, at least a third of the cities on them marked with 'x's, and a t-shirt with a bloodstain under the bed. She wonders what the blood's from (there's not enough on it for the wound to have been fatal) and if it's Sam's or Dean's. She takes the maps and the shirt and puts them in her duffel; the marked off-spots might mean something.

All of a sudden, Jo yawns, and then asks, "So...what are we doing about sleeping? I'm beat, and it's late."

Jess peers down at the rug. She'd be fine sleeping there if it wasn't so gross, and like other motels, and like every other motel they stay at, there's no guarantee that the place is free of mice or rats. "Um," she says. "I guess I could sleep in the tub."

"There's only a shower." Jo shakes her head. "You know what? Never mind. I can share if you can."

"Yeah." It wouldn't be a big deal if she and Jo hadn't kissed a week ago and have been ignoring it since, but they did and they are, so it's a little uncomfortable. There aren't any other options, though, since they can't afford another room, so Jess strips down to her tank top and changes into a pair of Sam's boxers. Jo wears an oversized shirt and some guy's athletic shorts (whose? Jess wonders, but doesn't ask).

There isn't too much room between them in the bed. Jo's feet are touching Jess's, and even though they're back to back, she can feel the heat of Jo's body. "Sleep well," Jess says. She tries her hardest not to think about the kiss, about how Jo would feel under her hands, under her mouth and tongue. It's a good thing it works, or she'd be up all night.

*

It's nice, waking up next to another person, even though Jo steals the covers like Sam never did. Sharing a bed makes Jess feel connected, and safe, though she's trained so much that, at this point, she just might be able take out Sam.

In her sleep, Jess has shifted so her front is pressed to Jo's back, warm and relaxed, but still strong. Her hair smells good, and when Jess's hand...slips to the curve of Jo's stomach, it's soft and smooth. She could lie like this forever.

When Jo starts to wake up, though, Jess tries to surreptitiously get out of bed. Instead, she gets tangled in the sheets and falls to the floor with a thud.

"Shit." She's fallen right on a bruise on her leg, too. So much for being quiet.

"Everything okay?" Jo asks sleepily. "You're no use to me if you're hurt."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for your concern."

"Anytime."

*

The heat in Jo's truck works fine, most of the time, but it makes the vinyl seats so hot that Jess's legs get stuck to them, sweaty and uncomfortable. With Jo's glances at her increasing in frequency, she feels like she's under a spotlight. To keep them both awake, she asks questions, which are thankfully like others people ask on road trips. Would you rather be blind or deaf? Name five countries you want to visit before you die. Fuck, Marry, Kill: Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt, and George Clooney. Jess is grateful for it-it keeps her going when she doesn't think she can anymore, when she's tired or hurt or sad but can't stop. Like when the truck gets a flat on I-40 and Jess has to line up the wheel studs with the holes, Jo promises her the first shower when they stop for the night.

After that, they do take a break to get some food and rest a little. Hole-in-the-wall diner, same as usual. By now, she's used enough to the food, but she'd still prefer something healthier, more well-balanced than a bacon cheeseburger and fries.

"Can I get another cup of coffee?" Jo calls to the waitress, watching the sway of her ass as she walks away.

Huh. Jess thought the kiss in Jo's car might've just been a fluke, but apparently not. It sort of makes sense that Jo would like women. Hunters are mostly men: big, tough guys. Well-trained to kill but not gentle at all, and Jo may be a fighter but she's tiny. On the road, or in a bar, a woman would probably be safer; as much as Jess hates to think about it, Jo, small and blonde and pretty, would be an easy target. But then, the thought of Jo having some anonymous fuck in a bathroom or alley at all turns her stomach.

*

Jess tells her parents she's going to Laura's house for Christmas (it'd be too hard to go home, since that's where she and Sam spent the holidays last year, and she needs to get away). Her father is angry; her mother is sad, but mostly they're just confused.

"You didn't come home for Thanksgiving, either, sweetie," her mom says, and Jess can her the concern in her voice. "Kayla and Nicole really miss you."

"I'll come home over spring break," Jess promises, and that seems to placate them a little. It's not like lying to them feels good, and she really does want to see them, but she can't. And it's not like she can just show up at home with Jo at her side. Yeah, that'd go over well. "Mom, Dad, this is the girl I've been living with. I left Stanford, by the way. I hunt things-no, not like animals, like creatures-and we hustle pool and poker in bars." Sure, her parents are open-minded, but they'd still be shocked. Concerned about her leaving Stanford without telling them, too, and curious about Jo. They'd be so disappointed with her choices, Jess doesn't think she could face them right now.

*

Christina Burroughs, recovered alcoholic and mother of two, has been missing since for over a week. Her husband (common-law) insists she isn't drinking again, but no one believes him, which is to be expected. There have been a few other disappearances in the surrounding area recently, though, so Jo decides they're sticking around and digging around.

"Hey, buddy," she says, approaching the little boy in the corner. He can't be more than four or five, and is probably pretty scared of the constant stream of people that have come through his house the past few days.

