baby.... we could've been so perfect together

Broken Open - 4/?

2022-03-18T06:34:00Z

Sam leaves, and she sees death.

He leaves, and she can’t stop seeing fallen bodies, demons lurking, or some vengeful spirits pacing around like it’s fucking Christmas; and she tries. God, she tries so hard to shield her eyes but the hunter in her says it's foolish to try; so she sets a devil's trap under the rug and puts holy water near her bed. She also puts a gun by her night stand for safety purposes. Jo feels her fingers twitches and tastes the familiar burning on her tongue. It makes her wants to pack up and just fucking leave the normalcy that she has managed to build; but she doesn’t because she remembers the price tag that comes with a hunter’s life; so she stays as long as she could until she sees claw marks on her door, smeared with blood.

It's the same old shit again.

When Michael comes home, he asks why she’s cleaning the door.

She gives him a half-confused, half-what-the-fuck look that he's not used to. “What do you mean? It's dirty.”

Michael cocks his head. Brows furrow together trying to make sense of her words. “I'm pretty sure I’m staring at a clean door.”

She drops the cloth and curses, “Fuck,” which only makes it worse because now, she has to have the talk. “Look, there are some things I haven’t quite told you.”

“Yeah, I figure that since you're looking like you're seeing ghosts,” he says, “Does it have something to do with that guy I saw?”

She whips her head around. “What guy?”

He shrugs. “He has like chestnut hair, short. He was hanging around when I first met you for like a couple of days. Then one day, he disappeared. I figure I must have imagined him.”

She sighs with relief. “No.”

“But, you know who I am talking about.”

“Yes.”

He waits for her to continue but she doesn't say anything else. So, he decides that fuck it, he'll rip open this band aid now rather than later. “Then, what's going on, Jo? I feel like I don't know who you are anymore.”

“It's complicated.” She wants to tell him everything, about hunting, about her parents, about the traps, the salt, and the whole nine yards. She knows that if she does, he won't be safe. Part of her thinks it’s because he may not understand and might look at her like she’s some kind of freak. "Just trust me."

"First, you're telling me that there are things I don't know. Then, I find you cleaning a perfectly clean door. Then, you know the guy that stalked you, and now, you're asking for my trust. You're not giving me a lot to go on here."

She bites her lips. "I just can't explain it."

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I just can’t, okay?” Jo replies, frustrated. "Believe me. It's for your safety.”

That starts another argument, and by the end, she grows wary and worn out ,and he ends up packing all his stuff, leaving before the night ends.

Jo should chase after him, but she calls Sam instead.

“You should have told me you were out hunting," she says, voice sharp like it wants to cut him in two. She's at Bobby's house after Sam told her it was hard to explain things over the phone. The drive here did not dim her anger. "And now, I find out a djinn is behind all of this?"

Sam looks over at Bobby, who gives him a sign not to involve him. “I couldn’t. You looked happy.”

“Fuck off.”

“I was trying to protect you. That’s why I went back. I was trying to see if the djinn got you or not.”

“I am not a child that needs protection. It doesn’t help me to be stuck in the dark and how dare you take the choice away from me?” says Jo, feeling her anger coming to the surface. Her nails dig into her palms. “Thanks to you, I thought I was going crazy. Turns out I was a target. Not to mention, my relationship went down the drain.”

Sam sighs. “You're right. I’m sorry.”

“Does Dean know?”

“What?”

"Don't play dumb," she says, teeth gritting. "I am not in the mood to humor you."

“No,” he says, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. “I was trying—”

“Yeah, you’re real shit at that,” she interrupts. “Chances are he probably is a target too, since you were the first victim. This djinn is just going down a list. You should have told Dean. He has people he needs to look out for, and he can't head in blindly.”

Sam hangs his head and dials Dean's number.

“Son of a—"

“I've already yelled at him,” finished Jo, as she sharpens her knife. She then looks up and gives Dean a simple greeting. She didn’t think he would get here so fast. “Also, he's not here.”

“Oh,” he says, then stuffs his hands in his pocket. “Been's awhile.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sam knew you would just storm in and yell at him so he volunteered to go with Bobby to gather some reinforcement. He wanted you to cool down a bit, especially after that loud phone call between the two of you."

Dean pinches his temple. “I swear I’m going to kill him. First, he comes back from the dead and avoids me. Then, he knows something was going to happen and left me in the dark.”

