Title: Heart of Glass

Summary: The last thing Bobby and the boys expected after the exorcism of Meg was her. Really, why does a Harvelle trek over 1000 miles just to patch up Dean again? Major Jo/Dean Angst and some Romantic Hotness! I am a Jo/Dean shipper after all.

Warnings: Angst, Drama, Hot Tongue Kissing, and Cursing.

Disclaimer: if I owned anything in SP, Jo and Dean would've become a thing as they were intended to be.

Bobby Singer was used to curve balls. Life with a booze-guzzling father with a hair-trigger temper taught him that early. His loving wife turning psycho on him in seconds and going for his throat was just more proof life was full of them. Life as a hunter wasn't any different, that's why anybody with a lick of sense expected something nasty to jump out at `em. Expect life to hand you your ass just when you thought you were golden. Hell, it was his life's moto and still he stood there, rooted to the ground like a damn statue cocking his eyebrows at that Harvelle kid shoving his front door aside like it was an annoyance before she stalked into his living room. And after frantic calls from a panic-stricken Dean for days, a demon possessed Sam, the uphill brawl to exorcise him and both boys now licking their wounds in his study while he cleaned up the mess—the sudden barge in by Ellen's kid nearly gave Bobby a damn stroke after it all.

"What the hell you doing here?" he stepped directly into Jo Harvelle's beeline to the boys—judging by the way her gaze hooked right onto Dean and Sam, she sure as hell was here for them—burning his suspicious stare into hers. A little too soon for her arrival after that damn demon smoked out the chimney if you asked Bobby. After all, coincidence didn't exist in a hunter's world.

"Jo?" Dean slumped forward in Bobby's old oak chair, features crinkled with disbelief at the sight of her. Then he hissed, expression twisting with agony from moving the wounds torn by open by Meg. "Ugh, fuck…"

Jo was a smart enough woman enough to bring herself to a sudden stop when Bobby blocked her, finally noticing the watchful glares turned her way and realizing approaching the on-edge, injured hunters in her whirlwind of suppressed emotion was a bad idea. And bound to get her attacked. So she kept her stance neutral, loose arms at the sides of her green jacket and palms up. "Ok, you wanna test me? Fine, go ahead." Her eyes wandered over to settle on Dean, lips pinching in sorrow when she let her appraising gaze trail over his blood-soaked shirt and busted face.

"Christo." Bobby rattled off and when the word left her unaffected-no smoke curling out Jo's lips or tremor bending her body-he dug his fingers into his shirt pocket for the flask. The splash of holy water spattering her cheeks had no effect either, safe to say she was clean. "Ok, fine. You're good." He grunted. "But you didn't answer my question. What're you doing here?"

Jo gave a piercing glare towards Dean. Didn't even look at Sam. "Didn't trust him to call me, so I decided to see this through myself." She gave a nod towards the med's kit Bobby gripped. "I can patch him up."

Bobby tilted his head and handed it over. "Suit yourself." Jo brushed past him to the boys and he kept looking after her, noting her white-knuckled grasp on the med box, her back ramrod stiff—tight like an old wind-up toy. He'd long ago given up trying to comprehend the complexity of the female mind-they'd always been a complicated thing you didn't mess with alongside demons, but the tension radiating off that girl screamed loud and clear even to a crusty drunk like him. He'd bet his salvage yard it had something to do with Dean. The idjit.

"Here, we're going to the table. It'll be easier there." She knelt beside Dean, slipping a tender arm underneath his shoulders, gently coaxing him up from the chair.

"Son of a bitch…" He grimaced as he took a step, teeth grinding together.

"Hey, is—can I help?"

And all at once the warmth marking Jo's features melted. Her mouth curled into a thin line, fingernails bunching up in Dean's shirt. Her eyes avoided Sam entirely, body turned away from him and voice biting off. "Back off! I—I got this."

And Bobby watched a stab of pain, of guilt bleed into Sam's hang-dog face. The boy suddenly stood there looking like he'd been punched again. "Come on son, you can help me," he stepped up and patted Sam's shoulder much more gently then he normally did. Kid had been through the ringer after all. Probably needed a sappy hug too but he got the feeling it wouldn't mean much coming from him. "We're gonna need more wrapping for him then what's in that box."

