Dean's eyes snap open as he wakes up, body tense and heart beating wildly. He doesn't know what it is that woke him. He hadn't dreamt. Or, at least, doesn't remember if he did. The sun's up, but he doesn't think it's all that early. Not very late, either. He's still on his back and he's not alone.
Looking down, he notices Jo's still asleep, still clinging to him. In the same position they'd fallen asleep in. She's got an arm thrown over his stomach, palm to his scars, and a leg between his own. Her breathing is slow and even, which helps to calm him down somewhat.
It feels good. To wake up to another person holding him, a soothing presence. It's relaxing and he thinks he could get used to this kind of intimacy. But then he panics for a moment, as Zachariah's implication crosses his mind unbidden. The danger that being close to him puts her in. His heartbeat skyrockets again and he has to make a conscious effort to not start hyperventilating.
If Zachariah didn't just lie to mess with him, Jo was supposed to die in Carthage. Dean's hit with another wave of relief that whatever had interfered had changed that outcome. She's alive. Warm and breathing and in his arms. He reminds himself of this fact over and over like a mantra, inhales deeply. His pulse gradually returns to normal. He loosens up.
She's alive. Jo's alive and Dean plans to make it stick, no matter what. He can't help the worry, though. But he reins it in because she's her own person and an adult. She's a hunter too. She can decide for herself if she wants to be his friend. Or anything more than that.
Dean doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he really likes Jo. As scared as he is that she'll get hurt, he hopes that she'll choose to stick around him. At least for a while longer. Nevertheless, he's determined to respect her wishes, regardless of what those might be.
Maybe she'll join him and Sam on a few hunts. Or maybe the two of them can go do a few cases and Sam can go with Ellen. If Ellen doesn't shoot him first. But again, Jo can choose for herself. And something tells him that Ellen will respect that now. The mother and daughter duo had changed since he'd first met them.
Jo stirs then and his train of thought is derailed for the time being. She looks up at him and smiles tentatively, squinting as the sun falls across her face. Dean's struck by how beautiful she looks.
Her hair's a mess. There's a line on her cheek where a crease in his shirt left a mark. She's gorgeous. His heart almost beats out of his chest, this time for an entirely different reason. And he realizes—once again—that he's so screwed.
"Good morning," she says, voice still husky with sleep.
"Mornin'," he whispers back. His own voice still hasn't completely returned.
Jo hesitates for a split second, then leans forward and gives him a chaste kiss on the lips. Dean splays his fingers on her back, between her shoulder blades. Inhales deeply. He wants to kiss her properly. But he doesn't. Now's not the time for that sort of thing. They need to talk first. And she seems to understand that too, because she doesn't linger, simply pulls back. The same tentative smile from the night before makes a reappearance.
Dean lets her use the bathroom first. For a moment, it looks like she wants to argue, but then changes her mind. He tries his best to convey through his expression that it's not a macho gentleman act. He's just tired and wants to stretch out his sore muscles a while longer.
As soon as Jo's out of the room, a deep ache settles beneath his newly acquired scars. Like a phantom pain. It hadn't been there all night long. He'd almost forgotten about it, Jo being there having probably distracted him. But, now that he thinks about it, that pain had been constant all through his drive back to Bobby's house. Looking back, he realizes it'd only subsided when he'd been in close proximity to Jo.
The ache melts away when Jo returns and cedes the use of the bathroom to him. When it starts up again as he's brushing his teeth, Dean realizes that Zachariah may not have told him everything. He forgoes showering, for now, deciding that having something to eat is preferable. Jo's waiting for him in the hall.
She'd also changed into fresh clothes. Jeans, this time, and a light green t-shirt, the sleeves not quite long enough to completely cover her own scars. Dean swallows hard and pushes down the dark thoughts. Nope, not thinking about it.
"Hey," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "are your scars giving you any trouble?"
"A bit, yeah," Jo says, frowns. "Not a lot, though. It's more like there's... a big bruise on that spot, you know."
"It feels tender?"
"Yeah, sort of," she says. She runs a hand along her upper arm, looking confused. "It's like just under the skin, but at the same time, much deeper. But…"
Her eyes widen when she looks at him. Dean knows she's just figured it out, same as him. He nods.
