With a violent gasp, JD lurched awake.
Sunlight poured through the window, golden and indifferent, as if the night hadn't been haunted.
He was drenched in sweat, his breath ragged, his pulse erratic. It took several long seconds before the panic faded, before his mind clawed its way back to reality.
His eyes landed on the camera sitting on his nightstand.
Then, once more, on the oak trees outside.
A sigh rattled out of him.
Something wasn't right.
JD couldn't shake the feeling that he had forgotten something—something important.
The unease clung to him, lingering like a shadow at the edge of his mind. But there was no time to dwell on it. He was already running late.
He forced himself out of bed and got ready in record time. As he rushed downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee and toast filled the air.
Joanne was already in the kitchen, moving effortlessly between the stove and the table. She turned just as he walked in, a playful smile curving her lips.
"You're not going to slack off on your first day as Administrative Officer, are you?" she teased, setting a plate down in front of him.
JD let out a breathless chuckle. "No way, Boss." He gave her a mock salute before adding, "I'll have to skip breakfast if I want to be on time, though."
Last night, during dinner, they'd talked about her being his boss. She'd asked if he was offended that she hadn't mentioned it earlier.
Shocked? Yeah.
Offended? Not at all.
If anything, the way she handled things only made him admire her more. He had told her as much, and the relief in her eyes had been unmistakable.
Now, she crossed her arms, leveling him with a stern look. "No! You are not leaving without breakfast."
JD hesitated but knew better than to argue.
Minutes later, he was out the door—his stomach full, his mind still tangled with lingering thoughts.
Something wasn't right.
But he didn't have time to figure out what.
Joanne stood by the window, watching as JD's car disappeared down the road.
Something was missing from his face this morning. A light that usually flickered behind his eyes—gone. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the thought lingered like an itch at the back of her mind.
Before she could dwell on it further, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen—and her breath hitched.
Her fingers trembled as she answered.
The man on the other end started with small talk, but Joanne barely heard him. Her grip on the phone tightened. She had no patience for pleasantries.
"Is he dead?" she cut in, her voice cold and steady.
That would be good news.
A pause. Then, the answer came.
"He escaped."
Joanne's blood ran cold.
Her knees nearly buckled, and she caught the edge of the counter for support. "How?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "How does someone escape from a high-security prison?"
Her eyes flickered—unbidden—to the rows of oak trees outside. The same trees that had stood there that night.
Captain Miller's voice remained calm. "We've already dispatched forces. He won't get far. I just wanted to inform you since you're directly involved."
Joanne exhaled, but it didn't ease the tightness in her chest. Involved. That was one way to put it.
"Thank you," she murmured.
She was scared. Of course she was. But fear wouldn't protect her. She needed to fortify her home—now.
"Miss, should we inform Mr. Winchester?" Captain Miller asked.
Joanne hesitated. A short silence stretched between them before she answered.
"…No."
"He's not involved anymore," she added, her voice quieter now. "If he comes for anyone… he'll come for me."
That was the scariest part.
The call ended, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier.
Joanne closed her eyes. And, as if summoned by memory, an image flickered in the darkness.
A boy.
A camera in his hands.
And that day.
Her entire body trembled.
Because she remembered.
She remembered everything.
That boy? He forgot. The horrors of that day, the weight of what had happened—his mind had buried it, locked it away for survival. But Joanne?
She remembered.
And maybe, in a twisted way, she was thankful for that.
Because if she didn't, who would protect her?
She took a shaky breath and forced herself to move. The weight of fear sat heavy in her bones, but she refused to be paralyzed by it. Not again.
She stepped outside, the crisp morning air biting against her skin as she made her way to the barn.
"Paddy."
Patrick barely had time to turn before she threw her arms around him.
He stiffened for half a second before exhaling and holding her tight. "I know," he murmured against her hair.
She swallowed. "He escaped."
Patrick let out a slow, measured breath.
"We'll get through this," he said, his voice steady. Unshaken. "Don't be scared."
Joanne nodded against his chest. She had to believe that.
After a moment, Patrick pulled back, his sharp gaze searching hers. "Have you informed him?"
She knew who he meant.
Joanne shook her head. "I'm not involved with the Winchesters anymore, Paddy."
A flicker of frustration crossed his face. "You got into this mess because you saved his grandson. He should—"
"Paddy."
Her voice was firm. Final.
"I want nothing to do with the Winchesters."
A tense silence settled between them. Patrick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn't agree, but he wouldn't push. Not now.
Instead, he rested a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"You have us," he said simply. "No one's going to hurt one of us. Not as long as we're here."
Joanne managed a small smile.
Oh, she trusted Patrick.
But deep down, she knew trust wasn't a shield.
And he was coming.
-----
A couple of days passed—no calls from Captain Miller. No updates. No confirmation.
Just silence.
And that terrified Joanne more than any words ever could. Still, she learned to live with it.
She checked the fences for gaps, tested her motion-detecting cameras, reinforced the blind spots, and—more importantly—ensured she had enough ammo to take over a small country.
You never know.
She kept herself busy. Too busy.
JD noticed.
She wasn't the same.
She didn't relax anymore—not like she used to. Her shoulders were always tense, her eyes darting around as if expecting something… or someone.
JD figured she was worried about Jonathan Meyer. He hadn't heard anything about the guy asking her out yet. Maybe that was what had her so preoccupied. Maybe that was why she barely smiled.
That morning, JD climbed into his car, turned the key—
Nothing.
He tried again. And again.
Still nothing.
Joanne leaned against the porch railing, watching him struggle. Finally, she asked him to call out a phone number from memory.
JD hesitated, then looked at her, brow raised. "You know your mechanic's number by heart?"
Joanne smiled—awkward, tight.
Because that wasn't just a mechanic.
That was her ex-boyfriend. The only guy she had dated all her life.