Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, Jo & Ellen wouldn't have died and Dean would probably end up with her somewhere along the line =P I do, however, own this story.
Therefore © by drifted-haiku.2010. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of moi.
This world keeps spinning faster
Into a new disaster so I run to you
I run to you baby
And when it all starts coming undone
Baby you're the only one I run to
I run to you
The beer no longer tastes the same. It still burns his throat and kills his liver but something's off and he's not entirely sure that he can explain. The sex on the other hand is still good, more or less; though he no longer cares much if he gets laid to be honest. It just seems so emptied. It's good; don't get him wrong; it just lacks that something. It's not because it's Lisa. That much he knows; and every day seems like a shade of yesterday. Nothing's spontaneous. It's just him, waking up the morning, eating breakfast, saying good morning, driving Ben to school, picking him up from school, working some odd job in between and being the normal, run-of-the-hill dad that he thinks he should be (because let's be honest, his own dad was anything but normal).
Bobby calls him every now and then to clue him in on what's going on. He picks up, sometimes, and lies about coming back one day. Bobby knows he doesn't mean it but he says it anyway for old time's sake. Sam is… well somewhere. He's not dead because he sends a postcard every now and then. The last one came two months ago on his birthday, which surprised Dean because he really didn't remember his own birthday. Lisa remembered (she always remembers) and threw him a birthday dinner after he finished working. He smiled and it felt forced, faked. He appreciated the efforts and knows that it's not easy to live with a man like him, who so closed off and emotionally guarded. She doesn't ask why he came or when he's leaving and he doesn't feel like explaining; the less she knows, the better off she is. Sometimes, when he looks into her eyes, he could see some shades of a different, but familiar, brown staring back; and rarely does this happens but he could almost see flecks of gold on Lisa's brown curls of someone he used to know. It's only when he blinks that the image dissipates.
Putting his car into park, he pops the drunk and grabs the beers he bought awhile back for the special-once-a-month-deal where he'd go off, get wasted and remembers that he's still alive, or at least still breathing. Though Lisa says 'I understand', he knows that she doesn't like it and wishes he does something else, something healthier as an alternative but he has stopped caring about a long time ago to listen. Anyway, impulse or not, he ends up at an emptied lot that used to be Harvelle's Road House and a quick rush of nostalgia washing through him like cold water to the face. His fingers clutch the bottle almost too quickly and too painfully. He then sits somewhere in the middle and just drinks until somewhere between 8-10 bottles, he sees her. He thinks he must be losing his mind.
"You and booze. Some things never change, I guess."
"Jo…?" He whispers with a soft, hushed tone, as it's too fragile and too precious to slip from his lips in any other way. She still has the same voice, he notes, the same lips, the same eyes and the same hair and while he can feel his suicidal heart slamming itself against his chest like a crazed and happy lunatic, he thinks that this has to be a trick of his mind so he blinks twice to ensure that he's not hallucinating then down at the beer bottle and shakes his head several times. Maybe he should quit drinking, he thinks, as he sits up and ambles over to the trunk to grab the next batch of beers. When he turns around, she's still there. "Damn. You don't look aged at all."
Finally an understanding thought dawns on her face. "Wait—you think I'm not real?" she asks, almost laughing at him. "You've been dreaming of me or something?"
"No, I'm just drunk," he says and smiles; because it's too damn funny to think otherwise.
"Right, because talking to yourself seems to be the better alternative." She rolls her eyes while kicking the dirt of her boots. She skims his face and sees that underneath the tired lines, she can still see the same handsome man that she has fallen in love with once upon a time, and he's still adorning that same leather jacket when they first met. "Whatever makes you sleep better at night, Deano."
The bottle suspends in mid air as his body stiffens. He glances down at her, feeling a rush of excitement that's laced with fear. "What did you just call me?"
Scoffing, she forces her head upward to look at him in the eyes. With his towering frame of exactly 6'2, his familiar brooding greenish brown eyes, those thick and dark babies' lashes, and high bridge nose, he almost makes her heart skips a beat and makes her regret looking at him at such a close distance. "What? Did Lucifer steal your hearing?"
He chuckles. "I can kill you, you know?" says Dean; his tone lighter. She could, or couldn't be Jo and to him, it doesn't really matter either way because tomorrow, she'll probably be gone. "There's a gun in the Impala that will send you straight back to hell, y' know."
"We both know that you're incapable of holding it for longer than five seconds before I punch your lights out," she pauses then grins widely, "again."
