SPN Fic: Stone Strapped on My Back || Part 7, BWW
Title: Stone Strapped on My back (7/9)
Series: Blood, Water, and Whiskey
Author: neetha
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,014
Characters: Dean/Jo
Warnings/Disclaimer: All your SPN are belong to Kripke and Co. Lots of the cursing here. They’re angry people.
Summary: Jo had started wiping traces of Dean Winchester from the place he had so easily occupied every few weeks. Takes place after 3.04, Sin City.
Part 1. || Part 2. || Part 3. || Part 4. || Part 5. || Part 6. || Part 8. || Part 9.
It had been three long, hard, anxious months. Three months of needing him, like when she found out her real home, the place she had played with her daddy, had been burned to the ground. When she found out her best friend was dead. When she decided not to stay in Nebraska, despite her mother’s protests.
She drove home with no radio, just her windows down. The August night air was warm and the wind whipped her hair around. It was much shorter now that it had been three months ago. She had chopped it off to let it barely graze the tops of her shoulders. It had been the first desperate attempt at forgetting Dean-she knew he loved to wrap his hands up in the long strands.
She pulled into her complex and, out of habit, glanced around the parking lot. No black car. At least, not one that belonged to someone named Winchester. She felt a bubble of irritation at herself rise in her chest and she slammed the truck door a little harder than necessary. She stomped upstairs and shoved her key in the lock. It had gotten loose with Dean’s regular break-ins, but she hadn’t changed it.
The little apartment had finally become homey. She had thrown out a lot of her “starter” furniture from the Goodwill. Her couch was new, along with the entertainment center, squishy chair, and rug. She had even trashed her bedding and bought a new comforter and some of those new bamboo sheets that didn’t hold memories and marker stains. The bathroom wasn’t the sickly green that Dean had so loved to make jokes about. Jo had started wiping traces of Dean Winchester from the place he had so easily occupied every few weeks.
She threw her things down on the couch and strode through the house toward the now-grey and blue bathroom. This wouldn’t be the first (or the last) time that she would try to wash Dean away from her.
:-:-:-:-:-:
Warm sunlight was streaming across her face and arms when Jo woke the next morning. She dressed lazily-it was her day off, the sun was shining, and a warm summer breeze was blowing through the window. She figured she would spend the day cleaning, paying bills, going grocery shopping, and topping the day off with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie ice cream and a couple scary movies. She was returning from checking her mail - all of it junk - when she saw it.
Across the parking lot, in the back corner, was the Impala.
Her heart leaped into her throat and proceeded to choke her. She sped across the asphalt, going full tilt toward the driver’s side door. Her hands hit the warm metal with a loud thud. The car was devoid of people but contained an awful lot of clothes and coffee cups. She leaned against the car for only a moment, her mind racing with possibilities. Jo turned and walked briskly back to her apartment. She pounded up the steps to the second floor and down the hallway. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Only it didn’t open very far.
A hand wrapped around the door to catch it. There was a silver ring on the ring finger.
Jo fought the urge to puke as she pushed her way into the room. Neither of them said a word, just stood there. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear blood pounding in her ears. Suddenly, in one fluid motion, her right hand balled and crashed against Dean’s mouth. Hot tears welled up, blurring everything. She began trembling and felt herself sink to the floor. Jo’s hands came up to cover her face. It was hard to see or breathe or think with all the emotions whirling around inside her. She wanted to kiss him and beat the shit out of him and then pull him to the bedroom.
“You son of a bitch,” she choked out. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Why do you always hit me?” He sounded tired and sad. She heard the swipe of skin across stubble.
“Because you always deserve it.” She sniffled and took her hands away from her face to glare up at him. “I was afraid you were dead, Dean,” she said roughly. “Would it really have been that hard to make a phone call? I mean, hell, I know we aren’t chatty people but would it have killed you to let me know you were alive at least?”
She saw the muscles in his jaw working but he kept their eyes locked. “Don’t give me a hard time, Jo, please,” he said softly, his voice strained. His lip was bleeding. “I’ve driven a long way and I’m too beat to fight right now.”
Jo wrapped her arms around her legs and balled up against the wall. “How did you get in here?” she asked the floor.
Dean’s knees cracked as he sat across from her, tucking his head under the bar top. “I saw you come out to the mailboxes, so I just came on up. You’ve never locked your door to get the mail.”
“Did you just get here?”
“No, I, uh… I slept in the car last night. I wasn’t sure how you’d like me just showing up after so long, but I guess you answered that question,” he muttered grimly.
“You’ve never slept in your car before!”
“I hadn’t been gone for months on end then. I knew where I stood.” He glanced around at all the new furnishings. “Guess I know where I stand now. Looks like one of those damn hearth-and-home magazines lost its guts in here.” He made a choking sound that he tried to pass off as a laugh. It made Jo look at him again.
