She hates him – and that demon, and most of all she hates herself for thinking about him in such a way. He's just another weakness; he's just another weapon to be manipulated and used against her. She wants to stop feeling so lightheaded when she thinks of him. She hates how she melts when he talks to her, or when she's listening to him in general.

She knows her affection is so poorly hidden that even a blind man would be able to see it, so she often thought he was just ignoring it (her). "Wrong place; wrong time." Her ass. She was sick and tired of being treated like a child; she thought, of all the people on this earth, that he would understand, but he was just like her mother, treating her like a fragile porcelain doll that couldn't do a damn thing for herself.

She pours herself a drink and sits down alone at the empty bar. She's on the borderline of tears for the third time this week; she can't get a grip – she's slipping and the tears start pouring and she can't stop cursing his name and that god damned smirk. She hates him, but she knows that is not at all true, or she wouldn't be so distraught over a silly, green-eyed boy.

It's not fair that he thinks he has to play hero with her. The way he toys with her emotions is not intentional but it hurts nonetheless. He treats her like a little girl that doesn't know any better. She knows that he is only doing all this noble crap because he's thinking of her safety, but she believes all his god intent is because he feels some sort of obligation, a life debt of sorts, to her father, the man his father couldn't save.

She may have been really pissed off about the cause of her father's death before she packed her bags and headed for Duluth, but she has long since forgiven him for the deed of his father. He wasn't the one to blame for the carelessness. But, that was Dean; he was always taking the blame for the faults of others. She supposed it was noble and even selfless, but in her current predicament it was really quite infuriating.

She can't stand how she looks at him. She can't stand how she's so hopelessly wrapped up in this boy. She can't stand how she would gladly give up her life for him. She can't stand how often she thinks of him. But the worst part is that she doesn't mind thinking like this (well, usually.) She's not some little twelve year old girl with a crush; she's a hunter, a dangerous woman that was more than able to take care of herself. And, she also happens to hate him as much as she loves him.

She pours herself another drink and finds herself humming in a careless sing song manner. Before she can stop herself, she's dialing his phone number secretly hoping that he'll pick up (though, she knows that isn't going to happen). Just like she expected, he didn't answer, but instead of being bummed out, she is transfixed when she hears his voicemail. She didn't know what to say; she couldn't tell him why she was calling (she didn't have an answer to that herself).

She's at a loss for words; all at once she wants to say she loves him and hates him, that she misses him but never wants to see his face ever again. She wants to say so many things but she doesn't know how to pick a word that displays how she's feeling.

She sits at the lonely bar quietly breathing and silently thinking about what to say for a good five minutes. She sighs loudly into the telephone.

"Hi, Dean." She whispers so quietly it's as if she doesn't want him to hear her, "I'm… just calling to see how you're doing."

She pauses, not wanting to continue, but she can't stop herself.

"I miss you." She blurts out, "I miss you a lot and I hope you're alright. And I know you're probably never going to listen to this stupid message, so I guess it's okay if I admit that I am worried about you." She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice from shaking from the tears about to fall, "I just really worry about you, Dean. Please don't be too reckless, okay."

She thinks she must sound so corny, but she can't stop the words that weren't there minutes before from pouring out of her mouth.

"And you probably won't call back but if you get the chance, please call me." She stopped. Hoping that he would never listen to this stupid voicemail. Her attempt to contact him had been folly and ridiculous and she honestly had no idea what the hell she was thinking when she called him in the first place.

She inhales a deep breath not wanting to end the massage just yet. She knows she must and she probably should (before she embarrasses herself any more) but she isn't sure how to end it.

"Well, until next time, I guess." She says, "Tea mo." She finishes in a whisper, and briskly hangs up with disbelieve that she actually said such a thing. All she can do is hope that he'll lose interest in such a lame attempt at a voicemail before the end.

She's stupid and reckless and hopelessly in love with a boy who can't see past the fact that she isn't some little girl, but a grow woman. It's difficult and it makes her want to scream. He haunts her mind like a phantom spirit and it's a nuisance and a real pain in the ass. But, it's not so bad seeing him everywhere she goes, even if he is just in her head.

She's no longer crying, just sitting at the bar quietly and staring into space thinking about what she is going to do. Really, he only thing she can do is hope that he doesn't have an extensive Latin vocabulary (which she knows to be pretty large. God, she is so screwed).

In the end, she decides not to worry about it; she's going to try to just erase the whole thing from memory, which shouldn't be too difficult considering the amount of strong alcohol in her system. She picked up her liquor bottle and the glass that she had been using and she put them back, not even bothering to clean the glass. She locked up the bar and walked put to her car. She carefully drives home and jumps into her bed where she sleeps well for the first time in weeks.

:::

:::

She often uses the payphone right outside the bar just to listen to his voice mail. She doesn't leave messages and she doesn't want him to know that she's still worried about him (all the fucking time).

But despite her efforts, she still remembers that night alone at the bar, she still remembers the message and she hopes to all things good that he hasn't listened to it.

But she doesn't regret it and she never will. Because even though she wants to rip his throat out most of the time, especially when he treats her like a little sister, she loves him, and she supposes that he isn't all that bad.

HELLO FRIENDS! *waves*

so I recently really got into the dean/jo pairing (like jfc its really quite rad and I don't know how I ended up here actually) and I just had the motivation to write a one sided one-shot so this was born in between the lung, grueling hours of my play practice the other day.

i'm sorry if its not too hot, i'm just starting out, so please leave some constructive feedback if you enjoyed!

please, review, favorite or follow if you wish. (though this is a one shot so there isn't going to be any more chapters or anything

-bleuboxes