briarwood | Fic: Devil's In The Details (Mature)

Title: Devil's In The Details (1/2)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Sam/Jo (Dean/Jo implied)
Summary: Jo only learned of Dean's deal when his year was over. Following Dean's death, she forms an unexpected friendship with Sam, who is still determined to save his brother from Hell.
Warnings: Character death, implied rape and minor DV.
Notes: I was going to write a short story about Jo mourning Dean. But it kinda got long on me, and turned into a very different story.

Also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3660

DEVIL'S IN THE DETAILS

July 2008

The first time Jo saw Sam Winchester after That Night, Jo pulled a gun and threw half a bottle of water in his face. Holy water, naturally.

Well, Sam was possessed by a demon the last time they ran into each other, That Night in Duluth. She always thought of it that way, like it had capital letters in her head. That Night. Over a year later, Jo still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, with Sam's black-eyed face haunting her dreams. "My daddy shot your daddy in the head." She was pretty sure he raped her when she was unconscious.

So when he showed up at the door of her new apartment, alone, the first thing Jo did was pull a gun. He was damned lucky she didn't pull the trigger.

Sam raised both of his hands at once, like he was in some trashy cop movie, and stepped back from the door. "Hey, Jo," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Jo shifted to a two handed grip on her .32. "Sam," she said warily. She waited for him to tell her what he wanted. She would not ask. Looking into his eyes (she saw no demonic black, but he was avoiding her eyes), she wondered where Dean was. Dean's absence reinforced her feeling that this wasn't really Sam. Again.

"You gonna shoot me, or can I come in?"

Fuck it. "Stay there," Jo ordered and slammed the door in his face. She returned with a bottle of holy water. When she re-opened the door Sam was still there, still with his hands in the air. Without hesitation, Jo threw the water right into his face.

Sam flinched, and blinked water out of his eyes, but that was all. "Holy water?" he asked.

She stepped back from the door. "Come in, Sam," she said, in a voice that clearly indicated she wished he wouldn't.

He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and wiped his face with one huge hand. He stepped carefully over her salt line and into the apartment. "I wouldn't blame you if you'd put a bullet in me," he muttered.

"I still might." Jo kept her hand near the gun in her belt as she faced him. "What do you want, Sam?" she asked bluntly.

She expected Sam to react to her hostility, but he only looked down at the ground. "Ellen told me where to find you. I...I wanted to tell you this myself. You shouldn't hear it on the hunters' grapevine."

"Hear what?" she demanded impatiently. She tossed back her long hair and stared up at him, determined not to be intimidated. She just wanted him gone. And she was gonna have words with her mom for telling him where she was.

"Dean," Sam said, and his voice broke a little on the word. "Dean's dead."

Jo felt her heart stutter. All of her anger with Sam vanished. She backed away until her legs hit the nearest chair, then sat down. She stared up at him. Sam didn't meet her eyes, but she could see the grief in him. She could see now that he was broken, just thin threads holding him together.

"When?" she whispered.

"A few weeks ago. Demon."

Sam volunteered no further details and Jo didn't ask. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Oh, God." She swallowed hard. "Are you...are you holding up okay?" She knew he wasn't.

Sam shook his head. "Not even close."

Jo sighed. She had some idea what this meant for Sam. He'd lost the girlfriend he was planning to marry, then his father and now his brother, too. She knew what it was like to lose family, but Sam had lost more than that. She couldn't imagine how awful he must be feeling. "Have a seat, Sam," she offered. "Can I get you a beer? Or whiskey?"

Sam waved the offer away. "No, that's - "

"Please," she interrupted. He looked terrible.

Sam's smile was a little forced, but it was a real smile. "Okay. Beer. Thanks. Just don't ask me - "

"I wasn't planning to," she promised, and went to find some beer.

They started with beer and ended up sharing the last of Jo's whiskey, Sam drinking with the grim air of a man who is looking forward to the passing out part of the bender. Jo didn't actually invite him to spend the night, but he fell asleep on her couch while she cleared their glasses away. Jo watched him for a moment, then covered him with a blanket and left him there.

Jo slept with her gun under her pillow and a heavy chest full of knives dragged in front of her bedroom door. She dreamed of Dean.

In the morning, Jo found Sam curled up on her couch, still fully dressed and very much asleep. She didn't have to be at work until the afternoon, so she let him sleep while she washed, dressed and made coffee. She was just pouring her second mug of coffee when she heard Sam groan as he sat up and stretched. She poured coffee for him and carried the mug into the next room.