She opens the fridge and tosses him a beer. “Something to take your edge off.”

“What exactly are we dealing with?”

“I’ll let Sam explains that when he comes back,” she says, “What did you tell Lisa?”

“The truth.”

She licks her lips dryly. “That’s nice. She's tough. Being a mother and all.”

“I got her to a safe house just in case.”

“Drink your beer before it gets warm.”

He pops it open and takes a sip. “Was your idea or Sam's to call me?”

She shrugs. “Does it matter? You're here, right?”

“Yeah,” says Dean with soft eyes. “Right time. Right place.”

- fin or tbc

Broken Open - 3/?

2010-12-11T09:02:37Z

Title: Broken Open
Characters: Dean/Jo
Rating: pg-13
Disclaimer: SPN doesn't belong to me, only this story.

03 | But I wish I could feel it all for you
If I could erase the pain
The maybe you'd feel the same
I'd do it all for you, I would

She finds Dean waiting on her steps when she comes back from school a week later. She stops to catch her breath (easy in, easy out). He looks up, and their gaze locks for the first time in months. He looks older, more mature and slightly worn out. She could barely muster a greeting when he simply greets, “Hey Jo.”

Her resolve to treat him like a stranger crumbles before her eyes; and it’s not fair that he can still do that to her with just two words.

He then looks at the ground. “How long?”

She scoffs with sarcasm as she walks pass and he follows closely behind. “Why Dean, I’m fine. Thanks for asking and no, I’m glad to see you too.” Of course it’s about Sam. It’s always been about Sam, and it shouldn’t hurt to remember this but it does; and because she’s still bitter that it’s always Sam and never him. “And what do you mean by how long?”

The frown on his lips deepens. “Don’t play with me.”

“I didn’t even realize we were playing.”

He grabs on to her arm for dear life and swings her around. “Damn it, Jo. This isn’t a game!” His voice sounds like lightning striking in the midst of a sunny day. It doesn’t scare her. Nothing does anymore. “Tell me where he is.” His voice quickly turns softer. “Please—Is Sammy here?”

“Let go,” her eyes then narrow dangerously, “now.”

There’s an imprint of his fingers on her wrist when he releases and he didn’t realize that he had grabbed on so tightly. ‘Sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be.”

“Jo.”

“Dean.”

“Sam—”

“I don’t know where Sam is,” she interrupts, “and I don’t know where he could be.”

He stares at her for a while, probably trying to see if she’s lying (she’s not) then sighs. “Will you—”

“No.” She then pours herself a glass of water. Talking to Dean has a habit of turning her throat dry, she thinks, as she chugs it down. He’s still there when she turns around. “Anything else?”

He stares at her, and it’s a look she hasn’t seen in a while. It reminds her how butterflies in her stomach used to feel. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out then looks down at the ground like he’s a kid being scold. “For everything.”

She gulps; the urge of wanting to cry tightens her throat. “I know.” It’s the same damn story of boy meets girl. Girl falls, and boy lets her. Wrong time, wrong place, says boy and puts that on repeat. Somewhere in between, there are ‘my dad shot your daddy’ and ‘hey, your mom died because of me’ reasoning that she sometimes forget. “How’d you find me?”

He smirks and she thinks that she can still see the old Dean hiding underneath all the lines. “You’re not the only good at tracking people.” She flashes him a grin and she thinks that maybe they’ll be okay. He angles his head toward the chairs. “Shall we?” She says nothing and follows along as they move from the kitchen back to the living room. 5 minutes of silence then they try to fill the silence with useless conversations about their mundane life rather than getting down to the heart of the matter: the whys and the what-ifs. He pauses, which she notices when she sees his eyes skimming over her shoulders to the pictures behind her, then looks back at her.

“Name’s Michael.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“Name’s Lisa.”

“I know.”

The left corner of his mouth curves up as he peers up at her. “Me too.”

She licks her lips dryly, biting back the first thing that comes to her mind (a snarky comment that no doubt will result in him storming out like he always does). “It’s getting late.” It still sounds wrong even after contemplation. “She’ll worry.”

He feigns a smile and she sees it a mile away. His fingers run through his hair as he leans back into the chair. “Maybe.”

“I’ll walk you out.” She stands up first and leads him to his car. They don’t speak until his hand is on the handle.

