Disclaimer: If Supernatural was mine, there wouldn't be a need for a Roadhouse in the Sky.
Notes: Rated M for future chapters. And threesome. And probably for the entire Who's-The-Papa scenario. And I don't even know anymore.
They arrive at her door two months after she left a message on Dean's voice mail. Classic. They're as bad as their daddy, not that anyone would dream of saying that to them. Hell, Dean'd probably take it as a compliment. She kind of wishes they hadn't come; the call was courtesy if anything. Not calling would have been something unforgivable.
Jo heard the music before she heard the car pull up in the driveway, extra loud, just the way Dean likes it. She could only imagine he's playing full blast with the windows down to spite the near identical houses all white painted white as the fence posts. It's the best hiding spot of all; no one would expect Jo Harvelle to live in a gated community, suburbia supreme. She can't believe it herself; hates it undoubtedly as much as he does but she does have to live here. The Impala stuck out like a sore thumb against all the neat Prius and Minivans. Her throat ached a little to see it, the paint around it's belly softened under a coat of dust from the road but otherwise shiny in the sunlight. They're arguing softly, as far as she can tell from her hidden spot behind the curtains Dean refuses to leave the car. With a final furious swing of his arms, Sam slammed his door, ignoring Dean's yelp of protest and slumped towards her door, shoulders hunched forward, hands fisted in his back pockets. Jo swung the door wide before he could even knock and smiled wryly up at him. He gaped, fish like, from where he stood. "Sammy." Dean's still got the music going and she leaned beyond the door frame and raised her voice a pinch. "Would you turn it down? Christ!" That boy never moved so quickly in his life, the guitar solo screeching to a halt as he jerkily popped the tape out and all but jumped from his seat, half jogging towards her. She wasn't sure if it's because she sounded particularly venomous or because her baby bump is particularly impressive looking under her t-shirt.
Jo hadn't seen them, well she hadn't seen them for near five months now. Sam and Dean, her boys. Normally, she'd feel inclined to dish out hugs and abuse but, well, it's hard to get exited when you can't exactly say which Winchester put a baby in your belly.
"So," she remarked, with all the cheer she could muster, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I guess we've got some catching up to do."
