As The Flames Climbed Into The Clouds, for spn_summergen
Title: As The Flames Climbed Into The Clouds
Author: geckoholic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1,500
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: For your second prompt, “a what-if story centering on if Jo Harvelle had survived her injuries from the hell hounds”. I wanted to do so much more with the idea, but it wasn't supposed to be. /o\
Summary: In the moment she curls up next to Ellen in the middle of the make-shift explosives, Jo expects to die. Imagine her surprise when she comes to in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery and with two familiar male voices wavering over from the other side of the room.
* Where the intended recipient defaulted, stories are posted as gifts for the community as a whole.
In the moment she curls up next to Ellen in the middle of the make-shift explosives, Jo expects to die. She's made peace with it, decides there are worse ways to go than passed out in her mother's arms. The pain is far away, almost surreal, but her strength drains out of her body with every heartbeat, each one weaker and weaker than the one before it. The last thing she registers is Ellen's fingers prying the trigger out of her hand.
Imagine her surprise when she comes to in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery and with two familiar male voices wavering over from the other side of the room. They're arguing, under their breath, probably trying to be quiet with it and failing spectacularly. Jo keeps still, eyes closed, listens and tries to figure out what they're on about, but she gets impatient fast.
“What the -“ her voice doesn't sound like she's used to, paper-thin and rough. She clears her throat, swallows a few times. “What the fuck are you two squabbling about this time?”
Dean's head whips around first, but Sam follows suit. It's almost funny, like two new cadets called to attention by their drill sergeant walking into the room or something. They stare at her expectantly, Dean's forehead creased with worry and while Sam wears a tentative little smile. It fits them both to a T, Jo thinks. Sam and Dean Winchester in a nutshell.
“How're you feelin'?” Dean asks, the first one to break the silence. He gets up, walks over to her bed. His hand reaches out to touch hers once he sat down in the chair next to her bed, but he doesn't do it, eyes falling to the floor. Guilt. The stupid fool.
She didn't quite stop to take stock of that herself yet, distracted by the two of them - story of her life, really - but now that he asks... She feels light-headed. Drugged up the wazoo, most likely, but at least the meds are doing their job. Very little pain manages to break through the haze. “Honestly? High as a kite.”
Dean's eyes shoot up to meet hers briefly, the ghost of a smile akin to the one his brother wore a few minutes ago playing at his lips, and there, that's so much better. Before he can say something stupid, though, Sam's by the bed to take over. “They shelled out the good stuff. Your mom made sure of it.”
Mom. Belatedly, Jo's heart misses a beat, but if Ellen's up and giving the docs hell, she must be okay. Sam seems to read the wave of worry on her face, smiles at her again, reassuringly this time. “She's fine. A few bruises, but other than that, good as new.”
“What happened?”
Sam exchanges a look with Dean, and seriously, Jo hates when they do that. “We don't know. She won't say. All we know is, when we...” He trails off, swallows. “When we went back to the store to see if there was anything of you left to put on a pyre, we found you both lying in front of the rubble. Out of it, but alive.”
Jo makes a mental note to ask her mom about it later, when something else crosses her mind. “Did you get him? You know -” she looks around for anyone to listen in, gestures to indicate horns. “Him.”
“Yes, and no,” Dean says. “Went right up to him, shot him in the face, but it didn't work. Son of a bitch got back up like nothing happened.”
She knows it's bad news, throws them back to square one, a battle lost. But still, Jo can't quite keep the laughter that wants to bubble out of her down. Dean stares at her like she's lost it, looks to Sam for assistance. Sam shrugs, mouths something that looks like drugs, and Jo takes pity on them.
“You shot the devil in the face,” she gets out between giggles. “You shot the fucking devil in the fucking face.”
Sam's the first one to join in. Dean's now staring at both of them like they're nuts, but eventually, even he breaks into grin, right before he pushes himself to his feet. “I'm gonna go and wake up Ellen, she'll have my balls for breakfast if I let her sleep through you being awake,” he says, presses a kiss to Jo's temple before he gets up and leaves the room while Sam takes the place by her side.