"I hope you don't mind black coffee. I'm all out of milk."

"Black's fine," Sam answered. He took the cup from her hands and sipped the coffee in silence.

Jo sat down on the arm of the couch. "Sam, can I ask you something?"

He looked up at her. "As long as it's not what happened. I can't, Jo."

"Why did you come all the way here to tell me? I mean, you could have called. Or even asked mom to give me the message."

Sam leaned back into the couch. "I didn't phone because I thought you'd hang up on me. I came here because...I think it's what Dean would have wanted. I know he didn't show it too well, but he cared about you a lot, Jo. I...I don't know if the feeling was mutual, but I...I owed it to him, and you, to tell you myself."

Jo didn't know what to say to that. Was Sam saying that Dean loved her? It didn't seem possible.

"You didn't know, did you?" Sam asked astutely.

She shook her head. "Sam, he never even kissed me."

Sam set his coffee down. "If you knew Dean like I did... Jo, come down to the car with me. There's something I think you should see."

Jo frowned. "Well...okay. After breakfast. I've got toast or pancakes or scrambled eggs. Or all of the above."

Sam shrugged without enthusiasm, and she remembered it was always Dean who loved to eat.

He stood in the kitchen doorway while she cooked and as he looked around Jo realised he was seeing her place properly for the first time. She'd deliberately chosen a bright, happy apartment: yellow walls and curtains in bright, primary colours. The place came part-furnished and she'd added her own touches, so the weapons chest was covered with a Native American rug and the medicine wheel on the wall just fit right in like a Christmas decoration. It couldn't be a bigger contrast to the Roadhouse.

Jo set a plate of egg and toast on the table for Sam. "Here. Eat."

"Are you still hunting?" Sam asked her, sitting down.

"Sure. I've got a job, too. Pays for my rent and wheels. My hours don't have to be regular so I can take time off when I find a case."

"I guess I didn't expect to find you in a place so..."

"Clean," she suggested archly, knowing that isn't what he meant.

"You must get great tips."

Jo finished her eggs. "I'm not waitressing, Sam. I'm an instructor at the gun club." She shrugged. "I had to fake my credentials but I know guns. I'm good at the job."

"I'll bet you are."

"Are you still hunting?" she asked tentatively.

Sam's face fell. "I haven't since Dean... I will, though. When I'm ready."

She thinks about the case she's working on, and the old saying about getting back in the saddle. Though Sam hadn't said how Dean died, she guessed that Sam was blaming himself. But she didn't ask him to help her with her case. She didn't trust Sam enough for that.

Sam fell silent while he ate the breakfast Jo had made. He still had an appetite, Jo noticed, or perhaps he hadn't eaten for a while. Finally, he finished and pushed the plate away.

"Thanks, Jo. For...for everything."

She managed a smile. "You're welcome."

He looked into her eyes. "Jo, I never saw Dean with any girl the way he was with you. But we'd just lost our dad and Dean was carrying a lot of baggage from that. You took off before he'd really dealt with it."

"After Duluth," Jo said flatly, "he didn't even call me."

"I know," Sam answered. "Because we were getting closer to the demon and... You ready?"

Jo nodded.

It was a wrench to see the familiar Impala without Dean at the wheel. The car was so much a part of Dean. Seeing it brought home to Jo that she was never going to see Dean again. It hurt to think it.

Sam opened the trunk and moved some things around, looking for something. "Just before Dad died, the three of us ran into the yellow eyed demon. The one who killed our mom, and my Jess." Sam took out what looked like an old cigar box. "I asked why it killed them and he said they were just in the way. No reason. They were just...just roadkill."

"Demons lie, Sam," Jo reminded him.

"Maybe. The thing is, Dean witnessed both of those fires." Sam rummaged through the box. "Seeing someone die like that...it stays with you, Jo. Dean liked to pretend it didn't, but I know him. Here..."

Jo took the photograph from Sam. She recognised John Winchester at once. He was a younger man in the photo, smiling at the camera. It was a carefree smile which looked odd to her on the face of a man she remembered as quite grim most of the time. The woman beside him was slim and pretty, with long, blonde hair styled very much like Jo's own hair.

"Your mom and dad?" she asked Sam.

"Yes."

"She looks like me," Jo said softly. She looked up at Sam, suddenly realising where he was going with this. "That's what you wanted me to see. Is this some Freudian thing?"

Sam managed a small, tight smile. "I'm just saying, if I noticed the resemblance, I'm sure Dean did, too. After we met the demon, after it killed Dad, he wouldn't let himself get close to you. I don't know, but I think he was scared of you ending up the same way."