Sam trailed after, casting back a watery look at Jo and Dean as he went.

Jo's fingers shook as they peeled back Dean's shirt from his skin, revealing the torn open stitches and sluggish blood seeping down his arm. "Crap." After inspecting the angry wound seriously she heaved a sigh and passed him a full bottle of Johnnie with an apologetic gaze. "It's gonna have to be stitched again. That'll take the edge off."

Dean grunted dejectedly, popping off the lid and taking a long swig while she sponged up the blood. When he set it down he met her gaze and Jo's flesh tingled against her will at the intensity. "The hell you doing here? I told you to stay out of this."

"I had to make sure you were still alive. Didn't want all my work to go to waste." Damn it, Jo would've been lying if those powerful pools of green weren't speeding up her heart, setting her skin afire. But she tossed her head, trying to play it off. "And like I said, I'm part of this. Not like you would've called me anyway."

"There wasn't much to tell. The demon tried to play Bobby and lost, I got here and Bobby already had it trapped. We got it out, Sam's okay. End of story." The idiot did a really good job of downplaying it.

"Yeah." Jo lifted her eyes from the crimson smeared rag she clutched and glanced around at the destroyed bookshelves, cracked ceiling, the battered walls. And the beaten wreck Dean was. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Ordinary exorcism."

He had nothing to say to that. Probably because he knew Jo could see bullshit from a mile away. A few more moments of silence passed as she gently cleaned up his shoulder with trembling fingers. "You're lucky it didn't kill you." That came out as a pissed grumble but Dean heard the barely hidden distress. She had never been able to truly hide her emotions from him.

"Takes more than a demon's bad aim to put me down." Dean snorted, all confidence. Every inch a display of laugh-in-the-face-of death charisma that pervaded his nature since the day she met him. And he promptly spoiled it with a yelp of pain followed by jerk of his head. "Shit! You're trying to finish the job, aren't you?"

Jo's softening touch on him, her placid "Sorry" puzzled him, his eyes snapping back to study her too-focused face. That's when it occurred to him he'd never really went in-depth about her encounter with freaking Meg. "The demon…it uh, how bad was it for you?" he gave her an assessing glance over.

The weight of his piercing stare didn't help Jo at all, she bit her lips almost to bleeding trying to maintain her composure. Her unstable emotions infused with her stupid fingers and they quaked constantly. It was freaking irritating, maddening. "I—I was bait for you, it wanted me alive to draw you in. You got there before anything really happened." Jo mumbled, threading the needle. "H-Heads up, I'm gonna sew you up now." Why the hell couldn't she stop stammering?

"You can take a shot at me if you want."

That kicked-dog mumble brought Jo to a surprised stop. "What?"

"For all your trouble." Dean shrugged, eyes cast down. That could've meant the hassle of patching him up again but Dean Winchester wouldn't think twice about that. Too trivial, all in the job description. Jo could see the double meaning. For the demon going after you, hurting you, pulling you into this crap because of me.

She bit her lips and carefully slid the needle into his flesh. "Don't—don't worry about that. I'm a hunter, I'll always be a target for something. It was after hunters, right?" Her stomach was a chaotic, roiling mess. And it wasn't just from that fucking demon's taunts about her dad or the haunting memories of it's puppet Sam about to carve her up.

Jo's breath caught in her throat, still feeling her heart palpitating as it had then while she'd called out for Dean in the pitch darkness on the dock. The thrill as she heard his phone's feeble ringtone, the chilly peeling wood of the dock's ramp under her knees, the stabbing iciness of the water, and her crippling horror at finding Dean's body half-floating in it—lifeless. That stretch of memories replayed in her brain over and over as much as others. Being tied to a pole, helpless as "Sam's" chilling smile leered over her had terrified her to her very core. But watching Dean dive without hesitation out the bar's broken window after that thing by himself and not coming back, her guts were in sick knots over it. And Jo couldn't take it anymore. She struggled past the great lump in her throat, muttering. "Your recklessness will get you killed one day, Dean. It's a freaking miracle it didn't already today."

