SPN: Another Shot of Whiskey || Pt. 4, BWW
Title: Another Shot of Whiskey (4/9)
Series: Blood, Water, and Whiskey
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Jo
Notes/Disclaimers: Not mine, all Kripke’s. Spoilers for BUaBS. Special hugs and love to theladyscribe for encouragement and beta work and happiness. :)
Part 1. || Part 2. || Part 3. || Part 4. || Part 5. || Part 6. || Part 7. || Part 8. || Part 9.
When Jo woke up the next morning, she pulled the covers closer and realized three things simultaneously: she was naked, she was cold, and she was utterly alone.
She rolled over to face that empty side of the bed, smiling a little and remembering little things from the night before. How Dean smelled, how soft his chest was against her cheek, the sound he made when, well…
But he was gone. Just like always. Only this time it was different-this time Jo wasn’t sure how she felt about him leaving. All the other times, he was no more than a friend. Now he was… a lover? Friend with benefits? She didn’t want to think about it now.
She sat up and heard an odd rustle to her left. She dug through the covers until she found a note scribbled on hotel stationery. It was a little crumpled and the writing-Dean’s scribbling she guessed-was mostly legible.
Jo-
I had to leave, something came up. I’m sorry. I’ll call when I can.
-Dean
Then she noticed something at the bottom, scrawled like an afterthought with several slashes below it.
I PROMISE
She choked back tears, willing herself not to be a pansy-ass about this. She had wanted Dean. She got him, and all the baggage that accompanied him. Like leaving the morning after the first time they kissed and made love. She didn’t even know how long he’d been gone or how long it would take him to remember he had said he would call. She flopped back on the bed and sighed. She decided that under no circumstances would she be calling him, no matter how long it was.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Two weeks later, Jo was in Billings, Montana and starting work at Pug Mahon’s Irish Pub. She’d never been to Montana, and the state was beautiful enough to make her slow down. She’d called Ash and hinted at where she was going. Hopefully he’d keep his mouth shut when he figured it out. She had found a little apartment near a busy part of Billings and had promptly moved in. Everything about that town made her think of Dean, much to her dismay. It was just March, but there were notices up about the “Burn the Point” classic car show in September. There were little places scattered throughout the city that screamed Winchester, especially a record store she’d seen near the Pub. Even her apartment complex, Rimview Apartments, would crack him up. But Dean wasn’t there and Jo tried to make herself not care.
-:-:-:-:-:-
It had been exactly sixteen days since he left her that morning. Jo hated herself for counting. She also hated herself for the reason she was counting-she had slept with Dean Winchester and let it get to her, change her, make her feel differently toward him. It probably didn’t even bother him that he left he without speaking. She told herself lots of things like this, hoping it would make her angry. Instead it just made her sad, which was far worse. She was no high-schooler. She took an extra long bath that night after her shift and watched a Quentin Tarantino movie before going to bed.
On the seventeenth day, Jo left her cell phone in the apartment. She didn’t mean to, but it felt good after she realized it wasn’t with her. She was doing fine as she browsed bookstores before her shift, but that changed when she wandered into a section with demonology. That hit a sore spot. Jo came into the pub with a frown on her face.
The shift, without a doubt, sucked. She broke two shot glasses and spilled a beer. She ripped her shirt on the bar and stubbed her toe on a keg in the back. She was ready to go home.
Before she left that night, she eyed a one of the fifths of Jack they sold.
“Hey, Frank? If I buy a fifth, can I leave it on a tab and pay it tomorrow when I have cash?”
“Hell, Jo, get it on the house! You’ve worked so hard this past week I’d say you earned it.” He laughed, told her not to be drinking and driving. She was walking out the door, so there was no way she would have noticed the somber glint in his eye.
When she got back to her little apartment, the first thing she noticed was a blinking light. She knew what it was immediately. Her cell phone was plugged up on the kitchen bar, where she always left it. Blinking lights meant missed calls. She grabbed the phone without turning on the lights and flipped it open.
One missed call. Unknown caller. One new voicemail.
