Un-beta'd, just something that has been gnawing at my brain for a few nights. This is my first venture into this verse, so hopefully I did it justice.
I don't own anything, that goes to the all knowing Kripke, I'm only playing in his sandbox.
Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep
The rain had started with little warning, the thunder and lightening ripping open the night sky only moments before the heavens started to weep. It was as if Mother Nature knew what they were going to do the next day and wept their unshed tears of fear for them.
Jo Harvelle sat quietly on the small bed that occupied one of Bobby's guest rooms, her legs curled up to her chest as she watched the rain pelt the window. Her mother slept in the room down the hall and Jo felt the desire to tip toe down the creaky wood floor and into her mother's room, curl up on the bed with her and feel her mothers arms around her, just like she use to do when she was a child. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept with her mother, actually slept, not cried herself into a fitful sleep as Ellen smoothed back her hair and whispered comforting words to her. Mothers must be given a handbook with those words, and Ellen Harvelle knew them all by heart.
It had been after her father's death that Jo had made a habit of crawling into her mother's bed, tears streaming down her pudgy cheeks. Sometimes her mother had cried right along with her and their combined tears soaked through the pillowcases. Jo shifts her position as a rather loud crack of thunder breaks her from her thoughts. Nothing bad will ever get you Jo, that's what her mother use to whisper before her daughter fell to sleep. Jo wonders if Ellen would say the same thing tonight. Tomorrow they would hunt the Devil, Lucifer in the flesh. A chill runs over her body and in a quick flash of lightening she can see that the hair on her arms is standing up.
The young hunter shifts again, glancing towards the door. She wonders where Dean is and suddenly feels mad at herself for it. Dean Winchester is the last damn thing that should be on her mind, for gods' sake Jo. Even though she continued to scold herself, her thoughts stay on the oldest Winchester. Jo is pretty sure Dean is where Sam is, sulking downstairs and flipping though Bobby's extensive library. Dean is always with Sam, as if he is his younger brothers shadow, stitched to Sam's foot a la Peter Pan. She feels her face scrunch; at least it had been that way…before Dean went to hell. Jo's chest tightens as she remembers those dreadful months that Dean spent in the pit.
Sam had come to her once, before that demon bitch Ruby sank her claws into him. He had found her on a hunt, well after a hunt to be specific. Jo had been practically limping back to her motel room, nursing what she was sure was a sprained ankle and trying to ignore the sensation of blood dripping down her neck from where she had caught a piece of glass as she had crashed through a window. Damn poltergeist had gotten the drop on her, she cursed under her breath. While stuck in her own thoughts she didn't seen him materialize out of the darkness near her room, which sat at the end of the run down motel and boarded the forest. When she did catch sight of his large frame she hissed and drew down on him, the .45 cocked and ready to blast him. He had held out his arms, palms turned upwards in defense or surrender, she wasn't sure.
"Jo." her name on his lips sounded wrong and she had frowned, this was the wrong brother. She lowered the gun and his gigantic form relaxed. He stepped further towards her and she caught a good glimpse of him in the light. He looks drawn and haggard, the dark circles under his sunken eyes giving him the resemblance of the things they killed in the darkness.
"Sam Winchester," she wasn't sure why she felt the need to be formal, but his name slipped from her tongue. She was about to scold him for not keeping in touch or maybe how he shouldn't sulk outside motels and make people think he is a Sasquatch waiting for the next unsuspecting human, but the words die on her lips when she finally notices he is clutching his side, the same side where the shirt he is wearing is soaked with blood, the ruby fluid dripping from his fingertips. "Jesus Sam!" even though she keeps her voice low, it rises in octave and she slams the key in the door so hard she fears it snapped off in the lock. When the door opens she all but pushes the taller hunter inside.
The awkwardness that existed between them ever since Duluth vanishes as Jo tells him to sit on the bed while she gathers the supplies to doctor his festering wound. Sam sits quietly as she walks around gathering her supplies, his eyes watching her intently. When she finally sits down and starts cleaning the wound he hisses in pain but says nothing else as she reaches for the ever-handy suture kit. The wound is at least a few days old, but Sam seems to have irritated it and busted open the scabs that had been trying to form. The skin around the wound is red, angry and hot under her fingers; she wants to smack Sam across the back of the head…if Dean could see this. Her fingers hesitate at the thought, Dean will never see this because he's in hell, has been for a few weeks now. Jo finally looks up at Sam and she smiles softly,
"Almost done."
