"I'll call you later."
"No, you won't."
He was never a constant. He was always a pendulum. Swinging in and out of her life - just a series of memories stitched together like a half-forgotten quilt.
She forgets little things about him, like the freckles that brushed along the bridge of his nose or the gunpowder scent that stained his sun-bleached clothes. She always remembers the obvious. He was a Winchester; a hunter; a brother. He was like a picture - fading slowly with the grains of time with only outlines to serve as a reminder of who he was.
Sometimes though, small things still remind her of him - make the picture all the more clear. Like the chords of a soft rock tune grousing through rusty radios at rundown gas stations or some random stranger at a bar with a smirk and an all-too familiar arrogance that made her look twice.
She didn't think about him all that much anymore anyway. Hunting had won its war against all other things in her head. She does remember missing him. Heart clouded with thoughts of calloused fingers gripping jutting hips as if she were his salvation; lips whispering meaningless nothings into the shell of her ear. That was the thing about them - they had always been moments, fragments. They were lost in pockets of time, suspended, only for reality to devour them whole.
Its years before she runs into him, in some middle of nowhere town on some mindless case.
It's all too familiar - it rushes past her eyes like a memory, but it feels like a dream.
"Jo?" The syllable rolls of off his tongue with ease, a grin lifting the corners of his mouth that looks oddly out-of-place.
She's disappointed it's not like the cartoons: where her heart feels like it's about to jump out of her chest. Instead, it's all too normal.
She's got her shotgun trained at his head, finger resting at the trigger. It reminds her of the first time she'd met the infamous Dean Winchester.
"Hi, Dean," she says simply with a tired smile in return and messy blonde locks in her face. She lowers the gun.
She expects things to feel different; all these years meant to create ridges and breaks in space. It still feels like the wrong place, the wrong time all over again. Still Jo and still Dean.
His grin softens and he lifts an eyebrow, eyes darting to the shotgun, shoulders shrugging as he takes a step forward towards her.
They end up at some bar, catching up and sharing the past few years with one another. It's all superficial though - he doesn't mention hell and she doesn't bring it up. Regardless, she can't help but be reminded of old times - another moment between the two that feels familiarly disjointed to the rest of their lives.
"How's your mom?" He questions, bottle of booze resting between solid hands, already half gone.
She's twisting a napkin in-between thin fingers, the paper material twisting however she wills it to. "Same as always. Worried as hell I won't come back. I don't think she'll ever change," she smiles, but it doesn't quite register.
"Yeah, surprised as hell she actually let you go hunting when I found out. For a second, I thought hell had frozen over," he smiles at the simple truth and takes another swig of beer. She scoffs and simply watches her fingers tear the napkin beyond recognition.
His eyes linger on her, and she hides behind a curtain of disheveled locks.
She's about to ask about Sam, but his knees bump into hers and he's got his fingers inching along the skin of her wrist.
"You look good, Jo," and she knows that's as close as she'll ever get to a I missed you from Dean Winchester.
She smiles half-heartedly, eyes closing as he drags his fingers gingerly along her collarbone. He feels cool against her fevered skin.
"Too bad I can't say the same for you," she replies as eyes flutter open. She's happy to note that he does have freckles inching along the bridge of his nose.
"Always looking to one-up me, huh, Jo?" He chuckles, leaning back and dragging her forward by the wrist so that she's between his legs, flush against him.
She knows all too well this moment will pass. He'll be back on the road, back to Sam.
Back to swinging back and forth - one moment in her life, the other gone - a pendulum.
She doesn't mind, simply holds on tighter.
Just a drabble I needed to get out of my head. I will forever love the dynamic between Jo and Dean.