Abandon all hope
Pairing: Winchester Sister! OC x Jo Harvelle, Sister! OC x Sam and Dean
Summary: Siblings Sam, Dean, and Evelynn (Lynn for short) Winchester are on a hunt for the devil. When Jo gets fatally injured, Lynn breaks down. [A/N: Jo and Lynn were in a relationship previously. Enjoy!]
Word Count: 2,485 words
Warnings: Gory imagery, Swearing, Female Pregnancy (For those who don't like untagged events)
Blood crusts her skin, most of it slowly seeping into her shirt. The grey fabric has long been soaked-through, intestines clinging to her fingertips. Once, then twice, it pulsed under her fingers like a current, and then slower, weaker. Lynn's fingers dig into the wound, desperately pressing against it with anything she can find: ace bandages, gauze, some spare pieces of clothing. Ellen's beside her, eyes filled with a mother's pride and fear as her steady knuckles squeeze out a rhythm on Jo's hands. She's so cold, almost frozen to the touch. Worry slams into her like a freight train - she's never been this terrified since John had been bleeding out on the backseat of the Impala, just barely holding his guts in. Castiel's gone, there's no use in praying to him when hellhounds are on the loose, and her brothers might know their way around a needle, but they needed a hospital. Jo was losing too much blood to stay conscious for much longer.
Anyone except Jo, she begs quietly. Anyone. She can't go on without Jo. She can't. She won't.
How was it that they'd been drinking shots and celebrating a day ago? They'd fooled around under the bright Arizonan stars, over a dozen beer bottles littering the front step of Bobby's porch. Dean had even let Jo take a joyride on Baby, watching the expanse of space overhead. They'd taken a family photo - one with what was left of the Winchesters. It all seemed too long ago. Wasn't that absurd? One night, they were celebrating their last night alive. The next, Jo's on the floor of a hardware store, clutching her stomach, peppered in the crimson-black of her own blood. Lynn isn't sure how much time has passed, just that seconds are turning into minutes and minutes are turning to hours, and hours are too fucking long. They need to get the Harvelles out, now, no discussion. Sam's already salted all the windows and doors, lines of white painting every entrance. "Safe for now," he whispers, voice rough with punched-out anticipation. "Or trapped with wolves at our door," hisses Dean. He looks to Jo, eyes softening in something that isn't quite concern. She's seen it when he looks at Sam or Lynn, the pain of an older brother. "How's she holdin' up?" "Some help would be nice, please," mutters Lynn, doing her best to hold the bandages in place. Can't show weakness. Not when Sammy and Ellen and Dean are depending on her, not when Jo's staring up with eyes that are a shade off of alive. "Salt lines holding up?" "For the time being," Dean nods. "Can we talk privately, Ev?" -- Dean fumbles out a makeshift radio, trying to find the special signal they've set with Bobby at Home Base in the case of emergencies. They need his help, someone, anyone's help. The ancient device turns on with a crackle of static, then fine-tuning. The channel catches on immediately. There's radio silence, then a heavy buzz. Lynn grabs the mic, "K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, come in." There's a weighted moment of nothing. No noises, no crackles, no voice. Suddenly, Bobby's speaking, and relief doesn't wash over her, it fills her lungs like a fresh breath of air. "K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, go ahead," says Bobby. "Oh thank god, Bobby," she chokes out. "It's Lynn. We've got a problem." There's a sound like a large sigh, "It's okay, you idjit. That's what I'm here for. Now, is everyone alright?" "No, Bobby, it's Jo. It's bad. She's holding her stomach in as we speak." Bile rises in Lynn's throat, and she shoves it down. Shoves it down, like the tears building in her eyes, because she can't cry -- won't. This just like any other time she's patched up her brothers. A bullet wound in Sammy's shoulder, a stab near Dean's kidney. They'll be fine, they always will. "Okay, copy. First off, breathe, kid. What do we do next?" "I don't think she's gonna--" Evelynn breaks off with a sob around her knuckle. "I don't think she can make it." "I said what do we do next, Lynn?" asks Bobby, even and rational as always, even though Jo might just really die this time. A part of her wants to yell at him. How can he be so relaxed? When Jo's in danger? It strangles her like a vicious knot in her throat, and she swallows around it. Leaning her forehead against the mouth piece, she lets out the tiniest cry. This was Jo. This was the love of