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, filling the silence that lingers between their breathing. She wants desperately to ask him how he is, how he is dealing. Hell she even wants to ask if Dean went down swinging, but she cant bring herself to say the words, cant bring herself to even speak Dean's name in front of his brother. She sighs and sits back away from him, her fingers sore from clutching the needle she had stitched him with so tightly and she nods at him, motioning that he can move, but he doesn't. He remains still, his head bowed and staring at the floor. Jo runs her tongue over her cracked lips, hissing an intake of air when she finds a part where the tender flesh has been split. She wants to stand up, wants to go in the bathroom, strip off her soiled clothes and get in the shower, let the hot water and steam relax her aching muscles and wash away the horrors of the things she has done that night. After another few moments of sitting in silence she stands, and Sam seems to shake from his coma and looks at her. Jo feels uncomfortable in his gaze because his eyes are threatening to drink her in and then Duluth comes screaming back at her. Fear grips her as she remembers this is almost the same look Sam had worn when he had been possessed. Suddenly the cold reality that Dean wont save her this time makes her heart threaten to beat out of her chest.
But then Sam speaks and she knows it's the same Sam she became friends with, "I know why he loved you Jo."
The words knock something loose in Jo, something she has been trying to hold together since her mother told her about Dean. Joanna Beth Harvelle will not cry in front of a Winchester again…screw that, she wont cry because of a Winchester again. She stands, hands that are beginning to shake clutching the suture kit. She clears her throat and glances at Sam over her shoulder and motions towards the bathroom.
"I'll uh…" she stops, not knowing what to say, "I'll be back." She walks into the bathroom and closes the door, knowing Sam will leave her in peace. Jo stands at the mirror, hands clutching the sink and staring at herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair is drenched in sweat and dried blood, making it hang in strands around her weary face. She reaches over and turns on the water, hoping to god it doesn't run brown, she wouldn't put it past this dump. When steam begins to rise from the hot water she strips of her clothing, hissing as the fabric that has stuck to dried blood tugs at her skin. Jo steps into the shower and bows her head, praying to god that tonight she wont be haunted by the memory of Dean Winchester. When she emerges an hour later Sam is asleep on the spare bed, his long limbs all but curled to him and Jo frowns, knowing the familiar position of a fitful sleep. She goes to her own bed and collapses.
Sam is gone in the morning when she wake, but a folded piece of paper is laying on the pillow next to her head and when she reads it makes Jo tear up.
Jo still has the note and in the lightening lit room she reads it again. As her eyes scan over the words there is a soft knock on her door. She doesn't react right away, simply staring at the wood that separates her from whoever stands on the other side. Time seems to crawl around her and before she can hear the impatient sigh she stands quickly and all but throws herself at the door, yanking it open in haste. His green eyes meet hers in the dim lit room and she blinks slowly, trying to tell herself this isn't a trick.
"Hey." His voice is rough, but it's the same soothing noise that has filled her dreams since he walked into the Roadhouse. His hand runs across the back of his head and neck, which he only does when nervous or uncomfortable. Jo doesn't make him continue his embarrassed speech and opens the door wider, allowing him entrance. Dean smiles at her and steps inside, heavy boots making a thud on the old floor. Jo wonders how many beers it took for him to gather his wits and come up here, to hell with her earlier speech about spending their last possible night alive with her self-respect. Jo would rather spend it in his arms, let him respect her body and they both know it, have known it since they locked eyes on each.
Just never the right place, right time for them…and of course there was the problem of Dean being frightened by her mother. Jo always laughs at the thought, but deep down she knows there is something else that keeps the eldest Winchester away from her. Dean is afraid of letting someone in that isn't Sam; he doesn't want to have the regret of getting someone else hurt. Lightening flashes through the room and they stare at each other. Dean licks his lips and goes to say something, only to have his words die on his lips as Jo moves closer to him, fingers dancing across his hand. She shakes her head, causing some of her hair that she has pulled up to fall, framing her face. She doesn't need him to speak, she knows him well enough to know how he is with this kind of stuff. Damn chick flick moments.
Suddenly Jo is pressed up against him and his arms are wrapping around her instantly, as if his limbs knew they belonged there. Jo breathes him in, enjoying the scent of gunpowder, leather and beer that seems to cling to him. She shuts her eyes, this feels right…feels like this is what she's been waiting for her entire life. Jo wants this moment to last forever, she could be content to just stay like this, but as the thunder booms around them it's as if they both remember what awaits them in the morning and suddenly their hands and lips are searching, trying to breathe in the other and commit it to memory.
Dean's hands are buried in her hair and she is gasping against his neck, knowing he is going to scold her in the morning for the teeth marks she knows she left there, yet she cant bring herself to care, not now, not tonight. Dean feels the back of his legs hit the bed and he uses that moment to pull away from Jo, forcing his lungs to taste air that isn't sweetened by the scent and taste of Jo Harvelle. Her lips are swollen and her eyes half lidded as she returns his gaze and Dean finds himself questioning why he has delayed this moment for so long.