She cursed and dialed her voicemail. She had always hated the cheery voice prompts but right now… right now she wanted to wring the happy lady around the neck. She punched the commands in blindly and listened to an echo-y, familiar voice.
“Hey. I know it’s been two weeks. I, uh, I know you’re probably pissed. I checked your room in South Dakota. Obviously, you’re not there. Remember that little swim I took after the little brother went crazy? Ruined my phone-I got a new one.” His voice dropped a little, like he was afraid someone would overhear. “Tell me where you are. Dammit, Jo, don’t be mad. Just tell me where you are and I’ll get there.” The line clicked and the message ended. She stared at her phone for a minute then hit save.
She hung up then immediately dialed the unknown number. As soon as she hit send, she started panicking. What if Sam answered? It rang twice before she could register a thought about hanging up.
“Where are you?” he answered. It was a command, not a question. It also sounded like relief.
For some reason, she spat out, “Montana. Bastard,” she added as an afterthought.
“When you run, you run far, don’t you? I’m coming.” She could hear him fumbling to shut off the obviously unfamiliar phone. “Bitch,” she heard, all muffled and static-y, like when a little kid presses their mouth against the microphone. The line went dead.
She slumped to her kitchen floor in the dark. She had just called Dean, the guy who she’d been obsessed with not being obsessed with for the past two weeks, snapped at him, and called him a bastard. And he was coming to find her, if he could. That’s when she remembered the bottle of Jack next to the door. She wasn’t going to drink it now, but it was nice knowing she could get good and drunk if need be.
Jo didn’t like crying very much. She always felt like the tears were hot and mean and tore their way out most of the time, especially when she was upset. Like now. She also hated being upset and being confused at the same time. She wanted to hide and be found at the same time. Nobody knew her in Billings yet, so all his charms and smooth-talking wouldn’t get any information. She wanted to jump Dean’s bones and kick his ass at the same time. She also just wanted to go to sleep. That was the most easily achieved goal, so she went with that. She couldn’t help thinking, though, as she stretched out on her cheap mattress on the floor, that Dean Winchester would look good in her little shower, should he ever find her.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Jo woke up the next morning, feeling like she had slept hard in a single position the whole night. She rolled over and looked at the beat-up alarm clock. Its red letters read 12:30. She rolled out of bed and wandered toward the kitchen for something to eat. She grabbed some cereal and went back into her bedroom. She opened her laptop and checked her email. She had one from Ash.
Ms. Joanna Harvelle,
Your illustrious friend Dean decided he needed to know where you were, so he called me.
He’s on his way. Some job you two are doing. Job, in the previous sentence, can mean an actual job, fight, and/or sex.
Woohoo,
Ash.
She barely resisted the urge to slam the laptop shut and throw it into the mostly empty kitchen/dining/living room. Dean knew where she was because her incredibly smart but asinine friend figured out where she was. The fact that the email was sent twelve hours ago didn’t help anything either. Dean could be anywhere.
She drained the milk out of the bowl and stalked into the kitchen. She needed to do things, like get the boxes out of the living room, wash the few dishes in the sink, and take a shower. Who knew what he wanted or what he was going to do when he got here. She thought about Dean walking into and filling up her small apartment. She felt a little hot and bothered thinking about him being a little dirty from traveling from wherever. Dirty and sweaty and….
“Holy shit,” Jo said out loud. “I will not lust over Dean Winchester!” She shook her head hard and decided showering was more important than emptying boxes if she was just going to think about dirty, sweaty, road-weary Dean. She grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom, wondering where he was and if he had Sam with him. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him, to talk to him, even if he wasn’t possessed anymore. She didn’t know if she could handle a face-to-face meeting, but she was worried about him and if he was okay. It wasn’t his fault he got possessed and came after her.
As she turned on the water, she heard a weird, half-knocking noise coming from the living room. Her heart raced. She knew exactly who it was. She shut off the water and dressed as quickly as possible. She padded out of the bathroom and saw a leather-clad back. He had apparently broken in, because there was a lock pick twirling between his fingers. Dean turned around at her tiny cough. She couldn’t help but smile at his expression.
