Chapter Text
She never thought being killed by a Hellhound would automatically mark her soul for Hell. She thought everything she ever did, all the monsters she killed, all the lives she saved by the single act of taking her life, would certainly help save her soul and grant her a place in Heaven.
So, maybe that's why it shocks her when she finds herself within the pits that she fought so hard to stop from taking over the world. She wasn't necessarily ready to die; that'd definitely be an overstatement, but she was prepared to die to give Sam and Dean a chance to get to the Devil and shoot the bastard with the Colt.
Faith was something she never really thought about. There were monsters that hurt people; there were hunters that killed those monsters. She never really gave God or faith a thought. Even when she met Castiel, an actual angel of the Lord.
But then when she was lying in her mother's arms, guts pouring out of her stomach, and barely even able to tell her mother that she loved her, well, she started hoping there was a special place in Heaven for her… thought she deserved some sort of reward for everything she had ever done, despite not being the most "faithful" of people.
It's maybe why it had hurt so much when the smell of sulphur clogged her nostrils, when black smoke was the only thing she could see at first, when the putrid stench of rotten flesh and fire seeped through the smell of rotten eggs, making her eyes water.
Her hands twitch, desperately trying to wipe away the instant reaction to the horrible smell, but it's then she realises she's restrained. Large, metal shackles encircle her wrists, painfully tight and biting into her skin; blood already trickles down over her wrist, trailing down her arms in a long thin line of crimson. She feels the same feeling restraining her feet, stopping her from kicking out and trying to break free. Her back is rigid, pressed tight against a damp, cold wall… why are the walls in Hell so cold?
Fire and brimstone is what it's supposed to be famous for, why are the manacles, the walls, the air surrounding her so cold?
Her hands tug against her restraints, feet trying to lash out but she gets nowhere. If anything, the hold they have on her becomes tighter; the chains that are attached to the wall become shorter, pulling her back in a much more painful and vulnerable position.
A sob chokes her when she realises that she didn't even get to finish saying "I love you" to her mom; she didn't detonate the bomb; she didn't kill those Hellhounds. Her mother did. Her mother did all of that by herself. Her mom is gone and it’s all because of her.
Is she in Hell too? Or did she get a place in Heaven? She deserves a place in Heaven. Her mom was definitely the most kindest, loving person to ever grace the earth. Sure, they had their differences; sure, she wanted to get away to become a hunter and not live in the Roadhouse all her life, but it was just the way her mother raised her. She wasn't raised to be a weak little girl, taking "no" for an answer. Her mother should've realised that lecture of "not giving up on what you want" would've come back to bite her in the ass.
She wants to scream for help, hope someone is about that can help her, can save her. Dean got saved from Hell; maybe an angel was looking after her too? Maybe there was a purpose in her going to Hell? Maybe she's here for another reason other than being dragged by a Hellhound.
Oh, who is she kidding? Dean's the "Righteous Man"; the man destined to stop Lucifer and the Apocalypse. What was she? A little girl who's only goal was to be as brave as her father.
Well, her "bravery" got her ripped to shreds by a Hellhound, blown up when her mother detonated their bomb, and landed her with a oneway ticket to Hell.
'Mommy.' She chokes on her sob, her hands clenching and unclenching, trying to find something to hold, to pull; trying to ease the pain from the cold metal digging into her wrists. She wants to wake up; wants to be told it was just a horrible, vivid nightmare. She wants her mother to hold her tight; wants Dean to tell her to "toughen up". She wants to get out of Hell. She doesn't deserve this.
'Mommy dearest is down the hall, sweetie.' A cold, harsh voice sounds, but as she looks around herself, trying to find the source of the voice, she can see nothing. 'Be sure to scream loud enough, Joanna Beth, I'm sure she'll want to hear you.'
Jo weakly shakes her head, ignoring the words the demon hisses in her ear. She's not going to scream. She's not going to give anyone the satisfaction, and if her mom really is down the hall, she's not going to let her hear her daughter scream.
Suddenly, a face appears in front of her; there's probably more to this face - hair, lines, mouth, but all she can see, all Jo can concentrate on, is two black eyes staring into her own. Bottomless; emotionless. She's used to staring into the eyes of demons, has done it plenty of times before, but this… this is different. She's never been chained up by one; never had one crowding into her personal space in such a way that has her turning in on herself, pressing further into the wall behind her, no matter how painful it is having the sharp edges pressing into her spine.