Bobby had probably ripped him over that before in vain, going by the frosty impassive glint in Dean's eyes. "Didn't have much choice. It was Sam, the rest doesn't matter." He muttered grimly, nostrils flared in defiance.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Jo huffed in frustration, finishing the last stich and tossed the needle to the table. That detached mask of hers cracked, exposing a cocktail of frustrated ire, fear and grief. "You need to stop throwing yourself in the line of fire like it doesn't even matter! Shit, Dean! You have any idea what I thought when I went out looking for you? When I found you half dead on that ramp? How fucking scared out of my mind I was? That I thought you—that it killed you? You even fucking care?"

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad." Dean attempted to defuse her, rolling his eyes casually in a classical Dean move. Easygoing, cavalier. Like he hadn't been beaten to a pulp and nearly killed.

"You're so full of crap." Jo gave a humorless snort, an unexpected heaviness settling deep into her gut like a weight. "You think I'll buy that?"

A split second later Dean's invincible veneer faltered, too tired to keep the mask up and he shrugged grimly. "Whatever. Turned it out okay."

Course Jo could see through his act. "So that's your excuse for everything?" she confronted, shooting him an 'are-you-freaking-kidding-me' look. "It turned out ok so who freaking cares if you threw yourself into that demon's trap! A trap that almost got you killed! What if hadn't ended "ok" Dean?"

"Well it did. You're fine, I'm fine, more importantly Sam's fine. So let's just call it a day, huh?" The stubborn bastard snorted, and stood up to walk away.

Jo was after him in a second, grabbing him by the shirt an in iron grip, glaring daggers into his eyes. "Don't walk off, I'm not done. It still needs bandages, so sit back down." She ordered through gritted teeth.

Dean bit his lips and silently obeyed, letting Jo back to work. Turns out Bobby's "we need more bandages" speech was a load of crap and a "get the heck out of here" ruse, Jo had plenty of them. He grunted painfully and threw a scowl at her. "Ow. You really are a butcher."

A tense sigh passed Jo's lips as she finished. He could see her emotions boiling under the surface, about to burst out. He tried to pull away, get out of dodge before the blow up but for some reason her passionate stare suddenly paralyzed him. "You got a death wish or something, Dean?" her tone was softer that Dean had expected and it nearly put him on the floor in shock. So did the distinct bitterness in her careworn features, the stark hurt.

He clucked his tongue, unable to form an answer distracted by the tumult of emotions of her face.

"No." he denied strongly, tone colored by indignation. "Come on, that's not me."

"Really?" Jo shook her head. Some part of her brain raged at how stupid she was being picking this fight. She should stop now, recover some dignity before it was too late. But all that wisdom fled, died promptly every second he looked at her. "You could've fooled me. The way you just throw your life on the line the minute Sam is in danger?"

Dean's posture grew tense, shoulders drawn up and expression going stone-cold and closed off in an instant. "Back off. That's my business, my life. Who asked you to butt in?"

"Because I care about you, Dean!" she snapped. God help her, she'd have to have been made of freaking stone not be drawn to him. Better judgment scorned her, warning her she was already way in over her head. Best to break away before the sure heartbreak he would bring her, reason said. Yeah right. Reason had been left behind a while ago, back at the Roadhouse with Mom. She was a lost cause. "At the rate you're going, you'll end up on a freaking burn pyre in no time! Why don't you give a shit about your own life, for once, Dean?"

"What if was your mom's life on the line?"

All the tension in the air popped like a balloon in wake of his question. "What're you saying?"

"Put yourself in my goddamn shoes!" Dean's weary-edged gaze burned with grim desperation. "If your mom was possessed, you'd do whatever the fucking hell it took to save her. It's what you do for family."

"I wouldn't kill myself for it! Because I'm not sick in the head! Because I don't have the type of crazy, stupid, messed up relationships you do!" the second after those words hit the air, when the cruelty of them impaled her haze of temper Jo cringed. She'd made a mistake.