"God Jo," he rasps out and grabs for her again, bringing them both tumbling onto the bed. Tonight Dean isn't going to worry about anything. He isn't going to worry about demons, angels or anything else out there that goes bump in the night. He isn't going to worry about the salt lines on the doors or windows. Not going to wonder if the devil traps are drawn right or big enough. Dean, even though it kills him, isn't going to worry about Sammy. He can't worry about his brother tonight, not when the person in is arms is making him forget his problems. Tonight Dean Winchester wants to have normal worries, like how he is going to make this night last forever. And tonight give his soul, or whatever is left of it to Jo Harvelle.
The rain lets up to a soft drizzle over the night, threatening to lull both of them to sleep. Jo is stretched across him, cheek pressed against his chest, listening to him breathing. Her eyes drift shut momentarily as she takes it all in. This is what she has been imagining all these years, everything she could have hoped for.
Dean's fingers are running through her hair absentmindedly and the soft action is sending a feeling of complete peace through her body. "Jo." His voice cut through the darkness life a knife, and by his tone she knows he is suddenly serious. She looks up at him through heavy lashes and he pushes her hair from her face, "If something happens today…" he trails off, his lips tightening into a line and she knows that every bad outcome is running through his head. Jo shifts and brings her face to his, her hand coming to rest on his cheek, making his eyes meet her. She wants him to stay in the now, not let him darkness this moment with customary Winchester sulking.
"Nothing is going to happen." she says, the words are heavy in the air because as much as they both want to believe it, they know it isn't a guarantee. Jo lowers her lips to his and shuts her eyes when he hardens the kiss. She lets Dean lose himself in her again, lets his hands map her body.
It's barely dawn when they stir again. Dean is trying to break the arm that is pinned under Jo's form free. He needs to go…somewhere. Go outside and sit on the fender of the Impala, maybe find Sam and try to forget how normal he felt last night, snap his brain back to the present…you know, killing the devil. He groans to himself, his free hand coming up to rub his forehead that is now scrunched in thought.
"You're going to give yourself premature wrinkles." The sudden sound of her voice makes him jump and he looks down at her, laughing when he finds her with her eyes closed, frowning at a small strand of light that is creeping through the dusty blinds. Jo sighs and stretches her body lazily, still not opening her eyes. Dean watches her for a moment before glancing to the bedside table. His gaze lingers on a piece of paper that is creased with age. He glances at the woman pressed against him and grabs the paper.
Dean prides himself with the fact that he opens the paper without Jo stirring and with one hand. When he reads the words that are fading into the paper he sighs. It's like a ghost of himself is staring at him, which come on, could happen. He remembers this note; Sam had looked at him with pained eyes that day, shaking his head as Dean had pressed the paper into his hand. His brother had little over a week to live and Sam had almost been reduced to counting every second of every day.
"Don't make me do this Dean," Sam said, shoving the note back towards his brother. But when he was met with a stern look and silence he knew he was going to lose this battle and he dropped his arm with a sigh. "You should tell her yourself dude."
Dean made a face of understanding but shrugged, "I should…but I wont, so just do it Sammy."
Now as he stared at his handwriting he regretted not going to Jo himself. 'Take care of yourself Jo. I've lost everything in this world. My mom, my father…hell even Sammy. I couldn't bear it if another thing I loved vanished.'
He managed to get the note refolded and back on the table before Jo fully woke up, sitting up and away from his body heat. As soon as his arm was free Dean stood from the bed and began pulling on his clothes. He noticed Jo hadn't moved as he shrugged on the leather jacket, she was watching him sadly, lips turned into a slight pout. Dean hesitated for a moment, hands clenching as he fought for words, and when none came he started towards the door.
"Dean," she jumped from the bed, holding the sheet to her naked body and threw her arms around him. Jo connected their lips, pressing herself tightly to him. "I love you too." she breathed when they finally broke apart.
Nothing else needed to be said and Dean let himself out of the room, their hands falling apart from each other as the door closed behind him.
He can't bring himself to acknowledge that Jo is dying, that her blood is beginning to pool on the ground under her. Dean doesn't want to acknowledge that a hellhound has ripped his world apart again. Jo's breathing is raspy and she is ungodly pale. He sees Sam straighten from the kneeling position next to her. No damnit. He isn't going to say goodbye, he cant.
The trigger he holds in his hand feels like a ton of bricks, weighing him down in his spot. Sam meets his eyes and a painful smile crosses his brother's lips. Sam knew where he was last night; Dean can see the pity in his eyes. The older Winchester grunts and starts to go to her. Damnit, where is Cas?
"I'll see you on the other side," he wants to grab her and run. "Probably sooner than later." Damnit to hell, this cant be happening. The last time their lips meet he can feel Jo's body trembling and he pulls away before he starts to shake himself.
When the explosion happens Dean can feel something die within his already dead soul. Another thing he loved has vanished from the world.
-fin