***
Jo's been awake for barely an hour when she feels sleep pulling at her again. Ellen shooed Sam and Dean from Jo's bedside and parked herself there in their stead; Sam went to grab a shower and some shuteye back at their motel, but Dean refuses to leave. He's snoring in one of the visitor's chairs, right where he and Sam were when Jo woke up.
Ellen's eyes follow Jo's to his sleeping form. “You've been under for two days, and he hasn't left this room for more than two or three hours at a time. Stupid kid.”
“Neither did you, I'm guessing,” Jo says.
“That's different.” Ellen scowls at his back before she turns her attention back to Jo. “I'm your mother.”
Yawning, Jo rubs her eyes, feels like a little kid doing it and decides that she couldn't care less right now. She wants to close her eyes, drift away, but there's something she needs to know first. “Mom, can I ask you something?”
Ellen smiles, warm and knowing, as if she's been expecting this. “Sure, honey. Anything you want.”
“How did we... Why are we still alive? What happened?”
Before she answers, Ellen takes a deep breath. “Something, or, uh. Someone saved us. Hauled us out of there just when everything started to go down in flames.” She hesitates, and when she does speak again, her voice is clinical, bar of emotion. A hunter giving an account of the facts. “Bright and blue, vaguely human form. Probably one of them angels, but I... I could've sworn it was something else.”
Jo's not sure if she's worried or intrigued. Either way, she needs to know. “What, mom? What was it?”
Ellen takes her hand, thumb caressing the back. “I think it was your father. His... spirit?” She snorts, draws her hand back, readjusts her weight in her chair to cross her legs. “No, forget that. I'm being ridiculous.”
It makes sense. Maybe. Somehow. After all the things they've seen, all that they know, it's not impossible. “You're not. If you think you saw him, I believe you.”
Smiling again, Ellen reaches out and smooths a hand down Jo's face. “You should sleep. I can see how tired you are. Always could, even when you argued and wailed and begged us to let you stay awake for just a little while longer.”
“Moooom,” Jo protests, but it's true. She burrows into the touch, closes her eyes, and falls asleep almost immediately.
***
Jo wakes again a few hours later, to too-bright lights and the faded shrieking of an alarm a few rooms away. She cranes her head; a glance out of the window tells her it's after nightfall, fully dark out. Dean's chair at the far end of the room is empty now, and there's a jacket thrown across the table that Jo thinks is Sam's. Ellen's still sitting by her bedside, slumped down so far in her chair that Jo's sure she'll slide off and to the ground any moment now. Grinning to herself, Jo leans back again and breathes in deep. There's a sharp pain when she inhales, deep into her midriff; it pulls on the stitches.
As if she's felt it by proxy, Ellen stirs, blinking and looking up, eyes bleary but full of concern. “You okay, baby?”
“Sure, mom.” Jo tries for a grin. “Don't worry.”
Ellen's eyebrows knit together, gaze falling to Jo's mauled middle underneath the covers, but she doesn't call her on the lie. She blinks a few times, sits up. “Can I get you anything?”
“I'm a bit thirsty, I think,” Jo says. She's not - not enough that she can't wait for the nurses - but Ellen's always dealt better with things when she could keep busy.
Nodding, Ellen gets up. “I'll get you something, then. See if I can find a doctor, ask them what's best.”
Once her mother's out of the room, Jo allows herself a pained groan. She carefully touches the place where gauze keeps her insides from spilling out. That'll take a while to heal, but at least she's still here. She's alive. Her dad made sure of it, saved them both. Jo doesn't know why or how, but she believes it. She wants to believe it. It's better than to think that some uptight, asshole angel saved them because the guys upstairs think they might still be of some use. Doesn't matter who did it anyway.
She will get better, get out of this bed. She'll find the demon who put her here and she'll help Sam and Dean find the devil. They'll keep fighting. And, who knows, maybe they'll even win.