"It doesn't hurt right now," he says. "But it did when you left the room. And while I was in there." He points towards the bathroom.
"When we're close to each other, it stops." She frowns again, experimentally squeezing her arm. "But why?"
"I have no idea," Dean says, feeling just as perplexed as she seems to be. He shrugs, then, and gives her a shit-eating grin. Waggles his eyebrows. "Although I'm not complaining."
That breaks the tension and they both burst into laughter. Dean's thrilled that she gets the joke behind his words. God, he's so screwed!
"We could ask Cas about it when he comes back," she says once she's stopped giggling. "Maybe he can tell us what's going on."
"Yeah, we probably should."
Jo motions for him to head towards the stairs and follows when he does so. He can hear sounds from downstairs, now. The others have probably been awake for a while. But he takes it easy, doesn't rush. He's still a little unsteady. And, no matter how much he wants to see for himself that his makeshift family is okay, he doesn't want that to be via a tumble down the stairs.
The smell of breakfast assaults Dean's nostrils when they reach the kitchen. His stomach gives an involuntary growl. Which everyone seems to hear, because they all turn to look at him. Jo tries to hide her amuzed snort ineffectively.
Upon seeing Dean, Sam jumps up from his seat at the table and tackles him in a, surprizingly gentle, bear hug. Dean returns it, patting his Sasquatch of a brother on the back a few times.
"'m sorry," Dean murmurs.
He knows how hard it must have been for Sam to think that he was dead. To have to watch the building go up in flames. And then to have to face Lucifer himself, only for their plan to fail.
"Hey, it's okay," Sam says, releasing Dean and ushering him into the kitchen. "You're alive. That's all that matters right now."
"Sam's right," Ellen says, getting up. She comes closer and hugs him too. "No matter what, you're still kicking."
"Guess I'm harder to kill than those bitches thought," Dean whispers when she releases him.
Ellen gives him an impish smile, but doesn't say anything to that. He'd been a bit worried—okay, a lot—that, this time, she'd make a fuss about where her daughter's been. Ellen doesn't mention it, though. She doesn't look at him funny. There's not even a frown of disapproval. All he can read on her face is happiness and relief.
Although, Jo's whereabouts during the night hadn't been a mystery. The bedroom door had been open, so she must have seen them.
A few years ago, Dean's sure that Ellen would have threatened to shoot him in the balls for even thinking of touching her daughter. And if he had done it, back then, and she found out… well. She'd have killed him dead and made sure no one ever found the body.
"If ya even think about sitting down to eat before hugging me," Bobby pipes up then, and wheels himself closer, "I'm gonna kneecap you, boy!"
That gets a laugh out of everyone. Dean obliges. As he bends down, Bobby's arms engulf him and he's squeezed hard. Not enough to hurt, though. He's not sure if the pain is absent just because Jo's nearby. More than likely, he thinks, as the possibility of the whole ordeal being over sounds too good to be true.
When Dean pulls back, his stomach gives another growl. Ellen smirks and motions for him to sit. He does that, making sure to take the chair right next to Jo's. She gravitates towards him and leans her head on his shoulder, while Ellen and Sam dish out the food. Dean's stomach does a funny little flip. Nothing to do with hunger this time, though.
They eat in silence. Bacon and eggs—Dean gets a generous helping—and pancakes afterward. Dean notices the other three eyeing the closeness between him and Jo. And exchanging looks. Like they know what's going on, but don't want to burst the happy bubble by bringing it up.
He feels the sudden desire to put his arm around Jo and draw her closer. To show her some affection in public. But he doesn't want to cross any boundaries. Or to put any pressure on her. He reminds himself that they need to talk first, to figure out what this is between them.
He holds himself back because it's the right thing to do, despite it feeling like torture. Dean's tired of having no one but his brother as a constant in his life. Not that Sam isn't enough. Yet the events of the past few days have shown him that he might just be able to have that. To have more. Especially the previous night. Because the way Jo'd dealt with his freak-out and his inability to speak have convinced him that she can handle him. She'd seen him broken and vulnerable, seen some of his jagged edges, and hadn't run for the hills. Even stayed with him for the night. If she's willing to give this growing attraction between them a shot…
Sam brings the coffee over, which snaps Dean back to the present. He grabs his plate and makes to stand up, but Ellen gives him a stern look. Gestures for him to not even think about it. Sam snatches the plate from his hand.
