Rating: M

Disclaimer: You know the drill, I own nothing but plot.

Dean sat on the porch of Lisa's house.

Even after having stayed there most of the last three months, he still thought of it as Lisa's house. He sighed audibly as he lifted the glass bottle of beer to his lips and took a swig.

The impala was up on blocks in Lisa's garage. Both for maintenance and because Lisa had asked him to.

Lisa. She was beautiful, but life is a lot harder than dreams. Silly stupid fucked up dreams of sitting on blankets having picnics and looking like something out of a sitcom.

In his vision there hadn't been nearly as much credit card debt.

"Hey!" Lisa greeted him, as she closed the door behind her, "Can you mow the lawn tonight? Oh and if Ben calls let him know I've gone out with the girls. Bye!" Lisa rushed to get to her car, giving him a winning smile before she drove out of sight.

He was beginning to feel like an over qualified handyman. A longer gulp of beer seemed to help somewhat.

And to be perfectly honest? He was bored. Especially since Ben was spending the weekend with one of his friends for a birthday weekend complete with laser-tag.

Ben was his favourite thing about being here, but he'd heard so many choice phrases coming from Ben whenever he got frustrated. Two years older made a big difference, Dean noticed. Ben had remembered him, that was something. And they liked a lot of the same stuff.

The kicker was usually "you're not my father" but "why are you here" also stung.

He heard a crash in the garage. "Cas?"

Funny how that was now his first instinct. Shouting out for Cas. Damn, he was starting to miss that guy. As annoying as he was.

"What would you think of me now Sammy?" He said to no one in particular, as he finally moved to mow the lawn.

Later that night he lay awake in bed. His dreams had been awful for months. Years even. They'd gotten worse in the last year.

Eventually, either by use of alcohol or exhaustion he slipped into unconsciousness.

It was the same. It was always the same. Sam dying. Jo dying. His dad dying. Hell hounds. That or scantily clad girls. Or clowns and midgets. But not so much lately.

The dream changed and shifted before his eyes, a familiar face pushing too close into his. Blonde hair against his face.

"What are you waiting for?" Jo shot him a look, that was a challenge. Dark eyes flashing at him.

Smaller hands gripped his own. An echo of a real kiss, then it was swallowed by the dream. Jo's lips locked to his in the dream. Her fingertips digging into his skin. His hands finding her hips and pulling her in to him, pressed close.

She pulled back for a moment. Dean froze in response.

Should he drag her back in? This was his dream after all. Might as well go with it. But something stopped him for a moment.

"Soon."

This was getting weird.

Blood dripped from Jo's side. Organs peeped out through her shredded skin.

Her mouth gaped open as she bled.

Dean shot up in bed. His breath heavy.

"Dean?" Lisa murmured half-asleep. "Its three am."

"Yeah. I just-uh... had to..."

"Whatever." She rolled over and went back to sleep.

Dean clambered out of the bed, stubbing his foot on one of Ben's toy cars.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly.

A mumbled reply from the bed met his ears. He managed to get to the washroom without further injury.

He managed his way back to bed, pausing at Ben's empty room out of habit. Ensuring he was asleep before making the moves on the kid's mom. Not like that was happening tonight. Early morning yoga class cut off that possibility. He finally managed to fall asleep again in bed.

He was standing in a motel, one he couldn't place so quickly. The shower was running and it was bright outside. The bed sheets were rumpled. And it wasn't his belongings that littered the room.

Tanks tops and plaid shirts were flung on the floor and over chairs while knives were scattered on the small table like shrapnel from an invisible explosion.

None of this crap was his. He grabbed a knife from off the table and crept towards the washroom.

Through the clear glass of the shower stall he saw her, blurred slightly by the condensation on the glass. It was way too easy to tell.

He reached for the door and pulled it open, mist from the shower began to dampen his clothes.

