Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
before you got afraid / I wish that you would've stayed that way
Charlotte Gainsbourg.
One year, seven months, two weeks, six days, five hours, seventeen minutes and, at last count, twenty-five seconds since Jo has been on her own.
The moment she stopped sniveling like a little girl in the field behind the Roadhouse after learning the truth about Winchesters, she packed a bag, gathered the rest of her poker money, and hit the road without looking back.
She heard the news about Ash through the grapevine; took her anger and grief out on a rogue Nymph causing mischief in Rushville instead of goin' to the funeral.
She heard the news about Dean straight from her mother's mouth; ended the phone call and got so drunk she couldn't remember where the bloody knuckles on her left hand came from in the morning.
She heard the news about Sam from Dennis O'Callaghan, an old family friend; felt a little sharp pang at the boy's name and memories of my daddy shot your daddy in the head before she took a deep breath and said she'd knock a whole lot of sense into that thick skull of Sam's if she ever saw him again.
Over the weeks, she's stumbled upon the rumors. About the Devil's Gates being broken all over and demons gettin' out left and right. How when that classic, shiny black car known 'round the country rolls up, it means death. She's even heard about the way monsters are gettin' spooked by something just beyond the horizon.
Instead of three knives constantly on her, she wears five.
Today's no exception; walks into some backwater diner in the middle of Georgia with her head held high and that Hunter Swagger to her step.
She know, seriously, she knows she's not the best at this, and that she's got a long fucking way to go, but she's trying her damned hardest and that quivery-edged-constantly-on-alert gait has worked its way into her footfalls.
"Table for one?" some perky little waitress with too much red lipstick and big, bright hair grins at her when she stops at the please wait to be seated podium.
Eyes running over every face in every booth, Jo nods. "Yeah, one." It's been lone wolf style for a while, and by now, she's used to it. Got over missin' company a long time ago.
"Right this way," the waitress says, a little bounce in her step and Jo wonders how the hell she can be so chipper. Jo's been the one pickin' the broken glass off the floor before, and the only attitude it ever gave her was a bitchy one.
Guess everyone gets along differently… A shake of her head and Jo's trailing behind the waitress in an easy manner; scoped out enough to know there's no immediate threat, yet still vigilant around the edges. Ever since Duluth, she's been cautious as a timid rabbit running from a hungry fox.
The vinyl rubs against the bare of Jo's thighs– it's June, and it's hot and someone can just fucking bite her if they've got a problem with a hunter wearing Daisy Dukes– when she sits in her assigned booth. Grabs out a menu from between the napkin dispenser and salt shaker, points to the nearest thing before the waitress even gets a real chance to introduce herself or anything.
"Oh," is all Jo's server says in response; takes the menu and tucks it under her arm. "…Do ya' want anythin' to drink, darlin'?"
"Coffee," Jo says. "Black."
When she's left to herself, Jo takes the free moment to pull out the map she has stowed away in her back pocket. Usually it sits pleasant in her pickup, tucked into the glove department along with salt, holy water, and a handgun. Today though, she's makin' a special exception to bring the ink/coffee stained paper into daylight.
Her jobs have been runnin' slow for a little while, figures it's because monsters aren't all that happy with the overwhelming heat either. Then again, this Hell on Earth could be their doing and they're just sittin' back to enjoy the show… Jo shakes her head, eyes on the map because she's gotta find an Active Zone soon before this empty road and seedy motel with no action spell kills her.
There's some promise in Nevada, little blips of demonic activity, but she can bet it's a lot fucking hotter there than here, and Jo's not really one to be masochistic. Well, she is when it comes to Winchesters, but like her pride will let her admit that out loud.
"So that's a no," she says to herself, flips the map over and tours around the scenic routes in wonder of a case.
There's barely anything, and for a moment she wonders if maybe her research skills are hindering to be this short on something to hunt in such a chaos filled time. Just last week, Dennis called her about another gate gettin' blown open.
Damn demons, she thinks to herself dryly, wants to blame everything on them.