He tosses his head back and laughs loudly, almost too forcefully. "So tell me," Dean begins, leaning toward the trunk of his Impala, "do hallucinations drink?"
"Not only do they drink," she says with a mischievous gleam (one that he hasn't seen in awhile) after accepting the beer, "they can also kick your ass at poker." Once they both settle with a beer in hand and down on the ground, she speaks up first. "So… how's life?"
He casually slides his shoulders. "Still breathing."
"I heard—that you're living with someone now?" she pauses to catch her breath. It's only fair to assume that he'd move on but the sting from speaking it aloud burns more than getting ripped apart by that Hellhound and she should know. "You liking this normalcy thing?"
"Yeah, you could say that. I mean, I'm not committing murder anymore so… y' know and Lisa… she's great. A wonderful mother; and Ben's also great. I'm not corrupting him yet so that's good," he stops when he notices her staring. "What?" He gives her a look as if he's expecting her to say something.
Embarrassed that she's caught, she clears her throat. "Nothing..."
The corner of his mouth curves up with unexpected pleasure when he sees her blushing. "And I'm the Queen of fucking England."
"Original."
"And they say death changes a person."
She turns silence and he notes the serious tone that's started slipping in. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah, Jo?"
"You happy?"
He thinks about lying, maybe saying he's the happiest he's ever been but knowing her, she will call him on the bull shit quicker than he can come up with an excuse so he only shrugs again. It's almost like a reflex these days to not care so much. "I honestly don't know." Somehow beating Lucifer didn't bring him the satisfaction or the peace that he thought it'd. If anything, Lucifer's 'death' only made him realizes that though the war is won, the battle is far from over. People are still dying all over the place from unknown causes and while Sam's out there fighting, he's here, living the so-called Nuclear family that he's promised he would; and he tries so hard to accept, to blend in and to forget the life he had, but he still feels incomplete.
"I see…" She then takes a sip of her beer, noting that heaven's beer tastes nothing like this; and she wonders if she really did make a mistake by coming here and interrupting his life. "You miss it? Hunting, I mean."
"Sometimes, yeah, especially when I'm sitting in my cubicle—yes, I have a fucking cubicle now— with nothing to do," he says when he saw a sneer comes across her lips, "I wear ties, the whole nine yards and I think, shit. This is what I was fighting for? Then I look around and see that there are no dead people, no fucking demons and whatnot, no worries that the people I care about will die because of me and it sweetens the pain and the aches of wanting to hold another gun in my hand a bit more. Does that answer your question?"
"Perfectly."
"Now, let's assume, hypothetically, for a moment that you're real," he says and she nods, "how are you even here?"
She doesn't say anything, only tosses him a lingering glance before looking away; and there's just something in the way she smiles, the way her eyes lost its glow and liveliness and the way she looks so tragic, like she's fallen from grace that his worst fear is confirmed.
The bottle almost slips from his fingers. "You didn't."
She chuckles wryly. "Did. Didn't. Does it really matter?" She then tries to press a smile on her lips to go with her words, like she has accepted her fate, but she looks like she wanted to cry instead; so he reaches out for her hand only to have her flinches and pulls away. "Don't touch me." He looks stunned and so does she. With the exception of the last time, this is the second in the years that he'd known her that she has raised her voice against him. As if knowing what he thought, she bites back her lips. "I'm sorry—" she pauses, recollecting her thought. "But stop looking at me like that—"
His frown deepens. "Like what?"
"Like you're at fault. Like whatever happened, or should happen to me, is on your shoulders."
He rubs his forehead. "I get the point."
Frustrated, she continues, "No, I don't think you do. What happened to you, Dean? Because I didn't come back for this; for this shell of a man I used to know."
"Then what exactly did you come back for, Jo?"
"I came back for you," she says, pointing at his chest. "I came back for you."
His breathing shallows and his palms begin to sweat. "Oh yeah, and why's that?"
"This is not you, Dean. You should be out on the road, fighting, saving people and driving the Impala while listening to your annoying rock classics; not picking Ben up from school, working a 9 to 5 job and pretending that you actually want this life that you have."
She's not wrong, but hearing the truth from her mouth burns him more than he thought it'd and the last person he wanted a lecture from is Jo Harvelle. "You don't know what you're talking about," says Dean, getting up first, and walking away.
"Oh really?" she remarks, dripping with sarcasm. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you'd not rather be with Sam and out there fighting."
Angrily, he turns around and stares down at her. "I made my choice and I'm more than content with it."
