New Year's Eve

6pm

A snowstorm abandons the Harvelles at Bobby's for the weekend, the small cozy home one of the places Jo had always called her second home. She doesn't mind the circumstances; her mother is overjoyed. She takes her time climbing the stairs, admiring the brickwork and the matching red shutters. After the Roadhouse burned down, Jo and Ellen hadn't stayed in a familiar place for more than a week at a time.

"Oh Joanna, hurry up already, will you?" Ellen calls out frustrated behind her at her daughter, having already reached the front door. Bobby opens and quickly envelops her in a bear hug. When she sees Bobby smiling down at her, Jo quickens her step, and smiles, nearly jumping into his open arms. She's stepping back when two tall figures creep out from behind Bobby to welcome the two women.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." Ellen speaks before Jo can get the chance, taking the words right from her daughter's lips. "Sam and Dean Winchester." She adds with certainty that it's the two boys she's come to love as sons. They come forward, having been recognized, and politely greet their surrogate mother.

"Hey Jo," Sam says, a wave of his hand in Jo's direction. Before she can respond, he's gone, following Ellen and Bobby back into the house. Jo is left with Dean, standing awkwardly on the porch, his hands in his pockets.

"Hi."

"Hi," she pauses, before adding, "Dean-O" for effect. This garners a smile from him and he loosens up a bit. Then they're moving into the house, shutting the door behind them. And Dean's smiling like an idiot. Great, she thinks, this is going to be fun.

8pm

They sit around a long mahogany table for dinner. Castiel, a friend of the Winchesters, has joined them. How he got here, neither Jo nor her mother know, but they don't mind either. He's nice, and completely clueless, which makes him funny, and amusing, in their eyes. Sam says he's an angel and they all shrug their shoulders in acceptance.

Jo sits next to Dean, her mother at the head of the table closest to her. Opposite, sit Sam and Cas. They're quiet, none of them knowing what to start a conversation on. Someone starts the topic of rebuilding the Roadhouse, and then switches to the hunts Jo and Ellen have done. Sam makes the mistake of mentioning, or rather questioning, the last time they had all seen each other. Jo shrugs in false indifference, the memory of the whole event in Duluth sweeping over her and making her sick. And although Sam has apologized, and she has forgiven him, the feeling lingers. She attempts to escape by offering to take the dishes to the kitchen. All oblige, and before she's out of the room, the conversation has shifted to discussing angels. Cas takes the reins on this one, and Bobby and Ellen are listening intently to what he's saying.

At the sink, Jo takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. There's a sound behind her and she tenses up again, whips around. Dean is standing behind her, his hands up in defence. "Just thought you might need some help." She sighs, turns back to the task at hand.

"I'm fine." She forces out a quiet "thank you," as an afterthought. He doesn't seem to hear her response and, ignoring it completely, he begins to take the wet dishes out of her hands and place them in the dishwasher. When they're done, she dries her hand and attempts to make a quick getaway. He's standing in a way to block her exit though, and she curses herself for not leaving earlier.

"I just want to talk." He says matter-of-factly.

"And I don't." She reply curtly.

"I know," he responds, a whisper. She can see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to make her stay, make her listen. But she doesn't want to hear, and it's already too late.

"Well, I'm glad we're both on the same page. Now, if you'll excuse me…" but he doesn't let her finish and he saying something, the words flowing too quickly from his mouth – and they sound like... an apology?

"Wait a second." He stops, his eyes wide, not understanding.

What? He doesn't say it, but she can see his lips forming the word. Her thoughts veer to, why was I looking at his lips, but she shakes the thought, and calmly asks him to repeat what he was saying, slowly. He nods, says simply, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "I'm sorry…for everything." She realizes that he's talking Duluth, and she tries to respond, but her tongue is tied and instead, he continues. "I'm sorry on behalf of Sam. And I'm sorry I didn't call." She starts to say, I knew you wouldn't, but she sees the look in his eyes and realizes that he probably already knows this. He starts to fumble after this, but all Jo can think is that fumbling doesn't suit him. And she sure as hell can't stand it. Besides, she can tell he is being sincere, so she cuts him off.

"I know."

"You know?" he repeats what she says, seemingly surprised. So she adds the bit about fumbling around and he smiles, amused and relieved.

"Are we good?" he says, finally. Jo smiles, slowly, and nods.

"Yeah, we're good." His hands are in his pockets again and he pulls only one out to gesture with his thumb at the dining room.

"We should be getting back."

"Yeah, you're right." Jo remembers her mother and Bobby, sitting around the table, pictures them waiting for her to return. Together, almost grudgingly, they walk back to the dinner table together.

10pm

The alcohol makes its first appearance by 9:30pm. Jo is surprised it didn't come out earlier, but she doesn't mind. It allows for a little more time of saneness. And togetherness. Bobby and Ellen were the first to disappear. Three broken glasses later, and the laughter receded, swiftly replaced by the slapping of bare feet on hardwood floor as they made their escape. To the bedrooms, Jo tries not to remember. Cas is off doing God knows what, literally, and Jo finds herself between Sam and Dean on a lumpy couch in Bobby's living room. She's glad for Sam's company, and the thought comes to her suddenly as she listens to him talk. Not long after she realizes this though, he makes some lame excuse about having to go "check on something," and runs off, leaving her alone with Dean – again.

