SPN: Diminishing Like a Chord (Jo Harvelle)
For vivien529.
Title: Diminishing Like a Chord
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Supernatural
Character: Jo Harvelle
Rating: PG
Summary: I do not think I can bear this.
Notes: Set after 5.10.
There was a hollowness where pain used to be, and her mama whispering comfort in her ear, and then snarling and clanging and noise like the end of the world.
When Jo opened her eyes again, she was standing in a forest. Her clothes were in shreds, but her skin felt like new. She was cold, and her hands were braced on a fence made of bones.
She looked down the path open before her, and up the twisted, scaled leg of a rickety hut. In its doorway, there was a shadow of a woman whose eyes glowed like candleflame. She raised her arm, fingers crooked as she beckoned Jo down the path.
The hut bent on its stilts, lowering to the ground, and Jo thought its wooden creaks sounded like screaming. She stepped onto the path, and she realized she was dead.
*
The skulls chattered their teeth as Jo walked towards the cabin, and the old woman clacked her jaw up and down. Jo wondered what crept through the forest at her back. She wondered where her mother was, and she clamped her mouth around a cry.
"Sweet," the old woman said, her voice scraping the air. "A good, sweet girl you must be."
Jo bowed her head and bobbed her knee. "Babcia," she murmured, thinking not of teeth.
The old woman lifted her arm, though Jo was just out of her reach. Jagged nails rent the air beneath Jo's tilted chin. "You wish something of me."
"I would--" Jo hesitated, forgetting the form, forgetting the words, only remembering to never offer thanks. "I would wish for many things, if I could."
The old woman narrowed her eyes, slits of flickering orange still shining. "You would bargain?"
"I would turn my back on the forest," Jo replied. She clenched her fists and hoped she'd remembered rightly.
The old woman tapped her fingers against her leg; they made a hollow sound. "Your matka," she mused. "She waits on the border. She holds the cup in her hand."
"For me," Jo ventured. "It wasn't her time."
The old woman jerked her head, like an ax blow. "Would you ask me a question, sweet one?"
"Your fence is already full of skulls." Jo dared to look from side to side. "Your riders aren't here."
"I must gather them again," the old woman answered. She stepped, just past her threshold. "Perhaps you?"
Jo shuddered. "My mother, first."
The old woman clapped her palm to her thigh, and there was a flash of light, annihilating.
Jo's sight took a while to return. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she ignored them. She dared to ask a question: "Is it done?"
The old woman winced, then nodded. She reached out, and this time, her index finger tapped under Jo's chin. "Will you be my Sun, child?"
"Yes," Jo answered, nodding, and the forest rose up to devour her.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Kelly Cherry's Your Going Out.
Title: Diminishing Like a Chord
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Supernatural
Character: Jo Harvelle
Rating: PG
Summary: I do not think I can bear this.
Notes: Set after 5.10.
There was a hollowness where pain used to be, and her mama whispering comfort in her ear, and then snarling and clanging and noise like the end of the world.
When Jo opened her eyes again, she was standing in a forest. Her clothes were in shreds, but her skin felt like new. She was cold, and her hands were braced on a fence made of bones.
She looked down the path open before her, and up the twisted, scaled leg of a rickety hut. In its doorway, there was a shadow of a woman whose eyes glowed like candleflame. She raised her arm, fingers crooked as she beckoned Jo down the path.
The hut bent on its stilts, lowering to the ground, and Jo thought its wooden creaks sounded like screaming. She stepped onto the path, and she realized she was dead.
*
The skulls chattered their teeth as Jo walked towards the cabin, and the old woman clacked her jaw up and down. Jo wondered what crept through the forest at her back. She wondered where her mother was, and she clamped her mouth around a cry.
"Sweet," the old woman said, her voice scraping the air. "A good, sweet girl you must be."
Jo bowed her head and bobbed her knee. "Babcia," she murmured, thinking not of teeth.
The old woman lifted her arm, though Jo was just out of her reach. Jagged nails rent the air beneath Jo's tilted chin. "You wish something of me."
"I would--" Jo hesitated, forgetting the form, forgetting the words, only remembering to never offer thanks. "I would wish for many things, if I could."
The old woman narrowed her eyes, slits of flickering orange still shining. "You would bargain?"
"I would turn my back on the forest," Jo replied. She clenched her fists and hoped she'd remembered rightly.
The old woman tapped her fingers against her leg; they made a hollow sound. "Your matka," she mused. "She waits on the border. She holds the cup in her hand."
"For me," Jo ventured. "It wasn't her time."
The old woman jerked her head, like an ax blow. "Would you ask me a question, sweet one?"
"Your fence is already full of skulls." Jo dared to look from side to side. "Your riders aren't here."
"I must gather them again," the old woman answered. She stepped, just past her threshold. "Perhaps you?"
Jo shuddered. "My mother, first."
The old woman clapped her palm to her thigh, and there was a flash of light, annihilating.
Jo's sight took a while to return. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she ignored them. She dared to ask a question: "Is it done?"
The old woman winced, then nodded. She reached out, and this time, her index finger tapped under Jo's chin. "Will you be my Sun, child?"
"Yes," Jo answered, nodding, and the forest rose up to devour her.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Kelly Cherry's Your Going Out.