“So…” It’s so unlike him to stall. “You happy?”

She could only shrug, knowing she should say yes. She found a good man, has a decent job and is doing well in her class. All those things should equate to being happy. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

“I see.”

“He doesn’t make me worry.”

There’s a quick flicker of emotion then it’s gone. He clicks his tongue and stares at the keys in his hands. “No, I can’t imagine he would.” Then he takes his leave while she lingers on, watching him drive off while pushing the thought of running after him away. Once he’s out of sight, she finds Sam waiting in the shadow (it’s like clockwork with these two). She sighs, “One day, you two will be the death of me.”

It meant to be a joke, or maybe a premonition. Either way, he doesn’t laugh, or say much, and just stares at the ground like it’s made of gold or something.

She then notices tears circling his eyes and when he peers down at her like she’s a savior to his plight, she curses under her breath (she has a soft spot for tortured souls, she thinks, or maybe just for the damn Winchesters) and invites him inside. Once seated, his arms rest on his lap, silent as usual. She leaves him for a couple of minutes (she doubts that he even notices she’s gone) to grab the 32pack of beers she’s stashed in the garage. Then, with all her strength, she throws it on the table, earning (finally) startled reaction. “What the hell—”

“You, me, wasted, today,” she cuts in and throws him a can. “Start drinking.”

They start slow. No one speaks; and words aren’t necessary because there’s no awkwardness, never with him. By the time the 6th can roll around, he starts opening up. “I’m horrible, right?” he asks; voice starts to crack, “I mean, I want him to be happy but it feels like he’s—”

“Forgetting that you’ve ever existed?” she continues for him “Drink up.”

He takes a small gulp before finishing the thought. “It’s selfish.”

“You’re only human.”

He laughs because it’s been awhile since anyone’s called him that. “Right.”

“God, I’m so sick of both of you and your self-hatred shit,” she says, not bothering to hide the disdain in her tone. “You both carry the weight of the world like it’s yours to hold. He’s happy, so what? Screw him. You can do it too, be happy.”

“You make it sounds like it’s easy.”

“It’s not, especially with that whole you-are-me-I-am-you type of deal you got going on with Dean but—” she pauses for dramatic effect and sips her beer “—you’ve known that one day, you two would have to lead separate life. Well, that day’s coming, Sam, so either you buckle up and deal with it or let your boxer ends up in a bunch. Whatever works, y’ know?”

He drops his head and bites his lips bitterly. “I don’t even know what kind of life I want anymore.”

“Go back to hunting. Kill some more. Save some people. Go to school. Date a girl. Marry a girl. Have a family. Do whatever the fuck you want. The world’s your oyster.”

He looks at her funnily. “The world is my oyster? Since when has Jo Harvelle become so sentimental or has such a potty mouth for that matter?”

She smirks, reminding him of someone’s else. “Since I fucking wanted to be.”

It could be that she’s funny or maybe it’s the beer. Either way, he erupts in a fit of laughter like he hasn’t heard anything funnier in years. “I guess…”

“Don’t guess. Just do it.”

“That’s a Nike commercial.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Nike stole that shit from me.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious, Sam,” she says, leaning in, “Why waste it brooding over something that stupid? It’s not like you can’t keep Dean in your life. Hell, if I know you two, you’ll find a way to be with each other—” she pauses when she sees disgusted face “—what?”

“You make it sound like we’re lovers.”

“Well—” she then clicks her tongue and laughs when she sees his frown. “All joking aside, you damn Winchesters are so aggravating. You act like you’re star-crossed family or something when all you need is to call. Some people don’t even get that privilege.”

His face turns into horror. “God—I’m—”

“Oh shove it, Sam,” she then rolls her eyes. “All I’m saying is that you act like he’s buried 9ft underneath the ground or something. Family is family; no matter where you are so just because you guys are not hunting together, it doesn’t mean shit, okay?”

His expression softens as he concedes defeat. “Okay.”

Then they cheers and drink the night away.

Like the Winchester that he is, he leaves the next morning and all she finds is a note that he left behind.

Broken Open - 2/?

2010-10-22T07:16:06Z

Title: Broken Open
Characters: Dean/Jo
Rating: pg-13
Disclaimer: SPN doesn't belong to me, only this story.

