Follow One Storm Upon Another (3/3)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Art Post | Master Post
Jo's gone for at least ten minutes before Jess gets up, holding onto the wall as she does so, to wash the tears off her face and trying to compose herself. There's a cramping feeling in her gut that won't go away, so she flops onto the bed, turning on the TV. It only has a few channels, all in black and white; the only shows on are Three's Company and shitty made-for-TV movies.
What she should do is go out somewhere to distract herself, get away from the thoughts in her head, so she gets cleaned up and leaves. The first bar she finds is about half-full, groups of college kids blowing off steam after a hard week, but Jess is too wired to drink. There's a basketball game on the TV above the bar; she checks the score even though she hates watching sports. An old-school pinball machine beeps and lights up in the corner, and everyone turns and looks when some drunk guy drops his pool cue. She's never really been great at pool, though Sam spent hours trying to teach her (Okay, now line your shot up like this, and try choking up on the stick more. He'd start out with his hands on hers, guiding her, but they had always slipped lower), but she needs something to do. Maybe she can even make a little cash, buy some shampoo or soap that isn't the cheap generic kind. Her top shows just enough cleavage to be a distraction.
Some guy sees her standing by the tables, asks her if she's up for a game. She smiles, twirls her hair, plays up the ditzy-blonde act. It shocks her how easily playing the role comes, that she's being manipulative solely because she can, but she's done a lot of things she never thought she would've since she left college. He's pretty cocky, which makes it even better when she kicks his ass, chalking it up to beginner's luck. She smirks as she pockets her winnings.
"You wanna grab a drink?" he asks.
"I'm good."
The guy sighs exaggeratedly, but turns and leaves, head tipped down as his frat boy buddies rag on him. A few minutes later, though, she feels a hand on the small of her back and whips around to tell him thanks, but no thanks, he's not getting into her pants. "You can get your hands off me now," she growls, trying her best to sound intimidating.
It's not the frat boy who backs off, though; it's a cute guy who holds his hands in the air, a little startled. "Whoa, hey, calm down," he says, smooth, honey-sweet voice making her relax. "I just wanted to buy you a drink."
Jess blushes, embarrassed. "Sorry. There was just this idiot guy who got all pissy because I kicked his ass at pool."
The guy laughs. "Oh, he won't be bothering you again. Trust me."
She raises one eyebrow. "I think that'll be a little difficult, seeing as how I don't know you."
"Dean Travers." He extends his hand and she takes it, the metal of his ring warm against her fingers.
She pauses at that, because the only part of his past Sam had talked about was his brother Dean-a guy that was either the most awesome big brother ever or a complete dick, depending on when she'd asked him. There's no way that this is that Dean, though. He's probably hunting, too. This Dean is really, really hot, and Jess needs to blow off some steam.
"Jessica." Dean doesn't protest the lack of last name, just looks her over in a way that would be subtle if he didn't let his gaze linger a few extra seconds on her tits. She knows she could call him on it, but she feels want curling in her belly. It's a surprise, but a welcome distraction from how crappy she'd been feeling earlier.
"So, Jessie, now that you know my name, how 'bout that drink?" He grins, tilts his head towards the bar.
"It's Jess." No one's called her Jessie since she was eleven, and she hates the memory the name brings-a gap-toothed kid whose jeans were more holes than fabric. Her "awkward" stage.
He laughs, a low chuckle from the back of his throat. "Sure," he says, like he's still going to call her Jessie regardless. Dean finds them a rickety table tucked away in the corner, giving them as much privacy as there is in the crowded room. "What are you drinking?" he asks.
"Tequila. With lime, if they have it."
Jess uses the time Dean's gone to get a look at him; he got to check her out, and she didn't get a chance to do the same. He's definitely not her type, and pretty much the polar opposite of Sam, but that's probably a good thing. He's barely taller than her, and solid, with muscles that look like they've come from hours of manual labor, not the gym. His hair's light brown, spiked up a little. The woman behind the bar (mid-thirties, too much makeup) leans over, pushing her chest up at Dean; he says something Jess can't make out from across the room, pays for their drinks, and walks back to the table.
"Thanks," she says, both for the drink and for ignoring the bartender, but he probably doesn't pick up on the second part.
"No problem, sweetheart." He grins, sending sparks of electricity through her body. "So. I'm surprised a pretty girl like you isn't here with her boyfriend."
She doesn't (can't) say I sort of have one, but he took off without any explanation, so she says, "It's...complicated."
"Complicated like he'll be here in a few minutes to beat me up for hitting on you?"
"You need to work on your game, then; I didn't catch a pick-up line."
"I'm from the FBI, the Fine Body Investigators, and I'm going to have to ask you to assume the position." He's smiling like he's so proud of it, so she gives him a little fake laugh, hoping he misses the eyeroll that follows soon after.
"Nah," she says. "He's not gonna come looking for you." Or me, she adds silently.
"His loss; my gain, right?"
"I guess you could say that."
Dean nods, and asks, "You in school here?"
"No, I'm...thinking about transferring to UMich. You look a little old to be hanging around in a college bar, though."
"Best place to pick up chicks."
"Thought you'd already picked one up." She tosses him a cocky grin of her own.
"Well, she's let her buy me a drink," he says, winking, " so I'd say we're off to a good start."
This is the part that Jess hates-the awkward, flirty small-talk where she has to size the other person up (without being too obvious) while they're doing the same to her. She's never been great at it; she'd been glad when she met Sam at the beginning of sophomore year (grateful for other things about him, too, of course)-it'd meant an end to all those conversations with guys at parties and coffee shops. She'd been even more glad at the end of junior year when she'd started to think that Sam might be The One, but here she is, talking to some random guy in some random bar.