"You need to go back. You need to find Sam. You need to—"
He then cuts her short. "I don't need to do anything. I have responsibilities and obligations."
"Lisa's been a single mother longer than you've been with her so don't stand there and gave me that sorry ass of an excuse. I did not make—" she covers her mouth, breathing hard. Patience's running thin for the both of them, she could tell because the left corner of his mouth has begun to twitch. "Look, these past couple months, angels and demons have been dying; I'm not talking about the whole they-kill-each-other and therefore they cancel each other out kind of dying. I'm talking about them disappearing one by one and no one seems to know who's behind it. The only thing that I know is: whoever is behind it is gunning for you, Dean. And Sam is trying hard to figure out who with Bobby's help but, God bless his soul, he's about as efficient as a fish out of water."
"You talk to Sam?" he asks, looking like a kid that just found out he's being lied to, and clears his throat. "Funny how he didn't mention—"
"No one knows I'm back," she interrupts. "But that's not important. He needs you, Dean."
"He's strong. He'll be alright," he says with less conviction than he wanted. "Ben and Lisa… they need me." The last part comes out harder than he thought it'd.
She exhales sharply. "And how do you expect to save them? By pointing another gun at whomever they are?"
The sarcasm isn't lost on him. "I'll find a way."
"And what happens when you won't?" asks Jo quietly after awhile, looking over at him, lips trembling and tears glossing her eyes, that he thinks about giving in; but stops before actually voicing it out. "What will you do then, Dean?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."
"So that is it?"
He shrugs. "That's it."
She then sighs and for awhile, they stand in insufferable stillness of the night. He drinking a couple more sips and she looking like she's trying to leave because he's too stubborn for his own good but her feet won't move. Finally, "If you change your mind," she says, handing her half-finished bottle back to him, "you know where to find me."
He looks on, like there's something hanging on the tip of his tongue but for some reason, won't come out.
She sucks in a deep inhale and nods in defeat. "I'll see you around, Dean."
As he stands there, watching her fading silhouette, he doesn't know why but he gets this inkling feeling that if he lets her leave now, she might just walk out on him forever. "You never answered me."
She stops without looking back.
"Why me, Jo?" it's a question that's been bugging him since her death. He couldn't for the life of him accept that anyone would or should die for him, except for Sam but that's his brother so he doesn't count.
"Does it matter?"
"You tell me."
She turns around; glancing at him and feels her breath catches in her throat. She then whispers, biting her lips, "It's still the wrong time. Wrong place."
Right, that's their theme, he thought as he washes down the sour taste bitterness leaves behind. "Am I going to see you again?"
A small smile creeps to the corners of her lips. "Do you want to?"
"I wouldn't hate it."
She chuckles and doesn't say anything, only tiptoeing to press a gentle kiss to his lips. She tastes like regrets, a little bit bitter and a little bit sweet. Goodbye. He temporarily relapses into an old memory of their last meeting that consists of her bleeding all over the place while putting up a brave front and a failed attempt at smiling; and he feeling helpless and afraid. When she pulls away, he breaks away from his thought and tries his damnest not to look disappointed; because for an illusion, she feels too real. "See you on the other side, Dean."
She then disappears like a dream that should have never happened but it did and when he wakes up the morning after with a pounding headache and beer bottles lying all around with no signs that anyone has been there the night before other than himself, Dean likes to believe that he has been dreaming. Maybe a little too hard and a little too much but nonetheless, dreaming; so he picks up the pieces and drives home to the place where he should be. The place is emptied except for a sticky note on the refrigerator's door that tells she's at work and Ben's already at school.
He fixes himself a sandwich, throws his legs on the table and watches the TV. Somewhere between Lisa and Ben coming home, he manages to do some errands and some miscellaneous chores before greeting them with a 'how was school buddy' and Lisa with a kiss.
They then sit around the table, eating dinner together like a real family and talk about their day. He thinks that another piece of him has died since yesterday and rather than trying to figure out why that is, he sucks in a deep breath and goes on for another day. It'll stop hurting; he then puts the thought on repeat.
Then a week passes and Lisa's sitting on the other side of the room and he's staring at the ground while speaking because he's an ass and a coward and he doesn't want to see the look on her face when the words 'I don't think I can do this anymore' passes from his lips and earns a tear from her eyes. Then he says more useless stuff like 'I'm sorry' and 'I tried but it just—' but she interrupts before he could finish his train of thought.
"Look at me, Dean."
He reluctantly lifts his head and glances over her.
There's a faint smile on her lips then she speaks, softly when she really should be yelling, "I understand." Though that doesn't stop her eyes from brimming with sadness.
