Always
D/c: Do not own.
The room was nearly silent, the only sound present being that of the roaring fire in the hearth. Bobby held in his hand the last image he had of Jo and Ellen, of all of them together.
Cas, standing tall and majestic, head held high.
Sam beside him, arm over the angels shoulder, a dubious expression on his face.
Ellen coming up to Sam's shoulder, staring determindly into the camera, a hand on Bobby's back.
Dean beside Ellen, one arm around Jo, the other on Sam. He stared at the camera in classic 'Dean' fasion, burrow frowed, eyes slightly widened.
Jo...sweet Jo, an almost smile on her face, burrowed in Dean's side, with an arm draped on Bobby's shoulder.
And himself...looking off into the distance, unable to look at the camera. It was as if he knew. His hands were clutching the wheels so tightly, as if not wanting to let go.
"Bobby..." Dean's voice shook him from his reverie. The older man looked up at Dean, who was standing so stiffly at his shoulder, looking down at the photograph clutched in an aged hand. "Can I..." his voice trailed off, hazel eyes locked on the photo.
Bobby handed it over wordlessly, breathing deeply.
Dean took it silently, swallowing thickly. His eyes were riveted to Jo's image. The young woman had been so alive...so... He grit his teeth, willing himself not to cry again. There had been enough of that to last him a life time.
"Are you giving me the last night on earth speech?" She has asked laughingly, tilting her head.
"No! No. But if I was..." he trailed off, a suggestive smile on his face, eyebrows tilted in a way that was so Dean, that she had to laugh.
A small smile curled at the corners of Jo's lips, and she leaned towards him, rising onto her toes. Her lips were within an inch of his, and his eyes darted down to them, then back to her face. "Honey...if tonight is the last night on earth, I am going to spend it with a little something called Self Respect," she said, choking on laughter as she pulled away and left him standing in the kitchen.
He sighed, swigging from the beer he had in his hand. "If you believe in that sort of thing," he'd muttered.
"Oh god, Jo." he whispered to himself. He couldn't get that image of her out of his head, just sitting limply in a hardware store, covered in her own blood, breathing heavily. She had tried to hard to be brave, so hard to convince them all that leaving her there, leaving her dying was okay.
She couldn't be moved anyway, she had reasoned. She would only drag them down, get them all killed.
Sam and Dean had looked away. It was true.
He couldn't get it out of his mind.
In the end they couldn't do anything. They had to leave her there.
He had knelt beside her, taken her cold, bloodless face in his hands and kissed her forehead. And as she raised tearful eyes to his, lips trembling. If anything, it was still iJo/i, and she was barely twenty. He couldn't help himself and had swept in, pressed a firm kiss to her trembling lips, and felt more than heard her sob.
"Okay." he had whispered.
"Okay," she had replied shakily.
But no one had seen that Ellen would stay with her daughter, let those damn hell hounds into the store.
In the end, they had lost two of the most precious friends they could ever hope to have.
And for nothing. The god-damn Colt couldn't kill Lucifer.
It was so unfair.
He handed the photo back to Bobby, watched as the elder Hunter threw it into the fire. He felt Sam standing beside him, felt the weight of his hand on Dean's shoulder. Castiel was standing silently at his other side.
Three men and an angel of the lord watched silently as the fire took the photo, the ends curling.
Dean couldn't tear his gaze from Jo's face, slowly burning away in the embers. A single tear burned its way down his cheek against his will, and he grit his teeth once more.
Lucifer was his, and his alone.