Jo goes to turn her head away, break contact from the sight of the demon standing far too close to her and crowding in on her personal space, but the second her neck twitches, the demon's hands reach up with fingers pressing painfully into the hollows of her cheeks, forcing her face to remain facing forward.
'No, no, darling, that's not how this is going to work. You're going to watch, and you're going to scream.'
'Go to Hell,' Jo sneers, only because it's the first comeback she can think of. As soon as it breaks free from her lips, coming out rather muffled from the grasp the demon still has on her, she realises her mistake. She wants to close her eyes and sigh at her sheer stupidity, but instead, she keeps her brown eyes on the demon, narrowing them as the damn thing chuckles.
'Oh, honey, I'm already here, and so are you.' The demon's lips quirk into a grin. 'And we're going to have so much fun.'
'Don't "honey" me, you black-eyed bitch.' Jo snaps, her hands finally falling still. The pain she once felt has suddenly stopped, disappeared with all feeling in her fingertips. She's tempted to check if they're still connected to her body, finding it rather unsettling that the feeling is gone completely, but that would mean tearing her eyes off this thing and she wasn't about to do that. 'I'm stronger than I look; you're not gonna make me scream.'
The demon grins, 'If I call you by "Jo" only, do I get granted the same treatment? Do I get called my name instead of "black-eyed bitch"? If so, I'll allow that, Joanna.'
Jo grinds her teeth together. She hates being called Joanna by her mother, let alone by some stuck-up demon intent on making her scream. However, if there's one thing she hates more than "Joanna", it's ridiculous pet names that some hunters bestowed upon her, so, with this in mind, she reluctantly nods her head. One jerky nod that has the demon chuckling again.
'Good. Name's Amy. Nice to meet you.'
Amy turns away from Jo then, moving over to the door that Jo didn't even notice before.
'Where are you going?' Jo asks, not trusting the fact she's leaving her. Why would she leave her? She's tied up and unable to move. This would be the perfect time to "make her scream".
'Aw, you gonna miss me?' Amy enquires with a teasing smirk on her face, black eyes trailing over Jo's face, down her neck, and then following the trail of blood up to her wrists, which were still encased in large, metal manacles. She frowns for a second, before she waves her hand at Jo, who flinches, expecting some pain from the movement.
Instead, she crumples to the ground, landing on the stone floor with a thud and a small cry. Blood painfully rushes back to her hands, and she can do nothing to soothe the feeling, other than cradle each of her hands in her grasp.
'Believe it or not, Jo, Hell isn't only about torturing its souls.' Amy explains, before she winks at Jo and disappears through the door, leaving Jo alone.
Jo wants to stand, wants to rush after her, because that's all Hell is supposed to be about. It's what parents and priests and God uses against their children to stop them from doing wrong; to stop them from sinning. However, her feet are still painful from being restrained, her hands are still tingling from being let loose and instead of rushing after her, she curls in on herself.
She pulls her legs up so she can rest her head on her knees, clasping her arms around her legs, mindful of her still sore and tender wrists. The bleeding has stopped, which is something, but it's not like she can die from blood loss. She's already dead. If the blood had to gush from her wrists like a fountain, nothing would happen. It’d be painful, sure, and no doubt scary to watch, but it's not like she could pass out or die.
She bites her lower lip, wondering why the hell Amy let her down from her chains.
Dean hadn't told her anything about his time in Hell, but she had witnessed a change in the way he acted to know it affected him in a way he couldn't hide. He was normally so forward, but even his proposition to enjoy their "last night on earth together" was weak.
She scoffs. She wish she had accepted the offer now. Maybe then she'd have happy thoughts to dwell on, instead of thinking about how or why she ended up in Hell.
Are Dean and Sam grieving her? What about Castiel? She liked him. Sure, she didn't really know him as well as she knew the Winchesters, but a man that can hold nearly ten shots of tequila without any side effects was pretty damn awesome in her books.
She shuffles backwards until her back is pressed up against the wall, despite how painful it is, having sharp edges of brick press into every knob of her spine. She readjusts her body, finding a better position for her to rest her head on top of her knees, before she closes her eyes.
She discovers soon after that dreaming is still a thing in Hell.
~oOoOoOoOoOo~
Time is different in Hell.
Everything seems to go by so much quicker, whilst at the same time, slowing down almost painfully.