My daddy shot your daddy in the head and she thanks a God she kinda-sorta believes in when her food arrives.
It's two in the afternoon and she's got a plate of pancakes and bacon. But that's kind of whatever, because anymore she doesn't taste the food or the caffeine or the alcohol, just shoves it down and waits for the impending stomach ache.
"Can I get ya' anything else, darlin'?" the waitress asks, her apron a little lopsided on her round hips from shuffling over with a tray.
"Naw," Jo smiles, laidback, easy like she is with clients. "I'm good, thank you." Takes a sip of her coffee and mmm's appropriately to ease minds.
The waitress leaves her to the food and map with a nod and grin, giving a wane glance like she wants to be of more help. Jo thinks it's a bit nice to know there's still decent people, before snatching a bite of bacon and staring back down at lines of red felt marker and blotted ink.
She's deciding between Tampa and Chillicothe when her cell rings. Some battered Envy that she replaced the old one with after Philly. "Hello?" Jo asks the moment the answer button is pressed.
"Hey there, Jo-glow," is the answering voice; muted laughter of a bar in the background and Jo can almost smell the cigarette smoke of Dennis's old hunting jacket. "How's it hanging, girly?"
"All right," she says, good-naturedly. "How about you?"
Dennis snorts. "Busy, as usual… Which is actually why I called."
"Need me to save your ass again?" Jo taunts playfully. She remembers a case back in Salt Lake City where he'd been holding himself together with Ace bandages and called her for backup; it was her first black dog and it chased her into a tree for hours until she finally got her wits and stabbed the thing in the throat with a branch before blasting it to kingdom come.
"Naw," Dennis chuckles, brings her back to the present. "It's not me that needs the savin' this time, girly… Ya' see, I promised an old friend some help out in Tinsel Town, but I've kind of hit a dilemma in the latest case I'm on right now. Ghouls are a lot stronger than I remembered… Anyways, this old friend in the city of glitz and glam, she's kind of desperate. Has this old hotel she inherited from the family that she's just got started up and runnin' and it's got some spirit activity on the unopened floors… I was wondering if you could help a guy out and take a look for me?"
"I don't know," Jo murmurs, tallies the drive in her head and how much cash she's got from bets and ripoffs for gas and supplies. "That's pretty far, Dennis."
"Aw, come on Jo-glow. An old man like me can only do so much at once! I've phoned a few friends, but none of 'em have gotten back to me…"
A paused silence between the two and then Jo sighs, because hell, like she really has anything better to do? "Alright," she says, signing her fate.
Dennis gives a thrilled sweet and promises he'll text her the directions for the case, even though Dennis is about as good with directions as he is at keeping his beer down, which means not good at all. Jo rolls her eyes and gives a short goodbye before hanging up; shells some money out on the table, way too much and writes a little keep the change on her napkin in syrup.
When she's in the parking lot, Jo chances a glance through the diner's window to catch her waitress smiling from ear to ear.
Jo chuckles and hops into the cab of the old pickup she bartered off of Ash before she left home; backs out of the lot and listens to the chorus of Dream On fill the space around her as Dennis's message patches through.
One hand on the wheel as she drives along a forest surrounded road, she looks at her phone's screen in slight anticipation.
Valentine Hotel, Hollywood California. Follow the old roads until you find the nearest Shining looking kind of place, and you're there. Good luck.
Jo sighs; shucks her phone onto the seat next to her and stares blank at the road.
Valentine Hotel and the name rings like a bad taste in her mouth…
Two months, three weeks, six days, two hours, five minutes and at last count, nine seconds since he's been on his own.
Doesn't care for anyone or anything and can't find the time to feel guilty for that. Gets by whatever ways he can and if that means others don't make it out and he does, then alright…
It's been two days since he's had a case and the thoughts are threatening to drown him; gets a call from Bobby about a hunt in Hollywood that needs looked at for a busy friend, and he's on his way, shiny black car purring across pavement and unmarked roads.
Valentine Hotel and there's this stupid little flick of hope in the back of his mind.