Fic: Then I See You
Title: Then I See You
Author: lucklessforhim
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1250
Summary: I know, everything is not as it's sold, but the more I grow the less I know.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters and I am making no money writing this. It's just for fun.
Note: Next installment of my post-BUABS series with Jo on the road with the Boys. This one is one of my favorites! Title and summary taken from "Try" by Nelly Furtado. Give it a listen, it fits with this so well. Please, read (if you only read one of these, this is the one to read) and tell me what you think! ♥
Catch up on the series...
Count Me In: HERE.
Just Keep Driving: HERE.
Still Here: HERE.
Dean was coming back from a pizza run when he spotted her up ahead on the walkway. She was sitting up against the wall near her room, smoking a cigarette and staring blankly past the bars of the second floor walkway like she was in jail. She turned to pick up the motel-provided ashtray and he caught the smallest glimpse of her forcefully blank face behind a thick curtain of blonde hair.
He quietly slipped into his and Sam's room and left the pizza with a mumbled excuse about giving Jo a hand with something. He grabbed the fifth of Jim Beam from his bag on his way back out, knowing he’d need it, and knowing it was probably a bad idea.
Dean walked silently down the hall until Jo was at his feet. She had clearly started to rapidly unravel in the short time he was in his room. Her knees were pulled up close to her chest and her forehead was resting on top of them, hands tangled up in her hair. Without a word, he sat down next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of himself and crossing them at the ankles.
He heard her sigh before she lifted her head to look at him with eyes that were red-rimmed and glassy.
She was chaos, wild hair and layers and layers of clothing that looked like they had been thrown on almost desperately; knit pants, cami, tank top, t-shirt, sweater, but bare feet. All around her was order, everything lined up and neatly stacked; ashtray with two small paper tubes and a third longer one burning, lighter on top of a cigarette pack next to her room key.
"Here," Dean said while extending the bottle, "drink. Trust me, it does help."
They sat there in silence, passing the bottle back and forth for a while before Dean tried to steer them towards neutral territory. She was on the edge, and he really didn't want to push her over it. "So…have you always smoked?"
"I don't do it all the time," she said, justifying her actions while blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth and away from him. "Really, I only do it when I'm stressed. Always lights, and never more than one in a row; that's my rule," she explained, while stubbing out her third one. She took the bottle from him with a sigh and angrily downed a huge swig. Handing it back to him, she bitterly asked, "How come I don't feel better?"
"Takes time," Dean said. He knew it sounded like bullshit, but it was all he could say. For all the years that he'd been doing this, he still didn't know the answer. He still didn't feel better.
"Time…" she echoed hollowly. "I have time, though. And that's good, right?"
"Right," Dean confirmed.
"Well," she said, removing another cigarette and lighting it. "That little girl doesn't have any more time. How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"
"We did everything we could, Jo," Dean murmured softly.
Not in the mood for softness, Jo banged her head against the wall in frustration. Then, a few moments later she harshly asked, "Why couldn't we save her?"
"Because we couldn't," he whispered. He told her that like it was the world's biggest secret. And, in a way, it was.
"…She was six years old." Jo whispered, horrified, watching the rain drip steadily off the roof and down past the bars of the walkway. After a few moments she hesitantly said, "Maybe…I'm not cut out for this after all."
"No, you are. I can see it," he assured her. "Caring…it's not a bad thing, Jo."
He put his arm around her and she leaned into his chest just slightly. She took a long drag off the Marlboro in her right hand. "Do you ever get used to it?" she asked generally, smoke billowing out of her lips as she spoke. "The cases with kids, I mean," she clarified.
"No. Not really." He tugged her closer, his arm slipping down from her shoulders to her waist. "The ones we can save help, but losing them never gets easier."
"Then, how do you deal with it?" she asked wearily. She viciously flicked the still burning butt past the railway instead of stubbing it out neatly as she had the others.
"Me?" he asked, taking the bourbon from her left hand. "I drink; probably too much, but…eh. Whatever."
"I just…" she trailed off, looking away from him and sighing deeply. "I don't want to feel responsible anymore," she confessed quietly.