"Jess?" Dean asks, jolting her out of her thoughts and back into reality. Right. She's been searching for Sam for months, and whether she likes it or not, Jo might just be right. Even if she does find Sam, things might not work out between them, and Jess can't wait around forever.
"Yeah, sorry. You were saying?"
"I wasn't, but, uh, how about you tell me about yourself?" He smiles, all charisma and interest, which makes her feel warm and comfortable, makes her feel liked.
"There's not that much to tell, I guess. I'm twenty-one and majoring in art. I'm an Aquarius and...I like long walks on the beach, piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain."
Dean laughs, bright and uninhibited. "Can't say I'm into yoga, though I could definitely go for some midnight-"
"I'm sure," she says, because he's obviously not putting in time and effort to spend the night with his hand. "Nice necklace, by the way," she tells him, jerking her chin at it. There's some kind of charm on the black cord. He's been toying with it the entire night so she can't make out what it is.
"Thanks. It was a gift from my kid brother." He smiles fondly, and that changes things a bit, warms her up to Dean. He seems like he's probably a good big brother. She can picture a mini-version of Dean, bright eyes and a wide smile, running into his brother's arms whenever Dean goes home to his family.
"I have sisters. Eight and eleven." She misses them-helping Kayla with her homework; cheering on Nicole at her swim meets. Before, she'd been doing her best to block out thoughts of her family; they'd be disappointed if they knew what she was doing, and she couldn't have functioned under that kind of pressure. But now, with Dean talking about his own family, she can't help the rush of feelings.
"Bet they look up to you," he says, and a pang of guilt hits her like a ton of bricks. She hasn't done anything that they should model themselves after, leaving school and the life she'd made for herself. They used to email her every few days and call once a week, but she hasn't spoken to them since Sam left.
"Mmm." It's more of a noncommittal reply than a yes, because she's not sure she can talk about them without getting all choked up. Dean tips his bottle back to get the last vestiges of beer. "Next round's on me," she offers, grateful for the distraction, and reaches for her purse. "Another Bud?"
"Yeah, but if you're gonna get another shot, I'll have one, too. And can you grab a slice of lime and a salt shaker?"
It doesn't take long for Jess to figure out what Dean's planning-a body shot. Or some form of one, at least, because her top's not nearly low-cut enough. She's done them a few times at parties, either just for fun, or on a dare. She was always way more wasted, and they're probably better suited for Spring Break in Cancún than a dive bar in Ann Arbor, but...the idea of it turns her on.
When she shakes salt out onto her wrist, Dean laughs. "Didn't think you'd actually go for it."
"I'm up for anything." She hopes that isn't too forward or obvious or something. "Here." The lime peel is bitter in her mouth, but it's not that bad. Dean's tongue lingers on her wrist, just for a second, before he brings the glass to his mouth, downs the shot, and leans forward to take the lime from her mouth. She tries to keep her nerves in check and not flush when he looks at her again; says, "I think we've had enough spring break for one night, huh?"
"Yeah, okay." He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out to catch a stray grain of salt from his lip. Briefly, she imagines painting him, because his bone structure would be perfect for it-mixing greens to get the color of his eyes right, freckles dotting his face like constellations in the night sky-but she doubts he'd be able to sit still long enough. "Though if you wanna go wild, don't let me stop you."
"Smartass."
"You know it." Dean uncaps his second beer, pours half of it down his throat without stopping.
"Easy there, tiger," she says. He looks like the kind of guy who can hold his liquor, but it'd be really awkward if Dean passed out in the middle of their conversation.
He sets the bottle back down on the table, edges one hand onto Jess's knee. "You wanna get out of here?"
Jess nods, and asks, "Where to?"
"You got a room? My lame brother's holed up in ours, reading." He skates his hand up a little higher, calluses rough against her skin, making her shiver.
"Yeah, a couple blocks down. You okay to drive?"
"Always." He loops an arm around her waist, pulling her close when he opens the door to a blast of cold air. "This one's mine," he says, once they've passed a few cars in the lot.
"Damn." It's a really great car, though not exactly what she would've expected from him. "1963 Chevy Impala?" Her dad's kind of an auto buff, and Jess was forced to listen to him wax poetic about his dream cars, all "classics."
"'67. Do all the repairs on her myself." He pats the hood of the car lovingly, and Jess can't help but inwardly roll her eyes a little. Guys get so attached to their cars-really, they're just metal, glass, parts, and wheels, all in one place. He probably won't let anyone else drive it, either; though she can't exactly blame him. The car is obviously special to him, because he's kept it in mint condition, especially for a car that's coming up on forty years on the road. And because he referred to it as "her." Even under the curtain of nightfall, she can see that it's buffed to a high shine, windshield and windows squeaky clean. No papers on the dash or wrappers in the back, not like Jo's truck with half-used tubes of ChapStick and water bottles strewn everywhere.
Dean drives like they're in a race to get back to the motel (and she doesn't really know, maybe they are), and she's sliding the key into the lock when he kisses the back of her neck, breath raising the hair on her skin. Once they're inside, he clicks the locks on the door shut and pushes her up against it, hand cupping her face and thumb stroking over her cheek as he leans in to kiss her. He smells of hair gel and Old Spice, motor oil and leather-stereotypically bad boy, but hot.
Jo isn't back, and Jess is glad, because that'd make things weird, but part of her was hoping that Jo would be back, or still there, waiting for Jess and wanting to apologize. Then Dean's tongue slips into her mouth, though, and she loses the thought in warmth, the taste of beer and heat and want all wrapped up in one neat package. It makes her head spin in the best possible way.