And cue Dean, who's suddenly much closer to her, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He motions to her empty glass resting on the floor. "Care for more?" She hesitates, the thought What the Hell?, hitting her at the speed of light, before reaching for her glass and offering it to him. He smiles, smugly, and Jo has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from making any snide comments. When he finishes pouring, she lets her tongue caress the rim of the glass before tipping it back to feel the warm sensation of it run down her throat. Dean watches her closely but all she can think is that she really needs the drink, seeing as she is sitting here with Dean Winchester. And to be honest, her heart is doing things she knows it shouldn't be. If only my mind was stronger.

"Want to play a game," the voice shakes her out of her thoughts, brings her back to reality and Dean on the couch.

"Yes." She answers without reluctance. They gulp back the first two glasses and he's pouring a third when she starts to doubt herself, wonder what she has actually gotten into. It's between the third and the fourth drink that she blurts out, "Why are you so willing to get your little sister drunk?" The question seems to have caught Dean off guard, and Jo realizes the full impact of what she's said. Her hand flies over to cover her mouth and she notices that his eyes are suddenly sad.

"Little sister?" he repeats it, cautiously, and she remembers him repeating her in the kitchen.

She tries to stop herself, but before she knows, she's adding, "Would you stop repeating me?"

His eyes widen and realization dawns on him. She thinks I think of her as a little sister. She can practically hear his thoughts but she doesn't, can't physically, say anything in response. "I don't think of you as a little sister."

"You don't?" she can hear her voice, raw and cracking. She's surprised by his answer, but pleased. She leans forward, toward him, and his hand comes up to take the glass from her. He places it on the table next to him, his eyes never leaving hers. Slowly, his hand comes up to push a tendril of hair out of her eyes. She tries, but she can't tear her gaze from his. His green eyes are dark, deep, an abyss in which she feels trapped. Without warning, she falls forward and he catches her, his hand on her waist, her hands on his chest.

"Ahem." The voice pulls her out of her trance and she jerks back, running a hand through her long golden hair. Dean mimics her movements beside her, except his are smooth, not jerky or abrupt. Cas is standing at the doorway, looking slightly embarrassed. "I was told to inform you that I must be leaving. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh, come on Cas," Dean says convincingly, "we need you. Are you really going to leave us in the lurch?" Jo glances over at him. She can tell he is trying hard to make the angel stay, but Cas is shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I must leave. Goodbye Dean," he says, before turning to Jo. "Goodbye Joanna."

"Jo," she supplies."Only my mother calls me that." He nods.

"Goodbye, Jo." he amends, with some difficulty. She smiles, leaning forward to get up.

"Bye, Cas." The words are barely out of her mouth when there is a swoosh and Cas is gone, the spot where he stood moments ago empty. Dean can see surprise written clearly on her face and he chuckles, leans toward her.

"He's always like that."

"Huh," she sighs, amused by the Winchester's strange friend. She turns back to him, props her head up on her palm, her elbow resting on the back of the large cushion behind her. "How did you say you met him again?"

Midnight

Two minutes to midnight. The Harvelles, the Winchesters, and Bobby, considered family to both, are standing in front of the small box Bobby calls a TV. Cas is missing in action. There are no people, nor fireworks, on the small screen. Just a clock, counting down the time to the new year. Jo is surrounded by friends, family and she's wearing a wide grin she can't seem to get rid of. A glass in her hand, she's screaming at the top of her lungs, her voice still drowned out by Sam and Dean, standing on opposite sides of her. And yet, she's overwhelmed. The feeling takes hold of her suddenly, like hands around her neck, squeezing tightly. She can't shake it, nor get rid of the nausea that seems to boil up inside of her. She can't breathe, and as calmly as she can, she places her glass on the table and leaves without a word to anyone. She pushes the screen door open and steps out onto the porch, the boards creaking beneath her. The cool air fills her lungs, and as it sweeps over her, brushing her bare arms, a sense of relief settles on her. She steps forward, leaning on the rail as she glances up at the dotted canvas of stars above her. There's a creaking behind her, but she doesn't turn around - she knows it's him.

"Are you alright?" the voice is soft, concerned. She looks over at him and sees him leaning against the post, his arms crossed. She wanted to be alone, but she's not sure why she ever thinks that'll work when he's around. So instead she nods, her mouth dry. He looks up at the stars, smiles. "Nice, huh?" She can't help but laugh as she sees him admiring the stars – something she never thought she'd see him do.

"Yeah..."

When she turns to look at them herself, she hears his voice, clear, in her ear. "It'll be better, you know." Jo knows he's talking about the New Year, but when has it ever been better. She humours him, agrees.

But he's not stupid, and when she turns to leave, he stops her, catches her waist and turns her to him. "You don't believe me..." It's not a question. He knows she doesn't believe him, not one bit. Jo tries to protest, say something in her defence, but his hand is on the small of her back and instead she whimpers.

"Dean..." His lips brush hers, her mouth moves against his. "Please..." He places his hand on her cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against her cheek bone. She's imagined this before, even wanted it; now, she's not so sure anymore. Jo shivers, lets his hands guide hers to rest around his neck, her fingers entangling themselves in his hair. The faint sounds of a countdown can be heard from inside the house, and he pulls away slightly. But he won't let her go, not back into the house, not even out of his reach. "Wha-" she starts, but is cut off by Dean, an admiring smile on his face.

"Happy New Year," he whispers as he tightens his grip on her. He lowers his lips to her and she feels him against her, her small body moulding into his. She feels his cool lips softly press a kiss against her forehead and she relaxes, her arms tightening around him in a hug.

Softly, he hears her murmur, "Happy New Year," the grandfather clock chiming three times afterwards. Its sound echoes in the night, signifying midnight, a new year, and a fresh chance at happiness.