Dean knew that feeling well…too well. He looked at this woman in front of him. This amazing woman, who was once resolute and defiant, was now unbalanced and lost in herself. He wanted--no, needed to comfort her. "Hey, come on, don't--"
"I'm not--It's too much. Y'know? When we can't save someone…" She sighed while softly knocking her head on the wall behind her and trying like hell not to cry. If only she could knock her head hard enough to erase the last week, erase the feeling of immense failure that was swelling up deep inside her gut.
"Hey," Dean said softly, squeezing her hip to get her attention. "You think I don't feel like this from time to time?"
Jo shrugged. "I mean, I know you must feel like this sometimes, but you don't let it show. You don't let it get to you."
Dean let out a wry chuckle. "And that sounds healthy to you?"
A smile ghosted across Jo's face. "Well," she conceded, "maybe not."
"You can do this," Dean whispered softly in her ear before pressing the softest kiss ever to her temple.
Jo turned her head to look in his eyes, and suddenly she and Dean were two heartbeats away from kissing.
Maybe it was because she was having her own version of a nervous breakdown outside at a hotel in Pleasant Valley, Wisconsin. Maybe it was because Dean wanted to distract her from crying. Maybe it was because they were both a little drunk. Maybe it was all of those, maybe it was none of those.
The reasons didn't matter a whole hell of a lot, because they still ended up fumbling for the key to Jo's room in between hard, desperate kisses and too soft caresses that made Jo want to cry.
Inside, he laid her down on the unmade bed and slowly peeled off every single layer of clothing she had been trying to keep herself warm with. He looked at her spread out in the middle of the bed. She was naked, exposed, laid bare before him. But really, he thinks, that’s what she was out on the walkway, too.
He quickly stripped off his own clothes and lay down next to her on top of the sheets. For a moment, he just looked at her. He watched the way she bit her lower lip, the way her fist clenched the loose bleach-white sheet.
When he ran his hand from her hip up the rest of her body, her eyes fluttered closed like this was exactly what she needed.
She laced her fingers with his and pulled on his hand, tugged his body closer to hers, before placing a hand on his cheek. When he felt tears start to form behind his eyes, he blinked them away quickly, but thought that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he needed, too.
The End.
Note 2: I hope you enjoyed this update! Also, I still need a name for this series. Y'all have any ideas?
Author: lucklessforhim
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1250
Summary: I know, everything is not as it's sold, but the more I grow the less I know.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters and I am making no money writing this. It's just for fun.
Note: Next installment of my post-BUABS series with Jo on the road with the Boys. This one is one of my favorites! Title and summary taken from "Try" by Nelly Furtado. Give it a listen, it fits with this so well. Please, read (if you only read one of these, this is the one to read) and tell me what you think! ♥
Catch up on the series...
Count Me In: HERE.
Just Keep Driving: HERE.
Still Here: HERE.
Dean was coming back from a pizza run when he spotted her up ahead on the walkway. She was sitting up against the wall near her room, smoking a cigarette and staring blankly past the bars of the second floor walkway like she was in jail. She turned to pick up the motel-provided ashtray and he caught the smallest glimpse of her forcefully blank face behind a thick curtain of blonde hair.
He quietly slipped into his and Sam's room and left the pizza with a mumbled excuse about giving Jo a hand with something. He grabbed the fifth of Jim Beam from his bag on his way back out, knowing he’d need it, and knowing it was probably a bad idea.
Dean walked silently down the hall until Jo was at his feet. She had clearly started to rapidly unravel in the short time he was in his room. Her knees were pulled up close to her chest and her forehead was resting on top of them, hands tangled up in her hair. Without a word, he sat down next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of himself and crossing them at the ankles.
He heard her sigh before she lifted her head to look at him with eyes that were red-rimmed and glassy.
She was chaos, wild hair and layers and layers of clothing that looked like they had been thrown on almost desperately; knit pants, cami, tank top, t-shirt, sweater, but bare feet. All around her was order, everything lined up and neatly stacked; ashtray with two small paper tubes and a third longer one burning, lighter on top of a cigarette pack next to her room key.
"Here," Dean said while extending the bottle, "drink. Trust me, it does help."
They sat there in silence, passing the bottle back and forth for a while before Dean tried to steer them towards neutral territory. She was on the edge, and he really didn't want to push her over it. "So…have you always smoked?"