He had dark circles under his eyes. He had new scars on him and carried a shoulder a little low, like it was sore.
“Have you been hunting a lot?”
“I’ve been doing more than just hunting. Let’s just say a lot of shit has gone down lately,” he replied quickly, not disguising the bite in his tone. Jo was startled at the quick change and frowned.
“Then why didn’t you-”
He cut her off with his hand and a roar. “Aw, dammit, Jo! Would you just shut up? Leave it!” He shoved himself away from the counter and paced around in the little entryway, barely missing her flip-flop-clad toes with his boots. He slammed a hand against the wall above her head. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t call you?”
She nodded a little.
“I saw a gate to hell open up and let out hundreds of demons. I fought the Seven Deadly Sins beside a hunter who watched her husband die from being force-fed drain cleaner. For a couple of days, I thought I had a son named Ben. He’s a friggin’ awesome kid, but not mine. In New York, I thought my brother was going to die. Again,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He was beginning to rush his words and his eyes had a distant look. “And about a week ago, I had an almost pleasant conversation with a demon. I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my fucking mind soon and here’s the kicker, Jo. How are you supposed to call somebody you care about and tell them you only have a year to live because you sold your soul to the devil to save your little brother’s life?”
Bile rose in Jo’s throat again. She scrambled off the floor and sped toward the bathroom, barely making it in time. She was so sick she didn’t hear the heavy footsteps hurrying behind her.
When she couldn’t get anything else up, she slumped beside the toilet, closed her eyes, and huddled against the bathtub. There was water running in the sink and she felt a cabinet shut. She felt little, weak, and raw on the inside. A cool, damp washcloth was pressed against her cheek and a calloused hand fell on her head, smoothing the short and rumpled hair.
“You cut it off.” It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her hair.
“You sold your soul,” she whispered in return. He sighed and curled around her.
“Sam died, Jo. In Cold Oak, South Dakota. That yellow-eyed son of a bitch brought a bunch of kids with special powers and shit there. You know, visions, telekinesis, stuff like that. He made them do something like a demonic Highlander thing. Sam and this army kid were the last ones standing. Army kid stabbed him in the back, clear through his spine. He’s got a gross scar now.” His voice was soft and calm, like he was just relaying some facts. “He died in my arms on a road. I must have sounded like a moron, yelling at the top of my lungs at him. Bobby and I took him to some ramshackle house and I couldn’t stand to see him just lying there. I drove around until I found a crossroads and called a demon up and made the deal.” He stopped and shifted on the hard floor, stretching out his legs.
Jo held the washcloth to her face and scooted over to lean against him. “So Sam’s alive, but how long do you have, Dean?” She tried to keep her voice steady.
With her ear against his chest, she heard no reply, only soft breathing. She waited, not wanting to push him.
He sighed hard, making her head bob. His breathing was beginning to sound wet and he pressed her closer. “Nine more months.”
Jo frowned hard. “That bitch only gave you a year? You’re worth more than that, Dean.” She sat up and grabbed his face. “You’re worth a lot more.”
Dean’s eyes, big and pleading, swept over her face. “Look, I was on borrowed time anyway. Dad did the same thing for me. Sam can have a life now, after I’m gone. Everything will be better after that.”
“Fuck, Dean!” she cried at him. “Sam’s got a life! You, that car, and the highway-that’s his life. He loves you. What makes you think he’s going to be happy and stable once you leave here?” She dropped her hands from his face, suddenly too angry to touch him.
He was visibly stunned. His mouth flapped a couple of times, but he didn’t say a word.
She kept going. “What’s to say that everything will be better? What about me, Dean? I’m not Sam. What am I supposed to do? You’ve been part of my life for over half a year now, and you’ve been in my bed for five months of that. You carry off a little piece of me every single time you leave this town. So, tell me, Dean Winchester. What about you going to Hell is going to make my life better?” She was so angry that her hands were shaking.
He drew his knees up and looked at the tile, running a hand over his face. His mouth didn’t move. He was obviously not going to answer her. With a frustrated groan, she pushed herself up off the floor and walked out of the bathroom.
She hadn’t even made it into the living room before a hand clasped her upper arm and spun her against the wall. Dean’s face was inches from hers, and she was vividly reminded of rain and a hard truck door digging into her back.
“We weren’t supposed to fall in love or anything, Jo,” he hissed, his brow furrowing and his eyes turning dark. “That wasn’t what I planned.”
“Who says I did? Are you accusing me of something?” she replied fiercely.
“Who says I didn’t?” His eyes closed and he turned his head, as if he needed to gather himself. He released her arm was stalked away. His words hung in the hallway. The whole apartment seemed to vibrate as the door slammed.
