Warnings: None
Rating: T / PG-13
Spoilers: Up to 5.10.
Summary: It's the night before the battle and Jo Harvelle can't sleep. She isn't the only one. (5.10 Missing Scene)
Author Notes: First things first: Huge thanks to immortal_jedi, who happens to be the faster beta in betaland! and to kadiel_krieger the one who goes crazy with the metaphorical red pen (and I love her for it ) Without their invaluable help this story would have remained a crazy example of my attempts at english-writing :) You can thank them for the fact that you won't want to wash your eyes with bleach. Or something.
This little fic is my response to the "Sometimes a girl just needed a challenge. (Castiel/Jo)" prompt over at the Oye como va (Castiel+Ellen+Jo) meme.
In the Quiet of the Night.
"Do you have trouble resting?"
The soft voice rips through the night's silence and a ripple of surprise runs sharply through Jo. She can thank her finely trained reflexes that she manages not to lose her hold on the bottle of beer in her hand.
She is sure there was no one in the room before, when she quietly padded inside in the dark to rummage through Bobby's fridge for a drink, something to distract her from her inability to summon up even the lightest of sleeps. Now, when she turns around, startled by the new presence, Jo sees him looking at her – rigid and unmoving before the window and wrapped in the mass of carefully crafted shadows the dim light from outside has created out of his trench coat.
"Yeah." She keeps her voice low as to not wake the rest of the house and crosses the room to stand by Castiel's side. "You too?"
Castiel bows his head in a short nod, face etched into that solemn mask the angel wears even when he is drinking her mom under the table and the line of Jo's mouth bends lightly in an amused smile.
Looks like even freaking angels of the Lord can get pre-battle jitters.
"If you want, I can help you sleep." He looks at her, all blue eyes and awkward consideration and for a moment she thinks about it. She thinks about letting Castiel work his mojo and allow her to spend what could be her last night on earth sleeping like a baby, worries and nervousness and fear dissolved into nothing.
Jo is almost tempted.
"Nah, I'm good." She rests her hip against the window frame and lifts the beer to her lips to knock back a mouthful before looking out into the night and trying to make out the shapes of a world now hidden in shadows. If this is her last night she knows she doesn't want to waste it in dreams that wouldn't ever come true.
She feels him nod, acknowledging her response, and follow her gaze into the obscured landscape outside. Jo's smile stretches a little wider because despite how little she knows him – and she seriously doubts even Dean and Sam know him a whole lot better – she has totally noticed how most of the time Castiel tries to communicate through meaningful, little head movements and intense, blue-filled stares. It's as if putting his thoughts into words, making them into sound, was something he wasn't really accustomed to, something alien and that required him to concentrate to even remember doing it.
Much to Jo's surprise – because, honestly, Angel of the freaking Lord, anyone? – she finds it kind of cute, in a 'aw look how awkward he is, don'tcha wanna pinch his cheeks?' way. Obviously, she is totally not telling anyone about this, because knowing her mother and the Winchesters – and hell, even Bobby – she wouldn't ever hear the end of it.
They let their shared moment stretch into what seems forever, huntress and angel gazing silently into the moonless night. Perhaps they're looking for answers deeply hidden by the darkened sky or simply letting go, yearning to gain the cold comfort offered by the dim lull of starlight.
Jo doesn't really want to think, not right now. The possibility that depressing thoughts would swamp her mind is much too big, much too real, and life is depressing enough as it is, apocalypse and all that shit, to dwell on it for longer than strictly necessary. So she directs a too bright smile at the angel and pushes the half-empty beer his way.
"Want some?"
"I believe I have consumed enough alcohol for the night."
Castiel sounds slightly disapproving, but there is no real bite to his words so Jo swallows down a chuckle. As much as her mom tried she couldn't get him even a little tipsy. And boy, wasn't it hilarious to watch her try. Jo doesn't remember seeing her mother that wasted. Ever. And she spent her teenage years watching Ellen Harvelle put some of the heaviest drinkers in the mid-west to shame.