Jo gazed at the photograph again. Sam's explanation didn't help. Had she loved Dean? Maybe not, but she'd badly wanted the chance to find out. If this was why she'd never gotten that chance...God, why hadn't he ever let her know? She handed the photograph back to Sam.

"Keep it if you want. I have others."

Jo wasn't sure why Sam made the offer. It wasn't as if John and his dead wife meant anything to her. They certainly meant a lot to Sam. But she nodded, slipping the photograph into her pocket. "Thanks."

He threw the box back into the trunk and closed slammed it closed. "I...I should go, I guess." He made an odd gesture toward her, then let his hand drop. "Uh, Jo, about Duluth..."

Jo tensed. "Don't. It wasn't you, Sam. You don't owe me anything."

"So, we're okay?"

"We're okay." On a sudden impulse, Jo gave him a hug. Sam stiffened in surprise and for an instant the closeness of his body reminded her of Duluth, of the way his strength defeated her so easily. Then Sam hugged her back and Jo felt okay again.

She drew away slowly. "Sam. If you need a friend, you know where I am. Alright?"

"Alright," he agreed.

When Sam climbed in behind the wheel, Jo felt her heart break. The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine reminded her forcefully of Dean. She had to blink tears out of her eyes. She cried as Sam drove away from her, cried for Dean and for all the signals she so badly misread.

August 2008

Jo woke with a start. She sat up in bed, confused for a moment, wondering what had wakened her. Then the sound came again. Someone was banging on her door. She thought she heard a voice, too. She glanced at her alarm clock. The glowing red figures declared it was 2.46am. Who the Hell...?

Jo slipped a shirt on over the t-shirt she slept in, picked up her gun and padded, barefoot, to the front door. She checked her salt line was intact before she touched the door. The pounding on her door never stopped.

She opened the door a crack, the gun ready in her hand. Sam stood there, one hand clutching his side, the other raised to knock. He was soaking wet, pale and shaking. Jo opened the door wide at once. Sam stumbled in without a word and she saw blood on the hand holding his side.

"You're hurt!" she said unnecessarily. Jo moved to his side, offering her shoulder to support him.

"Yeah. Sorry, Jo. I couldn't go to a hospital and you were the closest - "

"Bathroom," Jo cut across his apology firmly, guiding him that way. She got him to sit on the toilet seat while she helped him take off the wet sweater and shirt. Then she saw the wound.

A dark, pink and purple bruise covered most of Sam's left side. Within it were several large puncture wounds, still bleeding. From the way they were spaced, Jo thought it looked like a bite, but if so it was a bite from something huge. If she'd been in a joking mood, she would have asked where he found a T-rex to hunt.

"Holy shit, Sam. What did this?"

"Hellhound," he grunted.

She grabbed her emergency first aid kit from beneath the sink. Iodine...is he going to need stitches? God, look at that bruise. He might have cracked his ribs. He should get an x-ray. But a hellhound? Daddy told me no one ever escapes a hellhound. "Are you sure?" Jo asked nervously, suddenly remembering it was full moon, for all the stormclouds were hiding it tonight.

"It's not a werewolf bite," Sam said, as if he'd read her mind.

Jo relaxed, but bit her lip as she looked up at him again. "Sam, this is bad. The punctures look deep and there's muscle damage. Maybe broken ribs. I don't know."

"Can you deal with it?"

She remembered Dean calling her a butcher when she tried to dig a bullet out of his shoulder. "I don't know. I mean, I can do it, but..."

"Just do what you can, honey. Please."

The please stopped Jo from arguing further although she felt far from confident. "I'll get you some whiskey. It'll help dull the pain."

It took more than whiskey. Jo had never stitched a wound before, only watched Ellen do it. She did the best she could, while Sam screamed around the leather belt she'd given him to bite on. She used iodine to clean the wounds first and bandaged his ribs just in case they were broken. She had no idea how to check for that. Finally, she put Sam to bed on her couch. She considered offering him the bed, but she was selfish enough to want to sleep there herself. Besides, she still preferred to have a locked door between them when she slept. So she gave him pillows and a comforter, and left him to sleep, if he could.

Sam stayed for six nights. On the seventh day, Jo came home after work to find a note pinned to her refrigerator:

Dear Jo,

A friend called with urgent news so I've got to go. Sorry to run out on you like this. Thanks again for your help.

Be safe. Sam W.