She's lost track with how long she's been here. Amy doesn't tell her anything. Well, nothing that'll help her try and figure that out. Maybe it's been ten years? No, that's not long enough. She's been in here for so much longer than that.
It's funny. Ten years always seemed like an eternity to her when she was alive. Ten years was the impossible length. She was twenty-years-old when she found herself being ripped to shreds by a Hellhound - something she's had to relive over and over again, thanks to her darling Amy - but ten years was just too long up in the "real" world, where people are still smiling and living and breathing.
Ten years when she was there was painful. Ten years and she'd be thirty, and she would've moved away from Harvelle's Roadhouse. She would've been a hunter and her mom could've done nothing about it.
It seemed like a lifetime away, then.
Now, ten years is like an hour. It's gone before you even know where you're at.
She definitely hasn't been here for just ten years.
She remembers Dean saying something about his time in Hell. It wasn't much. He didn't talk about it. But he was only gone for four months, but he said something about it feeling like forty years down in Hell. Every month is like ten years, she realises.
She's been gone for longer than a month. She knows that for certain.
Amy had told her Bobby Singer was dead. Jo thought she was joking. She realised that's Amy's favourite kind of torture. She doesn't like to get her hands dirty; instead, she likes to sit back, plant a seed and watch it spiral out of control in Jo's mind.
She's screamed at walls. She thrown herself at them and broke her hands before to desperately try to get out of her confines. She's been curled into a ball, rocking back and forth as she cries and wails. She's done a lot of things, and all because Amy said something - a passing comment that rooted itself in Jo's mind - and drove her out of her wits.
And when it's gone on for so long, when she's thinking she's going to die again, when she's wishing she could die again, that's when Amy comes back, waves her hand and fixes Jo's wounds; settles her mind and lulls her to sleep.
Jo dreams in those times. She dreams of her father, of her mother, of her time with Dean and Sam and even her time with Gordon. But it's always over too quick. She always finds herself waking to the sight of Amy's dark eyes, her plump lips smiling down at her, and telling her something else that has her spiralling out of control.
She's woke up to the sound of Amy's chuckle; that dark, throaty laugh that sends shivers down Jo's spine in the worst way possible. Amy's never in the room with her when she wakes up like that, bolting upright and wishing she had that amazing knife of Dean's that could kill demons. She'd enjoy running Amy through.
'My, my, my,' Amy drawls, suddenly appearing in front of Jo, who jerks upright. Her hands clamber along the floor, trying to find purchase to push her into a standing position. Her legs are weak, shaking as she stands upright, but she needs to be strong. That's how you beat demons, right? You stay strong.
'What?' Jo growls, head held high despite the fact her legs twitch to collapse, and her whole body screams at her to curl in on herself, protect herself from the only thing she ever sees.
'You have no idea who I just saw, my dear Joanna.' Amy retorts, ignoring the venom in Jo's voice. She knows it's nothing to worry about; knows she can make it disappear with either a simple word, or a flick of her wrist. 'The Boy King - the one that was destined to lead us into the Apocalypse. Sam Winchester.'
'No…' Jo shakes her head. Sam's not dead. He can't be… and even then, he can't be in Hell. He's a kind soul, his heart's always - only - in the right place. He doesn't deserve this. Not Sam… not Sam.
'Relax, he's not dead. And anyway, I thought it was his brother you were in love with? No? Oh well,' Amy shrugs. 'He was rescuing Bobby Singer's soul. Apparently they're trying to close the Gates of Hell. Y'know what that means, don't you?'
Jo doesn't say anything, but she's sure she feels her neck twitch, her head shake in the tiniest way that answers her question. No, she doesn't know what that means and she doesn't really want to find out. Surely, it can only be a bad thing. That's the only reason Amy visits her. To tell her the information that leads to her breaking herself into tiny pieces for Amy to put back together again.
'They don't care about you. Think about it, do you think they'd really close the Gates of Hell if they cared about you? They're going to slam that door shut on your pretty little face and throw away the key. Why rescue Bobby Singer's soul when they could've rescued yours? Face it, Joanna, they don't give a damn about you anymore; they probably never cared about you. Their darling angel fought his way through Hell twice. Once for Dean and once for Sam, and not once did they stop to think about you.'
'Shut up.' Jo whispers, finding her hands clenching into fists. She's tempted to throw herself at the demon, wrestle it to the ground, and drive her fist into its stupid face over and over again, until there's blood spattering her hand, and there's a bone or two broken in her fist.