“Jo,” he murmured. The lock pick dropped. “You left.”
“So did you,” she said. His eyebrow shot up.
“I left you a note. That’s not exactly what I do, you know?” He clenched his jaw and ran a hand over his hair. “I promised I’d call-that’s uh, that’s a big deal for me. I figured coming to you was better than a call.” He met her eyes for the first time since she’d entered the room.
Jo just looked back at him, trying to read his face and body language. His face was scruffy. He looked a little dirty, but it wasn’t as sexy as she had imagined. He actually looked sad and worried, and well...
“You look like shit. You know that right? How long did you drive?” she asked.
“Thirteen hours. Straight. Fort Dodge, Illinois,” he answered quickly. “And yeah, I feel like shit so I’m sure I look like it.”
Jo stared, eyebrows raised. “You drove thirteen hours to see me. Through the night.” He nodded. “So are you hungry? Anything?” She hadn’t felt this awkward in years.
“Nah.” He looked uncomfortable too. “Were you in the shower?”
“Yeah, I was about to get in. Do you need to take one?” she asked, suddenly hoping he did. He shook his head.
“No, uh, you go ahead.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll just be here.”
She gestured toward her bedroom and the mattress on the floor. “The only places you’ll find to sit on are the floor in here and on my bed.” She shifted her weight toward the bathroom. “Where’s Sam?” she asked before she disappeared through the door.
“He’s at a hotel, looking up some stuff and sleeping. He doesn’t really know where I’m at but it’s okay. He’s okay. He’s uh, he’s doing okay now.”
Jo knew what he was talking about. She just nodded and shut the door. As she cut the water back on and slid under it, she couldn’t help but feel shocked by Dean. He had driven thirteen hours for some reason and was in her house, just waiting. She just leaned against the shower wall and breathed slowly. Sometimes things just happened too fast to comprehend.
After she finished and dressed, she went into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of Jack. The light from the kitchen fell across Dean’s bare back and jean-clad legs. He was lying on his stomach, arms folded under his head. He took up most of the bed. He had flung his shirt off by the looks of it-it was lying in the corner. She knelt beside him, her wet hair falling across her face and barely brushing his elbow. She was beginning to wish she knew more about him, why he did things like this. She wanted to know what growing up with John Winchester was like, if Dean was ever scared of his dad. What growing up with Sam was like-if Dean had been like a father, taking care of him, making dinner, helping with homework. She wondered if he had ever really and truly loved somebody. There’s so much she would like to ask, but then she couldn’t because Dean would probably have secrets he could never tell. Dean would ask questions too. She realized she had things she couldn’t tell too.
Impulsively, Jo crawled a few feet across the floor and grabbed a marker. She had been marking boxes earlier, but now she had something better to mark. She crawled back to Dean and uncapped it.
Across his right shoulder, near a scar from some unknown injury, she wrote I am afraid of Mom dying. She read the words a few times to soak them in and kept going.
I still have nightmares about H. H. Holmes. Sam now too.
I know how my dad died.
I don’t like living alone.
After what felt like hours, she finally had two things left to write. She shifted her position slightly and wrote at the small of his back: I will never think of storms the same again.
She took a deep breathe and wrote fast for fear of chickening out. Right above his jeans, in smaller print than anything else, Jo wrote I think I love you. She sat back on her heels and sighed. She almost laughed-Dean’s back looked like he had rolled around in newsprint.
“What the hell have you been doing to me?” he asked, voice hoarse and full of sleep.
Jo was so startled she jumped. “I didn’t know you were awake! Shit, Dean! How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to wonder what you were doing. It seemed important so I didn’t move.” He rolled over and propped his head on his hand. “Seriously, what’s on my back? Did you draw dicks on me?” Jo laughed and scooted closer.
“No dicks. Just secrets,” she said softly. She suddenly felt vulnerable and was afraid talking loudly would make her fall apart. Writing secrets on somebody’s back was a lot more emotionally draining than she would have ever guessed. She thought she saw something flicker across Dean’s face. He studied her for a few minutes then unfolded his arm to reach for her. She quickly climbed onto the mattress and he pulled her to him. They laid there for a while and Jo listened to Dean’s breathing and then raised her head when she heard a hitch in his throat.