Over steaming mugs of coffee, they talk about what happened after the explosion. Dean's heart just about stops when he hears how close Jo'd gotten to Lucifer. He's proud of her, though. She shot the Devil. A clean and accurate head-shot. He gets the urge to kiss her again, same as last night.
By the time Dean recounts his part, Sam'd had to brew another pot of coffee. Jo pipes up now and then when he reaches the part only the two of them were present for. He's grateful for that. Because his voice, which hasn't fully come back yet, occasionally acts up.
It's almost noon when they're finished. The discussion veers into a different direction, the subject changing to how to solve their Lucifer problem.
"I wonder," Dean croaks, clears his throat, "if Crowley knew. If… if he set us up." He drains the last of his coffee. "Or maybe he really thought it'd work."
"Well, the gun itself works," Ellen says. She's drying the dishes Sam washes up. "It did knock Lucifer out for a few moments. And it killed those hellhounds you shot. So it's not kaput."
"That doesn't mean Crowley didn't know it could fail," says Jo, head leaning once more on Dean's shoulder. "Who's to say that this wasn't an elaborate plan to trick us into going to Carthage? I mean, if he's working under Lucifer's orders, he could have set this whole thing up to get us there. Get the Devil's vessel closer to him without breaking a sweat."
"Lure us into a trap?" Dean asks, pensive. "But then, why send in Meg and her hellhounds?"
"To make it look authentic?" Sam shrugs as he says it, handing the last of the plates to Ellen. "I dunno. It does seem a bit convoluted, though."
"We need to figure out a way to find out if we can trust Crowley," Dean says, swipes a hand over his face. He feels tired again. "And if we can't, we'll put a bullet in his head." He pauses, thinking. "How many of those we still have, anyway?"
"No idea," says Sam, at the same time Bobby pipes up with "at least five."
"Sounds like a plan," Ellen says. She points to the former dining room, which moonlights as a living space. "Now go lie down. 'Cause you look beat." After half-a-second's pause she adds, looking to Jo. "Keep an eye on him, will ya honey?"
Jo turns to Dean, then, and smiles wide, ear to ear. Mischief incarnate. He's seen that one before, a few times, years ago. In Philadelphia. As he gets up to stumble to the couch, he grins back, more subdued. Ellen's right. He's dead on his feet and some rest sounds particularly enticing.
He only plans on relaxing for a while, not actually sleeping, but when his head hits the pillows—left there from last night—it's an instant lights out. Some time later, when he resurfaces from a dreamless sleep, Dean realizes it's already dark.
"Cas came by," Jo says from her spot in the armchair. "I couldn't bring myself to wake you, though. You slept like a baby." She bites her bottom lip for a second before she continues. "I told him about those phantom pains we both have."
"What'd he say?"
"Said he'd look into it," she answers. "He tried to hide his reaction, but he seemed a little…" Jo pauses, swallows audibly as if the thought crossing her mind unsettles her, "not freaked out, exactly, but... more than just worried. I don't know the guy all that well, so I could be wrong."
Dean wants to say something to ease her obvious concern. He doesn't know what, though, so he keeps that kind of bullshit to himself. It's not the time to make light of the situation.
"Cas can be… pretty intense sometimes," he says as he gets up. "And he's not the best at human interaction."
"I could tell," Jo mumbles, a small laugh escaping her nevertheless. "He's kinda weird." She gets up too. "Not in a bad way. Just enough to make it obvious that he's…" she trails off, at a loss for words.
"Not human," Dean continues.
"Yeah." Another pause. "He's a good guy, though."
"Been a pretty chill friend since realizing his bosses are all assholes."
His quip gets Jo to smile and Dean's happy that it'd dissipated the uncomfortable atmosphere.
"Come on," Jo says, taking his hand and slowly leading him into the kitchen. "Mom made a casserole."
Dean's stomach gives an interested growl, which makes Jo laugh again. He nudges her with his shoulder.
"Sam helped her," she goes on, as she pulls a chair out for him and heads to the cabinet to grab plates.
"Anyone tested it yet?"