Lethal fury flashed within Dean's stare as he surged forward and pressed into Jo's personal space, nose to nose with her practically. "SCREW YOU. You seriously telling me you wouldn't die for your own mother? You sat and waited for that bastard serial killer ghost as fucking bait just to save some poor girls you didn't even know!You're the one who wants to be like your dad so bad you'd throw yourself into a shitty life like this! You talk all high and mighty about me but you're just as fucked up as I am! So get off your fucking high horse and get off my ass!"

One moment, Jo's slim form was trembling with the force of her emotion as she opened her mouth to shout him down. In the next moment, when she leveled stormy eyes to his, she was caught up in Dean's magnetic hazel stare. She'd always sworn they had some hypnotic power because she couldn't break away from it. That swell inside her of fury, frustration, and sorrow drained away the longer she held it. Dean's furious, swollen, beaten face still scratched here and there with blood, still gorgeous even in his pain, suddenly brought her every long suppressed feeling to the surface. Maybe reason really didn't have a place in Jo's head because the next moment her lips crashed into his, devouring them with hunger and passion.

For a long second Dean was still against her, she could sense his complete shock but it only lasted a few seconds. He soon begin kissing back, his passion rising with hers. It got impossibly deep fast-Jo felt him coaxing at her mouth, seeming to ask for permission to be let in. Even through the pulsing kettle of frenzied sentiment that gesture struck Jo that he would seek for consent instead of just plunging to claim. With a moan, Jo parted her lips as Dean explored her mouth ravenously, like he wanted her more than anything else on earth. And she reveled in it, couldn't begin to say how long she'd wanted this. Vaguely, it almost felt like somebody else, her hands found stuff to grab. Her fingers bunched in the fabric of his shirt of their own volition, pulling him closer and fumbling for purchase as their kissing turned frantic.

Not a damn thing mattered in that moment expect feeling his flushed skin under her fingertips. And Dean didn't stop her, allowed her exploration as his hands explored her. Jo's fingers curled under his shirt, sliding up his heated chest. The more she touched, the more she wanted and completely caved into the burning fire blazing through her veins. She felt herself being lifted up by the waist and for an instant she squirmed, resisting until her bottom hit a wooden slap: the tabletop. Dean's legs soon straddled her on either side, his torso pressed against her chest trying to urge her downwards.

The front door softly pushed open, neither Jo nor Dean noticing. "Dean?" Sam's voice came out hesitantly from the doorway. He slowly poked his head around, compressed lips and woeful eyes still marked by timidity. "I brought more—" he stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening rapidly as his jaw hung open in shock, stammering. "Oh shit!"

It wasn't his yelp that brought Jo to her senses, she couldn't hear a damn thing through the fog of hunger. It was the eerie sudden consciousness she and Dean weren't alone. That another pair of eyes was watching them. Fighting against her own potent want was agonizing but somehow she peeled her eyelids half open and her dim eyesight picked up Sam's silhouette.

"I—I'm sorry…I'm—gonna go now. You guys—do whatever." Sam babbled in a rush, cheeks a splash of rosy crimson as he turned roundabout in a single move. And then conked his head straight into the doorframe. He did an agonized hiss. "Ah! Shit! Sorry—I'm-going…" he stumbled out the back door.

By now Dean had caught on, Sam's shocked exclaim had broken him out of the spell. He pushed back off Jo, eyes downcast and mouth pressed in a hard line.

Jo coughed uneasily, easing herself up off the table, arms hugging herself like she held herself together that way. A streak of blush spread through her face as she grasped how close she'd been to going over the edge. She rubbed a nervous hand over her features, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow her. Damn it, if Sam hadn't walked in…God knows where they would've ended up! Hell, if he'd come in much later…ok, stop. She had to stop. She smoothed damp hair from her forehead, avoiding looking at Dean. Shit, what was she thinking? How did they go from shouting matches to make out session? Why the hell had she let her guard down like that? Give into that stupid desire that would've come back to bite her?

"I—I shouldn't have done that." But damn, she'd enjoyed it.

"Wrong time, wrong place." He grimly agreed, eyes downcast.

"Ever a right time?" Jo chuckled weakly, only half-expecting to get an answer. Yeah, right. Maybe in another world.