"Hey!" Jo turned to meet his gaze, her left hand coming out to pull the door closed again. She made no attempt to cover herself. Didn't really see the point Dean guessed.

He glanced down to her left side, knit closed by a spiderweb of hideous scarring.

"In or out, Dean."

"What?"

"In or out. Shut the damn door I'm getting cold."

"Hey! Dead girl get out of my dream."

"Hey! Jackass get out of my shower." Jo shot back.

He finally backed up. Closing the door with a surprised slam.

Dean wandered back to sit on the bed of the hotel. "Okay Dean, wake up."

"Wake up." He repeated running his hands through his own hair as he paced the floor. He heard the water go off while he was waiting.

"You're dead." He shouted to no one in particular.

"So?" Jo returned, combing through her damp blonde hair with her fingers, "And you're invading my motel room."

The tank top she was wearing was pressed against her damp body, and Dean noticeably averted his eyes.

She gathered up her knives and put them away in their leather case, paying no attention to Dean shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

"Why are we here?" He finally asked.

"Cause self-respect's gone out of style." Jo shot back at him, throwing her stuff into a bag.

Dean looked over at her, deciding to remind her, "You do know you're dead right?"

"Yeah. I know. Hellhounds, bled to death, bomb. I remember."

"So what are you doing here?"

Jo moved her hands around in a motion that was obvious supposed to mean something, "This just seems to be it."

"What does that even mean?"

"I can't go anywhere. I'm just... here." She clarified, sitting down to polish one of her blades.

"What about me?"

"Take a wild guess sleeping beauty." She smirked at him slightly.

"Stuck?"

Time seemed to stretch on forever, they glanced at each other but largely ignored each other. The light remained the same in the room, the sun never rose or set. Jo sat there playing with her father's knife, or an approximation of it. Dean lay back on the messy bed staring mostly at the ceiling. Wishing this bed had magic fingers, or that the hotel room had a TV, but it didn't even have a radio. Or a phone.

What do you say to the dead? Do you step up and take responsibility? Apologize?

"So what are you up to these days?" Dean looked over and asked her.

"Being dead generally takes up most of my time."

She looked at him expectantly for some sort of update on his life. He didn't want to tell her about Lisa. Or his sense of boredom in his life. He said nothing about himself.

"You been here alone then?"

"Yeah. Other than the last time you popped in." Jo returned her attention to the knife, not wanting to meet his gaze.

Even knowing this was a dream, he got up and walked over to put an arm around her somewhat comfortingly.

She shrugged his arm off for a minute then grabbed him in a hug.

His arms wrapped around her, for a dream it felt pretty good.

She pushed him back towards the bed

"I'm just... nevermind." She pulled her hands back.

"Wait." He reached out for her, pulling her lips into his. It began as the echo of their only real kiss, tender and soft.

Dreams were never perfect, the sensation was always a bit off. But Dean went for it anyways reaching for the buttons on her shirt, beginning to undo them. Jo broke away, wiggling out of her clothes quickly. Reaching for Jo and finding pliant flesh beneath his hands. This was probably the closest he would ever come to getting to have Jo. So he made it last. Drawing out their kisses. Exploring her body, wondering if this was anything like the real thing, pressing his face between her thighs and tasting her.

Listening to her sounds, quiet and unobtrusive. Her hands pressing his face firmly into her sex. She thrashed slightly under his mouth but he held her in place with his hands. He pleasured her until he was sure she had climaxed, her body tensing and releasing.

Breathing heavy and flushed pink she looked down at him with satisfaction glinting on her face, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

Beautiful. Dean thought to himself. He was no stranger to beautiful women, though he shut down the thought that he was enjoying himself far too much.

Neither of them noticed the face at the window watching them.

He moved up her body in a fluid motion capturing her lips again then pulling back to adjust their position.

He caught sight of red, blood newly seeping from the previously sealed wound. Blood dripped from Jo's lips. Her eyes staring up at him in disbelief.

To be continued...