The rest of the afternoon went without incident, aside from the fact that Jo discreetly nicked one of Sam's jackets when he was in the shower. She knew he wouldn't mind, and inwardly she didn't want to have to ask Dean for another article of his clothing. She'd returned his singlet but she was still wearing his possession charm and that was enough to compensate.
Dean didn't speak to her after the encounter in the shower, but he didn't seem too angry either, so she got dressed with a relatively angst-free gut. She hated that heavy feeling that sometimes pressed on her insides like solid stone. It was agony.
They settled into the Impala, the boys in the front and Jo in the back, as per normal. Jo withdrew the Jericho from her belt, flipped open the magazine to observe the five sterling bullets and the one empty bullet hole, scrubbing the metallic exterior affectionately before replacing it at her waist.
"So, what's the plan of action?" said Dean finally, guiding the Impala down the street with a staunch expression.
Sam shuffled and observed the tickets in his hands, blinking to decipher the writing in the shaky light streaming in from the streetlights outside.
"You and Jo have seats together on the left side of the theatre, back row, aisle seats. I'm on the aisle on the right. The girl, aah… Lucy, she's one row ahead, center. We should have equal coverage of the aisles if anything happens."
"What are you going to do if the hound goes directly to her seat? You won't be able to see that from the aisles," Jo pointed out.
"That's true," conceded Sam thoughtfully.
"Well planned," growled Dean with a scathing stare at his younger brother before re-fixing his eyes on the road.
Sam bristled slightly, narrowing his brows.
"What would you have me do, Dean? Walk in with a sniper rifle?" Sam looked surly, and swigged the can of diet coke resting precariously on his leg.
"Well, yeah? Why don't you tell me, Osama?" replied Dean with emphasis.
Sam blanched and accidentally sprayed the diet coke all over the dashboard. Dean looked scandalized.
"Oh… my god. I've heard a lot of bad digs about my name, but that… that takes the cake, Dean," spluttered Sam, eyes streaming.
"Well, you deserve it. Clean it up," he added, tossing Sam some tissues. Resentful, but obliging, Sam began to clean up the coke.
"And besides," continued on Dean with a shrug, digging underneath his seat while simultaneously keeping his eyes on the road. After a moment of rummaging he came up with something that looked suspiciously like an M40A3.
"Oh please god, tell me that's not a sniper rifle," gasped Jo witheringly, nails digging into the upholstery. There was an awkward, terse pause
"…that's a sniper rifle," chimed Sam weakly. Dean looked around at them in an innocent way as if he didn't understand how his plan could fail.
"Dean, how the hell do you expect to smuggle in a DMR into a fucking musical, for god's sake?" asked Jo, uncomprehending. His stupidity amazed her sometimes. Dean chuckled.
"Breathe deeply," he replied in a patronizing sort of way, turning to meet her eyes briefly before he turned his attention back to the gun, sliding off the telescopic view from the top of the rifle before replacing it under the seat and tossing it to Sam.
Sam caught it, bewildered.
"Put it on the Beretta. You might not get the range but you'll get the accuracy, and you should see the thing pretty clearly if it shows up."
"Holy crap, Dean," snapped Sam, expelling his breath in a relieved, though somewhat pained sigh. "You scared the crap out of me."
"Keep your panties on. I'm not an idiot, Samantha."
"Alright, come on, stop it with the 'Samantha'. It's overused and stupid. And it isn't funny anymore."
"It's hilarious. Your sense of humor is just shit."
"Oh, really?" snapped Sam, switching back into his highbeam mode with generally meant he was going to come back with something cutting. Jo watched on with vague interest.
"I still find the notion that the name 'Dean' means 'valley' pretty amusing."
Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"No laughs for you, Sammy," he replied lazily, quirking his brows. "And that's like, a million years old, thought you'd have grown out of that by now…"
"Or, there's the ever looming manner of your second given name…"
Dean jerked and the Impala zoomed across the road before he managed to steady it. Jo, caught off balance, went flying into the door with a discontented 'oomph.' Sam laughed.
"No you don't, Sammy boy," growled Dean tersely. "Don't you dare use that against me. Or I swear to god I'll throw you out of the car right now…"
"You brought it upon yourself when you called me 'Osama,'" reasoned Sam imperialistically, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Shut up, Sam. Shut up now, or you're walking…"
"Really? You going to turf me out? Dean…"
"Yes, I will…"
"-valley.."
"Don't even start …"
"Too late…"
"You're going to wake up with a faceful of shaving cream in the morning,"
"At least my middle name isn't 'Gertrude," replied Sam, his grin growing wider and wider still until his dimples looked as if they were eating his face.
There was a long, electric, painful silence. Jo held back a giggle.
"Wow," she said finally, gnawing on her lip with a grin. "Eheh.. That must really suck."
"You're going down," said Dean after a moment, using that steely no-nonsense tone which said he wasn't joking.
"Really?' said Sam mildly, not sounding particularly ruffled.
"Yes. It's on, little brother."
"No, it isn't. I'm not bending to your level."
"Well, good. You can take it all without complaint then, because I'm telling you now, your life is forfeit."
Jo was struck with a sudden stroke of brilliance and she immediately dug out her phone, the boys still bickering up the front. She turned on Bluetooth and Sam's name soon popped up on her screen. He'd left it on. Excellent.
A shrill beeping in the front seat shocked Sam from the argument and he pulled out his phone, looking quizzical, turning to fix Jo with a curious look.
"What are you sending me?" he asked, suspicious.
"Accept it."
Sam shrugged and warily connected the Bluetooth. Jo snuggled contentedly into the back seat until it finished the transfer and Sam snorted quite loudly as the image of Dean gnawing on his pillow popped up on his screen.