Three days later, when she hadn't heard from him, Jo phoned Sam. She told him he must either come back so she could remove the stitches or find someone else who could do it for him. The next day, Sam was at her door again.

Jo was busy with her latest case of supernatural murders and had papers strewn across the kitchen table when Sam showed up. She let him sit there while she yanked the stitches and knew he would notice her work. Maybe she wanted him to notice. She'd been sifting through obits from 1937 trying to figure out the identity of the ghost gutting people with a scythe two counties away. When Sam asked, she explained what she'd found and he helped her narrow down the possibilities. The next night, they drove out there together to dig up a grave.

Jo was glad of his help. Turned out she needed someone to watch her back when the scythe-wielding ghost showed up halfway through the excavation of his remains.

After that, Sam sort of moved into Jo's apartment. He started keeping his clothing at her place, and a bunch of ancient books. He would leave and drive across the country for a hunt, then return and stay for a while. When he was home, he spent long hours on the internet or in the local library. Jo knew he was searching for something, a search that seemed to grow more desperate every day, but she never asked and Sam didn't volunteer anything.

October 2008

One night, as summer faded into fall, while Jo curled up on one end of the couch and Sam sprawled at the other, Sam finally told Jo how Dean died, and why he died.

Dean died to save Sam. Dean sold his soul to save Sam's life.

"You're saying Dean's in Hell?" Jo whispered.

Sam nodded slowly.

"Oh, God." Jo drew her legs up to her chest and picked up a cushion, hugging it close to her. "Oh, God." She blinked away tears. "That's it, isn't it? You're looking for some way to...to save his soul. Oh, Sam."

Jo expected Sam to nod again, but his expression hardened. "I already know a way, Jo. I'm looking for...something better. Answers, maybe. Plan A sucks." He met her eyes and he looked anguished. "Every day I fail, every day I wait, is another day Dean's in Hell because of me."

Jo sat up straight. "What's plan A?"

"I can't tell you. You'd stop me. Or," he met her eyes determinedly, "you'd try."

Jo heard the threat in his tone. She would have no chance of stopping him, but why would she want to? Why would she stand in the way of him saving his brother from Hell? His plan must be risky, but it was his risk to take, surely. She knew how deeply he loved Dean. Dean's in Hell because of me.

Sam refused to tell her his plan, but years of serving Wild Turkey to drunken hunters had taught Jo a thing or two. She knew Sam wouldn't have mentioned it to her if some part of him didn't need to talk about it. Plan A sucks, he'd said. It was a cry for help. Maybe he wanted someone to stop him.

Jo poured Sam another drink. "How can I help, then?"

Sam ran both hands through his hair. "I don't think you can, Jo. I don't mean any offence, but you don't know more about this stuff than I do."

Jo did take offence at that. "You arrogant...shit. Typical Winchester, always flying solo. Maybe I don't know more than you, but I might know some things you don't. I definitely know people you don't. Let me help."

"I spent most of a year trying to find a way to break the deal Dean made," Sam told her. "I couldn't do it. The demon had it tied down tight. No loopholes. If Dean found a way to escape, I would die. And, while I'd willingly give my life for Dean..."

"He wouldn't let you," Jo finished for him.

Sam's unhappy expression was answer enough. "Right at the end of the year, I realised there was one loophole. Not a good one. But something. Dean offered his soul, but he didn't offer eternity. So if he...if he kept his end of the deal, there was nothing to stop me breaking it after." He smiled, but the smile was bitter. "The devil's in the details. For me to save him, Dean had to go to Hell." Sam sighed heavily and reached for the old grimoire he had been reading. He offered it to Jo. "You want to help? How's your Latin?"

Christmas 2008

For three months, they worked together. Jo brushed up on her Latin and Greek and started to learn Arabic. She made notes from new books and websites and books she suspected might predate the Great Flood. When either of them found anything that even hinted at a possible plan, they would talk it over for hours or days. Sam called every contact he could find in John's journal; Jo contacted everyone she knew from the Roadhouse. Slowly, they made progress.

Right before Christmas, they took a road trip together to New Orleans to talk with a hoodoo practitioner Sam had found, then on to Nevada where Jo located a magician who knew her father. They started out hopeful that at least one of them would be able to help, but the trip was pretty much a bust.

The drive home took them most of Christmas Eve. Sam played Dean's tapes in the car and wouldn't let Jo drive. Jo, wisely, kept her thoughts on that to herself.