'I wouldn't be surprised if they thought about your mommy; wouldn't be surprised if they come back to save her. And who’s to bet that the second your mommy dearest was free, she wouldn't even think about you? In fact, she'd probably start throwing a party; finally rid of her pitiful excuse of a daughter. She tells me she wonders how you're hers.'
'Shut up.'
'She wonders if you're even your father's. You're nothing like him, are you? He was this strong, trusting, brave hunter, and what are you? Weak; the damsel in distress. He's probably up in Heaven, looking down on you in shame.'
'I said shut up!' Jo roars before she lunges for Amy, hands coming up ready to wrap around her neck.
However, the second her fingers are ready to wrap around the soft flesh, Amy is suddenly gone, and Jo finds herself lying flat on the ground, knees, hands and elbows scraped and bloody from supporting her fall.
She groans as she manages to lift her head, finding Amy standing behind her, a taunting smile on her face. Jo can feel blood trickle down over her chin and when her tongue darts out to lick her lips, the sting on her lower lip tells her she bit down on it as she fell. Just what she needs.
'There's my girl. We'll make a demon out of you yet,' Amy smirks, sending a wink to Jo before disappearing completely, leaving Jo alone with that statement that chills her to her bone.
Of course that's what the main goal is. Every soul that ends up in Hell becomes a demon eventually. She's going to forget herself so much, that she's going to develop a new personality; she's going to become that black smoke that she's fought so hard to defeat; she's going to become the very evil she swore to protect people against.
And if she lets Amy get to her like that again, it's going to happen sooner than she expected.
Jo shakes her head as she pushes herself up to a sitting position, shaking her head and mumbling "no" under her breath. She needs to watch herself from now on. She's going to hold off the transformation for as long as possible. She just needs to be calm and patient.
She can't let Amy get to her.
If Amy's plan is to twist and warp her into nothing more than black smoke, then she's going to have to do much harder than that.
~oOoOoOoOoOo~
Jo lets out a loud, blood curdling scream as the dagger pierces the soft skin of her stomach. The pain soars through her body, setting every nerve alight as she desperately tries to shield herself, tries to pull herself away from the dagger that's twisting and turning inside her, digging deeper as if searching for a certain part of her.
She wants to shout at the demon to stop, wants to summon the courage to spit in Amy's smirking face, who's standing with her back resting against the wall, watching the whole ordeal with a sadistic smirk on her face. She wants it to stop; she wants to get out of Hell; she wants to die again and never go to an afterlife. She just wants it to stop.
'You know what will make it stop, Joanna. If you just say yes, all of this will go away. It's that easy.' Amy declares, and her smirk grows even wider as she pushes herself away from the wall and starts walking towards Jo.
Jo clenches her jaw to stop any noise breaking free as the knife is suddenly yanked from her stomach in a twisting motion, meant to sever most organs and cause more pain.
Don't let her win. Don't let her win.
Jo raises her eyes, brown eyes clashing with the bottomless black orbs of the demon, and she swallows hard. Jo gives a harsh chuckle, despite the blood seeping out of her mouth and trickling down her chin, painting her in thin, red lines.
'So what you’re saying is if I say "yes", you'll let me down and you'll stop the torture?’ Jo questions, raising her eyebrows at the demon. Her hands twitch around the chains she's been holding on to, and her shoulders ache from being held upright for what seems like an eternity.
Amy's whole idea of mental torture went straight out the window when she realised Jo knew what she was trying to do.
"I don't like to get my hands dirty,” she had said in reply to Jo's accusation, merely grinned and explained that whilst she didn't prefer to carve chunks out of her victim in order to make the transformation happen, she wasn't beyond it.
'That's exactly it, my darling Joanna, you say that magical word, and I will call Olivier off. I will let you down from your chains and -'
'And I'll be the one to tie others up.' Jo finishes for her, a disgusted sneer on her face as she takes the words out of the demon's mouth.
'That's it. I'm sure it'll be all you need to kickstart your transformation into a billow of black smoke. What d'you say, Joanna?'
Jo gaze falls to the floor a second later, taking a deep breath in as she debates her answer in her head. Getting down certainly sounds tempting… and stringing people up and making them hurt wouldn't exactly be the worst, right? After all, they must've done something to warrant a stay in Hell.
And it would make it stop. It would make everything stop and she wouldn't have to deal with it again.