02 | Deliver my heart with the pieces
And parts of me that every last day
Seem to carried away

The apocalypse ends on a silent note, differently than how she’d anticipated it to be.

She finds Sam (or rather, he finds her; and it’s not Dean, never Dean) on the steps of her house, barely conscious. It takes three days for him to wake up from his coma, or ‘sleep’ as he likes to call it because according to him, saving the world from Lucifer can do that to a person (he’s turning a bit cocky and she doesn’t question where, or rather, who he gets that from). She calls Bobby to let him know that Sam’s okay. He pretends that he’s not crying over the phone and that it’s only the god-damned allergies.

Sam doesn’t talk about Dean and neither does she; but his name is always hanging in the air; like a hushed secret that’s too fragile to slip from their lips. After he got better, she hands him an address.

He looks up; brows wrinkle and confused. “What’s this?” asks Sam, but she knows that he knows.

“What does it look like?”

“An address.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she remarks. “It’s Dean’s location.”

His mouth parts slightly and uneasily before he hands it back to her. “I don’t need it.”

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.”

His shoulders slumps down. “You don’t understand, Jo—I—”

“Don’t care and don’t want to know. You’ve been moping around like you’ve lost a damn lover or something—” she pauses and holds up the piece of paper again. “He’s been staying some gal by the name of Lisa—” The look on his face tells her that he knows who she’s talking about “—so don’t be a dumb ass. Go see him and give yourself a peace of mind.”

He hesitates before taking it in his hand slowly, like a kid that’s afraid of grabbing a present too quickly for the fear of having it slip through his fingers. Then he looks up and asks, “How did you find his address anyway?”

She doesn’t tell him that she couldn’t sleep three nights before their showdown or that she tracked Dean down after hearing he was resurrected (she’s still a hunter even if she no longer hunts) or that she stayed outside for three days after to make sure he was going to be okay. Instead, she merely releases an exasperated breath, “A little birdie told me.”

Sam flashes a grateful smile then heads for the door. Before exiting, he turns back. “So…I never did ask,” he starts then changes his mind when he sees an annoyed look on her face; he then settles with the question of, “You, this house, those pictures—new life, huh?”

She laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah—new life. I went back to school—mom always wanted that for me, y’know? Thought I’d do it before I’m—” she slits finger across her throat. “Anyway, met someone too.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. She doesn’t blame him. “He’s a—”

She cuts in. “Normal guy.”

“Oh.”

“I know. Me, the freak with a knife collection and the boy next door. Who’d have thought?”

“I’m happy for you, Jo.”

She smiles, a real one this time because sincerity has always been his strong suit. “Thanks.”

Then he drives off without promising to come back and she doesn’t ask him if he will either because she knows the Winchesters were never good at staying in one place longer than necessary and their promises are as fleeting as the wind brushing against her hair. She then licks her lips dryly before turning in. It’s a good thing he didn’t stay here long or else she’d have missed him more than she needs to.

Broken Open - 1/?

2010-10-16T07:15:45Z

Title: Broken Open
Characters: Dean/Jo
Rating: pg-13
Disclaimer: SPN doesn't belong to me, only this story.

01 | Say you love me, say you don't.
Say you'll wait, say you won't.

Ten days after Carthage, she ambushes a bunch of demons in search of Meg and ends up with a six inch scar on the side of her stomach instead. She walks in the house with a hand on her stomach to keep the blood from pouring out. Sam sees her first and almost faints from the sight. Dean finds out what happened from Sam once he came back from a solo hunt and screams at her for being so ‘fucking careless’. She glances at Sam, who just looks on, guiltily. She says nothing and lets her mind’s drifts elsewhere. She wakes up a few nights later gasping for air and soaking in tears.

It’s not long (exactly a week) before she uses the Colt that Dean was too stupid to use in the first place and shoots Meg right between the brows. It’s not easy or without collateral damage, but it’s worth it; instead of being dead, she only ends up with a half torn leg and a reopened stomach wound. That’s a pretty good trade-off in her opinion. Sam finds her first (it’s always him, never Dean); his face turns ghostly white when he sees all the blood but once she explains that it’s not all hers and points toward Meg’s body, he releases a small breath of relief.

Dean, on the other hand, isn’t as kind. His face turns red (only when he’s really pissed) and his lips twitches like there’s no tomorrow. Sam knows that World War III just might happen so he steps in front and holds him back by the shoulders. “Dean…She’s okay,” Sam reassures and tries to muster a half-ass smile.