He drew in a breath, lips parting like he was about to reply. Jo's heart dared to hope for a second, then sunk with the drop of Dean's head and shrug of his shoulders. But then he sought out her gaze, expressive gaze reflecting a maelstrom of mingling sadness, regret, and… want? No. Jo shook her head, refusing to believe that last one. She'd imagined that.

To get her mind off everything, get away from sticky feelings, she eventually made her way to the kitchen to clean up. Clean up the mess from the med's kit, the table, she kept busy. When Dean mumbled into the room later, looking for an ice bag, she fished one out from the freezer and handed it over. He pressed its cold surface against his abused flesh with a grateful nod and shuffled into the living room. A weary curse and sharp creak told her he'd sat down again.

Jo heaved a sigh and leaned against the kitchen sink, willing her still churning gut to relax. Had she really seen real want in Dean's eyes? Maybe it was just her mind wishing. Because really, what were she and Dean? Friends? Friends didn't have a French kissing battle sprawled on Bobby's table. Whatever was between them was a tangled mess far deeper than simple friendship. There were moments like today when she was convinced Dean it felt too. But then he would leave again.

Jo parted her curtain of hair from her eyes. Who was she kidding? No matter how much she was attracted to Dean's lure, he could easily be another Rick. Pretty much destined to end up like him—their parallels were haunting. If she were honest with herself that petty eruption of temper at Dean was fueled by pure fear of him going Rick's way. Taking out on Dean past hurt and grief she never really let go.

Jo gnashed her teeth together against the rush of hot tears, jaw locked up in rebelliousness of them. Damn it, it hurt so goddamn much to watch him. She wanted to hate him for it. She wished she could break his neck, maybe the freaking ache inside her every time she saw him would leave then.

Taking a long draw of breath to steady herself, she slowly built her resolve back up. She wasn't some silly girl pining every day of her life for Dean Winchester. She was her father's daughter, a damn good hunter and didn't feel at peace doing anything else. Never mind the fleeting wishes of her and Dean being something. Get a grip.

Bobby's voice soon snagged her attention, a long string of wordless gruff rumbles. He must've come back in. She hurriedly wiped her eyes and slipped silently to the open doorway to hear clearer. "-Just heard from a friend, Wandell's dead. Murdered in his own house." Bobby's ugly announcement caught her ear. The living room just down the hall, all 3 men were in there now.

"You wouldn't know anything about that?" Bobby again, and his tone was definitely a statement not a question. The silent hunter's prompt "let's get our story straight".

Jo peered her head around the doorway slowly.

"No, sir, never heard of the guy." Dean this time, short and final. Like he was when he was lying.

"Dean." Sam's voice interjected, softly remonstrating. He didn't hide his emotions nearly as well as Dean, even a normal person would've picked up his quiet guilt.

Shit. Jo softly thumped the back of her head against the kitchen wall. No telling how many hunters, or innocent civilians, that thing killed using Sam's body. Just fucking great.

"Good. Keep it that way." Bobby's low reply wholly ignored Sam. "Wandell's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up. And they're not gonna slow down to listen to reason. You understand what I'm saying?"

"We better hit the road." Dean's grunt and the floor's protesting under his weight brought Jo out from the doorway and walking quietly across the floor. She leaned against the living room doorframe just as Bobby dropped something in each of the brothers' hands.

"Charms. They'll fend off possession. That demon is still out there, this'll stop it from getting back up in ya."

"But they're not fool proof." Jo interrupted Dean right in the midst of his sassy comeback. Then she caught the sheer panic flooding his face at her appearance. His quick side glance to Sam and he and Bobby's matching tight expressions fraught with fear. Fear that she overheard everything about Wandell's murder and would throw Sam under the bus. And Jo suddenly felt the bite of hurt that caused. That they didn't trust her to keep a secret. Because when it came down to it, even if every fiber of her being still stiffened with fear of Sam, she wouldn't throw him to the wolves like that.

"The anti-possession charms, anything on a string can be ripped off too easy. You need something fused with you." she gently peeled back the hemline of her tank top, revealing a tattoo carved into the skin of her stomach. "Like this." It was a pentagram centered inside a fiery sun.

