DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters and I'm not trying to steal them. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke. The concept is just something my mind made up over vacation. I was in a mood to use some Jo in something so I added her to this AU ending to season 3

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Back and forth, around in a circle, repeat. Jo Harvelle leaned over a small table in the bar she was currently working at. She occasionally went on hunts, but the demons that had gotten out of the Devil's Gate just about a year ago were good at hiding, and not all of them were lowly demons either. Or so she'd heard. She could deal with creatures and spirits but demons still seemed to be out of her league, or at least she made them be out of her league. She loved hunting, but she wanted to stick around a little bit longer to see what she could do in this war.

She finished washing that table and went to the next. Picking up some bottles, she walked behind the counter and threw them in a bucket before walking back to wash the table. It was the same life she had had back at the Roadhouse. Except now, she hunted. And she didn't have the protection of her mother. She sent Ellen post cards sometimes, just to tell her that she was alive, but she hadn't sent one out in a while.

Jo didn't even look up when the door opened for the upteenth time that night. The big rush had just left, leaving Jo with the whole place to clean and she concentrated on getting that done first. She slept in the back of the building, so leaving it dirty felt like she was leaving her house dirty.

"Hey, you open?" an all too familiar voice asked.

Her breath caught in her throat and Jo took a deep breath before turning around. The last person she had ever thought she'd see again was standing right in front of her. Normal attire, including that all too familiar old leather jacket, but he seemed older somehow, like maybe all of the hunting had caught up with him.

"Dean," she said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Jo." Dean seemed to be trying to hide something from creeping into his voice, but Jo wasn't sure if she was entitled to ask.

She nodded slightly, feeling rather stupid. "Yeah. So...how are you?"

Dean answered all too fast. "Can you get me a drink?"

"Yeah, okay," she replied softly, gripping the rag in her hand and walking behind the bar. Dean followed and sat on one of the stools. By the look of things, she decided that some good ol' Jack Daniels would work. Pulling the bottle from the shelf, she pulled out two glasses, pouring some for Dean and some for herself. She usually didn't drink, but with this sudden appearence, she needed it.

"Thanks."

Jo nodded, leaning an elbow on the bar. "Where's Sam?" she asked wearily. The last time she saw one of the brothers without the other, he'd been possessed. It was almost against nature to see the Winchester's apart.

"He uh...the demons, they got him," Dean stated, avoiding her gaze and looking down into his glass.

The words sent a chill through Jo's bones. Gotten Sam? How had that happened? The brothers were the best hunters out there and everyone knew it. If the demons had gotten Sam, who else had they gotten? "Dean...I'm sorry," she whispered, hearing her own voice start to shake. She and Sam hadn't left on good terms the last time they met, but she had forgiven him, even though she hadn't seen him since.

"And I couldn't bring him back this time," Dean continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

iThis time?/i Jo wondered. What had she missed? She hadn't talked to either Winchester in over a year. How much had happened in that amount of time? "What happened before?" she ventured to ask, not even sure if he was even hearing her.

She watched him take a drink, long and slow. Or at least, it seemed that long. "There was this...showdown thing the demon had cooked up," he started. "Sam...he got killed. I watched him die, Jo. And...I couldn't let him die. I made a deal. To bring him back."

Jo bit her bottom lip hard to keep from making her eyes tear up. She couldn't imagine loosing the one person that you had left. All she had left was her mother, and she didn't even know if she was alive. "You made a deal?" she forced out, the whiskey forgotton on the bartop.

"Yeah. I only got a year, but I had to save him. He's...he's my brother, and I still couldn't save him."

Jo didn't know what to do or say. Here was Dean, king of keeping his emotions a secret, masked behind smart-ass remarks and a tough-guy exterior, breaking down right in front of her. As many times that she had pictured herself meeting up with him again, this hadn't been it. She didn't even know how long ago Sam had died and Dean made that deal. And that worried her. The bar between them suddenly felt like a moat and she swiftly walked around it and rested a hip on one of the stools and an elbow on the counter. It was then that Jo noticed his left arm was being held against his stomach and when he moved slightly to look at her, she saw him wince. She stepped forward and grabbed his arm. "Dean, what..?" but she cut herself off with a gasp. There was a huge gash in his side and his left arm and hand were covered in blood. "Oh my god. Dean, what happened?"

He took his arm back from her and finished off his drink. "It doesn't matter."

"When does it not matter? Let me clean it up." She glanced through the room and noticed a line of blood drops leading from the door to where Dean was sitting. How had she not noticed? Sure, she wasn't used to looking on the floor for things, but for some reason she scolded herself for it.

"Why bother?" he huffed.

Jo frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...I only have," he paused to look at the small clock on the wall, "ten minutes left."

"Left?" she repeated in a small voice, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. "Left from your deal?"

"Yeah," he replied, as if it was the easiest thing to reply to. "So I uh..." Using his right arm, he pulled his necklace off and turned on the stool to face her. "I want you to take this," he finished, taking his bloody hand and pulling hers towards him so he could drop the simple amulet into her palm and then closed her hand around it with his other hand. "Sam gave it to me. Just don't...don't lose it."

Was this some sort of screwed up Dean way of saying goodbye? As much as her mind fought it, she knew it was true. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes left to live...and he had spent his last dying moments with her. She didn't think he meant to, seeing as how surprised they had both been at seeing each other again, but somehow Jo made it mean something. She blinked back tears, not even caring if they fell and he saw them. "Dean...don't...I don't." She didn't even know what she was trying to tell him.

He then surprised her by standing and pulling her closer. She didn't even think of complaining as she felt the blood from his wound get soaked up by her own shirt. She felt him shaking, whether it was from the blood loss or from the fact that he only had a few minutes left to live and it was down to hell for him, she didn't know and she didn't have time to ask.

Just as quickly as it had happened, he stepped away from her, his arm going over the gash again, making him wince. "Take care, Jo," he said softly, before giving her one last look and slowly walking out of the bar into the night.

She stood there, clutching her fingers around the pendant in her hand. Her fingers were red with his blood and on her shirt was a huge patch of red. Standing in the middle of the bar, hot tears trickling down her cheeks, she didn't even jump when she heard the smash and the screetch of tires followed by yells. There would have been no way that Dean wouldn't go out with a bang. There was no way that he would be dragged to hell by those hellhounds.

Closing her eyes, she slipped the necklace on and walked outside with a determined look on her face. A police car had been sitting right at the intersection and was trying to get the small crowd away from the crumpled body in the middle of the road. But a walking figure, not stirred by the accident was slowly walking away. And he was wearing a leather jacket. "Dean!" she yelled, rushing passed the crowd. The man looked over his shoulder and stopped, letting her catch up. But her mind was suddenly blank of things to say. There were so many options that she couldn't choose.

Knowing time was ticking down to seconds, Dean took a step forward and brushed his fingers against her cheek, leaving a bloody streak that somehow fit with the rest of her appearence. She watched him turn and walk painfully down the sidewalk, only to rest up against a building, setting off an alarm. Quicker than Jo could piece together, a man came out of the building, whielding a shotgun that she knew wasn't loaded with rocksalt. She barely had time to take a breath before the man pulled the trigger and Dean slumped to the ground. She let out a noise, part cry, part squeek, raising a hand up to cover her mouth. The man heard the noise and--with an insane look in his eyes--pointed the gun in her direction and shot before she could tell him to stop.

As the man, seeming to suddenly snap out of his crazed mind, turn and ran, the last flutter of life left Jo as the ambulance and other police cars showed up, per order of the one cop who had seen the car accident. The firetruck came up moments later and it was they who noticed the two lifeless bodies lying on the concrete sidewalk.