A/N: It seems that the only kind of story I managed to finish is the one where I tried to write Dean's reaction to certain clothes Jo might be wearing. This one was inspired from a picture of Alona wearing winter clothing in her instagram. Geez, it's illegal to be that cute, Alona. D:
Many many thanks to my lovely beta, Noxid Anamchara, especially for putting up with my questions about winter season, which I do not have in my country. All remaining mistakes are mine. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor the characters. I don't even own the title for this story, it's all Alona's words.
"Come on, Jo. It's not that bad," Dean said for the fifth time that day.
It was late afternoon. The three of them were walking to the diner to grab some lunch and question the locals there for their case. The diner was only one block away from the motel they were currently staying, so Sam figured that taking the Impala was a bit too much. Jo however, hadn't been fond with the idea of walking through the snow instead of being in the warm confinement of the car. But Dean had agreed with Sam and he was the one holding the key. So there really wasn't much that she could do. Except complaining.
"Cold is such an understatement," Jo argued heatedly. "It's freezing!"
"I told you that you could have just waited at the motel," Dean reminded her.
Dean knew Jo didn't like to be left alone without anything to do in the motel. She took it as an insult to her capability as a hunter. Considering how their first joined hunt went, he couldn't really blame her for that. But it's been two years since Philadelphia, and a year and a half since she had started hunting with them. She should have known by now that he knew she was more than capable. Still a lot to learn, but a good hunter nonetheless.
So when Dean told her that she could just wait for him and Sammy in their motel room, it wasn't meant to be an insult or even anything near that.
Jo didn't like the cold weather. She had made it clear by her constant complaining since they had crossed the Canadian border earlier that day. So he thought maybe he would do her a favor and let them handle the questioning this time. It would spare him from her complaining too, but he wouldn't say that.
But Jo said no. A job is a job. Even if it included chasing a Wendigo all the way to Canada in late December. For all her lack of experience, Jo sure paid it with her dedication like no one else. Or stubbornness.
"It won't do much good anyway," Jo grumbled as she sidestepped a rather treacherous patch of ice beside him. "The heater is busted. Besides, it's faster with the three of us. And the faster we get the info, the faster we can find this ugly son of a bitch, kill it, and get the hell out of here."
"True," Sam chipped in. "But Jo, don't you think you're exaggerating a bit with all that clothes?"
The girl in question turned her head and huffed at the younger Winchester, causing a thin white puff of air to form in front of her mouth as she spoke. "Do you want me to get a frostbite or something? I wasn't made for this kind of weather, Sam."
"None of us are, sweetheart," Dean said cheerily.
"But you don't see me or Dean putting twenty layers of clothing just to go to a diner one block away," Sam added. And somehow Dean could hear the grin in his voice even without looking.
Jo had taken the whole wear layers in cold weather thing to a next level. By the looks of it, she wore several layers of clothing underneath that two size bigger grey jacket. Her matching scarf bunched up messily at the front, and her face was barely visible from the large hood of her jacket.
"You two have been on the road for God knows how long you probably had developed some sort of immunity to drastic weather changes," Jo reasoned stubbornly. "And it's only four or five layers. I wouldn't be able to walk with twenty layers of clothing, dumbass. I thought you're the smart one around here, Sam."
"It's just... It makes you looks like a squirrel, you know. Especially with all that fur," Sam gestured to her jacket's hood, which was rimmed by a thick brownish fur.
Dean snorted so hard at Sam's remark that Jo glared at him first before turning her murderous stare to his brother. He couldn't really decide whether Sam was in one of his juvenile moods or just plain suicidal.
"A squirrel?" Jo said menacingly low.
"Uhuh," Sam nodded, his expression faked seriousness. "A squirrel. Small, brown, acorn eating animals?"
"I know what a squirrel is!" Jo snapped.
"Don't worry, Jo," Sam said, patting her head through the hood of her jacket. "You make a very cute squirrel."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Does it not?" Sam asked back, grinning from ear to ear.
Jo scrunched her nose for a moment, as if thinking whether she should be further offended or not. "Only a little," she finally said. "You see, Sam…."
And somehow the argument of whether the current weather was cold or freezing was forgotten in favor of the squirrel argument. The two of them kept bickering all the way to the diner. Dean watched them with mild amusement in his eyes. His brother had really taken a liking to teasing Jo, he thought. Some days Dean would looked at them and wonder whether Sammy was sweet on her or that he saw her as the little sister he never had. The thought usually followed by something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach, so Dean never dwelled on it. He was just happy that Sam was happy, that Jo was able to draw the playful side of him. But he did agree with him in one thing. Jo made a very cute squirrel. Dean never thought that there would come a day when he would think someone looks attractive with that much layer of clothing.