"You should let me handle this." Jo puts her hand on Jess's shoulder, firm and authoritative. "Go look for..." she jerks her head at the boy. "You know."

"Trust me, I have two little sisters," Jess reassures her. "Kids are all the same."

"I think he's scared of you. You're a giant."

Jess slides to the floor, tugging her skirt back down over her knees. "What's your name?"

"Austin," he says, voice small and scared. "Are you a police officer?"

"That's right." She feels a little bad about lying-kids get lied to enough by their parents; she shouldn't have to tell him something that's not true-but it's what they have to do for the job. "I'm Karen. Can I ask you some questions about your mom?"

"Okay." Austin nods, floppy brown hair falling into his eyes. She imagines that's what Sam must've looked like as a kid. He never had any photos from his childhood.

"Well..." she starts, not really sure how to interview someone, especially a little kid. "Why don't you tell me what your mom was like?"

Austin sniffles, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. "She was fun." Another sniffle, and then, "She played games with me. And gave me hugs. And she smelled like watermelon. Are you gonna find her?"

"We're doing our best, honey."

"Okay."

"Jess," Jo says, popping her head in. "I think I know what's going on. Demons. More than just a couple-looks like a whole pack. I smelled sulfur by the door, and found skid marks in the driveway; our best bet's probably to see where they lead."

*

Christina's holed up in a friend's duplex, leading Jess and Jo there with a trail of sulfur and beer bottles. There's another demon with her, and they run off after Jo splashes some holy water on them. Jess doesn't know a lot about hunting, or even half as much as Jo does, but taking on two demons at once seems like a bad idea. "What's the plan?" she asks.

"I'm guessing you don't know Latin, what with it being a dead language and all." Jo huffs a short, bitter laugh. "I mean, I've heard that sometimes demons can break devil's traps, and it'd be great if we could exorcise them all before it happens. You should stay here and do an exorcism on whichever one comes in first." She ducks out of the room they've taken cover in, making sure to leave the salt line intact.

She does as she's told, wondering how long she'll have to wait before the demons show.

Not long at all, apparently-Christina sneaks in, silent but deadly, getting a knife to Jess's throat right off the bat. They struggle, and Jess just barely manages to get free. Her eyes flash black when Jess goes to hit her; there's an awful hissing sound when the holy water splashes onto her skin. She's tiny, barely brushing five foot three, but the demon's riding her hard, so Jess ends up on her back, broken coffee table beneath her. There are glass shards all around, spread out like the petals on a flower, and there are at least a few in her back, hot pain and pressure and blood loss clouding her head, but she knows she has to finish the job.

It takes longer than she expected to find the right page, and she's a little rusty; hopefully it's one of those things she doesn't forget, like riding a bike, like tying a knot. "San-sancte Michaël Archangele, defende...nos in proelio; contra nequitiam-nequitiam et insidias diaboli-"

"Sam doesn't love you, you know," says Christina (the demon inside her, Jess has to remember, or she'll never get through this). "He never loved you."

"That's not true," Jess answers, voice wavering a little, though she manages to keep her hands steady. What the fuck? Jo didn't warn her that the demon would do something like this to distract her, go straight for her weakness. "You don't know what you're talking about. He loved me; he still does."

"Oh, Jessica." The voice is cutting-sarcastic, almost; the...thing tugs at the bonds keeping Christina's wrists against the chair. "I really do. You were just a replacement for Dean. I know what he and Sam do-we all do-and I think you remember. That clerk back in Cincinnati? He was one of us. He gave you a wake-up call, didn't he? Let you know what your little boyfriend's up to?"

"Shut up." Jess throws the last of her holy water in Christina's face, letting it burn her skin. "Esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus-"

Christina coughs, the demon rising and being forced out. "-Malignos, qui ad perditionem..." Jess has to stop for a moment. She can't hear herself think over the coughing, but Jo had said that coughing meant the exorcism was working. "Animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen." The black smoke erupts from Christina's throat in a column, rises, and exits the house in a rush, sweeping through the room and out the crack in the door.

It's exhilarating, but tiring. She can't stop wondering if the demon was telling the truth about her and Sam and Dean, if Jo is okay, how she's doing. She wonders if it was bluffing or if it really knew something; if it met Sam before her, if it told Sam that she doesn't love him anymore. Judging from just this one, fighting demons isn't easy. There are shards of glass in Jess's back, her lip is bleeding, and there's a bruise forming under the skin already. Christina's still upright, with only a few scratches and some tears in her clothes, though Jess don't know what kind of bruises she'll have in a day or so.

"How'd it go?" Jo asks. She's got a fresh tear in her jeans and her hair's a mess, but she looks fine otherwise. Glass crunches under her feet as she gets nearer to Jess, and she says, "Must've been tough."

Jess's throat feels tight when she says, "It...it said all this shit to me. About Sam. About how he doesn't love me anymore, about how he's, like, with Dean and I never mattered and..." she trails off, too choked up to continue.

