Fanfic: Last Look
Title: Last Look
Author: sugarcages
Rating/Warnings: G
Pairing: Dean/Jo
Summary: Dean grapples with all kinds of guilt once he's confronted with Jo Harvelle. Takes place right after "Good God Y'all"
The last patches of sunlight filters weakly through the darkening clouds as Dean Winchester watches his brother slowly walk away from him. Every line in Sam’s body looks defeated, shoulders sloping downward, steps shuffling. It’s been a long day, and Dean feels battered, bruised and swindled.
That’s why the fact that Jo Harvelle suddenly shows up with two ice-cold beers in each hand is a very, very welcome sight. Cracking the beers open and without preamble, Jo hands him a beer without saying a word, and he takes it without thanking her.
Jo’s smile fades as she traces his line of vision towards Sam. “He’s hitching a ride with us. Mom already said yes.”
“Good.” He nods towards Ellen’s direction. “How’s that working for you?” Changing topics was always his favorite subject.
She eyes him suspiciously, but relents with those honest brown eyes. She toys with the half-empty beer bottle in her hand. “Good. She gets to stop worrying and I get to stop hearing her nag on voicemail.” She suddenly reaches up to touch his cheek, turning it slightly for a better view. “Heard you got yourself a bona fide Ellen Harvelle slap.”
It’s an unexpectedly charged moment. He can’t find it in himself to say anything but apologize. He ends up saying it a little differently: “Tell your mom I’m sorry.”
Something in Jo’s face falls, and she takes her hand away. “Tell her yourself, jerk.” She smiles half-heartedly.
There’s an awkward silence between them. Somewhere along the way, between Hell, rising from the dead, his own failures, repeating said failures, giving up his necklace, giving up Sam…sitting in front of her, Dean Winchester finally feels what’s he’s always pushed at the back of his mind: The weight of Jo Harvelle’s heart, his own odd desertion of her.
“Listen, Jo…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Dean.” Jo says unexpectedly. He looks at her, surprised. She’s not looking at him, her eyes at a fixed point over his shoulder. “I didn’t come here to ask for anything. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Really?” he can’t help but sound a little dubious.
“Well, no, not really.” Her embarrassed admission extracts a laugh from both of them. “But I’ll save my curiosity for the grapevine.” She looks back at him, smiling, and for a moment she looks just like when he first met her-buoyant, mischievous. “You boys don’t keep secrets as well as you think you do.”
Especially if the secrets end up unleashing hell on earth, Dean thinks, but doesn’t say. He thinks of all things Jo doesn’t know yet, which among those secrets will finally make her hate him. Make her look at him with suspicion, like all the hunters do. Like the look Rufus gives him just now.
“Jo! Jo, we’re going!” Ellen calls from the truck. Dean sees Sam go in the truck’s backseat, not even sparing him one look.
“COMING!” Jo yells back. The exchange is so domestic it makes Dean chuckle. She shrugs apologetically. “See you around Dean-o. Don’t be a stranger.” She stands up, and pauses for a beat. “Just…just give us a call, okay? Mom…well, she worries about you.” She looks almost shy, probably knowing she can’t get a promise or a reassurance from him.
He thinks about the exasperated voice mails he’s received (the only ones he’s been getting, ever since he and Sammy’s been getting slowly ostracized by the other hunters), all in Jo’s voice. He listened to them twice, thrice, before he deleted them.
Jo turns to go, not expecting a reply when Dean finally says, “Yeah, I will.”
Jo does a swift 180, not quite hiding her shock. It dissolves into a bemused grin. He realizes she doesn’t know Rufus called him and Sammy because they were the last resort. That there was no one else, that they were the bottom of the barrel. She shoves her hands in her jean pockets, a teenager just asked to the junior prom. “Okay. Cool. We’ll call you.”
He watches her leave. She waves at him from the truck.
Ellen will tell Jo, if Sam doesn’t. Or some wayward demon will tell her of Dean’s exploits. One way or another, Jo will know the awful burden he’s put on all of them. Jo will know that the person she just talked to was an impostor. And that would be the last time she’d look at him like that.
We’ll call you.