"What is it?" asked Dean suspiciously, craning his neck to try and take a look.
"Nothing," said Sam quickly, wriggling out of reach and continuing to play with his phone. Jo suspected by the smug expression and the punctual chuckles that he was probably sending it to anybody in his phonebook who had ever come into contact with Dean. Served him right.
"We're here," said Dean, pulling into the crowded car park and somehow immediately snapping up a parking space not far from the entrance.
"Sam, you go first. Me and Jo will play man-and-wife."
"Don't be too long," suggested Sam, before swinging his long legs out of the car and making his way toward the queue at the entrance.
Jo edged forward on the seat and leaned forward through the space, supporting herself on Sam's vacated seat.
"Why don't we all go in together?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Sam and I are escaped criminal masterminds, Jo," he reminded her. "They're looking for two brothers, not a man and his girlfriend. It's easier this way."
Jo shrugged and settled back down on her seat.
Once Sam had filed through the ticket booth without fuss, they followed suite, exiting the car and making their way toward the lineup.
Jo knew they were playing happy family again but it still shocked her slightly when Dean snaked an arm across her waist and pulled her tight. She obligingly rested her hand on the small of his back, smiling winsomely as the pimply seat attendant came into view.
"How many?" he croaked in a vague sort of way. He looked rather dim-witted, to say the least.
Dean looked to Jo, to the boy, to Jo and back to the boy again. His expression became slightly ludicrous.
"Oh, I don't know," said Dean scornfully. "I can't count that high, either."
Jo stomped down hard on his foot and the boy blinked at him as if he had just been slapped with a wet fish.
"Uuuh, two," said Jo, snatching the tickets out of Dean's hand and offering them to the boy with a sheepish smile. "Two seats, please."
Once the boy had ripped their tickets and they were safely out of his earshot, Jo gently clouted Dean over the head.
"You jackass," she snorted, shaking her head.
"He was an idiot," said Dean defensively.
"So what? Have you filled your asshole quota for the day, Dean? Or should I find you another hormonally challenged teenager to insult?"
Dean said nothing but the silence was slightly abashed and Jo smacked him on the ass in a playful sort of way to lighten the mood.
"Look, just try and keep your mouth shut. We need to keep the girl safe, that's the main priority."
The theatre was cold. Perhaps eerily so. Jo knew that it was deliberate, to set the mood- there were mist machines working on stage, after all- but still, her mind told her that cold was bad and she subconsciously drew Sam's jacket tighter around herself.
"Can you see him?" said Jo, teeth chattering.
"Not yet," said Dean though Jo could see his eyes swiftly moving back and forth over the crowd in search of his brother.
Their seats were at the very back of the theatre, in the row. Dean took the seat at the very edge of the aisle and Jo sat beside him, on an angle, her back shielding him from view as he silently withdrew his pistol and lay it between his knees.
"There he is," hissed Jo, inclining her head to Sam, sitting on the other edge of the theatre, near the other aisle. He had not yet seen them- his eyes were roving down the aisle.
"There's the girl," said Dean not long after, giving a short nod towards the blonde in the next block of seats, second row from the back.
"Don't get distracted by the show," he suggested, and though Jo could already feel the music pulling her attention, she nodded.
The lights dimmed before long, bringing the cold to a whole new level. She huffed and crossed her arms as the stage was illuminated with a blue light.
She ignored it for as long as she could, eyes peeled for any anomalies in the crowd. But soon the demanding actors on the stage managed to ensnare her and she looked up briefly to watch.
There was an old woman beating a young boy, the younger phantom, other dancers singing a crescendo in the background.
"You damn demon! Villain! Ne'er do-well! Libertine! Dangerous! Hideous! Monstrous! BEAST!"
Damn it, the music was contagious, captivating. Jo tore her eyes away and resolutely stared down the aisle. And damn it! It was cold!
She shoved her hands into Sam's pockets, fisting her fingers, biting down on her lip. Nothing strange so far.
Something metallic and hard was pressing at her fingers and she paused momentarily before pulling it from Sam's the jacket pocket. At first she thought it was a pin or perhaps a pen-lid he'd left there, but it was a different texture, foreign.
She blinked and looked down to her palm, spreading her fingers, observing it in the dim filtered lights from the stage.
Her nerves were suddenly set alight, horror trapping her gut. Her eyes flickered to Sam sitting across the way and then to Dean. She tugged at his jacket sleeve.
"Dean!"
He didn't reply.
"DEAN!" her voice was urgent, demanding. Her fingernails closed on his forearm and demanding his attention. He turned, impatient.
"What is it?" he asked, green eyes effervescent in the light, flickering across her face.
She unfurled her fingers ad throat forward her palm. Dean's eyes followed.
It was a charm- a possession charm. Sam's possession charm.
Dean paused as the implications registered. Jo squirmed and dropped the amulet into his lap. Dean paused, huffed, and laced it around his neck for safekeeping.
"I can understand him forgetting it after the shower, but… stowing it away…. he's not that stupid, or wily," whispered Dean, addressing the conclusion they had both drawn in unison.
"What do we do?" she implored, eyeing over the blissfully unaware Sam, watching the aisle on the other end of the theatre.
"You stay here, watch the girl, and watch Sam. I'll be back soon. Don't let anything happen, you understand?"
"Yeah."
"Shoot first, ask questions later."
"Okay."
"Don't shoot Sam."
"I won't."
Dean's hand touched her cheek on the spur of the moment and he looked for a moment as it might turn into something more intense, but he hesitated. It was a lurid farewell and he left it at that. With a curt nod, he slipped inconspicuously from his seat and moved to the exit at the back of the theatre.