“I love my brother, Jo. I really do, I’d do anything for him. I half-raised him, did you know that? I don’t know what I’d do without my brother. But honestly? He really scares me sometimes,” he whispered against her hair. She shuddered, remembering Sam’s eyes and how hard and cold his voice was. Dean pushed his lips against her temple and she knew that he wasn’t telling her something. She was okay with it. She ran a hand down his back, feeling his muscles and reveling in the fact that he had her secrets written there. He inhaled deeply and pressed closer. Jo’s hand trailed over the bit of hip sticking out of his jeans and across his stomach. He groaned and grabbed her wrist.
“Jo, I… I didn’t come here for this,” he whispered hesitantly. She threaded her arm under his head, through the arm propping it up.
“I know. It’s okay, though. I want to,” she whispered back. “Imagine that, Dean Winchester not wanting some.” She tried really hard not to smile, especially when he looked genuinely shocked.
“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t want some, I just said that’s not what I came for,” he quipped. She laughed, and suddenly he was laughing too. It wasn’t a full laugh. Jo could tell he was still thinking about his brother. His laugh eased into a low chuckle and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. She felt kisses feathering over her collarbone and his hands sliding her shirt up her back. It quickly joined his in the corner.
While they made love a little roughly, playfully, Jo ran her hands over Dean’s back, feeling his muscles contract and relax. She couldn’t help thinking that with every tiny drop of sweat, every stretch of skin, the ink from her secrets was soaking farther into him. She knew that the words were rubbing off and would run down the drain when he took a shower. That didn’t stop her from feeling like Dean had part of her in him now.
She fell asleep afterward. She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but she was dreaming about nice things when she started smelling whiskey and the acrid odor of permanent marker and felt something tickling the hell out of her back. She wiggled and moved around the bed, half asleep.
“Dammit,” she heard from behind her, followed by a cap snapping into place. “You messed me up.” A hand rolled her over and a pair of lips landed on the corner of her mouth. She smiled lazily, but noticed Dean didn’t return it. He simply took a swig of whiskey, offered her the bottle, and said, “You’re not the only one with secrets to write down, Jo.”
She sat up, took a drink, and handed it back. The mood from earlier had obviously changed and Jo wasn’t sure what to do. She just looked him, wondering what was going to happen. He looked like he wanted to talk, but Jo knew for a fact that he wouldn’t start any conversation that was of an emotional nature. She was completely surprised when Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I have to go, you know.” She immediately turned away. This was exactly what she had been dreading.
“I know,” she replied softly. She didn’t feel any tears welling up. She had known, since he had left almost three weeks ago, how things were going to be now.
“Will you stay here?” His voice was incredibly quiet and Jo cautiously turned back around. She couldn’t quite pin down the look he was giving her. He looked afraid to hear her answer, to see her pull away. She felt uneasy, seeing him look so young and afraid. Jo reached between them and put her hand in his.
“Yeah… I’ll stay. I’ll be here, Dean.” She squeezed his hand and leaned her forehead against his. She breathed in his whiskey breath and felt his body move slightly like a sigh. They sat on the bed for a long time, just quiet. They made love again, gently this time.
No promises were made, no assurances of next time. Jo stood at her living room window and watched Dean walk to his car. She was about to close the curtain when she noticed him turn around and look toward her apartment. He tentatively raised a hand, then quickly put it down and was in the car, speeding out of the parking lot.
She went back to her bedroom to get the whiskey. She had bought it to drink alone, ended up shared it, and now she was alone again. She walked into her kitchen and stood at the counter. After slowly unscrewing the cap, she drained the bottle. It left her lightheaded and slightly reeling, a lot like the guy who just left. She went to chuck the bottle but decided against it. Jo tucked the under her sink, because invariably Dean Winchester needed a bottle thrown at his head for something. He may have left nice and a little emotional, but who knew when he would be back or what he would have done while he was gone?