"The two of them and Bobby tried it."
Dean looks around and only then hears Bobby's voice drifting over from the direction of his desk. Sam and Ellen aren't in the house, by the looks of it.
"Where are they?" Dean asks, trying for utmost seriousness and almost failing. "They still kickin', right? I mean, Sam's not chef of the year, so..."
It takes them a long time to stop laughing after that. They have tears in their eyes when they finally calm down. Bobby even comes to check what the whole fuss is about and joins in on the fun. It feels good.
Despite his voice still sounding like he'd swapped vocal chords with a raven, Dean feels as if he can finally breathe again. He's sure it won't be long before the next shit show hits. And then, the following one. But he's determined to enjoy the moments in between, where everything is brighter. They can engage in happy banter and savor each other's presence. Because they're alive and they can. Dean'll take whatever he can get. And whatever the others are willing to share.
Ellen and Sam show up a little while later, with beer and a couple of pies. They'd gone shopping, apparently. The casserole is really good. Sam's help notwithstanding. Dean makes a mental note to ask Ellen for the recipe. Maybe, when the world's not on the brink of ending, he can try his hand at cooking it. They make fun of Sam for a bit, too, but his brother grins and bears it. Everyone has a good time, the apocalypse momentarily forgotten.
When it's time to clean up, they don't let Dean touch anything. Jo and Sam help Ellen put everything away, and Bobby heads over to the phones when they start ringing. He mutters something about Rufus being a pain in the ass as he wheels out of the room, but there's no heat to his words. Dean tries not to laugh at that.
He does try, though, to get away with throwing out the empty beer bottles. No luck. Ellen catches him in the act and kicks him out of the kitchen altogether. So he goes to the porch and drinks his beer in the crisp evening air.
It's not cold outside, even though the wind is pretty chilly. Dean wishes he had something stronger to drink, but he's not allowed to touch the whiskey for a few days. Ellen is adamant about that. And she's right, too. He still feels weak and wobbly sometimes, like one would be after blood-loss. As if Zachariah hadn't bothered with that—he probably hadn't—and had only done the bare minimum to ensure Dean's survival. Figures. Asshole angels and their damn priorities.
Dean shakes those thoughts out of his head. What's done is done. The end result—that he's alive—is what matters. Cheers to that, he thinks as he takes another swig of beer. He focuses on the fresh air. And the silence, that's only broken by the sound of laughter coming from inside the house every now and then.
He's almost finished his drink when Ellen comes out. She sits down in the free chair and hands him another bottle. And for a few moments, they drink in quiet companionship. Dean likes it. Even though he can't help but feel a little antsy about her being the one to join him. In the back of his mind, he's still a bit scared that she'll disapprove of him.
A jolt of pain lances through his side. He grunts, struggling not to wince. Ellen apparently notices his discomfort, because she puts a hand on his back, and starts rubbing up and down.
"You hurtin'?" Her touch is light and it helps. The pain ebbs away.
"A little," he says. "The dick angel didn't fix me up all the way. It'll heal, though. No big deal."
Ellen purses her lips. She obviously doesn't agree with his assessment, but he's not about to act like a big baby. He can take a bit of pain.
"You know," she says after a while, "Jo was pretty broken up about your… death." A pause. "I've only ever seen her that extremely upset about someone dying just a couple of times in the past. One of those was when her daddy passed away."
"I'm sorry." Dean doesn't really know how to reply to that.
"Another instance," Ellen goes on, "was when we found out that you'd bit the dust and gone to Hell. From a demon, nonetheless, bragging about it as we tried to exorcise the bitch." She takes a pull from her bottle. "Jo didn't talk to me for almost three weeks."
"Shit…" Dean takes a mouthful of beer too. God, right about now, he wishes for some whiskey. "I didn't tell her about the deal. Or that I was back. No wonder she gave me the cold shoulder in River Pass." He does a double take as Ellen's last sentence registers. "Wait, why was Jo pissed at you?"
"Because I knew," she says, "and didn't tell her." Another sip of beer. "At least when she left to become a hunter, she still sent me postcards. Those three weeks... she spent them here with Bobby, not wanting to even see me."
"Wow," Dean wipes a hand over his mouth. He'd had no idea. "I'm really sorry, Ellen."