"Demons lie, Jess," Jo says, her hand warm and comforting on the small of Jess's back. "Let's get out of here, okay? You did good."

*

Ellen wants Jo home for Christmas, too, and they go back and forth about it, but Jo wins out since Ellen doesn't have much power over her from all the way in Nebraska. Jo agrees to send a card, though, and the address of one of her PO boxes so Ellen can send a gift.

They don't manage to pick it up before Christmas. Two nights at a Westin Hotel is their "splurge"; they balance that with cheap eggnog and candy canes from a discount store. It's a Wonderful Life plays on the motel TV and they both cry a little bit, though neither of them is willing to admit it.

New Year's Eve isn't much different. There's half-price champagne in motel glasses (which Jess makes sure to wash extra-carefully) and semi-decent Chinese food. They share a midnight kiss, chaste and sweet, completely missing the ball drop.

Last year, she and Sam went out, which is part of the reason Jess wants to stay in with Jo. It's different, a memory that's all theirs.

*

There's this pack of vicious chupacabras near the border, and sort of near where Ash put Sam last. Jess has no idea where he got the intel or how Ash knows that Sam's trying to find his dad, but she takes it and lets Jo know they've got a hunt. For a while, all the chupacabras been killing were goats, sheep, and cattle (not great, but not something they normally deal with); then they started moving in closer to homes, attacking chickens, turkeys, and even a dog before taking out a farmer.

Chupacabras, as it turns out, are fast little fuckers, but they leave the stink of sulfur in their wake. Jess's nose is attuned to it now, and she knows it never means anything besides trouble.

One of them gets its claws into Jo's leg pretty good, so they end up having to hightail it out of there with only a few still alive. Jo's close to passing out in the car, and all the way back to the motel Jess worries that she's going to lose her. Her trembling fingers are clenched tightly around the steering wheel and she keeps turning around to make sure Jo's still with her.

She stitches Jo up in the ratty bathroom, fingers still a little shaky. It's not perfect, but it'll do the job. Jo grits her teeth when the peroxide hits the wound, hissing out a breath and holding her pain in as tinged-pink water swirls around in the sink.

"Shh, it's okay," she says, letting Jo squeeze her hand. "We'll get this bandaged up, and then go to bed, okay?" But as soon as Jo's standing, albeit with Jess's help, she goes for the whiskey, and it's not until after she takes a long drink that her color starts to return.

"Thanks for saving my ass," Jo says, laughing. "I guess my mom won't be after you after all."

"Good to know," Jess says. "I bet that'd be awful."

"You have no idea," Jo says.

*

She watches her scars change from angry red to soft pink to silvery-white. The scabs, though, she ignores, doesn't let herself pick at them. She doesn't need more scars than she already has. On long car rides, when counting street lights and the dashed lines can't keep her awake anymore, she pokes at the bruises on her legs-new, painful blues and purples; the splotches of yellow-green are sore, aching dully when she applies pressure to them. She's not sure what that says about her, that she likes putting herself in pain, but she's also not sure she wants to know.

*

Jo thumbs open her phone, reads the message, and closes it again after typing a quick reply. "New job," she says. "Succubus in Cleveland. They suck the vitality out of men. ...Through sex. The fun part's that they look just like normal women."

"Actually," Jess starts. "Ash got another update on where Sam was last. From his phone, you know?"

"Of course I fucking know," Jo spits. "Just because I didn't go to Stanford doesn't mean I'm stupid. Before my mom made me go to college, I had Ash laying credit card trails for me so I could hunt." She pauses, gearing up of another round of verbal attacks. "We go where the hunt takes us. You know that." Jo's voice is firm, and Jess can't hear any of the compassion she knows is there. "If we happen to run into Sam along the way, then that's great, but we're not gonna spend valuable hours looking for him."

"I'm here to find Sam," Jess says. "Not to risk my life every day trying to save other people."

"All you fucking care about is finding Sam, but we agreed you're not just here to find him," Jo says, face flushing with anger. "What if he doesn't want you anymore?"

That's something Jess has considered but never allowed herself to believe-Sam loved her; they had a great relationship. Jo, the one person who's really helping Jess, brings that up, and it hurts. A lot. "He does. I know he does."

"Right," Jo scoffs. "That's why we're still on a fucking goose chase. Come on. We're doing good by hunting. Do you know how many people you've saved?"

"It doesn't matter if I can't save the only person I want to." Jess is yelling now, and she knows it but doesn't care. "You go right ahead and do that, be the martyr you want to be, but I won't!"

"I know the concept of doing something for someone other than yourself is hard for a stuck-up rich girl like you is hard to understand, but try to wrap your head around it, okay?" She's gotten condescending now, and her tone makes Jess's stomach churn. "All you want is to find your boyfriend," Jo shouts, viciously slamming Jess back against the wall. Despite the height difference, she's all up in Jess's face. "Guess what? He obviously doesn't want you to find him, so good luck trying to."

"Fuck you," she says, trying not to cry. Jo leaves without another word, and Jess crumples to the floor.

Part Three