His hips slot perfectly between her splayed thighs; she can feel the heat of him even through four layers of denim and cotton, making the pulse between her legs intensify.
"Jess," he says. "Is this-I mean, are you okay with this?"
"Yeah," she replies. "I want to."
"Awesome." Dean's face lights up like a kid in a candy store, tugging at her heart because it reminds her a bit of Sam's smiles. He slides his hands down her back, to her ass, cupping it so he can lift her. She swings her legs around his waist, hooking them tight as he stumbles a little, adjusting to her weight. She knows she's not heavy, but she's tall; her weight's spread out, harder to carry. It's only a few steps to the bed, and he lays her down on it, cheap polycotton scratching her back when her shirt rides up. "God, Jess, you're so hot," he says, his voice a low growl in her ear.
She giggles at that (she's never been good at accepting compliments, especially about her body), glad he's preoccupied with kissing her throat, her collarbone, palming her breasts through her shirt and sweater. Her nipples harden under his touch, peaks that he rolls between his thumbs and index fingers. "Dean...fuck."
"Plenty of time for that," he answers. "All night, even."
"Don't make promises that you can't keep."
Dean's fingers are tugging at the button and zipper of her skirt; Jess gets her shirt and pullover off herself. "Oh, I can keep 'em, baby," he murmurs. "Tell me what you like."
She tries to get the words out, but he starts sucking on her nipples and she can barely concentrate to get his jeans undone. She ends up clutching at his shoulders instead.
Dean pulls away, says, "I wanna eat you out," and she's not going to refuse an offer like that. Dean has a great mouth: his lips are full and soft and pink, and wet where he's licked them; it'd probably be a safe bet to say he's good at going down on girls.
She has to wait before she answers, so her voice isn't ragged and rough. "Yeah. Yeah, I want-" but she doesn't get a chance to say that, too, because Dean's kissing her again.
He tugs her panties down her legs and off, slides his hands back up her skin like he wants to touch every inch of it. He's kneeling at the foot of the bed before she has time to ask what he's doing, wrapping his hands around her knees and pulling so her ass is practically hanging off, legs draped over his shoulders. She feels so naked like this, exposed, even though the blinds are drawn and it's just the two of them.
"You smell so good." The words vibrate against her skin, making Dean laugh when her hips buck up. "Plenty of time," he repeats, brushing his thumb over her clit and stroking, way too lightly.
She tries to direct his mouth with her hands in his hair, not pushing, just guiding, and once Dean's mouth is finally on her, tongue dipping in, she knows he's good-can already tell. And from the sounds he's making, these little muffled groans and murmurs she can't make out, he likes it almost as much as she does. Jess has to press her head back to the mattress to keep from squirming too much. Dean's mouth is all warm, wet heat and pressure and insistent tongue, hardly pausing to take a breath.
When she gets the air back into her lungs, she sputters, "Jesus, Dean," and pulls him up for a kiss. His hair is soft against her palm when she strokes it, and she gets him the rest of the way undressed so he can fuck her. The sheets slide against her back as they move up the bed, tickling her. Dean snags a condom from his wallet, fingers fumbling first with the wrapper and then with the latex, and she takes over, rolling it onto him and squeezing around the base of his cock when she's done.
He pushes into her slowly, gently, like he's afraid she'll snap in his arms if he's not careful. She holds his jaw, fingers leaving white marks on his skin, and says, "Dean. It's not...it's okay." She thought he'd be all bravado (she's dealt with his type before); even after the amazing oral sex, Jess is pleasantly surprised. He fucks her sweet and slow, hands playing over her skin; he presses two fingers to her clit and rubs while kissing the underside of her jaw. She comes first, pleasure pulsing through her hot and fierce, feeling weightless and breathless, and Dean speeds up his thrusts, pushes up into her, coming himself while she's riding out the last waves of it.
Jess is halfway to sleep when she feels the bed dip as Dean rolls out of it before she can ask him to stay a little longer, maybe even for the night. She hears the water running, figures he must be cleaning up. The room smells like sweat and sex, and Dean rids himself of it as soon as possible. He stops by the foot of the bed to pick up his clothes, grunts, "I gotta get going," and starts getting dressed, quick and efficient even in the post-sex haze.
It's a surprise when Dean reappears at the head of the bed-he manages to walk silently even with those ridiculous combat boots (she notices the thick heels and laughs lazily)-and leans over it so he can slip his tongue into her mouth again. "I'll see you around," he says, though they both know he won't.
*
When Jess wakes up, she feels empty. She'd thought that casual sex would make her feel better, make her forget the things Jo said to her, and it did, but now she's alone, without Jo for the first time in months, and it doesn't feel right.
Her contacts are still in and she has a killer hangover. There's a bottle of water and two pills on the nightstand, along with a note scribbled on the motel stationary: Thanks for last night. ;) Dean. There's a number scribbled next to his name, but she can only make out a few digits. It's not like she'll ever see him again, anyway.
She gets herself cleaned up and dressed, and takes a walk to get breakfast. After she eats (chocolate chip muffin, apple, orange juice), she lingers at the table, not wanting to go back and sit in an empty room, only her feelings to keep her company, and not good ones, either.
Jo's there when Jess opens the door, though; she stinks of smoke and booze, her lips are swollen and red, and what little makeup she has on is smeared. She smells like sex. Jess doesn't ask who Jo was with, and Jo doesn't volunteer the information. The rush of jealousy she feels sort of surprises her, even though Jo doesn't belong to her, or anybody. It hurts, but it's not like Jess didn't do the same thing last night.