"Suit yourself." Jo shrugs and then quickly polishes off the remaining beer. Once empty, she places the bottle on one of Bobby's paper-covered tables, the wet crystal bottom leaving a damp circle on an old book's hard cover and she merrily pushes to the back of her mind the knowledge that if Bobby caught her doing so, idjit would be the weakest of the words that would fly her way.
Jo knows this, because she may or may not have tried it on him a couple times before only to how far he'll fly off the handle. Watching Bobby Singer go red in the face practically letting steam out of his ears because someone has touched his things is always mighty fun. And he never, ever fails to reach such a state when any of the 'younguns' messes with the orderly disorder of his home.
In a shy part of her mind that Jo prefers to keep tightly closed, she likes to imagine that her father would have had similar reactions if she had done something like that to his very important research papers.
The thought never fails to bring a bittersweet smile to her face.
"Your father would have been proud of you."
The words are an ugly discordance that invades the night's calm. They clash loudly against the recent stillness and then break, turning themselves into sharp shards of emotion that cut Jo to the bone and steal all the air from her lungs.
"Wha–"
"Had he lived," Castiel goes on, unforgiving, the intensity of his gaze rooting Jo to the spot. "William Harvelle would have found pride in seeing the woman you have become."
The angel says this quietly, earnest, with an underlying sense of comfort in his tone that makes Jo blink stupidly at him because she can't believe he is doing this to her.
She looks furiously at Castiel, at this ithing/i that dares to violate the deepest part of her and Jo readies herself to unleash all the rage that's quickly climbing up her throat and spilling, bitter, into her mouth. However, her fury dies a fast death when a shock of warmth brushes gently against her cheek.
"You are a strong woman, Joanna Harvelle. You will face what is to come with the courage that is bred in righteousness. And you will make your family proud." Castiel cradles her face with a hand that encases such a completely inhuman power he could crush her bones without as much as an afterthought. But he doesn't, he would never. He merely anchors her with the most delicate of touches. And guided by Castiel's solemn gaze Jo learns to breathe again.
For a heartbeat, she can only look at him helplessly, unmade by words that she has spent half of her life yearning to hear. Even if her hunter instincts tell her that being handed something she wants this easily is too good to be true, Jo can't help but believe in the sincerity of the angel's tone.
But she isn't a Harvelle for nothing so she reaches to pull on her control's strings and try to get herself together.
"It's no wonder the girls run away from you screaming, Cas." She manages a trembling attempt at humor, still shaken and in desperate need for the moment to pass because it's too much to handle, too much to feel in a night that could be the last.
Castiel takes his hand away and his brow folds into a stern frown.
"Dean has told you this." It's not a question and Jo, clever girl she is, detects the fine line of anger coloring Castiel's voice.
"Chill, big guy. He didn't mean anything by it." She explains. "It's what friends do, you know? Using embarrassing moments to make fun of each other and all that shit. It means he cares."
The angel silently ponders on the information for a moment, and he must find the explanation acceptable because there is a minute relaxation in the tight frame of his shoulders. "I see."
Jo is terribly thankful that Castiel has let her off the hook, that he has implicitly agreed to let the focus be shifted to him, allowing her a fiction of control. She seizes the moment and takes it a little further, to ensure they aren't going back to talking about things that should be left well alone.
"So, it's true." Jo tilts her head a little at the angel, curiosity genuine. "That you are, you know, a virgin."
Castiel's only answer it a tense nod.
"Not even kissed before?"
If Jo didn't know better she would totally say Castiel is subtly grinding his teeth. "The woman whose services Dean employed to teach me the pleasures of the flesh became too agitated to proceed with even the basest lesson."
Which Jo freely translates into 'I freaked her so much she ran screaming before even laying one on me.'
She really doesn't know where her next words come from, but Jo says them anyway.
"I can help you with that, you know?"
Castiel eyes widen comically and she barely manages to kill the hysterical giggle that threatens to spill from her lips.
"Not the sex thing, obviously." She babbles, trying to keep the angel from getting the wrong –so wrong– idea. "No offense, Cas, but you're not really my type and I'm not that kinda girl."
She curls a slender hand on the rough fabric of the trench-coat's sleeve and looks at Castiel, whose expression has shifted into something that resembles muted interest. "But a kiss? You bet I can help you with that."
