I am aware that am the most infrequent fanfic writer known to man now

Games

"Subway? Out of all the friggin burger joints and fast food franchises you pick Subway?" Dean groans from the drivers seat of the Impala as I get back in. "I mean even McDonalds can do better!" he continues as I fish my sandwich out of my bag.

"Shut up and drive." I mumble.

"Of all the places you pick the one all the yoga instructors go to? All the fruitcakes and health nuts?"

"I bet you you wouldn't be complaining if you were banging one of those yoga instructors." I countered, taking a savory bite.

"Point taken." Dean announces as he pulls out of the poorly lit parking lot. "I mean their meat's not even kosher."

I'm sure I looked taken aback. Shocked even. "I'm surprised you even know what kosher means."

"Shut up." he ignored me, punching the on button of his radio and blasting Highway To Hell. He hums along, thrumming the wheel with his thumbs and looking over the road like there's no place he'd rather be. It's like I'm not even there, just him, the car, and the open road.

"You really like it, don't you?" I asked. "Being on the road and stuff."

Dean realizes I'm not just messing around anymore, but rather asking a serious question. "I guess." he pauses, considering. "It's just, when you're on the open road, you don't have to be going anywhere or be anyone. You can just go and you can just be."

I wait until I finish half of my food before letting out a low whistle. "Damn I thought you were the rocker not hippy dude still living with the after effects of the acid he took at Woodstock."

He lets out a quick laugh before asking, "Where do you wanna go?"

"I thought we were headed back to the apartment."

"Nah, let's get some fresh air while we can."

And somehow we ended up high on a mountain, overlooking the twinkling lights of the city. We were sitting on the hood of the impala and I was most surprised that Dean didn't ask me to sit on top of a blanket so I wouldn't scuff the hood. In fact, Dean was completely silent again, daydreaming just to pass the time. I ignored him mostly, taking in the city, finishing my sandwich. Anything to distract me from the fact that Dean was so close yet still so far away.

I finished my sandwich, making sure to crumple the wrapped loudly and he snapped from his gaze. "How was your footlong of processed meat and soggy lettuce?" he smirked.

"Just about as good as your dry burger patties and liquid cheese." we both laughed and I realized, laying back on the hood and glancing at the stars, that Dean's arm was behind my head.

"Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He propped himself up on his elbow, glancing down at me. In the darkness, his face was all shadows and angles, aging him by years. "I'm sorry for treating you like you can't take care of yourself. I'm sure you can. It's hard not to be protective over such a pretty face." his fingers brushed my hair behind my ear and trailed down my neck, lingering on my collarbone.

And at that moment I was furious. That was enough. I had had enough of this, show up for a couple days and make you fall madly in love, leave for a couple months only to come back. I was tired of sitting at the Roadhouse day after day, too afraid to pack up and leave because he may never find me again.

"Dean." my voice was stern and I gripped his trailing hand with ferocity. "I'm gonna be upfront here and say that I can't do this." I decided to sit up. If I was going to give him this speech, it wasn't going to be while I was laying down with his eyes being the only thing I could focus on. "I can't have you just show up every once in a while and expect me to be there for you. I'm not a toy. I have emotions like any normal person except maybe you, considering you travel the country having meaningless sex with women you barely know. I hate that feeling. Knowing that to the only person I've ever felt something for, I'm just another plaything. If you're going to show up every couple months and kiss me and make me care about you before disappearing without a call, then I need to stop this right now because-"

His warm hard lips pressed against mine quickly and against my will I let it happen. When I pulled away, my cheeks were flaming and his right hand coiled in my hair. "This is exactly what I'm trying to tell you not to do, are you not listening!"

"Jo." he tugged on my bangs. "I'm listening. I understand."

"If you were listening you would've gotten the message when I said stop playing with me!" I shouted. A line formed between his eyebrows formed deep and hard. He was really quiet.

"You're right." his words drifted in the night air.

"And that means..."

"I don't care about you."

Surprisingly enough, I didn't want to scream. I had no sudden urge to strangle this poor bastard. No yearning to pull my apartment key from my pocket and key the car right in front of his eyes. There was a eerie lack of emotion. I simply replied, "Okay." Before sliding off the hood. "Let's get back then."

"Jo-"

"I don't need reasoning. All I asked for was a straight answer. You gave me that. The rest I don't care about."

He nodded, tossing me the keys of the car. "You drive."

That sparked something in me. Suddenly there was this pounding thing in my head, a fist in my throat. I could barely breathe without my voice shaking. "No. I don't want to drive the damn car." my voice quavered. "I just wanna go home."

Home as in the Roadhouse or Home as in the apartment, I wasn't really sure.

We got back to the apartment after a grueling and unbearably silent ride. He kept glancing over at me, probably to see if I was crying. But I wasn't. If I was going to prove myself a hunter I needed to detach my emotions, so that's exactly what I did. Focused on the two lane in front of me.

Upon arrival, I opened the door and walked up to the room, not bothering to wait for him. I'm pretty sure he must have stayed outside for a smoke or something. Truth be told, I could've gone for one myself, but instead I just focused on getting to the apartment.

The first thing I did was walk around blindly until I found the other bedroom. Surprisingly enough, the apartment had two bedrooms, which left Dean on the couch. I flipped on the lights in my room, kicked my shoes off, turned the lights back off, a buried my face in a pillow.

If my emotions were bottled up before, now was the time that they came out. I cried for so many things. For mom, Dean. For dad. For someone to talk to. For independance. Normality even. I cried for Ash. I cried as silently as possible but drew in a quick breath when I heard the footsteps in front of my door. The person paused and I held my breath. But just like that, their footsteps turned and receded and I released my breath, sighing one final time.