Another Shot of Whiskey lyrics by Joan Jett.
Series: Blood, Water, and Whiskey
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Jo
Notes/Disclaimers: Not mine, all Kripke’s. Spoilers for BUaBS. Special hugs and love to theladyscribe for encouragement and beta work and happiness. :)
Part 1. || Part 2. || Part 3. || Part 4. || Part 5. || Part 6. || Part 7. || Part 8. || Part 9.
When Jo woke up the next morning, she pulled the covers closer and realized three things simultaneously: she was naked, she was cold, and she was utterly alone.
She rolled over to face that empty side of the bed, smiling a little and remembering little things from the night before. How Dean smelled, how soft his chest was against her cheek, the sound he made when, well…
But he was gone. Just like always. Only this time it was different-this time Jo wasn’t sure how she felt about him leaving. All the other times, he was no more than a friend. Now he was… a lover? Friend with benefits? She didn’t want to think about it now.
She sat up and heard an odd rustle to her left. She dug through the covers until she found a note scribbled on hotel stationery. It was a little crumpled and the writing-Dean’s scribbling she guessed-was mostly legible.
Jo-
I had to leave, something came up. I’m sorry. I’ll call when I can.
-Dean
Then she noticed something at the bottom, scrawled like an afterthought with several slashes below it.
I PROMISE
She choked back tears, willing herself not to be a pansy-ass about this. She had wanted Dean. She got him, and all the baggage that accompanied him. Like leaving the morning after the first time they kissed and made love. She didn’t even know how long he’d been gone or how long it would take him to remember he had said he would call. She flopped back on the bed and sighed. She decided that under no circumstances would she be calling him, no matter how long it was.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Two weeks later, Jo was in Billings, Montana and starting work at Pug Mahon’s Irish Pub. She’d never been to Montana, and the state was beautiful enough to make her slow down. She’d called Ash and hinted at where she was going. Hopefully he’d keep his mouth shut when he figured it out. She had found a little apartment near a busy part of Billings and had promptly moved in. Everything about that town made her think of Dean, much to her dismay. It was just March, but there were notices up about the “Burn the Point” classic car show in September. There were little places scattered throughout the city that screamed Winchester, especially a record store she’d seen near the Pub. Even her apartment complex, Rimview Apartments, would crack him up. But Dean wasn’t there and Jo tried to make herself not care.
-:-:-:-:-:-
It had been exactly sixteen days since he left her that morning. Jo hated herself for counting. She also hated herself for the reason she was counting-she had slept with Dean Winchester and let it get to her, change her, make her feel differently toward him. It probably didn’t even bother him that he left he without speaking. She told herself lots of things like this, hoping it would make her angry. Instead it just made her sad, which was far worse. She was no high-schooler. She took an extra long bath that night after her shift and watched a Quentin Tarantino movie before going to bed.
On the seventeenth day, Jo left her cell phone in the apartment. She didn’t mean to, but it felt good after she realized it wasn’t with her. She was doing fine as she browsed bookstores before her shift, but that changed when she wandered into a section with demonology. That hit a sore spot. Jo came into the pub with a frown on her face.
The shift, without a doubt, sucked. She broke two shot glasses and spilled a beer. She ripped her shirt on the bar and stubbed her toe on a keg in the back. She was ready to go home.
Before she left that night, she eyed a one of the fifths of Jack they sold.
“Hey, Frank? If I buy a fifth, can I leave it on a tab and pay it tomorrow when I have cash?”
“Hell, Jo, get it on the house! You’ve worked so hard this past week I’d say you earned it.” He laughed, told her not to be drinking and driving. She was walking out the door, so there was no way she would have noticed the somber glint in his eye.
When she got back to her little apartment, the first thing she noticed was a blinking light. She knew what it was immediately. Her cell phone was plugged up on the kitchen bar, where she always left it. Blinking lights meant missed calls. She grabbed the phone without turning on the lights and flipped it open.
One missed call. Unknown caller. One new voicemail.
