SPN fic: Quillon
Quillon
Jo, Rufus, Ellen | 1,100 words | PG | Set before 5x02
a/n: Written for my spn_30snapshots table to this prompt. Thank you to marinarusalka for the beta.
"Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful." Rufus made a derisive noise deep in his throat.
Shading her eyes against the sun, Jo studied the hilts of the knives embedded in the target, a plank of wood with a lumpy shape painted on it in red that apparently was supposed to represent some kind of a monster.
"Doesn't look too bad to me," she said, keeping her voice deliberately low and even.
Piles of clouds spread across the big stretch of sky, giving Jo a deceptive sense of freedom, as if she could do whatever she wanted. Out here was nothing but a few farmhouses and barns and prairie. More targets stood at intervals of a few feet, some shorter, some taller, monster faces lurid. They'd all easily fit in the back of the Harvelle's truck; Rufus seemed proud of them.
"'Doesn't look so bad,' she says." Rufus rolled his eyes in a way only Rufus did. "Kid, it will look bad when you get mauled by something with a name you can't spell because your knife-throwing wasn't up to standard."
"She's not getting mauled by anything." Ellen's voice was sharp. Jo turned to look at her mother where she sat on the hood of the truck, heels of her boots on the fender.
"I won't," Jo said, voice quiet. A few years ago her stomach would've gone tight at that note in her mother's voice, and Jo would've snapped back a retort, but not today.
It was all too real now, the still-healing gash on Jo's leg that itched beneath the bandage, the string of shabby motel rooms, her dreams about eyes shining in the dark.
"Yeah, maybe not, with her watching your back," Rufus said with an open note of admiration as he nodded towards Ellen.
"Hey, I saved both your asses in Belle Plaine." Jo watched as her mother's face softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as she grinned.
Rufus grinned back. "That you did."
It was good seeing Ellen grin like that -- Jo didn't get to see her mother do it too often. Ellen turned away, took cups of coffee out of the brown paper bags. "Maybe we should stop and eat."
"Not yet!" The defensiveness she'd fought hard to keep out crept into her voice. Amazing how her mom managed to make her feel like she was twelve. Meanwhile Rufus had been ragging on her for a week, and she was too used to hearing it from Sam and Dean and everyone, the condescension, the not bad, kid attitude. "My knife-throwing is just fine!" She bit her lip and went quiet, even before Rufus shot her a glare, because she wanted to learn more than she wanted to be right.
"I mean," said Jo patiently and sweetly, the voice she used to use with new customers in the bar, "I guess we could go through this again."
Behind her, Jo heard her mother's easy, somewhat husky laugh -- it always gave Jo a small twinge of homesickness, made her think of the way the wood smelled in the old Roadhouse. Her mom's new place was real nice, not that they were there all that much these days. Ellen'd hired a smart girl to manage the place while the Harvelles were on the road, and it didn't have the rich layer of smells, didn't feel like home yet. Not that it mattered, since Jo expected to be on the move for the foreseeable future, until maybe she did what Dad had done, settled in one place but kept on hunting.
"Rufus, you're never going to convince her she can't become the very best there ever was at everything."
Her mom grinned again, and Jo heard the pride in her voice. She stuck her tongue out, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
Rufus considered Jo a moment, rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin with a quick, jerky motion. His long-limbed shadow trailed across the grass. Then he dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a strip of black cloth.
"Hold still," he said.
"What're we doing?" Jo protested as he stepped behind her.
"I said hold still, and shut your yap."
"Aye-aye, sir!" Jo snapped.
"And stop giving me lip." He pulled her ponytail to the side, over her shoulder, then tied the blindfold around Jo's head. His fingers moved gently against her hair as he tied it tight but not too tight.
She heard a muffled sound from her mother, as if she was trying not to, then the rustle of a bag of potato chips.
"If you take a picture of this, I'm so getting revenge," Jo said muttered loudly. The air smelled sweet, of grass and wildflowers and a hint of coffee.
"Now plant your feet like I taught you, and use your ears and your nose, pay attention to the wind." Rufus' fingers -- callused, strong -- gripped her wrist and he put the hilt of a knife into her hand. "You call me 'Yoda' one more time and you're buying me a six pack of beer."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jo said, in mock-indignation.
"Right."
His hands were on her shoulders, turning her. "Target's that way. Throw the knife. Try to hit the target instead of me, if you don't mind."
Rufus stepped away and Jo positioned herself and threw the knife. She heard the wrong kind of thump as it hit the grass.
"Shit," said Jo.
"Do another one. This time, don't tense up -- try throw the same as you would if you could see." He put another knife in her hand.
It took Jo four more tries before she heard the blade thud into the target. She tugged off the blindfold. "Yes!"
"What are you doing?"
"What?" Jo held her hands up.
"We're not done. You only got that right once out of five throws."
"Wow, you're not at all demanding, are you?" Jo glanced over at her mother who lifted her hand in a leave-me-out-of-it gesture.
"You know you remind me of someone," Rufus said.
"Who?"
"Someone else I know who is a complete pain in the ass. Now, should we continue? Unless you'd rather--"
Jo pulled the blindfold back on and held out her hand, palm flat, for another knife.