“Oh shove it, Sammy. She’s clearly out of her damn mind.” He then brushes Sam off, like he always does, and approaches her like he’s the big bad wolf and she’s the little Red Riding Hood. “Are you trying to get yourself fucking killed?”

She scoffs and crosses her arms defiantly. “Maybe—what’s it to you?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? No—wait—don’t even answer that—” her words must have a bigger affect than she thought it’d because rambling is never a Dean Winchester thing. “You’re impossible—”

“I don’t need another mother, Dean,” says Jo, as she rolls her eyes, “so thank you but fuck off, would you?”

Then he shuts up and storms out, not without cursing son of a bitch under his breath.

Sam stands there like a lost puppy. “Jo—I’m—”

“Don’t.” She’s surprised by the harshness of her own voice as her eyes begin to burn. “Can you give me a minute, Sam?”

He nods understandingly and leaves the room.

Once safe, she breaks into sobs because it hurts more than she could imagine; because nothing’s been the same since Carthage, since her mother’s death, since her two failed suicide attempt. Fuck it all, she mutters and rocks her body back and forth. She should have fucking died instead.

When Dean comes back hours later (no doubt he’s driven to some bar to blow off steam), he quietly calls out her name. “Jo?” It’s the softest tone he has spoken to her in months. “Y’wake?”

She has long erased the tears from her face but she always senses that he’d known regardless, so she turns out the lights and keeps her eyes close just for safety.

“Jo?”

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

They both turn silent as he takes his prospective place on the bed over and pretends that he doesn’t know why she’s acting the way she does or he’s reacting the way he does. Then another two weeks pass before she stands across from him with a suitcase in hand. “I’m done.” It comes out easier than she thought and she doesn’t cry (she thinks it’s probably because she’s emptied all the tears weeks before).

He says nothing, only stares; not that it matters much since all she hears or sees on his face these day is guilt.

A few minutes pass before the silence gets to her. “Say something, Dean.” Her voice turns cold, desperate, and angry. “Say anything.”

He nods toward Sam and out he goes, leaving the two alone.

“Say you’re right.” Her voice trembles but the tears have long stopped forming. “I know you’re thinking it.”

“You chose this.” His voice carries no sympathy and his face’s blank. He doesn’t do sentiment well, unlike Sam, and she wonders why she was attracted to him in the first place. “You know what this life entails.”

“I know—” her throat turns parched like it hasn’t tasted water in years “—I just never thought that—” She then looks away as his face hardens. They both know what’s hanging on the tip of her tongue that’s been long overdue. “I don’t know where I’m going with that.”

“Say it.” His voice turns harsh, like dagger piercing her skin. “It’s my fault.”

“No,” she immediately rushes out. “I never—”

He scoffs. “I’m the reason that your mother’s dead.”

She cringes when she hears the self-hatred in his voice because he always does this, blames himself for every single thing that happens like he actually has control over them. “My dad killed your dad–”

“I know the fucking story,” she says, resigned, “so can we, for once, just say goodbye like normal people?”

Instead of answer, he gives her a look that says otherwise; and the truth of the matter is, he’ll believe what he wants, no matter how hard she tries to convince him otherwise and she has grown too tired to do that any longer. “I won’t stop you.”

“I know.” Her shoulders drop as she sighs. “I’ll be seeing you, Dean.” She then picks up her luggage and drags her feet to the door, spotting a sullen Sam sitting at the bottom of the steps. “Hey.”

He frowns, wrinkling his brows together. “You leaving, Jo?”

She always did like Sam. “Yeah, while I can, y’ know?” She tries to lighten the mood but neither laughs. “Good luck, okay?”

He nods and understands what she wanted to say but couldn’t. “I’ll make sure that he’ll—I mean—we’ll both be okay.”

Her smile falters briefly. “I know.”

Then they hug before she gets into her beat up car and drives away.

DB Drabble

2010-10-15T06:57:51Z

Title: Moments Like These

Disclaimer: GG doesn’t belong to me. Only the story does.
Pairing: Dan/Blair
Rating: G
A/N: Written for fun and nothing else.

All those arrows you threw, you threw them away.

You kept falling in love, and then one day.