Series: Blood, Water, and Whiskey
Author: neetha
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,014
Characters: Dean/Jo
Warnings/Disclaimer: All your SPN are belong to Kripke and Co. Lots of the cursing here. They’re angry people.
Summary: Jo had started wiping traces of Dean Winchester from the place he had so easily occupied every few weeks. Takes place after 3.04, Sin City.
Part 1. || Part 2. || Part 3. || Part 4. || Part 5. || Part 6. || Part 8. || Part 9.
It had been three long, hard, anxious months. Three months of needing him, like when she found out her real home, the place she had played with her daddy, had been burned to the ground. When she found out her best friend was dead. When she decided not to stay in Nebraska, despite her mother’s protests.
She drove home with no radio, just her windows down. The August night air was warm and the wind whipped her hair around. It was much shorter now that it had been three months ago. She had chopped it off to let it barely graze the tops of her shoulders. It had been the first desperate attempt at forgetting Dean-she knew he loved to wrap his hands up in the long strands.
She pulled into her complex and, out of habit, glanced around the parking lot. No black car. At least, not one that belonged to someone named Winchester. She felt a bubble of irritation at herself rise in her chest and she slammed the truck door a little harder than necessary. She stomped upstairs and shoved her key in the lock. It had gotten loose with Dean’s regular break-ins, but she hadn’t changed it.
The little apartment had finally become homey. She had thrown out a lot of her “starter” furniture from the Goodwill. Her couch was new, along with the entertainment center, squishy chair, and rug. She had even trashed her bedding and bought a new comforter and some of those new bamboo sheets that didn’t hold memories and marker stains. The bathroom wasn’t the sickly green that Dean had so loved to make jokes about. Jo had started wiping traces of Dean Winchester from the place he had so easily occupied every few weeks.
She threw her things down on the couch and strode through the house toward the now-grey and blue bathroom. This wouldn’t be the first (or the last) time that she would try to wash Dean away from her.
:-:-:-:-:-:
Warm sunlight was streaming across her face and arms when Jo woke the next morning. She dressed lazily-it was her day off, the sun was shining, and a warm summer breeze was blowing through the window. She figured she would spend the day cleaning, paying bills, going grocery shopping, and topping the day off with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie ice cream and a couple scary movies. She was returning from checking her mail - all of it junk - when she saw it.
Across the parking lot, in the back corner, was the Impala.
Her heart leaped into her throat and proceeded to choke her. She sped across the asphalt, going full tilt toward the driver’s side door. Her hands hit the warm metal with a loud thud. The car was devoid of people but contained an awful lot of clothes and coffee cups. She leaned against the car for only a moment, her mind racing with possibilities. Jo turned and walked briskly back to her apartment. She pounded up the steps to the second floor and down the hallway. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Only it didn’t open very far.
A hand wrapped around the door to catch it. There was a silver ring on the ring finger.
Jo fought the urge to puke as she pushed her way into the room. Neither of them said a word, just stood there. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear blood pounding in her ears. Suddenly, in one fluid motion, her right hand balled and crashed against Dean’s mouth. Hot tears welled up, blurring everything. She began trembling and felt herself sink to the floor. Jo’s hands came up to cover her face. It was hard to see or breathe or think with all the emotions whirling around inside her. She wanted to kiss him and beat the shit out of him and then pull him to the bedroom.
“You son of a bitch,” she choked out. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Why do you always hit me?” He sounded tired and sad. She heard the swipe of skin across stubble.
“Because you always deserve it.” She sniffled and took her hands away from her face to glare up at him. “I was afraid you were dead, Dean,” she said roughly. “Would it really have been that hard to make a phone call? I mean, hell, I know we aren’t chatty people but would it have killed you to let me know you were alive at least?”
She saw the muscles in his jaw working but he kept their eyes locked. “Don’t give me a hard time, Jo, please,” he said softly, his voice strained. His lip was bleeding. “I’ve driven a long way and I’m too beat to fight right now.”
Jo wrapped her arms around her legs and balled up against the wall. “How did you get in here?” she asked the floor.
Dean’s knees cracked as he sat across from her, tucking his head under the bar top. “I saw you come out to the mailboxes, so I just came on up. You’ve never locked your door to get the mail.”
“Did you just get here?”
“No, I, uh… I slept in the car last night. I wasn’t sure how you’d like me just showing up after so long, but I guess you answered that question,” he muttered grimly.
“You’ve never slept in your car before!”
“I hadn’t been gone for months on end then. I knew where I stood.” He glanced around at all the new furnishings. “Guess I know where I stand now. Looks like one of those damn hearth-and-home magazines lost its guts in here.” He made a choking sound that he tried to pass off as a laugh. It made Jo look at him again.
