[SPN] Dean/Jo: With the force of a great typhoon
TITLE: With the force of a great typhoon.
FANDOM: Supernatural
CHARACTERS: Dean, Jo, Balthazar, and Bobby.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: With the apocalypse upon them, Jo's taken her mother's place at a hunters training camp. Chaos ensues. (600+ words)
WARNING/S: Beware OOC-ness and all around crack.
NOTES: Written for cw_land's Fairytale Fusion Challenge; I decided to use Disney's Mulan.
"She did WHAT?!"
Dean whips around, shotgun in tow. Under the guise of looking equally furious, Bobby bows his head, cap slipping forward, brim pulling a shadow over his eyes. Still, he can't fight the slow grin which follows.
"Nearly burned the shed down," he mutters in response, "and hid our last pack of beer". 'Course, he knows Dean heard him the first time - but to see the expression on the other man's face, first wide-eyed then narrowing in molten, bubbling anger, is utterly priceless.
Dean sputters, then carefully places the shotgun down. He'd been cleaning it, finding a sense of calm in the chore. Now, he's back to hoping he won't come out of this war with a head full of gray and white. He's much too young for that and he's faced plenty of these sons of bitches before, but with their new recruit... God, anything was possible!
"When I get my hands on her--," he cuts himself off, reaching for the door handle. Sends another silent curse to whichever god is listening, then bounds off to possibly wring her neck. For a quick second, Bobby tells himself he should go after Dean, make sure the kid doesn't pummel Jo into next Monday. But slowly, deliberately he sits back down, shaking his head, chuckling.
If anything, the girl can handle herself. And this was their battle, not his.
*
As it turns out, a god or, well, an angel is listening. And an angel of the Lord, no matter how exasperating, is better than nothing, or so she's been told. Jo begs to differ, mutinously frowns at him from across the counter, twirling her knife around one more time before chucking it at him. It misses by a few precious inches.
"Now, now, darling," Balthazar raises a hand, "is that any way to be treating your guardian angel?" He sidles towards her, reaching out to place that same hand upon her shoulder.
"Y'know, I've said it before," Jo sighs mockingly, shrugging his hand off. "Fact is, I'd take the yellow-eyed demon over you." It's a half-hearted insult, and he knows it. Fuck, does he know it. Still, she's not about to give him the satisfaction.
And Balthazar will take what he can get. He throws her a knowing smile before taking his seat, propping his legs across the table, examining his nails. She looks to him expectantly, tapping her finger against the tabletop.
After another few seconds, he meets her gaze.
"Yes, Joanna Beth?"
She hisses, her cheeks reddening, before settling herself down, glaring at him all the while, "So, is he coming?" She manages to get the words out.
Balthazar, as if none the wiser, takes his time, "Oh. You mean the older Winchester boy?"
The bastard.
Jo tells herself to breathe in, breathe out, before trying once more, "Yes. I mean, who else would I be talking about?"
"I'm sure I wouldn't know, which is why I asked." His smile is a little bit too bright. Her mouth twitches. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have her knife in hand again.
"So?"
"So what, my dear?"
"Is he?" Jo grits out quietly, her eyes blazing. Even so, Balthazar isn't frightened. He likes her best this way, even more when she's spitting fire at said Winchester, but since he isn't here yet, this will have to do.
"As it happens, he is. On his way here, unfortunately without a gun," he replies just as quietly, just as pointedly.
Jo would've lost it then, would've reached over and yanked the damn angel by the collar. Only, of course, Dean finds that exact moment to burst in.
~END?
FANDOM: Supernatural
CHARACTERS: Dean, Jo, Balthazar, and Bobby.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: With the apocalypse upon them, Jo's taken her mother's place at a hunters training camp. Chaos ensues. (600+ words)
WARNING/S: Beware OOC-ness and all around crack.
NOTES: Written for cw_land's Fairytale Fusion Challenge; I decided to use Disney's Mulan.
"She did WHAT?!"
Dean whips around, shotgun in tow. Under the guise of looking equally furious, Bobby bows his head, cap slipping forward, brim pulling a shadow over his eyes. Still, he can't fight the slow grin which follows.
"Nearly burned the shed down," he mutters in response, "and hid our last pack of beer". 'Course, he knows Dean heard him the first time - but to see the expression on the other man's face, first wide-eyed then narrowing in molten, bubbling anger, is utterly priceless.
Dean sputters, then carefully places the shotgun down. He'd been cleaning it, finding a sense of calm in the chore. Now, he's back to hoping he won't come out of this war with a head full of gray and white. He's much too young for that and he's faced plenty of these sons of bitches before, but with their new recruit... God, anything was possible!
"When I get my hands on her--," he cuts himself off, reaching for the door handle. Sends another silent curse to whichever god is listening, then bounds off to possibly wring her neck. For a quick second, Bobby tells himself he should go after Dean, make sure the kid doesn't pummel Jo into next Monday. But slowly, deliberately he sits back down, shaking his head, chuckling.
If anything, the girl can handle herself. And this was their battle, not his.
*
As it turns out, a god or, well, an angel is listening. And an angel of the Lord, no matter how exasperating, is better than nothing, or so she's been told. Jo begs to differ, mutinously frowns at him from across the counter, twirling her knife around one more time before chucking it at him. It misses by a few precious inches.
"Now, now, darling," Balthazar raises a hand, "is that any way to be treating your guardian angel?" He sidles towards her, reaching out to place that same hand upon her shoulder.
"Y'know, I've said it before," Jo sighs mockingly, shrugging his hand off. "Fact is, I'd take the yellow-eyed demon over you." It's a half-hearted insult, and he knows it. Fuck, does he know it. Still, she's not about to give him the satisfaction.
And Balthazar will take what he can get. He throws her a knowing smile before taking his seat, propping his legs across the table, examining his nails. She looks to him expectantly, tapping her finger against the tabletop.
After another few seconds, he meets her gaze.
"Yes, Joanna Beth?"
She hisses, her cheeks reddening, before settling herself down, glaring at him all the while, "So, is he coming?" She manages to get the words out.
Balthazar, as if none the wiser, takes his time, "Oh. You mean the older Winchester boy?"
The bastard.
Jo tells herself to breathe in, breathe out, before trying once more, "Yes. I mean, who else would I be talking about?"
"I'm sure I wouldn't know, which is why I asked." His smile is a little bit too bright. Her mouth twitches. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have her knife in hand again.
"So?"
"So what, my dear?"
"Is he?" Jo grits out quietly, her eyes blazing. Even so, Balthazar isn't frightened. He likes her best this way, even more when she's spitting fire at said Winchester, but since he isn't here yet, this will have to do.
"As it happens, he is. On his way here, unfortunately without a gun," he replies just as quietly, just as pointedly.
Jo would've lost it then, would've reached over and yanked the damn angel by the collar. Only, of course, Dean finds that exact moment to burst in.
~END?