When you fell, you fell towards me

- Please Don’t Go

He's not quite sure how it begins but he knows how it ends: with him, on the rooftop some abandoned building that's overlooking the entire city and she's to his right, again.

(Dan Humphrey and Blair Waldorf. He could feel the eye rolling and the smirks heading his way.)

It's not funny that she's sad (she's in another fight with Chuck. Fifth time this month, or so she 'said') but he's smiling at the fact that he doesn't hate being here and that she hasn't complained… yet.

"Humphrey."

He licks his dry lips and glances over at her. She peers up, all doe-eyed, and he swears, he must have a thing for damsel in distress. "Yeah—Blair?" He doesn't call her Waldorf because he's trying to be nice to her tonight; but only for tonight so that it doesn't become a habit of some sorts.

"Thanks." Then she smiles and he mentally slaps himself for thinking that she doesn't look half-bad.

Then they part. There's no hugs. No skin on skin contact. Nothing, just words slipping in between their lips, something along the line of "See you." It's not a promise because neither will wait for a phone call or a text from the other. It's weird; and to most,it doesn't make much sense, but it works. There's no labeling. because they're friends but not really.

A week or two passes before a GG blast hit the airwaves about Chuck's wandering eyes and her lack of trust. He finds her broken by the park: staring off into space with tears that has long stopped running down her face. "Hey," he quietly mumbles into the quiet air as he approaches her from behind. She doesn't look back nor say anything because she's Blair; and showing her tearful face is just something that she doesn't do in front of him. He doesn't mind, not really. "So I've heard…" he curses at himself for stating the obvious. Seems to be something he does a lot these days. "You okay?"

She sniffs then tosses a glance his way. "What do you think, Humphrey?"

When she tries to press a smile to his lips, one that doesn't belong, he wants to reach out and hug her but that might just be asking for a slap to the face so he holds his arms tightly by his side. "I think Chuck's stupid. His voice is annoying and you're way too good for him," he blurts out all at once, noticing that it's not what she asked.

She doesn't laugh, only turning her gaze back to the pond in front of them. "What's with the men in my life and the blonds of their dream?"

He opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

"You probably wouldn't even be here if it's not for Serena," she continues, "which makes me wonder, why are you even here, Humphrey?"

Once again, he leaves his mouth opens. There's no reason as to why he's always where she is and he's never really questioned it either. Just that there's something about her that draws him in but he can't exactly say that so he just shrugs. "Right time. Right place."

"Right," she says, letting her lips curve into a small grin, as he smiles along. "So counting this time, how many altogether have you found me like this?"

He scratches the back of his neck and wrinkles his brows together real hard like he's really trying to recall (when in truth, he remembers each and every time vividly) and finally answers her with, "Too many to count, Waldorf."

She laughs and he never notices how infectious it is; and when she tosses him another glance, his breath is caught in his throat (he blames it on the way the light's reflecting off her face). Truth to be told, it scares him a bit to observe her this closely.

“Relax, Humphrey," says Blair, as if she has read his mind, "I'm not going to bite you." He tosses his head back and erupts in a string of laughter; and they stand together in silence (because the need to fill space with emptied words has never been a problem for them). Somewhere in between saying goodbye, his hand manages to brushes against hers momentarily.

It Would Have Been You {Dean.Jo Fanmix}

2010-10-02T22:27:59Z

They are my OTP. I don't care what anyone says because they were beautiful. They could have had it all and could have so fucking perfect. He's a Winchester. She's the fucking Harvelle (related to Ellen Harvelle. Nothing more need to be said there). Anyway, here's a fanmix to what could have been an epic pairing on SPN, along with a ficlet.

. . . . .

It begins like this: she pressing a gun to his back and later a punch to his face for thinking he knew better (can’t say she didn’t enjoy that). He hunching over with a hand to his nose, calling out to Sam for help. Skip the introduction and a stupid question of whether or not she’ll punch him again and she thinks this could be the beginning of something good.

He staggers over like he owns the place, sits across from her, and attempts to throw some of his cheap pick-up lines that usually do the trick but somewhere along, they flat-line in his throat. Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair and gives a shrug, only to say, ‘Wrong time; wrong place.’ She looks down as he glances away, wondering whether it’s disappointment that’s leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth or crushed hopes of something that will never get anywhere.