She cursed and dialed her voicemail. She had always hated the cheery voice prompts but right now… right now she wanted to wring the happy lady around the neck. She punched the commands in blindly and listened to an echo-y, familiar voice.
“Hey. I know it’s been two weeks. I, uh, I know you’re probably pissed. I checked your room in South Dakota. Obviously, you’re not there. Remember that little swim I took after the little brother went crazy? Ruined my phone-I got a new one.” His voice dropped a little, like he was afraid someone would overhear. “Tell me where you are. Dammit, Jo, don’t be mad. Just tell me where you are and I’ll get there.” The line clicked and the message ended. She stared at her phone for a minute then hit save.
She hung up then immediately dialed the unknown number. As soon as she hit send, she started panicking. What if Sam answered? It rang twice before she could register a thought about hanging up.
“Where are you?” he answered. It was a command, not a question. It also sounded like relief.
For some reason, she spat out, “Montana. Bastard,” she added as an afterthought.
“When you run, you run far, don’t you? I’m coming.” She could hear him fumbling to shut off the obviously unfamiliar phone. “Bitch,” she heard, all muffled and static-y, like when a little kid presses their mouth against the microphone. The line went dead.
She slumped to her kitchen floor in the dark. She had just called Dean, the guy who she’d been obsessed with not being obsessed with for the past two weeks, snapped at him, and called him a bastard. And he was coming to find her, if he could. That’s when she remembered the bottle of Jack next to the door. She wasn’t going to drink it now, but it was nice knowing she could get good and drunk if need be.
Jo didn’t like crying very much. She always felt like the tears were hot and mean and tore their way out most of the time, especially when she was upset. Like now. She also hated being upset and being confused at the same time. She wanted to hide and be found at the same time. Nobody knew her in Billings yet, so all his charms and smooth-talking wouldn’t get any information. She wanted to jump Dean’s bones and kick his ass at the same time. She also just wanted to go to sleep. That was the most easily achieved goal, so she went with that. She couldn’t help thinking, though, as she stretched out on her cheap mattress on the floor, that Dean Winchester would look good in her little shower, should he ever find her.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Jo woke up the next morning, feeling like she had slept hard in a single position the whole night. She rolled over and looked at the beat-up alarm clock. Its red letters read 12:30. She rolled out of bed and wandered toward the kitchen for something to eat. She grabbed some cereal and went back into her bedroom. She opened her laptop and checked her email. She had one from Ash.
Ms. Joanna Harvelle,
Your illustrious friend Dean decided he needed to know where you were, so he called me.
He’s on his way. Some job you two are doing. Job, in the previous sentence, can mean an actual job, fight, and/or sex.
Woohoo,
Ash.
She barely resisted the urge to slam the laptop shut and throw it into the mostly empty kitchen/dining/living room. Dean knew where she was because her incredibly smart but asinine friend figured out where she was. The fact that the email was sent twelve hours ago didn’t help anything either. Dean could be anywhere.
She drained the milk out of the bowl and stalked into the kitchen. She needed to do things, like get the boxes out of the living room, wash the few dishes in the sink, and take a shower. Who knew what he wanted or what he was going to do when he got here. She thought about Dean walking into and filling up her small apartment. She felt a little hot and bothered thinking about him being a little dirty from traveling from wherever. Dirty and sweaty and….
“Holy shit,” Jo said out loud. “I will not lust over Dean Winchester!” She shook her head hard and decided showering was more important than emptying boxes if she was just going to think about dirty, sweaty, road-weary Dean. She grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom, wondering where he was and if he had Sam with him. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him, to talk to him, even if he wasn’t possessed anymore. She didn’t know if she could handle a face-to-face meeting, but she was worried about him and if he was okay. It wasn’t his fault he got possessed and came after her.
As she turned on the water, she heard a weird, half-knocking noise coming from the living room. Her heart raced. She knew exactly who it was. She shut off the water and dressed as quickly as possible. She padded out of the bathroom and saw a leather-clad back. He had apparently broken in, because there was a lock pick twirling between his fingers. Dean turned around at her tiny cough. She couldn’t help but smile at his expression.
“Jo,” he murmured. The lock pick dropped. “You left.”