The next morning I was awake before Dean, sitting at the table twirling my knife and thinking over everything. Dean rolled over from where he had contorted his body to fit on chair.

"Morning princess." I smirked, back to my distant and usual self.

"Where's Sam?"

"Went to get coffee."

"Oh. My back." Dean announced, groaning as he stood up. "And how'd you sleep on that big, soft bed?"

"I didn't. I've just been going over everything." for a split second I saw the concern in his eyes before he grabbed his weapons bag and pulled out a knife. Stop that I told myself. Stop assuming he cares about you. He doesn't. He said so.

"Here." he smiled.

"What's this for?"

"It'll work a whole lot better than that little pigstick you've been twirling around."

For a moment I was quiet. Then I handed him the knife, inscription side up. He could see the clear initials of my father.

"William Anthony Harvelle."

"I'm sorry. My mistake." he frowned as I handed him his knife back, wishing the day had started a bit differently. Subjects dealing with dad made me vulnerable. THe lump in my throat returned.

"What do you- remember about your dad? What's the first thing that pops into your head?" I attempted. He shook his head but I insisted. "C'mon tell me."

"I was 6 or 7..." he sat across from me, biting at his lip. "And he took me shooting for the first time. Bottles on a fences, that kind of thing. I bulls-eyes every one of them."

I smiled.

"And he would smile like..." he paused, realizing there was another human in the room. He stopped abruptly.

"He must've been proud" I offered.

"What about you?"

"I was still in pigtails when my dad died, but..." I paused. "I remember him coming home from a hunt. He'd burst through that door like- Like Steve McQueen or something. And he'd sweep me up in his arms and I'd breathe in that old leather jacket of his..." as I told the story I realized what I saw in Dean. He reminded me of my father. The same observative eyes of a hunter, that leather jacket. Music taste even. Dean was like all things dad and all other things at the same time. A mixture of all things that reminded me of home and hunting. Belonging.

"And my mom was sour and pissed from the minute he left and she'd start smiling again. And we were a family." there was a silence. "YOu want to know why I want to do the job?" Dean flashed his eyes at me. "For him. It's my way of being close to him. Now tell me, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." I glanced down and could feel his hard cold stare on me and I just prayed for it to go away.

My prayers were answered as Sam entered the apartment. "Where's the coffee?" Dean insisted.

"THere are cops outside. Another girl disappeared."

Dean and I exchanged looks.

Thanks to Sam and his endless (and extremely boring) knowledge of how to find the history of a place, we figured something out; the apartment building was built beside a prison. I made sure to give Ash a call and let him know where I was and how I was doing. Not to mention adding in a little threat about telling anything to mom. He also enlightened me in the history of the field the building was built upon, serving as the gallows for the prison next door. Ash sent a list of names of people hanged in that location and Sam seemed to take an interest to one Herman Webster Mudgett.

Mr. Mudgett turned out to be the alleged H.H. Holmes; America's first serial killer. Dean was sure to emphasize when he said "His victim appetite; pretty petite blondes."

After a couple minutes of speculation between the two brothers, partners who had worked together for so long that they could spitball between the two of them for hours without interruption, I piped in. "So we just find the bones and salt and burn them, right?"

"It's not that easy" Sam said. "His body is buried in town, but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete"

"What? Why?"

"The story goes he didn't want anyone mutilating his corpse." Dean said. "Cause you know, it's what he used to do."

"You know something. We might even have a bigger problem than that."

"How can this get bigger?" I asked. Sam began telling us about an apartment building Holmes built in Chicago by the name of Murder Castle. Supposedly a booby trapped building where chambers were built inside the walls and his victims were kept. Dean jumped up quickly, beginning to list off the tools we'd need to get into the walls and we were off in search of a serial killer ghost.

Sam insisted Dean and me go together again so we were forced to navigate the winding walls of the apartment building together and I did my best not to show too much emotion.

"Sam's almost done with the first floor. He hasn't found jack squat either." I announced, hanging up the phone. Dean nodded, turning around a corner and pausing. "What is it?"

"The wall's too narrow. We can't go any further."

"Let me see." I tried to push past Dean to the narrowed wall, elbowing him in the gut more or less by accident along the way.

"I should've cleaned the pipes." Dean mumbled once we were pressed together. I stopped.

"What?"

"I wish the pipes were clean." he corrected. I rolled my eyes and squeezed past him.

"I can fit in there."

"You're not going in there by yourself."

Like you really give a shit.

"You got a better idea?" I insist. He was quiet. "Mhm" I mumbled, fitting into the narrower wall easily and continuing on. I could feel Dean growing restless in the walls behind me but I ignored him. This was my chance to prove myself. To prove I could be a hunter. I kept going until my phone rang.

"Where are you?" the concern in Dean's voice was almost misleading.

"By the North Wall." I answered, seeing the end of the wall in front of me, a hole leading to the next floor. "I'm heading down some kind of air duct."

"No, no, no, no stay up here."

"we gotta find this girl, don't we?" my arrogance was getting to be too much. Even for me. I decided to throw in something hopeful, considering he seemed pretty worked up. "I'm okay."

"All right, I'm heading to you." he stayed on the line as he walked and I could hear his foot steps through the walls. I reached the next floor, walking a bit father before being stopped by a pipe, making it too narrow to pass. I pondered for a moment but before I could think too much, I saw thick black goo pouring from the walls.

"Oh, God." I breathed, knowing that it was him. H.H. Holmes had found me.

"What is it." Dean's footsteps stopped and his voice quaked. "Jo? Jo?!"

The acrid scent of chloroform filled my nose and I was trapped in that narrow wall. I could feel the ghost, nearby and my only option was to scream, but that didn't stop the filthy thing's hands from closing around my mouth and the word dissolved to black.

finally wrote omg