It was very late when they finally stumbled into Jo's apartment. Neither of them spoke as they began the usual night routine: Sam got his pillows and comforter out of the chest in Jo's bedroom while she checked her salt lines and other protections, all through the apartment. When she was done, Jo watched Sam making up his bed on the couch. He never complained about the sleeping arrangements, even though he was much too tall to be comfortable sleeping there.

A change was overdue, Jo decided.

"Sam," she said quietly, "you don't need to do that."

Sam straightened and turned to her. "Do what?" he asked, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

"My bed is big enough for two," Jo said.

Sam still looked confused. He moved toward her hesitantly. "Jo, do you mean...?"

She smiled, understanding. She hadn't meant to offer sex, but if he wanted her, she realised she wouldn't be likely to turn him down. She felt the last tensions of their encounter in Duluth melt away. "I think," she said with a grin, "we're both too tired tonight. But..." she moved toward him, "I could really use a hug."

Sam opened his arms to her and she fell into his embrace. t felt good to be held. Sam's body was warm, his strength comforting. She felt him kiss her hair lightly.

"I'm not Dean," Sam said softly as they drew apart.

"Neither am I," Jo reminded him.

That night, Jo fell asleep in Sam's arms and felt like she belonged there.

On Christmas morning, he left her again.

March 2009

Sam never again spent a night on Jo's couch.

It was natural to move from sharing a bed to the kind of sleeping together that doesn't always involve sleep.

The first time they had sex, Jo woke to find Sam stroking her hair. She smiled sleepily and kissed him. She'd been kissing him as a 'good morning' ever since Christmas. Sam kissed her back hungrily and moments later he was thrusting inside her like he was starving for this. And maybe he was, because it was over too fast. Sam made up for it, though, bringing her to an earth-shattering climax with tongue and fingers.

After, he held her close and Jo couldn't imagine why she'd ever been afraid of him. But she was glad the local pharmacy stocked Plan B.

June 2009

On the anniversary of Dean's death, Jo and Sam had their first major fight. It ended when Sam hit her and stormed out of the apartment without even waiting to see if she was hurt.

The next day, though, he was back. He apologised even before he saw the purple bruise on her cheekbone. Jo forgave him. The violence was so unlike Sam and she understood what the anniversary meant to him. She knew he was becoming increasingly desperate. She knew it wasn't really her he'd seen when he threw the punch.

She still kept him outside the apartment while they talked. "You're not the only one who's lost family, Sam," she reminded him.

Sam nodded. "You lost your dad, too, I know. And your brother. But it's different. I'm not making excuses, Jo, there's no excuse for what I did, but - "

"But," she cut in, "you think I can't understand how you feel. Do you think I wouldn't bring my daddy back if I could? Ash was a pain in my ass, but there are days I'd sell my own soul to see him again. It's different for you, sure. But I do get it. I do."

Sam nodded. "Can I come in? Or do you want to throw holy water at me again?" he tried for a grin with the words, but didn't quite pull it off.

Jo opened the door. "Next time you hit me, I'm gonna put a bullet in you. I ain't kidding."

"There won't be a next time. I'm really sorry, Jo." He reached out to push her hair back from her cheek. "Oh, God. I don't even know what I was thinking. I'm not...I mean..."

"Sam, it's okay. I know you didn't mean it, or you'd be bleeding right now. I'm not the forgiving type."

Sam unfolded the map and spread it out over the kitchen table. "I think you should know it was Ash who found this. I'm pretty sure it's what got him killed."

Jo crossed her arms over her chest, speechless. Why had he waited until now to tell her this?

The horrible day Jo found the shattered remains of the Roadhouse flashed into her mind. She'd never told Sam about finding her burned-out home a few days after the fire. She thought she'd been the first to find it, because the bodies still lay amongst the wreckage, and they'd been there long enough to attract the flies and the rats. Long enough for the smell of decay to be worse than the smell of burned wood and tar. Jo had searched through unrecognisable bodies for some sign of her mom or her brother. She found Ash. Couldn't identify Ellen, but was sure she must be there, too badly burned for even her own daughter to know her. Jo was there for days, digging graves by day and sleeping in her little car by night, until finally Ellen and Bobby found her. But she'd never told Sam about that time.

And this, finally, was the reason. Jo hugged herself tightly as she leaned over the map. It showed Wyoming, with a large pentacle drawn across the south of the state.

"There's a door to Hell right here," Sam tapped the map in the centre of the pentacle. "It's locked up tight. These..." he traced the lines of the pentacle, "are railroads connecting churches at each point."

"Railroads?" Jo understood at once. "It's a giant devil's trap."