"I don't do it all the time," she said, justifying her actions while blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth and away from him. "Really, I only do it when I'm stressed. Always lights, and never more than one in a row; that's my rule," she explained, while stubbing out her third one. She took the bottle from him with a sigh and angrily downed a huge swig. Handing it back to him, she bitterly asked, "How come I don't feel better?"
"Takes time," Dean said. He knew it sounded like bullshit, but it was all he could say. For all the years that he'd been doing this, he still didn't know the answer. He still didn't feel better.
"Time…" she echoed hollowly. "I have time, though. And that's good, right?"
"Right," Dean confirmed.
"Well," she said, removing another cigarette and lighting it. "That little girl doesn't have any more time. How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"
"We did everything we could, Jo," Dean murmured softly.
Not in the mood for softness, Jo banged her head against the wall in frustration. Then, a few moments later she harshly asked, "Why couldn't we save her?"
"Because we couldn't," he whispered. He told her that like it was the world's biggest secret. And, in a way, it was.
"…She was six years old." Jo whispered, horrified, watching the rain drip steadily off the roof and down past the bars of the walkway. After a few moments she hesitantly said, "Maybe…I'm not cut out for this after all."
"No, you are. I can see it," he assured her. "Caring…it's not a bad thing, Jo."
He put his arm around her and she leaned into his chest just slightly. She took a long drag off the Marlboro in her right hand. "Do you ever get used to it?" she asked generally, smoke billowing out of her lips as she spoke. "The cases with kids, I mean," she clarified.
"No. Not really." He tugged her closer, his arm slipping down from her shoulders to her waist. "The ones we can save help, but losing them never gets easier."
"Then, how do you deal with it?" she asked wearily. She viciously flicked the still burning butt past the railway instead of stubbing it out neatly as she had the others.
"Me?" he asked, taking the bourbon from her left hand. "I drink; probably too much, but…eh. Whatever."
"I just…" she trailed off, looking away from him and sighing deeply. "I don't want to feel responsible anymore," she confessed quietly.
Dean knew that feeling well…too well. He looked at this woman in front of him. This amazing woman, who was once resolute and defiant, was now unbalanced and lost in herself. He wanted--no, needed to comfort her. "Hey, come on, don't--"
"I'm not--It's too much. Y'know? When we can't save someone…" She sighed while softly knocking her head on the wall behind her and trying like hell not to cry. If only she could knock her head hard enough to erase the last week, erase the feeling of immense failure that was swelling up deep inside her gut.
"Hey," Dean said softly, squeezing her hip to get her attention. "You think I don't feel like this from time to time?"
Jo shrugged. "I mean, I know you must feel like this sometimes, but you don't let it show. You don't let it get to you."
Dean let out a wry chuckle. "And that sounds healthy to you?"
A smile ghosted across Jo's face. "Well," she conceded, "maybe not."
"You can do this," Dean whispered softly in her ear before pressing the softest kiss ever to her temple.
Jo turned her head to look in his eyes, and suddenly she and Dean were two heartbeats away from kissing.
Maybe it was because she was having her own version of a nervous breakdown outside at a hotel in Pleasant Valley, Wisconsin. Maybe it was because Dean wanted to distract her from crying. Maybe it was because they were both a little drunk. Maybe it was all of those, maybe it was none of those.
The reasons didn't matter a whole hell of a lot, because they still ended up fumbling for the key to Jo's room in between hard, desperate kisses and too soft caresses that made Jo want to cry.
Inside, he laid her down on the unmade bed and slowly peeled off every single layer of clothing she had been trying to keep herself warm with. He looked at her spread out in the middle of the bed. She was naked, exposed, laid bare before him. But really, he thinks, that’s what she was out on the walkway, too.
He quickly stripped off his own clothes and lay down next to her on top of the sheets. For a moment, he just looked at her. He watched the way she bit her lower lip, the way her fist clenched the loose bleach-white sheet.
When he ran his hand from her hip up the rest of her body, her eyes fluttered closed like this was exactly what she needed.
She laced her fingers with his and pulled on his hand, tugged his body closer to hers, before placing a hand on his cheek. When he felt tears start to form behind his eyes, he blinked them away quickly, but thought that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he needed, too.
The End.
Note 2: I hope you enjoyed this update! Also, I still need a name for this series. Y'all have any ideas?