“So did you,” she said. His eyebrow shot up.
“I left you a note. That’s not exactly what I do, you know?” He clenched his jaw and ran a hand over his hair. “I promised I’d call-that’s uh, that’s a big deal for me. I figured coming to you was better than a call.” He met her eyes for the first time since she’d entered the room.
Jo just looked back at him, trying to read his face and body language. His face was scruffy. He looked a little dirty, but it wasn’t as sexy as she had imagined. He actually looked sad and worried, and well...
“You look like shit. You know that right? How long did you drive?” she asked.
“Thirteen hours. Straight. Fort Dodge, Illinois,” he answered quickly. “And yeah, I feel like shit so I’m sure I look like it.”
Jo stared, eyebrows raised. “You drove thirteen hours to see me. Through the night.” He nodded. “So are you hungry? Anything?” She hadn’t felt this awkward in years.
“Nah.” He looked uncomfortable too. “Were you in the shower?”
“Yeah, I was about to get in. Do you need to take one?” she asked, suddenly hoping he did. He shook his head.
“No, uh, you go ahead.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll just be here.”
She gestured toward her bedroom and the mattress on the floor. “The only places you’ll find to sit on are the floor in here and on my bed.” She shifted her weight toward the bathroom. “Where’s Sam?” she asked before she disappeared through the door.
“He’s at a hotel, looking up some stuff and sleeping. He doesn’t really know where I’m at but it’s okay. He’s okay. He’s uh, he’s doing okay now.”
Jo knew what he was talking about. She just nodded and shut the door. As she cut the water back on and slid under it, she couldn’t help but feel shocked by Dean. He had driven thirteen hours for some reason and was in her house, just waiting. She just leaned against the shower wall and breathed slowly. Sometimes things just happened too fast to comprehend.
After she finished and dressed, she went into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of Jack. The light from the kitchen fell across Dean’s bare back and jean-clad legs. He was lying on his stomach, arms folded under his head. He took up most of the bed. He had flung his shirt off by the looks of it-it was lying in the corner. She knelt beside him, her wet hair falling across her face and barely brushing his elbow. She was beginning to wish she knew more about him, why he did things like this. She wanted to know what growing up with John Winchester was like, if Dean was ever scared of his dad. What growing up with Sam was like-if Dean had been like a father, taking care of him, making dinner, helping with homework. She wondered if he had ever really and truly loved somebody. There’s so much she would like to ask, but then she couldn’t because Dean would probably have secrets he could never tell. Dean would ask questions too. She realized she had things she couldn’t tell too.
Impulsively, Jo crawled a few feet across the floor and grabbed a marker. She had been marking boxes earlier, but now she had something better to mark. She crawled back to Dean and uncapped it.
Across his right shoulder, near a scar from some unknown injury, she wrote I am afraid of Mom dying. She read the words a few times to soak them in and kept going.
I still have nightmares about H. H. Holmes. Sam now too.
I know how my dad died.
I don’t like living alone.
After what felt like hours, she finally had two things left to write. She shifted her position slightly and wrote at the small of his back: I will never think of storms the same again.
She took a deep breathe and wrote fast for fear of chickening out. Right above his jeans, in smaller print than anything else, Jo wrote I think I love you. She sat back on her heels and sighed. She almost laughed-Dean’s back looked like he had rolled around in newsprint.
“What the hell have you been doing to me?” he asked, voice hoarse and full of sleep.
Jo was so startled she jumped. “I didn’t know you were awake! Shit, Dean! How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to wonder what you were doing. It seemed important so I didn’t move.” He rolled over and propped his head on his hand. “Seriously, what’s on my back? Did you draw dicks on me?” Jo laughed and scooted closer.
“No dicks. Just secrets,” she said softly. She suddenly felt vulnerable and was afraid talking loudly would make her fall apart. Writing secrets on somebody’s back was a lot more emotionally draining than she would have ever guessed. She thought she saw something flicker across Dean’s face. He studied her for a few minutes then unfolded his arm to reach for her. She quickly climbed onto the mattress and he pulled her to him. They laid there for a while and Jo listened to Dean’s breathing and then raised her head when she heard a hitch in his throat.