Sam gave her an approving smile. "Exactly. The doorway was sealed up inside, but the devil's trap broke two years ago when the door was opened. A lot of demons got out. You know about that, right? Ellen was there with us."

Jo nodded. "Mom told me. I always knew she was leaving stuff out. I guess now I know."

Sam touched her shoulder gently and she leaned her cheek against his hand. "Okay. So there's a door to Hell. What is it you plan to do?"

"The door is locked, Jo, but I've got the key. The problem is, when I open it, there's nothing to hold back whatever comes out. Nearly two hundred demons escaped last time."

Jo stared at him, afraid she understood his plan. "No. Sam, you're talking about unleashing Hell on earth! You don't even know if Dean would be able to escape!"

Sam shook his head, and the expression on his face made Jo even more frightened. "You don't understand, Jo. If I open the door and Dean's spirit finds the way out, he'll still be dead. I don't want to just save his soul. I'm going to bring him back alive."

"How?" Jo asked, her voice only a whisper.

Sam met her eyes. "If I'm...if Azazel told me the truth about what I am, I can do it."

There was only one thing he could mean. Jo shook her head in denial. "No. Oh, God, Sam, no. You can't."

"I can't let Dean spend eternity in Hell, Jo! God! It's been a year already." Sam turned away from her, gazing out of the window. Dean's car was parked in the street below. "I just need a way..."

"A way to open the door without unleashing Armageddon," Jo finished for him. It sounded impossible.

Sam, still not looking at her, simply nodded.

Jo swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was shaking and cold, though it was a warm day. But her voice was steady when she answered him. "Okay then. Let's figure out how it's done."

August 2009

Campfire flames illuminated Sam's face as he leaned over the fire, holding a burger spitted on a stick. Fat from the burger made the flames spark and spit as it cooked.

"I don't think I've been camping like this since...since I was fifteen," Sam commented. He took his burger out of the flames, looked at it critically and then took an experimental bite. "Ow! Hot!"

Jo giggled. Her own burger was safely in a bread bun, balanced on her knee. "You and your motel lifestyle. You're soft, Sam Winchester." She tore open a sachet of relish with her teeth and squeezed it over her burger.

They were camped beside the railroad tracks built by Samuel Colt to protect the devil's gate. They knew the tracks were broken somewhere, and they were searching for the place, or places, that needed repair. This was the second week of their search. It was a long job, tracing every inch of the iron tracks and the only way to do it was the old-fashioned way: on foot.

"So," Jo asked, taking a bite of her burger, "where did you camp when you were fifteen?"

Sam blew on his burger to cool it down. "Somewhere in the Rockies. It might have been Colorado. Dad was looking into some weird deaths in the hills. I think it turned out to be a skinwalker." He took a bite of burger and was silent for a moment while he chewed. "I hated it, you know. Camping in the mountains. Bow hunting. All the crap Dad put us through. I just wanted to play football."

"I would have given anything for the kind of training you had," Jo told him seriously.

Sam nodded. "Maybe you wouldn't, if you didn't get a choice."

"Maybe," she agreed. She finished her burger and shuffled around the camp fire to Sam's side. "We've covered more than half of the tracks. I think there might be only one place to find."

"We need to find it soon, Jo. I can't wait much longer."

Jo cuddled up to his side. She understood his impatience, but finding the place where the devil's trap was broken was only the first step. There was a lot more they needed to do before they could put Sam's plan into practice. She was beginning to worry that he wouldn't wait, that he'd do something desperate.

Sam still had not explained his full plan to Jo, but she wasn't Bill Harvelle's daughter for nothing. She had a good idea what Sam was going to attempt. She didn't believe he could survive it.

When Sam kissed her, Jo wanted him as she never had before. She needed his kiss, his touch, as much of him as she could take. She held his face between her hands as they kissed, his unshaven cheeks scratchy against her palms, and knew for the first time that she loved him.

Jo kissed him like it was the last time. Sensing her urgency, Sam tugged her shirt out of her jeans, his hands sliding over her bare skin. She pulled the t-shirt over his head and dragged him down onto the hard ground. She didn't want slow or gentle. Sam pinned her down with one hand in her hair and bit her lower lip just hard enough to hurt. Jo moaned into his mouth and started on his belt.

They came together in a rush of hands and lips and flesh, clothing torn away and discarded, forgotten. They burned together, naked and sweaty in the summer night, under the stars.

Sam collapsed on top of her finally, one of his hands still hopelessly tangled in her hair.

"I love you," Jo whispered into the night. She never knew if he heard her.

Continued...