He had dark circles under his eyes. He had new scars on him and carried a shoulder a little low, like it was sore.
“Have you been hunting a lot?”
“I’ve been doing more than just hunting. Let’s just say a lot of shit has gone down lately,” he replied quickly, not disguising the bite in his tone. Jo was startled at the quick change and frowned.
“Then why didn’t you-”
He cut her off with his hand and a roar. “Aw, dammit, Jo! Would you just shut up? Leave it!” He shoved himself away from the counter and paced around in the little entryway, barely missing her flip-flop-clad toes with his boots. He slammed a hand against the wall above her head. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t call you?”
She nodded a little.
“I saw a gate to hell open up and let out hundreds of demons. I fought the Seven Deadly Sins beside a hunter who watched her husband die from being force-fed drain cleaner. For a couple of days, I thought I had a son named Ben. He’s a friggin’ awesome kid, but not mine. In New York, I thought my brother was going to die. Again,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He was beginning to rush his words and his eyes had a distant look. “And about a week ago, I had an almost pleasant conversation with a demon. I’m pretty sure I’m going to lose my fucking mind soon and here’s the kicker, Jo. How are you supposed to call somebody you care about and tell them you only have a year to live because you sold your soul to the devil to save your little brother’s life?”
Bile rose in Jo’s throat again. She scrambled off the floor and sped toward the bathroom, barely making it in time. She was so sick she didn’t hear the heavy footsteps hurrying behind her.
When she couldn’t get anything else up, she slumped beside the toilet, closed her eyes, and huddled against the bathtub. There was water running in the sink and she felt a cabinet shut. She felt little, weak, and raw on the inside. A cool, damp washcloth was pressed against her cheek and a calloused hand fell on her head, smoothing the short and rumpled hair.
“You cut it off.” It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her hair.
“You sold your soul,” she whispered in return. He sighed and curled around her.
“Sam died, Jo. In Cold Oak, South Dakota. That yellow-eyed son of a bitch brought a bunch of kids with special powers and shit there. You know, visions, telekinesis, stuff like that. He made them do something like a demonic Highlander thing. Sam and this army kid were the last ones standing. Army kid stabbed him in the back, clear through his spine. He’s got a gross scar now.” His voice was soft and calm, like he was just relaying some facts. “He died in my arms on a road. I must have sounded like a moron, yelling at the top of my lungs at him. Bobby and I took him to some ramshackle house and I couldn’t stand to see him just lying there. I drove around until I found a crossroads and called a demon up and made the deal.” He stopped and shifted on the hard floor, stretching out his legs.
Jo held the washcloth to her face and scooted over to lean against him. “So Sam’s alive, but how long do you have, Dean?” She tried to keep her voice steady.
With her ear against his chest, she heard no reply, only soft breathing. She waited, not wanting to push him.
He sighed hard, making her head bob. His breathing was beginning to sound wet and he pressed her closer. “Nine more months.”
Jo frowned hard. “That bitch only gave you a year? You’re worth more than that, Dean.” She sat up and grabbed his face. “You’re worth a lot more.”
Dean’s eyes, big and pleading, swept over her face. “Look, I was on borrowed time anyway. Dad did the same thing for me. Sam can have a life now, after I’m gone. Everything will be better after that.”
“Fuck, Dean!” she cried at him. “Sam’s got a life! You, that car, and the highway-that’s his life. He loves you. What makes you think he’s going to be happy and stable once you leave here?” She dropped her hands from his face, suddenly too angry to touch him.
He was visibly stunned. His mouth flapped a couple of times, but he didn’t say a word.
She kept going. “What’s to say that everything will be better? What about me, Dean? I’m not Sam. What am I supposed to do? You’ve been part of my life for over half a year now, and you’ve been in my bed for five months of that. You carry off a little piece of me every single time you leave this town. So, tell me, Dean Winchester. What about you going to Hell is going to make my life better?” She was so angry that her hands were shaking.
He drew his knees up and looked at the tile, running a hand over his face. His mouth didn’t move. He was obviously not going to answer her. With a frustrated groan, she pushed herself up off the floor and walked out of the bathroom.
She hadn’t even made it into the living room before a hand clasped her upper arm and spun her against the wall. Dean’s face was inches from hers, and she was vividly reminded of rain and a hard truck door digging into her back.
“We weren’t supposed to fall in love or anything, Jo,” he hissed, his brow furrowing and his eyes turning dark. “That wasn’t what I planned.”
“Who says I did? Are you accusing me of something?” she replied fiercely.
“Who says I didn’t?” His eyes closed and he turned his head, as if he needed to gather himself. He released her arm was stalked away. His words hung in the hallway. The whole apartment seemed to vibrate as the door slammed.