Author: geckoholic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~1,500
Warnings: none
Author's Notes: For your second prompt, “a what-if story centering on if Jo Harvelle had survived her injuries from the hell hounds”. I wanted to do so much more with the idea, but it wasn't supposed to be. /o\
Summary: In the moment she curls up next to Ellen in the middle of the make-shift explosives, Jo expects to die. Imagine her surprise when she comes to in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery and with two familiar male voices wavering over from the other side of the room.
* Where the intended recipient defaulted, stories are posted as gifts for the community as a whole.
In the moment she curls up next to Ellen in the middle of the make-shift explosives, Jo expects to die. She's made peace with it, decides there are worse ways to go than passed out in her mother's arms. The pain is far away, almost surreal, but her strength drains out of her body with every heartbeat, each one weaker and weaker than the one before it. The last thing she registers is Ellen's fingers prying the trigger out of her hand.
Imagine her surprise when she comes to in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery and with two familiar male voices wavering over from the other side of the room. They're arguing, under their breath, probably trying to be quiet with it and failing spectacularly. Jo keeps still, eyes closed, listens and tries to figure out what they're on about, but she gets impatient fast.
“What the -“ her voice doesn't sound like she's used to, paper-thin and rough. She clears her throat, swallows a few times. “What the fuck are you two squabbling about this time?”
Dean's head whips around first, but Sam follows suit. It's almost funny, like two new cadets called to attention by their drill sergeant walking into the room or something. They stare at her expectantly, Dean's forehead creased with worry and while Sam wears a tentative little smile. It fits them both to a T, Jo thinks. Sam and Dean Winchester in a nutshell.
“How're you feelin'?” Dean asks, the first one to break the silence. He gets up, walks over to her bed. His hand reaches out to touch hers once he sat down in the chair next to her bed, but he doesn't do it, eyes falling to the floor. Guilt. The stupid fool.
She didn't quite stop to take stock of that herself yet, distracted by the two of them - story of her life, really - but now that he asks... She feels light-headed. Drugged up the wazoo, most likely, but at least the meds are doing their job. Very little pain manages to break through the haze. “Honestly? High as a kite.”
Dean's eyes shoot up to meet hers briefly, the ghost of a smile akin to the one his brother wore a few minutes ago playing at his lips, and there, that's so much better. Before he can say something stupid, though, Sam's by the bed to take over. “They shelled out the good stuff. Your mom made sure of it.”
Mom. Belatedly, Jo's heart misses a beat, but if Ellen's up and giving the docs hell, she must be okay. Sam seems to read the wave of worry on her face, smiles at her again, reassuringly this time. “She's fine. A few bruises, but other than that, good as new.”
“What happened?”
Sam exchanges a look with Dean, and seriously, Jo hates when they do that. “We don't know. She won't say. All we know is, when we...” He trails off, swallows. “When we went back to the store to see if there was anything of you left to put on a pyre, we found you both lying in front of the rubble. Out of it, but alive.”
Jo makes a mental note to ask her mom about it later, when something else crosses her mind. “Did you get him? You know -” she looks around for anyone to listen in, gestures to indicate horns. “Him.”
“Yes, and no,” Dean says. “Went right up to him, shot him in the face, but it didn't work. Son of a bitch got back up like nothing happened.”
She knows it's bad news, throws them back to square one, a battle lost. But still, Jo can't quite keep the laughter that wants to bubble out of her down. Dean stares at her like she's lost it, looks to Sam for assistance. Sam shrugs, mouths something that looks like drugs, and Jo takes pity on them.
“You shot the devil in the face,” she gets out between giggles. “You shot the fucking devil in the fucking face.”
Sam's the first one to join in. Dean's now staring at both of them like they're nuts, but eventually, even he breaks into grin, right before he pushes himself to his feet. “I'm gonna go and wake up Ellen, she'll have my balls for breakfast if I let her sleep through you being awake,” he says, presses a kiss to Jo's temple before he gets up and leaves the room while Sam takes the place by her side.