Jo raises her head, her eyes meeting Amy's once more, and she makes her decision, just so she can wipe that stupid smirk off Amy's face.
Blood and spit land on Amy's face and the demon recoils from the warm, wet feeling that lands on her with a soft thud.
'Never, you black-eyed bitch.'
Amy's face contorts into a vicious and disgusting grimace, her lips twitching in anger as her nostrils flare wide. Her whole body tenses as her hand comes up to wipe away the offending spit.
'So be it, darling. Have fun, Olivier.' Amy orders, waving her hand before she goes to turn away.
All of Jo's pain evaporates with the wave of her hand, and Olivier crowds in on her, dark eyes glinting with pleasure as he raises the dagger, ready to start slicing her apart once more. She's been under his torture long enough to realise that's the way he does things; he starts with the smallest of cuts and slits, before he starts carving chunks until your insides are spilling on the floor. It was his way; it gave him the best pleasure.
However, before he can even get the dagger anywhere near Jo's skin, the ground starts to shake. The chains holding Jo upright and against the brick wall rattle, and it's enough to stop Amy in her tracks, turning back to Jo with a frown on her face.
'No way.' She mutters, her eyes widen and full of… fear. Jo’s never have seen a demon look so scared for their life, but here it was. Amy turns her head to Olivier, who instantly drops the dagger, letting it land on the stone ground with a loud clatter.
'They don't get her. I'm going for help.' Amy declares, pointing her finger at Olivier in a warning. 'That's an order. You move, you die.'
And before Jo can even ask her what's happening, before Olivier can even protest to her words, Amy is gone and leaves no trace of her ever being there.
Olivier's eyes land on Jo a second later, and for the second time in her life, she sees a demon look afraid, and it's equally the most unsettling thing and the most powerful thing she's ever seen.
She goes to say something, planning to taunt the demon because why not? She can't die and she's used to the pain now. Sure, everything still hurts and she still screams despite the fact she told herself she wouldn't, but they've not thrown anything new at her for so long that she thinks they've used all of their moves.
But before she can, before she can even plaster a grin on her face, the demon is suddenly gone. Bright, white light consuming the creature in front of her and turning it to dust.
Jo lets out a scream in surprise, but falls silent when the light rounds on her. It's pulsing, glowing, and emitting a warmth that has Jo automatically leaning closer to her, arching her back as much as she can so she can crowd closer to the warm light that just destroyed the thing that previously had a dagger buried deep inside her stomach.
Yet, despite all of this, she pulls back as the light moves closer to her, pulling against her manacles in order to push herself as far away from it as possible. The light of… whatever the hell that's supposed to be stops when it realises just what Jo's doing.
There's a moment where it doesn't move, not even flickering as it stays still, before a hesitant hand-like shape emerges from the light, moving closer to Jo's face, almost as if to cup her cheek, but there's more it could do. It could throttle her and Jo couldn't stop it. She's tied up and it just killed a fucking demon for crying out loud!
'Stay away from me.' Jo warns, her voice fierce with determination and conviction, despite the fact the rattling coming from her chains, the only sound in the room that lets herself and the warm light know she's shaking; whether it's from fear or anticipation, Jo doesn't know, but she's shaking nonetheless.
The light shaped hand pulls away from a moment, almost hesitant in its movement, before it moves forward once again, and it cups Jo's cheek.
Warmth passes through her, seeping from her cheek into her skin, flowing deeper than her blood and into her bones, down into the very being of her. It lifts her up but at the same time grounds her; it heals all the pain from her torture, from the one five minutes ago to the ones that happened hundreds of years ago.
Jo lets out a shuddering breath, unable to decide if the touch is like being consumed by fierce flames or having nothing more than the ember spread through her veins.
'My name is Anna.' A soft voice whispers, and whilst Jo doesn't know where it comes from, it doesn't take long for her to decide it's the white light that's telling her this. 'You have no reason to be afraid, Joanna Beth Harvelle. Everything is going to be all right.'
Jo hesitantly raises her eyes, gazing at the light in front of her, still feeling the warmth it emits, still having a part of it cradling her face, and she gets the feeling that she's looking at something special, something… pure.
'You are saved, Jo Harvelle.' The same soft voice comes again, and even as Jo continues to stare at it, it moves closer to her. 'You have no reason to fear.'
And before Jo can think on anything else the bright light consumes her, much like it did the demon, and all of her thoughts disappear in an explosion of white light.