"Long night?" Jess asks, sarcasm slipping into her voice. I hate fighting with you. Before Jo can answer, she blurts out, "I hate fighting with you. It sucks. You're who I see when I get up in the morning, who I spend all day with, and the last thing I see before I go to bed. I don't want-"
"I was a total bitch," Jo says, relieved. Her face softens, and the dead look in her eyes gives way to light. "I shouldn't have said what I did. He's out there, somewhere, and he's bound to turn up sometime."
"But maybe he won't," Jess admits. "Maybe he thought running away from me would be easier than a breakup, and who knows? Maybe it is." She moves a little closer to Jo. "I can't do this without you, though, so don't you take off in the middle of the night."
"I won't," Jo promises.
*
She's been losing pieces of herself for awhile, but she wakes up in a rundown motel room in West Virginia and doesn't feel the same at all. The mirror is cracked and dirty, but even through the distortions, she doesn't recognize the girl looking back at her. Her lips are chapped; licking them makes them a little more pink, and wetter, but they burn as the moisture disappears. Her hair is messy from more than just sleep, full of split ends, damaged from the harsh winds on the highway. She doesn't condition it in the shower anymore, or style it-it started to seem high-maintenance, and a little weird, to spend time tugging at it in the bathroom every morning.
So much of her was at Stanford, with Sam, and without him, she feels incomplete. It's hard to keep track of what she's pretending her name is: Lily Stevens, Naima Coltrane, Angela Goodman, Kaitlin Walters, or who she's supposed to be: FBI agent, reporter, social worker, TV repairman. Especially when the only person she wants to be is Jessica Moore, student, but she doesn't even know if that's possible anymore. She's changed so much.
She misses girls' nights out with Rebecca, Laura and Amy, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed with coffee and bagels and the Times. World affairs aren't even on the list of things to read when they buy four different papers and look for hunts. College life seems like it's a million miles away; going back doesn't seem like an option.
Her body is smaller, thinner, more hard lines and fewer curves. Even with the diet of food that comes mostly from gas stations and diners, even with the muscle she's gained, she's lost at least five pounds, and most of her clothes are a little loose, cheap belt holding up her jeans, so flimsy that it barely does the job. Ammo and food come before new clothes, though, so she makes do with what she's got, even if that does mean ending up with graveyard dirt down the back of her pants.
Jess's head is clearer now; she's figured out the feelings that had built up and sort of spilled over when she and Jo fought. She's realized that she's not projecting her want for a relationship onto the nearest available person-Jo-but she's attracted to Jo, who's smart and strong and keeps Jess going when she doesn't think she can. She paints Jess's nails and cleans her cuts. She's Jess's best friend, really, but...Jess wants more. It's not something she tells Jo, who probably doesn't feel the same way, after the fight and their indiscretions, even though it's always in the back of her mind.
*
Jess turns twenty-two just after they cross the state line into Wyoming. They've been driving for thirty-six hours, stopping only to pee and to get gas and food. Sleep is in three-hour shifts, though Jo still hates riding shotgun and complains about it every chance she gets. They're on a tight schedule-a full moon is fast approaching and werewolves are pretty hard to track until after they've already killed.
Once they're done, though, Jo buys a supermarket-brand cake, a jumbo bag of chips, and a six-pack. The cake is stale, with too-sweet frosting, but she gets a decent buzz from the first beer, and even though it takes her half the night, it does loosen her up enough to kiss Jo. It's more relaxed this time, but if things goes badly, at least she'll be able to blame it on the alcohol.
"What about Sam?" Jo asks against Jess's mouth.
"What?"
"I really like you, and I know you're in love with Sam and everything, but-"
"I like you, too. I love Sam-" she says, and Jo gets this crestfallen look on her face. "I love Sam, but," Jess adds. "Like you said the other night, finding him is a long shot. I can't spend my whole life waiting for him to come back to me."
"And if he does?" Jo prompts.
"I'm not sure I could even be with him after what he's put me through. I gave up a lot to help you hunt so I could find him, and I don't know if it's still worth it." Carefully, Jess considers what she'll say next. "I like you. I think this could work out. And since we're both being honest here, you should probably know I, uh, haven't kissed a girl sober," she confesses. "Before you, I mean. And I haven't gone further than that."
"It's okay." Jo smiles. "I have. And having a girlfriend isn't that different than having a boyfriend. But there is more clothes-sharing and communicating, and less farting."
"Great," Jess laughs. It's a joke, yeah, but it's probably also somewhat true, except that she and Jo can't share clothes.
"But really," Jo adds. "I want this to work."
"Me too." They trade soft, easy kisses until their mouths are sore from it, lips chapped. "We should probably get to bed. It's late."
"Yeah," Jo says. "We have lots of time for other things."
*
It's snowing when Jess wakes up the next morning, big, fat flakes drifting down and landing silently on the ground. She rolls out of bed, careful not to wake Jo, who's still out cold, and pads into the bathroom to brush her hair and teeth and wash her face.
When she's done, and more alert, thanks to the cool water, she goes over to the window to see how bad the storm is. She knows Buffalo usually gets a lot of snow, but this is way more than average (at least, she thinks). They'll probably be snowed in until at least Monday; luckily, they stocked up at the Rite Aid last night, and the motel, which is nicer than most, has a mini fridge and a microwave.
She's polishing off her Pop-Tart-S'Mores, and she likes them better frozen, but she's making do-when she glances outside again, checking to see if it's still snowing. It is. The view reminds her of doing landscapes in Drawing I. It takes her a minute to remember the last time she picked up a pencil or a brush, before she remembers that she'd wanted to chase away her emotions with acrylic paints and pastels after Sam left, but couldn't. She suddenly feels out of practice and misses being in the studio, the single-minded focus of getting wrapped up in a project.