A moment of speechlessness slips between their lips before he finds his voice to continue. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
"About Ben—"
"I'll tell him. He'll understand."
"I love him, y' know," he laughs, feeling his own eyes burning. "Think he'll hate me?"
"Yeah, at first—but he'll understand."
He nods, somehow doubting that.
"He loves you too, Dean," she reassures. "So don't worry."
He clicks his tongue skeptically and stands up. "So…"
"Goodbye."
They hug and he lowers his lips to her forehead before grabbing his luggage. He glances at the house one last time, wanting to inhale in the loss of a dream before driving away. He flips his phone open and dials a number that he's rang in awhile. "Sammy."
Surprise echoes back. "Dean?"
His hand grips firmly on the steering wheel. "Where are you?"
"Duluth."
"Jo with you?"
"What? No, Dean, she's—"
Slamming both hands on the wheels, he mumbles curses because he doesn't want to hear the word 'dead' at the end of that sentence and ends the call with an 'I'm coming so don't leave'. He drives as fast as he could and pulls up on the emptied lot. Exiting rashly, he looks around and finds it as desolated as he has left it a week ago. He runs his hand up and down his face in disappointment. "Son of a bitch."
"Looking for me, sugar?"
He carefully sways his body around and finds her sitting on the hood of his car, legs dangling over like she owns the damn thing and looking as arrogant as the first time they met.
"If you don't close that mouth of yours, some dead bugs just might end up as your lunch," she says and jumps down. "What?"
"Nothing." With a crooked smile and a flushed expression from feeling, relieved and somewhat stripped of his masculinity (for being caught off guard by her, again), not to mention stupid, he holds his arms wide open. His eyes direct at her and in his usual detached manner, "Look, I ain't a prince charming, no white horse riding freak... but…"he explains candidly and smirks once he saw that his words were perking her interests.
She only rolls her eyes and look away, wondering how she'd come to love such an asshole like him. To say that she fell for his looks or his sunny side up personality would an overstatement. He has no personality unless being a jackass qualifies as one. The damn bastard's stubborn as a mule, always speaks his mind, and harasses her with his lame sarcasm (and pickup lines) and yet, she still goes gaga for him.
"I'm over here."
She glances back. "There's too much ugliness where you are," she then grins mischievously. "And I don't mean the background either."
"Hey!"
She locks eyes with him, pretending to be annoyed. "What, Dean? What the hell do you want to say?"
He then drops his arms to his side and rubs his sore shoulders.
"What? Giving up already?"
"I don't know about you but its damn tiring keep that shit up, especially when there's no one gunning for it."
She blushes.
"Don't flatter yourself," he adds. "I didn't mean you."
She laughs.
"So… continuing with what I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," he then takes a step forward, then another and another until he's in front of her. Each times, her heart slams against her chest and her face magically turns shades darker until it glows bright red. He gently trails his thumb under her chin, tracing the outline of her jaw that earned a sudden shuddering of her breath. There's a faint pulse and it make his heart feel at ease. "I can't promise you a happily ever after but I can damn sure promise to tolerate you as much as I can."
Leave it to him to know how to kill a moment. "So…Is this where I swoon over you?" asks Jo, suddenly breathless.
"Doesn't hurt if you do." Then he smiles and she smiles; and that missing piece somehow came back. There's less weight on his shoulders now and his lungs feel livelier than before but he would rather die than say all this out loud, that she's part of the reason so he just shuts his thoughts by crushing his lips against hers; and when they break apart, her cheeks flushed and she looks like all sort of damned.
"If that's how you get a girl to fall for you, I think your future might just be a very lonely one."
"Ah, I still got Sammy." He then laughs. "So…"
She suddenly turns shy. "So…"
"You gonna buy me dinner?"
Brow raised, she blurts, "What?"
"It's just that if you're gonna ride me this close, it's only fair that you buy me dinner."
She punches him on the arm instead.
"What the hell?"
Ignoring his shouting, she opens the passenger door. "You coming or what?"
He chuckles and jumps into the driver's seat. "So..."
"Just shut up and drive."
"Yes, ma'am."
And somewhere, 'wrong time wrong place' just becomes 'right time right place'.
Author's Note: I've been reading/watching too many Jo/Dean videos and also, re-watching their episodes together and I've decided that they're my OTP. They're perfect for one another (if she didn't die). Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed. Some parts are rushed and some parts are blah... so as always, comments/criticisms are welcome ^^
- dh