~end
Jo, Rufus, Ellen | 1,100 words | PG | Set before 5x02
a/n: Written for my spn_30snapshots table to this prompt. Thank you to marinarusalka for the beta.
"Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful." Rufus made a derisive noise deep in his throat.
Shading her eyes against the sun, Jo studied the hilts of the knives embedded in the target, a plank of wood with a lumpy shape painted on it in red that apparently was supposed to represent some kind of a monster.
"Doesn't look too bad to me," she said, keeping her voice deliberately low and even.
Piles of clouds spread across the big stretch of sky, giving Jo a deceptive sense of freedom, as if she could do whatever she wanted. Out here was nothing but a few farmhouses and barns and prairie. More targets stood at intervals of a few feet, some shorter, some taller, monster faces lurid. They'd all easily fit in the back of the Harvelle's truck; Rufus seemed proud of them.
"'Doesn't look so bad,' she says." Rufus rolled his eyes in a way only Rufus did. "Kid, it will look bad when you get mauled by something with a name you can't spell because your knife-throwing wasn't up to standard."
"She's not getting mauled by anything." Ellen's voice was sharp. Jo turned to look at her mother where she sat on the hood of the truck, heels of her boots on the fender.
"I won't," Jo said, voice quiet. A few years ago her stomach would've gone tight at that note in her mother's voice, and Jo would've snapped back a retort, but not today.
It was all too real now, the still-healing gash on Jo's leg that itched beneath the bandage, the string of shabby motel rooms, her dreams about eyes shining in the dark.
"Yeah, maybe not, with her watching your back," Rufus said with an open note of admiration as he nodded towards Ellen.
"Hey, I saved both your asses in Belle Plaine." Jo watched as her mother's face softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as she grinned.
Rufus grinned back. "That you did."
It was good seeing Ellen grin like that -- Jo didn't get to see her mother do it too often. Ellen turned away, took cups of coffee out of the brown paper bags. "Maybe we should stop and eat."
"Not yet!" The defensiveness she'd fought hard to keep out crept into her voice. Amazing how her mom managed to make her feel like she was twelve. Meanwhile Rufus had been ragging on her for a week, and she was too used to hearing it from Sam and Dean and everyone, the condescension, the not bad, kid attitude. "My knife-throwing is just fine!" She bit her lip and went quiet, even before Rufus shot her a glare, because she wanted to learn more than she wanted to be right.
"I mean," said Jo patiently and sweetly, the voice she used to use with new customers in the bar, "I guess we could go through this again."
Behind her, Jo heard her mother's easy, somewhat husky laugh -- it always gave Jo a small twinge of homesickness, made her think of the way the wood smelled in the old Roadhouse. Her mom's new place was real nice, not that they were there all that much these days. Ellen'd hired a smart girl to manage the place while the Harvelles were on the road, and it didn't have the rich layer of smells, didn't feel like home yet. Not that it mattered, since Jo expected to be on the move for the foreseeable future, until maybe she did what Dad had done, settled in one place but kept on hunting.
"Rufus, you're never going to convince her she can't become the very best there ever was at everything."
Her mom grinned again, and Jo heard the pride in her voice. She stuck her tongue out, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
Rufus considered Jo a moment, rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin with a quick, jerky motion. His long-limbed shadow trailed across the grass. Then he dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a strip of black cloth.
"Hold still," he said.
"What're we doing?" Jo protested as he stepped behind her.
"I said hold still, and shut your yap."
"Aye-aye, sir!" Jo snapped.
"And stop giving me lip." He pulled her ponytail to the side, over her shoulder, then tied the blindfold around Jo's head. His fingers moved gently against her hair as he tied it tight but not too tight.
She heard a muffled sound from her mother, as if she was trying not to, then the rustle of a bag of potato chips.
"If you take a picture of this, I'm so getting revenge," Jo said muttered loudly. The air smelled sweet, of grass and wildflowers and a hint of coffee.
"Now plant your feet like I taught you, and use your ears and your nose, pay attention to the wind." Rufus' fingers -- callused, strong -- gripped her wrist and he put the hilt of a knife into her hand. "You call me 'Yoda' one more time and you're buying me a six pack of beer."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jo said, in mock-indignation.
"Right."
His hands were on her shoulders, turning her. "Target's that way. Throw the knife. Try to hit the target instead of me, if you don't mind."
Rufus stepped away and Jo positioned herself and threw the knife. She heard the wrong kind of thump as it hit the grass.
"Shit," said Jo.
"Do another one. This time, don't tense up -- try throw the same as you would if you could see." He put another knife in her hand.
It took Jo four more tries before she heard the blade thud into the target. She tugged off the blindfold. "Yes!"
"What are you doing?"
"What?" Jo held her hands up.
"We're not done. You only got that right once out of five throws."
"Wow, you're not at all demanding, are you?" Jo glanced over at her mother who lifted her hand in a leave-me-out-of-it gesture.
"You know you remind me of someone," Rufus said.
"Who?"
"Someone else I know who is a complete pain in the ass. Now, should we continue? Unless you'd rather--"
Jo pulled the blindfold back on and held out her hand, palm flat, for another knife.
~end