There's some decent paper and charcoal in her bag. As soon as her fingers are curled around the charcoal, the weight comforting and familiar in her hand, she tries sketching out the snow-covered trees and bushes outside, but everything looks off. She's always liked drawing people better, likes capturing emotion and hope and life on the page.
Jo sleepily mumbles something, and Jess remembers that she's not alone. Jo is there and breathing in slow, steady breaths and is as much of an inspiration as anything (not that Jess should need inspiration, but sometimes she does). The sun's rising, soft pink and deep orange filtering in through the dirty window and onto the white cotton sheets. It tints Jo's winter-pale cheeks rosy, making her look healthier, happier.
Jess starts by outlining, the routine giving her a familiar thrill as she works at mapping out the lines of Jo's body. She's all angles and planes, slim legs and delicate bones-more Degas's dream than Boticelli's, but beautiful just the same. Jo's face is a little harder to draw, half-hidden in shadow, forehead wrinkled even in sleep, but Jess can fill in the gaps without much of a problem, all the glances stolen in the truck or a diner or at a county clerk's office paying off.
She likes the finishing touches best: shading in an angle or the light, adding in the details that make a person unique. Jess dots in the freckles-one in the hollow of Jo's throat, a few on her hip-and adds a few stray wisps of hair before signing her name and dating it at the bottom.
"Hey," Jo says, and Jess tucks the drawing into a book, watches Jo rub the sleep out of her eyes.
"Hey, yourself. You've got..." she gestures to her chin, hoping Jo will pick up on it.
"Oh, thanks," Jo says, flushing as she wipes at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. "Sorry."
"No, it's fine. I didn't want to wake you. You looked really...peaceful."
Jo snorts. "Right. I'm sure I look great like this. I'm gonna grab a shower, and then we can see about breakfast."
While Jo's occupied, Jess hides the drawing under one of the stacks of books-no place else to put it, really-and cleans up around the room, since they don't use maid service. They rarely unpack their things, but there's gear scattered across the floor.
Just as she's finishing up, she hears the pipes squeal, signaling the end of the shower, and then the almost-silent sound of Jo's bare feet on the floor. Since they can't leave, they'll have to occupy themselves with research, and the room will be covered with papers soon enough.
Jo's wrapped in a cloud of steam and a threadbare towel, face scrubbed clean of last night's leftover dirt and grime.
"There's some cereal and Pop-Tarts, or you could have frozen dinner for breakfast, which is kind of gross. It looks like we're snowed in for a couple days, at least. I know that fucks up our plan to meet Tamara in Boston and help her out with those hauntings, but..."
Jo tugs on her clothes, sighing. "I'll let her know." She plops down next to Jess, eyeing the snow outside. "These are gonna be a long couple of days." When she lifts the stack of books from the table, it leaves Jess's drawing in plain sight. "You drew this?"
Jess's cheeks must be bright red. She can feel them flaming. "Who else? It's just a rough outline...um, sorry about the-"
"No, Jess, it's gorgeous. I didn't know you were that talented," Jo says, reassuring her. She blushes. "God, that sounded cheesy. I mean, you're really good. Why didn't you mention it?"
"Never seemed relevant. You can't exactly kill a shapeshifter with a pencil."
Jo giggles, the sound surprisingly girlish. "True." She gets up, reaching for the box of cereal-she's so graceful, movements deliberate and thought-out, while Jess is all awkward height and too-long limbs. "You're staring," she observes.
"No, I'm not," Jess says defensively.
"Yeah, you are. Do I have cereal on my face or something?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just-I...you. Just." Jess's ears are pounding, blood rushing to her head, but she tries to calm down. "You look...God, you look so gorgeous right now. You have no idea, do you?"
Jo shakes her head. "I'm nothing special. Really. You're very sweet, though. C'mere." She pulls Jess close, cupping her jaw and brushing her fingers over Jess's lips.
There's intent in Jo's kiss, a desire or promise of more. Jess slides her hand up Jo's shirt, skin warm and soft under her fingers. Jo's breasts are small, but firm, peaked nipples rubbing against Jess's palm. "I haven't...done this before," she breathes, nervous energy getting the better of her. They've already been over that.
"I know," Jo assures her. "Just relax. I'll take care of you." Fingers move quickly over the buttons of Jess's shirt, and then it's off.
Jess trusts Jo completely, knows Jo would never intentionally hurt her, but she's still a little apprehensive. She probably has a right to be-it's her first time with a girl, after all. She wants it to be good for both of them. Letting herself get lost in the heat of Jo's mouth, her tongue, Jess misses the feeling when Jo's lips move to her neck.
There's a sudden flash of pain-Jo bites, then licks the sting away. "Wanted this for so long," Jo says. "Thought about it all the time." Another little nip, and then: "In the car. At the library." Her voice drops, low and rough. "In the shower. What you'd look like...what you'd sound like." Jess whimpers a little, and Jo smiles. "Not what I thought. Sometimes you'd catch me staring at you, and I thought you'd finally figured it out, but you never did, and I wondered how clueless you could be."
"I knew," Jess admits. "Sort of. I mean, I'd feel...something I couldn't explain, and I never-don't stop doing that!" Jo's tongue is moving across her breast, flicking at her nipple, somehow aware that it makes Jess's knees go weak and heart pound her chest.
Jo slips a hand beneath the waistband of Jess's shorts, into her panties, just grazing the edge. "You're so beautiful like this." Ducking, kissing a path down to where her hands are, Jo's tongue curls over the corner of her mouth as she starts to learn what makes Jess tick.