We’ll never get too far
Just you, me and the bar
Silly ménage a trois, sometimes

- Fever

He doesn’t know her much, not really; but he has a pre-conceived notion about who she is, personality wise and all that (it’s sort of his job to read people); and in no way has he ever taken her to be a Kevin Cronin/REO Speedwagon type of girl. He’d have kept his mouth quiet if she hasn’t said, “Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart.” To which he retorts with a smirk and says, “He sings it from the hair. There’s a big difference.” He might have won the fight but she won the war when he finds himself singing along with Sam. God damned it. It’s like she’s planned it from the start.

She’s not a full fledged hunter, but she wants this like she’s never wanted anything; she needs this like the oxygen that fills her lungs. It’s that bad because she’s spent her whole life for this chance; and when she asks him whether or not it’s wrong, he says no and she breathes with ease. She knows if there’s anyone that understands the pain of searching for something, of wanting to be closed to something (or rather someone), he would; maybe they don’t have the same goal but they’re both searching. That has got to count for something.

I don't know what you're looking for
you haven't found it baby, that's for sure

- My favorite Game

She doesn’t mean it when she says ‘leave me alone’. She doesn’t mean it when she sounds like she blames him and Sam for her father’s death. They had nothing to do with it but she couldn’t contain her anger; the frustration she feels for not putting the pieces together better, the frustration that her mother who still treats her like a kid and herself for giving her mother every reason to boil over and they just happen to be caught in the crossfire.

When she sees him again after the fallout, she learns what rejection tastes like. When she stays behind, it’s only because he asks. When she watches him leave, it’s because her heart wants to break and when he tells her he’d call, it’s a lie she’ll accept though she won’t hold out any false hope that he’ll prove her wrong; because he’s Dean Winchester and he doesn’t owe her a damn thing.

It’s my heart you’re stealing
It’s my heart you take
It’s my heart you’re dealing with

And it’s my heart you’ll break

- My Heart

They meet again two years later like it’s some damned fate. He busts through the door and she swears her heart jumps all the way to her throat. He says “Hey Jo” and her knees almost give out, not before she manages to utter a “hey” back. Talk about getting over some stupid crush only to jump right back on the bandwagon.

Set me free, leave me be.

I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

- Gravity

He sneaks up on her, surprisingly and gives her a last night on Earth speech, something about ‘make merry’. She laughs because subtlety is never his strong suit; and when he asks if it’s worked, she decides that better than fucking him (it took more self-control than she thought she had to not take him up on his offer) she’d just mess with his head for a short while.

Just stay, we both know you want a little taste
And I just don't have the time to waste
On subtlety baby (on subtlety baby)
True, I'll stay if you ask me too

- A Night with You

He’s stupid. Won’t be the first to admit. Won’t be the last to think so; but for the first time, he regrets that he’s not smarter, not wiser and not better; and he pleads with God in his head to make her okay so that he can rectify his wrong; but he knows better than to hold his breath because this mistake ends up costing him more than he could afford. It costs him a future that he would never know.

She’s bleeding all over the place and is barely conscious when it’s his turn to say goodbye. An “I’ll see you the other side, probably sooner rather than later” slips from his lips but she only hears guilt from his voice; so she tries to smile and ease his heavy conscience with a “make it later.” Then he kisses her forehead (because he wants to) and her bravado falls (because she finally realizes what could never be). When he pulls away, he sees fear on her face and responds by capturing her lips, as if to say ‘I’m sorry for not seeing you earlier because we could have been so much more.’ She allows one tear to roll because they deserve at least that much; because if there’s anything Jo Harvelle is sure of, it’s that Dean Winchester has always been the one.

They end like this: she dies and he lives. Plain and simple. He’s not moping around because he’s still Dean fucking Winchester but he drinks more so that he could see her in the girls he picks up; fucks more so he could pretend it’s her that he’s holding; and feels less because it hurts to talk while remembering what happened. Every time he walks in a bar, it’s like déjà vu. The only difference is that he’s not greeted by a gun to the back; and once in awhile, he thinks, god, he’s so fucked up for wanting his death to come sooner, only he has a promise to keep and later is the only time he’s allowed to die.

Every time I look, I get shivers down my spine
You're such a beautiful face
I know those eyes
They take me back in time
She could be you
I wouldn't even know

- She Could Be You

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2010-09-12T23:00:38Z

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