He knows she won’t.
Author: sugarcages
Rating/Warnings: G
Pairing: Dean/Jo
Summary: Dean grapples with all kinds of guilt once he's confronted with Jo Harvelle. Takes place right after "Good God Y'all"
The last patches of sunlight filters weakly through the darkening clouds as Dean Winchester watches his brother slowly walk away from him. Every line in Sam’s body looks defeated, shoulders sloping downward, steps shuffling. It’s been a long day, and Dean feels battered, bruised and swindled.
That’s why the fact that Jo Harvelle suddenly shows up with two ice-cold beers in each hand is a very, very welcome sight. Cracking the beers open and without preamble, Jo hands him a beer without saying a word, and he takes it without thanking her.
Jo’s smile fades as she traces his line of vision towards Sam. “He’s hitching a ride with us. Mom already said yes.”
“Good.” He nods towards Ellen’s direction. “How’s that working for you?” Changing topics was always his favorite subject.
She eyes him suspiciously, but relents with those honest brown eyes. She toys with the half-empty beer bottle in her hand. “Good. She gets to stop worrying and I get to stop hearing her nag on voicemail.” She suddenly reaches up to touch his cheek, turning it slightly for a better view. “Heard you got yourself a bona fide Ellen Harvelle slap.”
It’s an unexpectedly charged moment. He can’t find it in himself to say anything but apologize. He ends up saying it a little differently: “Tell your mom I’m sorry.”
Something in Jo’s face falls, and she takes her hand away. “Tell her yourself, jerk.” She smiles half-heartedly.
There’s an awkward silence between them. Somewhere along the way, between Hell, rising from the dead, his own failures, repeating said failures, giving up his necklace, giving up Sam…sitting in front of her, Dean Winchester finally feels what’s he’s always pushed at the back of his mind: The weight of Jo Harvelle’s heart, his own odd desertion of her.
“Listen, Jo…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Dean.” Jo says unexpectedly. He looks at her, surprised. She’s not looking at him, her eyes at a fixed point over his shoulder. “I didn’t come here to ask for anything. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Really?” he can’t help but sound a little dubious.
“Well, no, not really.” Her embarrassed admission extracts a laugh from both of them. “But I’ll save my curiosity for the grapevine.” She looks back at him, smiling, and for a moment she looks just like when he first met her-buoyant, mischievous. “You boys don’t keep secrets as well as you think you do.”
Especially if the secrets end up unleashing hell on earth, Dean thinks, but doesn’t say. He thinks of all things Jo doesn’t know yet, which among those secrets will finally make her hate him. Make her look at him with suspicion, like all the hunters do. Like the look Rufus gives him just now.
“Jo! Jo, we’re going!” Ellen calls from the truck. Dean sees Sam go in the truck’s backseat, not even sparing him one look.
“COMING!” Jo yells back. The exchange is so domestic it makes Dean chuckle. She shrugs apologetically. “See you around Dean-o. Don’t be a stranger.” She stands up, and pauses for a beat. “Just…just give us a call, okay? Mom…well, she worries about you.” She looks almost shy, probably knowing she can’t get a promise or a reassurance from him.
He thinks about the exasperated voice mails he’s received (the only ones he’s been getting, ever since he and Sammy’s been getting slowly ostracized by the other hunters), all in Jo’s voice. He listened to them twice, thrice, before he deleted them.
Jo turns to go, not expecting a reply when Dean finally says, “Yeah, I will.”
Jo does a swift 180, not quite hiding her shock. It dissolves into a bemused grin. He realizes she doesn’t know Rufus called him and Sammy because they were the last resort. That there was no one else, that they were the bottom of the barrel. She shoves her hands in her jean pockets, a teenager just asked to the junior prom. “Okay. Cool. We’ll call you.”
He watches her leave. She waves at him from the truck.
Ellen will tell Jo, if Sam doesn’t. Or some wayward demon will tell her of Dean’s exploits. One way or another, Jo will know the awful burden he’s put on all of them. Jo will know that the person she just talked to was an impostor. And that would be the last time she’d look at him like that.
We’ll call you.
He knows she won’t.