Jess wants to see what it feels like from the other side, though. To take control of the situation, like Jo hasn't really let her do before. "I want to..." Jess puts her hand over Jo's, stopping it. "Show me?"
Jo swallows audibly. "Yeah.
Jess takes Jo's place on the bed while Jo strips. She kneels in front of the other, running her hands up clean, apple-white skin that leads to the neat triangle of hair at the apex of Jo's thighs. She rubs a thumb over Jo's clit first, watching how Jo's eyes flutter shut as she arches into the touch. "You like that?" she asks, though the answer is pretty obvious.
"Stop, and I hurt you," Jo threatens. "Ah-" she sucks in a breath, shaky; slides a hand down her chest to play with her own nipple. "Fuck, do it already."
It's so easy to slip a finger inside Jo-just one, to start. Easier still to go straight to her g-spot and then back off, leaving her flushed and frustrated but too stubborn to ask for more. Jess uses that to her advantage, working in a second slow as molasses: twist-curl, twist-push until Jo's hips are shoving down and Jess's hand is bent at a dangerous angle and she has to pull back, worrying her lip as she does so. Is she doing...this okay? Too hard or too soft? Too much pressure or-
"God, your mouth," Jo moans, and then looks down. "Shit, you don't have to, I just-"
Jess cuts her off with a hard kiss, psyching herself up. She really does want to; she's just nervous. "Show me."
Jo gives her a playful nudge in the right direction. "Just start with what works for you." She's wet and pink, smells of soap and sweat and lotion-familiar, but somehow a little different now that they're doing this.
Jess dips her head, licks tentatively. The taste isn't bad at all-earthy and rich, and a little salty, but not like how guys taste. Her fingernails (painted with blue polish that Jo bought for a dollar) leave angry red half-moon marks on Jo's hips, and Jo clutches at Jess's shoulders, murmuring words of encouragement.
"Like that," she says, words turning breathy as Jess swirls her tongue. "Little bit to the left...not too fast...shit." Voice breaking, hands tangling in Jess's sweat-sticky curls, spine curving into an arch, and it's fucking hot.
Jess ruts against the sheets, finally giving some attention to her own needs. Her scalp is aching from the pull and tug of Jo's fingers in her hair, the hot, sharp burn keeping her from coming, though she hasn't been touched yet. Jo moans as Jess presses down on her clit, and then she's done.
When Jo comes, it's without warning, writhing gracelessly on the sheets and choking on the single syllable of Jess's name. She clenches around Jess's tongue, riding it out as long as she can, and when her breathing finally slows, she looks a little embarrassed. "Now you," she says, grinning.
Fingers press into her-light, teasing motions that fill Jess with need. She's warm and wet and practically aching for it. "Come on, do it," she urges. "Please."
That's what does it, apparently. Jo pushes two inside in one fluid movement, crooking them at just the right angle and mouthing at Jess's collarbone, leaving marks. Mine written in purples and blues, and Jess wouldn't have it any other way.
*
In late February, when her parents ask about her trip home, Jess feigns mono, saying that she's not up to the trip and doesn't want to get anyone else sick. She thinks they can tell that she's lying, but isn't sure.
"I'm worried about you, hon," her dad says.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Jessica," her mom says. "You're breaking all your promises."
Jess doesn't say anything.
"Can you put Sam on?" her mom asks. "I want to talk to him for a minute."
"He's out," she lies, voice catching in her throat for the first time in a long time. "I'll have him call you when he gets back."
*
Jess's email inbox shows an email from Rebecca (sent to just about everyone Rebecca knows), saying that her brother, Zack, has been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Jess is shocked. He was never violent-wouldn't even hurt a fly-and Jess has this weird feeling that something she and Jo would take care of is behind it all. Hunters' intuition, maybe, if there is even such a thing.
"We need to go," Jess says. "St. Louis." She shows Jo the email. "Zack wouldn't do this. There's got to be something weird involved."
"I hate to say it, but you're biased. What if there isn't anything unusual? What if you just didn't know him as well as you thought?"
"There's something weird," Jess insists. "And if there isn't, then I need to be there for Rebecca. She's a close friend."
"I guess we could go down and check it out," Jo hems. "For a few days."
"I'm driving." Jess snatches the keys off the table. "Pack it up."
*
"So this is Jo," Rebecca says when they meet, eyeing her up and down.
"I've heard a lot about you," Jo says, and then, "Sorry about your brother."
"What can we do?" Jess asks.
"Zack didn't kill Emily." Rebecca wipes her eye, catching a tear before it rolls down her cheek. "He loved her. I loved her. He would never do anything to hurt her. And the police said they've got a security tape-that there's no getting out of this now. He could go to jail for life."
"Not if we have anything to do with it," Jess says. "We'll figure out what happened."
"We should take a look at that security tape," Jo suggests. "See if we can get to the bottom of this. You think maybe you could get your lawyers to show it to you?"
"Stole it off one of their desks already." Rebecca laughs a little, which is good to hear. "It shows Zack coming home at ten-thirty, and Emily was killed after that. He was with me until midnight, at least, having a couple beers."
"Look at the timestamp." Jo points at the screen. "Twenty-two oh-four; that's just after ten. You said time of death was about ten-thirty."
"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with."
All of a sudden, Jo starts coughing, and it sounds like she's going to hack up a lung.
"Hey, Bec, do you think you could grab her a glass of water? She's had this cough all week," Jess says.
As soon as Rebecca leaves the room, Jo stops. "Check this out." She rewinds the tape, then replays it. Zack looks at the camera, eyes glinting silver.