her life. And she was going to go out bleeding. "Right." She takes a moment to steady her shaking fingers. "Okay." "Now tell me what you got." -- Nothing but the ticking of the clock can be heard over the line once Lynn explains everything as she knows it. He's silent for a few minutes. "Did Cas tell you how many reapers there were before he disappeared?" "I don't -- I don't know. Ellen and Jo were with him, and he said a lot of things, I guess. They couldn't put a number on it." "The devil's in the details," warns Bobby. Ellen's tapping at her shoulder then, and Lynn hands over the mic without a word. Ellen doesn't need to look at Lynn to know that she's a pindop away from a breakdown, and graciously ignores Lynn's blotched face. "It's Ellen. With the number of places Castiel's eyes went, I'd say we're looking at a dozen or so
reapers, probably more." "I don't like the sound of that." "No one does anymore than you do," she agrees. "But what does it mean?" "Sounds like death. I think Satan's in town to work a ritual, and raise Death while he's at it." "You mean that this dude and taxes are the only sure things in life?" "I mean Death, head honcho of reapers, daddy of 'em all. Pale rider in the flesh." Bobby doesn't sound short of devastated. "They keep this guy chained downstairs 600 feet below, and the last time they brought him up, Noah was still building a boat. The reapers are waiting for the big boss to show. I been researching Carthage since you've been gone, trying to suss out what the devil might want there. What you just said drops the last piece of the puzzle in place. The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage. Now, back during the Civil War, there was a battle in Carthage. A battle so intense the soldiers called it the Battle of Hellhole." "Where'd the massacre go down?" "On the land of William Jasper's farm." -- By the time that Lynn hangs up, Jo's paling. Her skin is almost entirely pallid, veins showing under flesh with a body that's lost all warmth an hour ago. Ellen's whispering sweet nothings into Jo's ears, and the Winchesters crowd around, faces sober with the realization: they either die with Jo or move on and take a shot at the devil. "Now we know where Lucifer's gonna be, we've got the colt, and we know when he's gonna show up," says Dean softly, each word punctuated by a few glances to Jo. "We just gotta dodge eight hellhounds and get to the farm before midnight," mutters Sam. "After we get Ellen and Jo the hell outta town," she reminds them. "Stretcher, maybe?" "I'll see what we've got." He turns to one of the back rows of the aisles, picking out what they could to make a stretcher -- four metal poles, wheels, screws, a tarp, and some rope, maybe. They could clear the doors just long enough for Ellen and Dean to push the stretcher out to the car, before having them speed away in search of the nearest hospital-- "Stop." The voice is too soft to be healthy, too quiet. It feels like a caved lung, and Lynn knows that Jo is fighting to breathe. "Guys, stop." Lynn freezes. Ellen's eyes drift from her daughter to the three siblings. Her eyes stop on Lynn, a pleading look, a question. "Can we--" she moans mid-sentence, pushing the blood-soaked cloth tighter to her stomach and ribcage. "Can we be realistic about this for a second?" "I can't move my legs," she says after a second. "My guts are held in by a fucking ACE bandage. We gotta - we gotta get our priorities straight here." "No," whispers Lynn. She doesn't care how desperate she looks now. "Please, Jo." Ellen's voice is firm yet shakes. "Joanna Beth, don't you dare talk about dying. I'm not losing another family member through hunting. You can't -- you can't." Jo's eyes are on Lynn, although the words are directed at Ellen. "Mom, I can't fight. Hell, I can't even walk. But I can do something. We got propane, wiring, rock salt, iron nails, everything we need." Dean makes a noise like he's been punched, eyes kept to the floor. "Everything we need?" "To build a bomb, Sam." "Jo, no," Dean begs, "We can't lose you. Please." "You got another plan? You got any other plan? Those are hellhounds out there, Dean. They've got all of our scents. Those bitches will never stop coming after you. We let the dogs in, you guys hit the roof, make a break for the building next over. I can wait here with my finger on the button, rip those mutts a new one. Or at least get you a few minutes' head start, anyway." "Jo," hisses Lynn. There are tears shedding down her face as she sinks to her knees, the floor thudding when her legs hit it with bruising force. Up close, she can see everything under Jo's skin. It's too cold, too white, too bloody. "I won't let you." Ellen's eyes meet Lynn's, and an unspoken agreement passes through the room. "If we can get a shot at the devil, we gotta take it, Dean." Dean nods, an