***
Jo's been awake for barely an hour when she feels sleep pulling at her again. Ellen shooed Sam and Dean from Jo's bedside and parked herself there in their stead; Sam went to grab a shower and some shuteye back at their motel, but Dean refuses to leave. He's snoring in one of the visitor's chairs, right where he and Sam were when Jo woke up.
Ellen's eyes follow Jo's to his sleeping form. “You've been under for two days, and he hasn't left this room for more than two or three hours at a time. Stupid kid.”
“Neither did you, I'm guessing,” Jo says.
“That's different.” Ellen scowls at his back before she turns her attention back to Jo. “I'm your mother.”
Yawning, Jo rubs her eyes, feels like a little kid doing it and decides that she couldn't care less right now. She wants to close her eyes, drift away, but there's something she needs to know first. “Mom, can I ask you something?”
Ellen smiles, warm and knowing, as if she's been expecting this. “Sure, honey. Anything you want.”
“How did we... Why are we still alive? What happened?”
Before she answers, Ellen takes a deep breath. “Something, or, uh. Someone saved us. Hauled us out of there just when everything started to go down in flames.” She hesitates, and when she does speak again, her voice is clinical, bar of emotion. A hunter giving an account of the facts. “Bright and blue, vaguely human form. Probably one of them angels, but I... I could've sworn it was something else.”
Jo's not sure if she's worried or intrigued. Either way, she needs to know. “What, mom? What was it?”
Ellen takes her hand, thumb caressing the back. “I think it was your father. His... spirit?” She snorts, draws her hand back, readjusts her weight in her chair to cross her legs. “No, forget that. I'm being ridiculous.”
It makes sense. Maybe. Somehow. After all the things they've seen, all that they know, it's not impossible. “You're not. If you think you saw him, I believe you.”
Smiling again, Ellen reaches out and smooths a hand down Jo's face. “You should sleep. I can see how tired you are. Always could, even when you argued and wailed and begged us to let you stay awake for just a little while longer.”
“Moooom,” Jo protests, but it's true. She burrows into the touch, closes her eyes, and falls asleep almost immediately.
***
Jo wakes again a few hours later, to too-bright lights and the faded shrieking of an alarm a few rooms away. She cranes her head; a glance out of the window tells her it's after nightfall, fully dark out. Dean's chair at the far end of the room is empty now, and there's a jacket thrown across the table that Jo thinks is Sam's. Ellen's still sitting by her bedside, slumped down so far in her chair that Jo's sure she'll slide off and to the ground any moment now. Grinning to herself, Jo leans back again and breathes in deep. There's a sharp pain when she inhales, deep into her midriff; it pulls on the stitches.
As if she's felt it by proxy, Ellen stirs, blinking and looking up, eyes bleary but full of concern. “You okay, baby?”
“Sure, mom.” Jo tries for a grin. “Don't worry.”
Ellen's eyebrows knit together, gaze falling to Jo's mauled middle underneath the covers, but she doesn't call her on the lie. She blinks a few times, sits up. “Can I get you anything?”
“I'm a bit thirsty, I think,” Jo says. She's not - not enough that she can't wait for the nurses - but Ellen's always dealt better with things when she could keep busy.
Nodding, Ellen gets up. “I'll get you something, then. See if I can find a doctor, ask them what's best.”
Once her mother's out of the room, Jo allows herself a pained groan. She carefully touches the place where gauze keeps her insides from spilling out. That'll take a while to heal, but at least she's still here. She's alive. Her dad made sure of it, saved them both. Jo doesn't know why or how, but she believes it. She wants to believe it. It's better than to think that some uptight, asshole angel saved them because the guys upstairs think they might still be of some use. Doesn't matter who did it anyway.
She will get better, get out of this bed. She'll find the demon who put her here and she'll help Sam and Dean find the devil. They'll keep fighting. And, who knows, maybe they'll even win.