"Camera flare?" Jess guesses.
"Not like one I've ever seen. Some kind of double, maybe. Bet they're pretty hard to catch."
"Zack's been remanded without bail, though, so if we see something that looks like him walking around..." Jess says. "We should stay a few more days, see if there's anything we can do. I should make sure Becky's okay, anyway."
*
“Turns out some guy was arrested for trying to kill his wife," Jo says, stepping into the bathroom while Jess is brushing her teeth.
"Violent week. So?"
"Apparently, he was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked."
Jess spits into the sink. "Now we've got another case like Zack's. Like I said, this is definitely our kind of problem."
"Shapeshifters, probably. We should head out, see if we can find its lair."
"Great. Just another day at the office," Jess says tiredly.
"Yep," Jo agrees. She packs a bag with the usual: salt, holy water, knives, bullets, flares, a flashlight, and batteries, motioning for Jess to do the same.
Jess isn't exactly sure how to find a shapeshifter, but Jo appears to know what she's doing, so Jess follows her lead. "What are we looking for?" she asks.
"A trail," Jo says, eyes flicking to where there's blood smeared on a nearby telephone pole. "Someone came this way. Let's see where it leads." There's blood on the side of a building, too, and a small puddle on the street, where it just stops at a manhole cover. "Bet this runs by Zack's house, too."
"Down the rabbit hole it is, I guess." The sewer smells awful-well, duh, Jess thinks.
"It's probably using the sewer system to get around," Jo says. "Look at this." There's a pile of blood and skin on the ground; Jo picks some of the skin up with her knife. "Gross. Maybe the shapeshifter sheds when it changes shape."
"How do we kill it?" Jess asks.
"My dad's books say it's a silver bullet to the heart."
"Your favorite." Jess smiles. And then walks directly into another little pile of skin. "Ugh."
"Looks like it's lived here for a while."
"Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away with?" Something moves behind Jo; the thing, probably. "Jo!" Jo turns and gets punched square in the mouth-Jess can hear the sickening crack! and hopes none of Jo's teeth get knocked out-and falls to the ground. Jess reaches for her gun (no silver bullets loaded in yet) and shoots a few times, but misses. "Shit." She helps Jo up, pressing her sleeve to Jo's lip.
Jo shoves her away. "'M’fine. Let's go.”
They try to chase it, but the shapeshifter climbs out seconds before they do, turning the corner.
"We should get out of here and split up, see if we can find the son of a bitch. I'll take this side, you take the other, and we'll meet back here," Jo says.
"Okay." Jess keeps her gun at the ready (hidden in her jacket, but still) while she looks around for the thing, though it wasn't in Zack's form when it hit Jo. She checks over her shoulder, just in case it doubled back; when she turns around again, Sam is standing in front of her.
"Jess," he says, only...his voice sounds different-not much, but slightly, and she recognizes it. But he looks the same, minus the fact that he's in desperate need of a haircut, and when he puts his arms around her, she feels like everything's back to normal.
"I've been looking for you," Jess says, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. This is the moment she's been waiting for, and after so many months of searching and hoping and then starting to give up that hope, Sam's right here, exactly the same except for his too-long hair. It doesn't feel like she'd imagined it would: she's not crying and neither is he; something is off. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? You just left."
"I had to. My family needed me."
"Right," she scoffs. "The family you hated. The family you said tried to force you into the family business. The family you ran away from. What about me, Sam? We were supposed to be a family."
"It's not like that," he claims. "If I could've told you what I had to do, I would've. But you wouldn't have believed me."
"Oh, I know all about you now-your parents, your history. I heard some.…interesting things about you and Dean, too."
Sam flushes red, and it's not cute anymore. He looks guilty. "Who told you that?" he asks.
"Does it matter? They told me more than you did, anyway. And it seems like you left me for your brother. God, Sam, I-I thought you loved me."
"I do, Jess, really it's just-"
"It's just what?" she asks, frustrated and wanting a straight answer.
There's a gunshot, and Sam crumples to the ground, motionless. Jo rushes out from behind Jess before she can even react. "It wasn't him," she says. "I saw his eyes glow. It's the shifter."
"Oh," Jess says. Numbness washes over her; she can't cry, which she guesses it's better than breaking down. "Oh."
"Let's get you out of here," Jo suggests, leading her back to the car. She drives away quickly, tires screeching against the road, and doesn't stop until they're out of town.
"You have to know that's not how Sam really feels," Jo says. "Shifters are fucking evil. They figure out your weakness, and then exploit it. "You have to know it's not the truth."
Jess doesn't say anything in response. She can't; her throat's too tight.
*
Jo tries to bring Jess back out of her shell again, and Jess is grateful for it, really, but sometimes she just wants to be left alone. Between Jo's check-ins, questions, snack breaks, and random non sequiturs, Jess feels like she's going crazy. To drown out the noise, she sticks her headphones in her ears, cranking the music as loud as it can go. That works for a few hours, which is longer than Jess expected it would, but when Jo finally notices Jess isn't responding, she yanks the earbuds out and powers down Jess's iPod. "We're a team," she says, blunt nails skimming down the length of Jess's arm. "We can't function as a team unless I know what's going on with you, okay?" Jess nods, and lets Jo drag her to some chick flick later that day, lets Jo buy candy and popcorn and soda.
Afterwards, Jess feels a little better, and when she sleeps, she doesn't replay her time with the shifter over and over as a nightmare.
*
A nest of vampires in Washington proves to be almost too much for them. Cattle mutilations in the Corn Belt tip Jo off, and they take a handful of easy salt-and-burns in the area, with Jo keeping an eye on the Northwest- "probably where they'll go next." She's right, of course. She almost always is, and she knows it, sometimes gets a little cocky about it.