"What the hell is that?" Bobby raised his eyebrows.

Jo glanced his way. "It's an anti-possession tattoo. I know a tattoo artist and he works with hunters. I got this from him. This—" she tapped the carving, "protects me from possession by demons. It's basically a lock; they can't get in." She briefly forced herself to meet Sam's mournful eyes. "You both should get one. It'll stop this from happening again."

"You know for sure that thing works? Sure he wasn't selling you a load of crap?" Dean stared at her penetratingly. He was already stamping out the particulars, ferreting for any red flags. Which meant he really liked her idea and Jo skillfully buried her passing pleasure with an exasperated sigh.

"If I wasn't absolutely sure it worked, I wouldn't offer it. I had several demons the past few months try to jump me. None of them could even make it inside because of this. If it hadn't been for it, I'd probably be the one out on a killing spree." Her ending choice of words caused Sam to flinch hard.

"Since when do they start targeting you?" worry begin to worm its way into Dean's exhausted eyes.

"Demons hate hunters." She shrugged lightly. "Anyway, his name's Martin. I'll get you his number. Bobby, you got a pen somewhere?"

"Always." The old trucker fished one out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

Jo finished scribbling and handed Dean the fragment of paper with bitten lips. "Here. Let me know if it works out?" damn it, her tone practically took on a wistful feel.

"I will. Thanks, Jo." He gave her a softer version of his classic smirk, a conflicting range of emotion crossed his face again then dissipated.

If the two of them had been alone Jo might have said to hell with it and probably kiss him again. If it were some stupid romance novel she'd act on her heart's deepest wish and all that crap. Instead she just returned that half smile with a murmured, "You better."

"You boys be careful now." Bobby instructed both the brothers, a fatherly order and an undercurrent of sorrow.

"You guys too." Sam attempted a smile but it was deformed by heartache and died quickly. Gaze wandering to Jo, he opened his mouth angling for something to say to her. But he gave up after a moment. Because there weren't words adequate to say to a friend you almost killed. So he just turned his back.

Dean pitched the cold press Bobby's way. Setting one long last look at Bobby before it slid over to Jo, his rueful eyes speaking his feelings far more than his mouth ever could. Then he turned and followed Sam out.

Their soft slamming of that door brought that familiar ache in Jo's chest back. And it hit her hard that she had no idea when she'd see him again—if she even would. For all she knew, he might be dead next time she heard of him. The pain from that idea stabbed her deeper then she could even say.

For all his coarse ways Bobby must have sensed she was upset. The uneasy touch of his hand on her back was almost tender. "Hey now." His soft gruff above her head tried hard to be soothing. "I'm sure this won't be last of him. That boy has a stubborn streak worse than his dad. You hang out here more often, you'll see him."

They stung her. All of Bobby's efforts stung like a slap in the face even though his intention was as caring as he could be. And Jo pulled away from him with a rapidity like she'd been burned. "Don't." was that crushed rasp really hers? "I—I should go now." She kept her back to Bobby as she snatched up her keys then hesitated. "Bobby. Tell me any news of them you hear. Please?"

"Course." he agreed. Bobby kept promises. He knew better then to stir up a Harvelle anyway.

Jo nodded in thanks and quickly left out the front door.

The Impala was gone now from Bobby's junkyard. Jo didn't have the strength to hold back anymore and she wept.

Fin

AN: So Plot Bunny came while rewatching this episode: what if Jo decided she wasn't gonna wait for Dean to call and just goes after him to Bobby's? But I stuck with canon as much as possible, that's why she arrives after Meg is exorcised.

The headcanon that Jo suggested the anti-possession tattoo to the brothers and that she has one is totally MINE. I always wondered where the brothers got the idea for that tattoo and I thought it'd be different and neat if Jo was the one who told them about it. I honestly thought Jo was the type of person to have a tattoo, maybe she just didn't tell Ellen about it ;)

I also thought it would be nice to explore how Jo might feel about Dean's constant sacrifices for Sam. I always got the feeling it hurt her to see him throw his life around like that.

So, Please drop a Review if you liked it :D

I love and need feedback for this one!