"It's not your fault," Ellen says. "She was angry at me for not telling her. But when I found out from Bobby, about your deal, i knew I had to keep my mouth shut. Jo couldn't find out."
"Why?"
"Because she'd have wanted to do something stupid, like try to find you." Ellen swallows hard and closes her eyes briefly. "I didn't want her getting tangled up in that mess." She takes a deep breath, releases it. "Maybe I was wrong."
"No, you weren't. That's why I never called her after… I didn't want her in the middle of all the crap that's hounding me." He wants to laugh at the irony of the unintentional wordplay.
"And I'll always be grateful for that," says Ellen, puts a hand against the side of his face and moves her thumb a few times over his cheek. "But she's smack dab in the middle of it now. And you can't protect her forever. I've had to learn that the hard way."
Dean gulps when Ellen retracts her hand. It feels like there's a boulder sitting in his stomach. He doesn't know what to do about the mess of emotions chasing each other around in his head. He's lost for words. And so very confused.
"Why…? What…?" Dean stops, not able to articulate any of his thoughts.
"I'm just saying." Ellen sighs, seeming to understand what it is he really wants to know. "It's time the both of you got your heads out of your asses, while you still can. Life's too damn short to be foolin' around."
She gets up then and knocks back the rest of her beer in one go. For lack of anything better to do, Dean follows suit. Ellen takes his empty bottle on her way to the door.
"And thank you," she says, once she reaches the threshold.
"What for?" Dean's fingers feel numb.
"I know that hellhound could have hurt Jo worse if you hadn't shot it." She turns to look at him and smiles. "You saved my daughter's life, Dean. So thank you."
With that, Ellen steps inside and closes the door. Dean stares at the space she'd occupied for a few minutes, then gazes out at the yard. He tries to wrap his head around what he'd just been told. Doesn't know what to do with all that information. Ellen may not have spelled it out for him, but he doesn't have to be a rocket scientist to read between the lines.
Dean thinks back on all his interactions with Jo. At first, he hadn't really expected for them to be more than friends. Hadn't been looking for anything more, either. One of the reasons he'd thought better about hitting on her was in part because he'd been depressed at the time. His dad had died. He was a mess. It just didn't seem like the right time. And when it did, later on, he was maybe just a little terrified of Ellen. Okay, a lot.
But he liked Jo from the moment she'd punched him in the face. He saw in her a kindred spirit. Even though he'd tried to persuade her to drop her desire to become a hunter, he understood her reasoning. They'd had a lot in common.
It'd hurt when she'd practically told him to fuck off after finding out about his dad's involvement in her dad's death. For a while afterward, he'd been so God damn angry. At his father, for being an obsessed bastard in the first place, and then being reckless and getting another hunter killed. For not telling him about it. Because maybe if Dean had known, he could have told Jo himself, consequences be damned. She'd have still hated him, but he wouldn't have been blindsided by the whole thing.
And then, he'd thought that maybe it was better that way. If she knew the truth, she'd be less reckless herself. She'd be safer for it. But she'd gotten into hunting anyway. Dean knew she'd be damn good at it, even though he didn't want her on the front line.
And when the demon riding Sam had found her in that bar, his heart had been in his throat for the whole duration of that stand-off. He couldn't kill his brother. But he also couldn't let Jo get hurt because of him. It'd been one of the hardest things he'd had to do.
That incident had really driven it home. He had to stay away from her to keep her safe. He hadn't even entertained the idea, after, despite promising to call her, of ever getting her involved in his life again. Especially not with the crap him and Sam kept getting into.
It'd been Bobby's idea to call in backup on this latest hunt. If Dean had known anyone else, he'd have insisted on not bringing Jo and Ellen into this. All the other people Bobby knew—and trusted—were not available, though. So they'd had no other choice.
And at first, Dean'd been terrified. He still can't recall what possessed him to try his luck with her. Maybe he'd gotten the guts to give it a shot because, in the years since Duluth, Jo'd become this unattainable dream. One he'd always wanted. If he was going to die, why not aim for the stars?