obedient little soldier. Lynn's fingers seek out Jo's, cradling them in her hands. They're red, bloody, and calloused. She brings them up to her face, Jo's hands touching her one last time. They cup her cheek on their own accord, perfect and all so painful at the same time. "You did eveything you could," Jo says, something only reserved for them, although it's loud enough to echo through the room. "I know," Lynn cries brokenly. Her lips find each knuckle, a sorry goodbye. "I know. But you could come with us. Please. Come with us." Jo give her a small smile, reminiscent of Bill's. She shakes her head, "This was the only way it could go." Lynn presses Jo's fingers to her lips before turning to Sam and Dean. "You heard her, boys." -- Sam and Dean grab their materials and assemble the bombs, filling them with nails and rock salt for shrapnel. Night has fallen. Sam takes Jo's hand for a minute while Dean strings the wire to the button she will hold. "So this is it." Dean gives a small, self-deprecating chuckle, "I guess I'll see you on the other side. Probably sooner than later." "Make it later," Jo mumbles. Her eyes are closing slowly, getting closer and closer to the edge by the minute. The first wave of love hits Lynn so hard that she's almost driven to her knees. She recalls Jo's laugh, more like a giggle. She didn't laugh often, but when she did, her head was almost always thrown back completely, beautiful and human and alive. She thinks of warmth, an all-engulfing warmth that was Jo, who had pulled her into a riptide. Jo used to be so warm, sunshine, violence mixed into one. Jo was tough in every way that Lynn wasn't. She couldn't best Lynn at hand-to-hand, couldn't gank every monster without getting too involved, but she was strong. Strong enough to make the toughest calls. There's a long stretch of silence, and all of them look to Lynn, as though she was the chief-in-mourning. Even Ellen thinks that's a fitting title, doesn't move from her spot next to where Sam's arms are supporting her. Jo hasn't cried yet, and Lynn half-wonders when the girl she'd fallen for had become so fucking strong. "We were trying," Lynn says finally, and the words cut through the air like a blunt knife. Ellen's head snaps up, and so does Sam's. Dean doesn't say anything, face carefully arranged into an emotionless facade. Jo looks away. "Trying?" asks Ellen steadily, breath drawn out into a thin line. "For a kid." The instant that the words register, Sam and Dean's eyes are on her. Ellen doesn't move, won't even blink, eyes open in shock. "A few weeks ago," she mutters. God, there are tears at her eyes. She's been in hell, for fucks sake, she's tougher than this. "Twenty one weeks ago, I found out that I was pregnant. Artificial insemination." "You're pregnant?" Jo asks, as if the air has been punched out of her lungs. She grins, despite the pain, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're pregnant." "Twins, I think - a boy and a girl," she takes a shaky inhale, "and neither of them will get to see their mother." "You're -- you've got her kids?" Dean asks, eyes wide. Lynn nods, once, twice. She can't do this. Can't do this without her would-be wife. Can't do this without Jo, not without her. There won't be any babies being born - not unless Jo was at her side. "And you found out a few weeks ago." Jo smiles, ghosting her fingers over Lynn's still-flat stomach. "Their mom will always be with them. Isn't that right, Samantha and Dean?" "Samantha Ellen Harvelle-Winchester and Dean Bill Harvelle-Winchester," Jo tests. "I like the sound of that." And just like that, the dam breaks. Lynn doesn't know when tears began gliding down her face, but they track down dirt-stained skin. It's a whisper that's almost too quiet to make out, "Forever?" "Always." There's a sudden pounding at the door, and Lynn prays that it's only the wind. The chain is unlocked, salt line broken. She can't leave, not yet. "We don't have time," says Sam, glancing at the door. "We've gotta leave." "I'm staying," growls Lynn. She's dealt with hellhounds
before. After all, someone needs to let them in, don't they? "Ellen, Sam, Dean, get to the nearest building before we blow this joint." "There's a line between sacrifice and suicide. You bet I'm not letting my pregnant daughter in law cross it," Ellen orders. For a second, she can see a flicker of a younger Ellen, so much like Jo, so loving and kind. "Get going now, Winchester." "Ellen--" "I said go." She turns to Lynn, face fierce and filled with defiance. Jo's gotten it all from her. "And Lynn? Make sure to kick it in the ass. And don't miss."
