DeadEnd - SN fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Dead-End
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: I own neither Jo or H.H.Holmes.  Or the boys.  Or Ellen, or Jo's dad, or anyone else I didn't think up.
Warnings: AU for "No Exit"
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: just shy of four hundred
Point of view: third

She dies alone when she’s twenty-one.

-

She’s alone and terrified, and looking at the chamber around her, she can see where others have died. Fought and clawed and screamed, probably, but still died.

She kicks at the walls, punches them, claws and scratches and shrieks. Her voice echoes around her and nothing is changed.

Mom told her she wasn’t ready. She’s sure the Winchesters are looking for her. Dean told her she couldn’t cut it.

The surety of death calms her. Her breathing quiets.

They will not find her. Just like no one before her has been found.

The claw marks prove that.

-

It takes days. Slow, agonizing days. She can’t be sure how many, but it takes them forever. She feels her stomach clenching, and she would beg for food, if she thought it’d get her anywhere.

He looks at her sometimes, the ghost. H.H. Holmes, America’s first serial killer.

Dean told her she sure knew how to pick him, and damn if that ain’t true.

She wanted to be close to her daddy, to honor his memory, and instead she’ll shame him forever by dying on her first hunt.

She’s dying, starving and thirsty, and she doesn’t want to cry. She runs her fingers along the claw-marks and her eyes water with tears she can’t spare.

-

She closes her eyes and tries to imagine Heaven. Daddy’s there, and Grandma, friends who have died on the hunt.

She hopes Dean won’t blame himself; he couldn’t have done anything. She knows now what a fool she was, silly little girl who wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. She thought she was, so sure in her knowledge; firing a gun at a steady target isn’t the same thing as fighting a ghost that kills for fun.

She thought she was ready, but Mom and Dean were right. She thought she was ready and the price paid for her stubborn pride is her life.

-

She dies alone when she’s twenty-one, dies thirsty and starving, dies sleepy and frightened. She dies alone, sooner than she’d ever imagined, and doubts her remains will ever be found. She dies alone but for a ghost. She dies alone, calm and sure, eyes dry and body cold.

She closes her eyes, so tired, so thirsty, so hungry…

And everything fades.

-

She dies alone when she’s twenty-one and her body is never found.

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[tigriswolf]

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