“I love my brother, Jo. I really do, I’d do anything for him. I half-raised him, did you know that? I don’t know what I’d do without my brother. But honestly? He really scares me sometimes,” he whispered against her hair. She shuddered, remembering Sam’s eyes and how hard and cold his voice was. Dean pushed his lips against her temple and she knew that he wasn’t telling her something. She was okay with it. She ran a hand down his back, feeling his muscles and reveling in the fact that he had her secrets written there. He inhaled deeply and pressed closer. Jo’s hand trailed over the bit of hip sticking out of his jeans and across his stomach. He groaned and grabbed her wrist.
“Jo, I… I didn’t come here for this,” he whispered hesitantly. She threaded her arm under his head, through the arm propping it up.
“I know. It’s okay, though. I want to,” she whispered back. “Imagine that, Dean Winchester not wanting some.” She tried really hard not to smile, especially when he looked genuinely shocked.
“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t want some, I just said that’s not what I came for,” he quipped. She laughed, and suddenly he was laughing too. It wasn’t a full laugh. Jo could tell he was still thinking about his brother. His laugh eased into a low chuckle and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. She felt kisses feathering over her collarbone and his hands sliding her shirt up her back. It quickly joined his in the corner.
While they made love a little roughly, playfully, Jo ran her hands over Dean’s back, feeling his muscles contract and relax. She couldn’t help thinking that with every tiny drop of sweat, every stretch of skin, the ink from her secrets was soaking farther into him. She knew that the words were rubbing off and would run down the drain when he took a shower. That didn’t stop her from feeling like Dean had part of her in him now.
She fell asleep afterward. She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but she was dreaming about nice things when she started smelling whiskey and the acrid odor of permanent marker and felt something tickling the hell out of her back. She wiggled and moved around the bed, half asleep.
“Dammit,” she heard from behind her, followed by a cap snapping into place. “You messed me up.” A hand rolled her over and a pair of lips landed on the corner of her mouth. She smiled lazily, but noticed Dean didn’t return it. He simply took a swig of whiskey, offered her the bottle, and said, “You’re not the only one with secrets to write down, Jo.”
She sat up, took a drink, and handed it back. The mood from earlier had obviously changed and Jo wasn’t sure what to do. She just looked him, wondering what was going to happen. He looked like he wanted to talk, but Jo knew for a fact that he wouldn’t start any conversation that was of an emotional nature. She was completely surprised when Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I have to go, you know.” She immediately turned away. This was exactly what she had been dreading.
“I know,” she replied softly. She didn’t feel any tears welling up. She had known, since he had left almost three weeks ago, how things were going to be now.
“Will you stay here?” His voice was incredibly quiet and Jo cautiously turned back around. She couldn’t quite pin down the look he was giving her. He looked afraid to hear her answer, to see her pull away. She felt uneasy, seeing him look so young and afraid. Jo reached between them and put her hand in his.
“Yeah… I’ll stay. I’ll be here, Dean.” She squeezed his hand and leaned her forehead against his. She breathed in his whiskey breath and felt his body move slightly like a sigh. They sat on the bed for a long time, just quiet. They made love again, gently this time.
No promises were made, no assurances of next time. Jo stood at her living room window and watched Dean walk to his car. She was about to close the curtain when she noticed him turn around and look toward her apartment. He tentatively raised a hand, then quickly put it down and was in the car, speeding out of the parking lot.
She went back to her bedroom to get the whiskey. She had bought it to drink alone, ended up shared it, and now she was alone again. She walked into her kitchen and stood at the counter. After slowly unscrewing the cap, she drained the bottle. It left her lightheaded and slightly reeling, a lot like the guy who just left. She went to chuck the bottle but decided against it. Jo tucked the under her sink, because invariably Dean Winchester needed a bottle thrown at his head for something. He may have left nice and a little emotional, but who knew when he would be back or what he would have done while he was gone?
Another Shot of Whiskey lyrics by Joan Jett.