Jess isn't sure they can handle a hunt like this, but one of the vamps gets a trace on Jo's scent, so they've got to finish this one, and do it right.
"And how do you kill vampires?" Jo prompts her. They're gearing up for the hunt: cleaning weapons, getting organized.
Jess thinks back to the books she'd read when she was just getting started, but doesn't remember seeing anything about vampires. "Not with a stake through their hearts?" she guesses.
"Funny." Jo's lip twitches, just the corner of her mouth. "From what I've heard, you have to cut their heads off. I'm not sure how true it is, but it's the best we've got, so we'll need machetes.
They rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to haul ass out to this weird surplus weapons store. Jess loses, and resigns herself to a long afternoon of driving and possibly getting hit on by some guy hawking AK-47s.
Jo's truck, while a junker of one, is something Jess has grown to love. It holds up when they need it to, even though it could get more miles to the gallon. Mostly, though, she likes it because it's where she and Jo kissed for the first time.
*
The nest is bigger than either of them expected. Everyone's coupled up and sleeping in hammocks. Off to the side is what looks like a little room, kept private by red velvet curtains.
Jo motions her away from the room and back outside so they can plan.
"No way we can do this!" Jess says. She's trying to keep her voice down, but she's scared and it shows. "There's too many of them to kill."
"By decapitation, yeah," Jo agrees. "But Tamara said torching 'em'll probably work."
"Worth a try, right? If not, we could always lure them somewhere secluded, pick them off one by one."
Luckily, Jo's got a fire starter log in the trunk. The nest doesn't catch as easily as they hope, but it does, going up in a multicolor blaze of flames that'd be beautiful if the situation were different. The warehouse burns to the ground, and if the vampires make it out "alive"...well, Jess and Jo will have to come back with reinforcements.
*
Even though they're dating (can it be called dating if they don't go on dates?), life isn't really that different. There are good-morning kisses, and goodnight kisses; kisses in the bathroom and (depending on where they are) at meals and gas stations. They sleep together (which, aside from being awesome, saves money), and share the shower sometimes (saves hot water), but other than that, the routine is still the same. Jess has to put up with Jo's crappy music. Jo rolls her eyes every time Jess asks for just a little gravy with her biscuits, or French fries "extra-extra-crispy."
People do stare at them, but the supernatural seem to love sleepy little Midwestern towns which probably don't have many same-sex couples. And if Jess is going to be shallow (she'll admit to being guilty of that every once in a while), there aren't too many couples as hot as she and Jo are. They can't hide that they're a couple, because Jo likes to bite and scratch, likes to make sure people know Jess is hers.
*
Jess's phone beeps to let her know she got a text, which is from Ash. There's no one else on the road, so she opens it, quickly scanning the contents, which are a set of coordinates where Sam is right now. He's probably twenty miles away, and the fact that she has no desire to see him shocks her. But despite her initial reservations about hunting, she can't imagine going back to the life she had before.
Jo is dozing in the passenger seat, and jumps a little when Jess pokes her. "We there yet?" she asks.
"Nope," Jess answers. There's no real way to casually segue into it, so she just says it: "Ash knows where Sam is."
"You mean where he was last," Jo corrects.
"No, right now. It's maybe half an hour away."
"That's great!" Jo exclaims, but Jess can sense the undertone of sadness in her voice. She still asks, "Why aren't you more excited? This is what you've been waiting for."
"Yeah, I know. But honestly, I don't know if it'd be such a good idea," Jess admits. "It'd just be awkward. He's not who I want to be with anymore."
Jo smiles, big and bright, and Jess can practically feel that warmth seeping into her body. Jess barely even notices as they drive past the exit for Franklin, and doesn't regret her choice at all.
*
Summer in Mississippi, and Jess feels like she's going to suffocate from the thick heat hanging heavy in the air. She hasn't gotten her hair cut in months, and it's sweaty against her shoulders, her back. Without much thought, she cuts off her ponytail, metallic snip snip snip of the scissors loud in the silence. She considers adding bangs, but decides against it; they'd be crooked.
When Jo sees her, she doesn't say anything, but gapes open-mouthed for a minute until she realizes that she probably looks like a fish, and then closes it. Without her long hair weighing her down, she feels freer, lighter-happier, even. Like something's been lifted off her shoulders.
In bed, Jo says, "I like it." Her nails tickle Jess's head, the feeling intensified; Jo tugs on it as they rock against each other, pulls it when she comes (hard), body trembling.
The sore scalp Jess ends up with is completely worth it.
*
In Oklahoma, Jo gets sunburned. There's an ever-present flush on her face, like she's embarrassed. Her arms and legs and shoulders are pink, and so tender that when she flops into bed, skin reddened even more from the shower, she winces, and gingerly gets back out, reaching for the nearest item of clothing-an oversized t-shirt-to cover herself up with. She paces until Jess falls asleep, is pacing again when she wakes up, and Jess stops at the first drugstore they see to buy some aloe vera gel. Jo grumbles in protest, but sighs contentedly when she rubs it on. "Thank you," she says, and Jess feels warm inside.
*
Jess never thought she'd end up like this, living out of motel rooms, traveling the country like a gypsy, hunting. She still misses California, and the hours she used to spend painting in the studio. She misses having somewhere to go home to, and her family and friends, of course, and Sam, but less. He doesn't cross her mind as much, and the pain she felt when he first left is hardly there. Doing what she does isn't easy, but with Jo at her side, the road beneath them, anything is possible.