used to (dean/jo, sam/jo), r
this was started about a year ago. dusted it off, polished it up, and it's not as shiny as a real fic, but it's something.
title: used to
pairing: dean/jo, sam/jo
rating: r (maybe light nc-17? eh, never can tell)
summary: there are things that they all used to think, things that they all used to know
Sam thinks that he used to love her.
She saves his life in Louisville and he kisses her in Houma, their lips stained and slicked with blood. And he fucks her in Lincoln (and Green River and Sweetwater and Iowa City), his hands pulling her thighs open as she cries and writhes beneath him.
Dean marries her in Rawlins.
Dean thinks that he used to hate her.
She hitches a ride in Oakhill and sleeps in his backseat all through Huntington. He yells at her in Skowhegan, pressing her up against dirtied motel wallpaper. And his hands are slippery with her blood in Santa Rosa, twenty-two neat stitches from one shoulder blade to the other.
Jo fucks him in Waycross.
Jo thinks that she used to be like him.
He watches her neatly slide a knife through a demon’s throat in Bowman. And she smiles at him in New Castle, her fingers tightly wound in his brother’s shirt. She kisses him in Athens, tongue-sloppy underneath a dim streetlight with one of her hands tucked into his front pocket.
Sam slowly chokes the black smoke from her lungs in Pascagoula.
Dean knows that he used to have her.
She sleeps in his bed in Mount Airy and he holds her hips tight in his hands in Jaffrey, her mouth on his neck as he fucks her hard and steady. He kisses her cheek in Holbrook and they drive in smiling silence to Big Sur. And he cries with her in West Memphis, hospital sheets tough with starch and wet with blood.
Jo finds his brother in Lake Andes.
Jo knows that she used to want him.
He wipes cold rainwater from her face in Reading. And she lies to him in Catonsville, her hands and lips mapping out the wide and rough scars cut into his skin. And he asks her in Plainfield, slides two thick fingers into her cunt and presses his thumb to the dip of her collarbone and waits until she says that she can’t.
Sam fucks some girl that kind of looks like her in Sioux Falls.
Sam knows that he used to need her.
She makes him breakfast in Morristown, passes him the paper and stirs sugar into his coffee like it’s something they always do. And she stitches him up in Elkins, her hands unsteady and her words unsure. She almost fucks him in Savannah, his hand curved around the inside of her thigh. She ends up fucking him in Biloxi, a hot and wet and tight push of skin, her hands in sweat-soaked hair while he sucks on her tits.
Dean watches them in Winnfield.
Dean never thinks that he used to love her.
Sam never thinks that he used to hate her.
Jo thinks that everything is so fucked up.
Jo always knows that she used to have him.
Sam always knows that he used to want her.
Dean knows that this is the end.
title: used to
pairing: dean/jo, sam/jo
rating: r (maybe light nc-17? eh, never can tell)
summary: there are things that they all used to think, things that they all used to know
Sam thinks that he used to love her.
She saves his life in Louisville and he kisses her in Houma, their lips stained and slicked with blood. And he fucks her in Lincoln (and Green River and Sweetwater and Iowa City), his hands pulling her thighs open as she cries and writhes beneath him.
Dean marries her in Rawlins.
Dean thinks that he used to hate her.
She hitches a ride in Oakhill and sleeps in his backseat all through Huntington. He yells at her in Skowhegan, pressing her up against dirtied motel wallpaper. And his hands are slippery with her blood in Santa Rosa, twenty-two neat stitches from one shoulder blade to the other.
Jo fucks him in Waycross.
Jo thinks that she used to be like him.
He watches her neatly slide a knife through a demon’s throat in Bowman. And she smiles at him in New Castle, her fingers tightly wound in his brother’s shirt. She kisses him in Athens, tongue-sloppy underneath a dim streetlight with one of her hands tucked into his front pocket.
Sam slowly chokes the black smoke from her lungs in Pascagoula.
Dean knows that he used to have her.
She sleeps in his bed in Mount Airy and he holds her hips tight in his hands in Jaffrey, her mouth on his neck as he fucks her hard and steady. He kisses her cheek in Holbrook and they drive in smiling silence to Big Sur. And he cries with her in West Memphis, hospital sheets tough with starch and wet with blood.
Jo finds his brother in Lake Andes.
Jo knows that she used to want him.
He wipes cold rainwater from her face in Reading. And she lies to him in Catonsville, her hands and lips mapping out the wide and rough scars cut into his skin. And he asks her in Plainfield, slides two thick fingers into her cunt and presses his thumb to the dip of her collarbone and waits until she says that she can’t.
Sam fucks some girl that kind of looks like her in Sioux Falls.
Sam knows that he used to need her.
She makes him breakfast in Morristown, passes him the paper and stirs sugar into his coffee like it’s something they always do. And she stitches him up in Elkins, her hands unsteady and her words unsure. She almost fucks him in Savannah, his hand curved around the inside of her thigh. She ends up fucking him in Biloxi, a hot and wet and tight push of skin, her hands in sweat-soaked hair while he sucks on her tits.
Dean watches them in Winnfield.
Dean never thinks that he used to love her.
Sam never thinks that he used to hate her.
Jo thinks that everything is so fucked up.
Jo always knows that she used to have him.
Sam always knows that he used to want her.
Dean knows that this is the end.