He'd been more shocked by her coming to him later in the night, than at her rejection before that. And now that he knows Jo intimately, the feel and the taste of her, he realizes that he doesn't want to go back to the way things were. It freaks him out a bit, how much he now longs for her. But he shoves the panic down. He'll let her set the pace to what she wants, whatever that is. And maybe he shouldn't push her away again, like he did after Duluth. He'd let fear guide his relationships for so long. Perhaps it's time for a change.
As he debates how to approach Jo, given all that's happened, Dean realizes that the dull ache in his side had faded. Probably some time ago. He looks towards the door and finds Jo watching him. There's a slight frown on her face, like she's struggling to figure him out. Like he's the world's weirdest puzzle and she's determined to solve it. He motions for her to sit down.
"What's eating you?" she asks, claiming the empty chair.
"You," he answers. Gives her what he hopes is a crooked smile.
"Hmmm, tempting."
She laces her fingers together on her lap. Dean snorts at her reply.
"Your mom told me that you were really broken up about my… presumed demise." He tries to inject some levity into his words, not sure of his success. "Both times," he adds.
"It certainly wasn't fun," she says. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears and she chews on her bottom lip. Her voice breaks. "It's not something I'd like to go through again. Twice was more than enough to last me a lifetime."
"Yeah, about that," he takes one of her hands into his own, rubs a thumb over her knuckles. "I'm not sorry for not telling you about it. But I am for not calling you when I got back."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not," he echoes her words to him, from when they were trapped in that store. "I was trying to protect you, but I just ended up pushing you away." He draws a deep breath, then lets it out. Squeezes her fingers gently. "Back there, with my finger on the trigger, that was my greatest regret."
"Dean…"
"I should have at least given you the courtesy of letting you know that I was alive." He looks away for a moment, doesn't trust his voice. "How'd you find out? That I was back?" he asks in a hoarse whisper.
"Bobby called me," she says. It sounds like she's fighting not to cry. "I was pissed for a while. Then I figured you didn't care."
"No, Jo, I did care," he says. "The only thing I didn't want was for you to be in harm's way."
"Dean, it is okay," Jo emphasizes her words by framing his face in both her hands. "I get it. You were trying to look out for me, even though I didn't really need it." She uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears that'd escaped him. "But that's the past. Maybe, if I'd been in your shoes, I'd have done the same."
Dean nods and fights tooth and nail to regain his composure. By the looks of it, she does too. They sit in silence for a few minutes once they've calmed down. Just breathing. When he can trust his voice not to waver, he speaks again.
"Why'd you come to me, that night?" He clears his throat. "Why'd you change your mind? Did… did you just need a distraction or was it… something more?"
"A bit of both," she says after a split second of hesitation. "I… I thought that, if it was really my last night on Earth, I might as well…" she smirks, "go out with a bang."
Dean laughs. She does too.
"And…" she continues, "I'd sort of dreamed of it for so long… I didn't wanna look back and wish I'd done things differently. There's no time like the present, right?" She lets go of his face and takes both of his hands into hers, mirroring his earlier actions. Looks him straight in the eyes. "I don't regret it."
"Neither do I," he says, without hesitating. "Wait, you dreamed of…"
"Shut up."
That gets them laughing again. The more they talk about it, the easier it feels. The panic that'd been ever present in the background of Dean's mind starts to fade away, little by little.
"So, where do we go from here?" he finally asks after a long moment of silence.
He knows it's a loaded question. Knows it might be too early, that they probably need more time. But he can't help it. He's overcome by the urge to kiss her once more and has to make a concerted effort to keep his excitement in check.
"If we're gonna go anywhere," she says, "it's gonna have to be something meaningful. I'm not looking for a fuck buddy, Dean."
"I didn't think you were." He draws her a bit closer and she doesn't resist. "If you'll have me, warts and all, I'll be yours. Whatever you want me to be. I mean it."
"Good."
Jo leans forward a bit more, then, and kisses him. It's soft and—like this morning—chaste. He raises one of his hands to cup her cheek and rubs his nose against hers when she pulls back.
"You better not die on me again," she whispers, eyes still closed. "'Cause I'll find a way to bring you back and kick your sorry ass."
Dean thinks his heart might just burst, he's so happy to hear her say that. They can make this work. Screw Heaven. And screw Hell too. It'll be them against all of existence. And Dean's not planning on letting anyone, or anything, ruin this.