This was written for a meme. :)
Title: Little Sister
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean x Jo
Rating: PG
Words: 691
Warnings: A little spoilery for season 5, but not by much.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters is the property of the CW? No profit is made by this, no harm intended.
Summary: Jo takes up Dean's "last night on earth" offer, but not in a way he expects.
It's there, that look-- the one she expected the first time Dean Winchester sat at her bar; the one he thought better of. Wrong place, wrong time. And she wonders what's so different now; wonders why it's okay to leer at her and distill all that they've become into last woman and last man.
Wrong place, wrong time. They could never get that timing thing right with the window for asking so slim. But it won't be today, nor any of the days since she reconciled herself with being a little sister.
She pauses to see if he's joking, but the look is still there with as much sincerity as one can get from Dean Winchester since he returned from Hell. And she calls his bluff, leans in suggestively close while her eyes dip to his mouth. She wonders how many times this has worked on other women or how many have fallen for a man who doesn't really exist.
Jo laughs, turns her head away and proves to her big brother that she too can act like the best of them.
-
Jo doesn't need liquid for courage. She doesn't need an excuse to do reckless things. She does things because she wants to, because she enjoys it, enjoys that nervous flutter as she taps on his door. She's just checking on him, she tells herself, the way family does.
He doesn't look at her as she enters, his eyes fixed on the white ceiling and two hands propped beneath his head. He hasn't even pulled down the covers, fully clothed and legs outstretched on the heavy quilt.
"Can't sleep?" he asks and she nods her head. She pushes the door behind her, not quite closed. She leaves a slim crack open. The slightest push will send it either way.
Dean pulls down the quilt beside him. He pats the mattress and Jo slips off her shoes, climbs atop the coils that squeak beneath her weight. His arm stretches across the pillow and she curls up on her side, leans her head against him.
She waits for that look or a comment or a leer. She waits for any reference to his offer, readies her defense, but his eyes are elsewhere, his thoughts visibly somewhere else. She places a hand on his chest and he startles, seems to remember again that she's there. His face calms into a more familiar expression, his lips tug up in one direction.
"You have nightmares or something?" he teases.
Jo studies him and the way his eyes don't quite look at her; the ways his lips tremble in their attempt to keep up the smile.
"Did you?" she asks.
He chokes out a laugh and it's all the answer she'll get. The time for pretense is over and it's almost a relief to be with the Dean stripped free of his masks. Dean's fingers brush against her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow circles against her sleeve.
"So what about your dignity and all that? How come you're climbing into my bed?"
She turns her gaze to the ceiling and tries to make out whatever it is he's been staring at. Staring at a blank canvas, she wonders what nightmares he's watching with two eyes open."Tomorrow we face the devil," she answers. Her chest seizes with panic as realization sinks in. "Even if tonight is our last night, I don't want to be another notch in your bedpost. But I can be someone you can wake up to and maybe not feel so alone."
Dean's breath pauses. He exhales slowly, fingers tightening over her shoulder and pulling her close. she wiggles her shoulders to fit herself against him, burrowing into him as his other arm wraps around her. He doesn't try to remove the quilt, but holds her as close at the barrier between them will allow.
His fingers ruffle the hair at her temples, his lips warm against the top of her head.
"Sweet dreams," she says, clamping her eyes shut as though she might sleep; as though her blood isn't racing in time with the heart pounding against her cheek.