Jo erases the distance between them with a decided step and finds herself suddenly surrounded by the unexpected impact of the angel's warmth. There's this screaming little voice in the back of her head that tells her she is completely crazy for coming up with this absurdity, but she mercilessly squashes it. If she wants to find courage to keep going, Jo only needs to remind herself that sometimes, a challenge is just what a girl needs to let herself go a little wild. With a last look into his blue eyes, she takes Castiel's silence as the permission it truly is and goes.
Carefully, she places a hand against the firm planes of Castiel's chest to support herself, letting her eyes fall shut, and stands on tiptoe to negate the difference on their heights. It comes almost as a surprise when her lips finally meet his, the dry and soft feeling shockingly similar to a human's.
Jo doesn't expect the angel to respond to the gesture, not really, so when Castiel moves his mouth firmly against hers, intently returning the kiss, she is nearly startled by the shiver that plummets down her spine.
This willing angelic participation is all the encouragement she needs to rev things up a little.
The hand on Castiel's chest slides upwards until it buries itself in the soft, dark hair of his nape and Jo presses forward, plastering herself to his front so they are touching from mouth to knees. Castiel seems to approve of this course of events, because instead of responding with his usual rigidity he mirrors her movements and suddenly there's a strong hand cradling the base of her skull, angling her head just enough so their mouths find a perfect fit.
Emboldened, she draws a liquid line over Castiel's lips with the tip of her tongue. His reaction is immediate. He opens up trustingly under her and presents Jo with an invitation, with a itemptation/i she can't refuse. She licks blindly into his mouth, the strong taste of alcohol she discovers on his tongue giving Castiel yet another new dimension and making him more real than he has ever been to her.
She doesn't really know how long they stay like that, so lost into this brand new exploration of each other that the passing of time doesn't even register. As a kiss turns into a hundred, they map each other by the touch of their mouths. Jo learns that Castiel lets out this strangled little moan whenever she bites playfully into his bottom lip and that makes her wish she could keep doing it forever. She also discovers that having powerful fingers trail delicate, barely-there paths over the angles of her jaw can uncover fine tendrils of tenderness amidst the flames of passion.
There are many other little things they come to know of each other, but those are secrets they will keep hidden and cherished for they are not for others to have.
When they finally come down from the whirlwind of sensation they have lost themselves in, the storm they have conjured quietly dying around them, Jo is reluctant to let go of the angel in her arms. She tries to fan the flames once again, pressing one last, desperate kiss against Castiel's mouth, clinging to anything that allows her to avoid stepping back into the harsh reality of what could well be her last night on earth.
This time, Castiel doesn't kiss back.
He holds her head away from him for a moment, his gaze kind but solemn in the dim light of the room, and then leans in to drop the warm touch of what can only be a blessing against her forehead before letting her go.
Jo looks silently at him, and she sees the angel quietly step into the empty shape of that which makes him other, any traces of the tenderness he has just showed her erased as if they never existed. And she understands, she really does.
They need to return to their true selves, to let go of the near-strangers that allowed themselves to find a moment of oblivion in each other and simply be the angel Castiel and Jo Harvelle once again.
She smiles brightly at him, and the sentiment is real this time. "See? I told you I could help you with the kissing thing."
There's a spark of amusement in his eyes that Castiel doesn't bother to hide, and he allows it to color his answer. "Indeed."
Jo lets out a quiet snort. "Well, now that we got that covered I think I'll try to go catch some sleep. I wouldn't want to walk around yawning all day tomorrow."
"I can make sure you get the sleep you need." Castiel offers softly and Jo shakes her head.
"Nah, don't worry. I don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping after our lesson."
If she leers a little, she is totally blaming it on Dean being a very bad influence. No matter who's at fault, Jo decides it's totally worth it when the angel's eyes go wide with incredulity and he's looking at her as if he can't believe what she's just said.
Jo playfully winks at Castiel before skipping up the stairs towards the room she shares with her mom, chuckling quietly to herself all the way.
As last nights on earth could go, she thinks this one hasn't been half bad.