Supernatural - Jo- Gone A Hunting
Written for the awesome ladies fic-a-thon.
Title: Gone A Hunting
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jo, gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters is the property of the CW? No profit is made by this, no harm intended.
Summary: Jo goes hunting, alone.
He wore a flannel shirt beneath a faded jean jacket and jeans that looked one size too big. Rousing himself from the bar he swaggered over with a beer in one hand to the jukebox where Jo leaned forward, thrumming her fingers in indecision against a rainbow of neon lights.
"I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said, his lips sliding up in a greasy smile that reminded Jo of old man Tyler after he had one too many whiskeys. She acknowledged him with the lift of one brow that he mistook for encouragement. She shook her head and smiled, laughing beneath her breath. Slipping a coin into the machine her fingers slid down the list of songs and settled on the button highlighting a Road House favorite.
Had she been bartending she would have stopped serving this man liquor two beers ago; but if the bartender was anything like her, he wouldn't take kindly to a stranger telling him how to do his job, even if this man smelled from a yard away. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be around all these ruffians." There was a slight drawl to his voice though she couldn't place it. Not a drunken slur, but an accent from another place.
Jo bobbed her head to the beginning chords of the song, the way Ash used to when he was just getting into his groove. She leaned against the plastic casing and tapped her foot against the floor. She knew better than to think ignoring him would take care of it, but that never stopped her from hoping. He drew closer, leaning the elbow holding the drink against the juke box.
She turned to the early 30-something grinning at her like a high school boy at the Sadie Hawkins dance. "Let me guess," she paused, pursing her lips up into a pout, "big brave hunter like you is gonna save little red riding hood from the big bad werewolf." He sobered at the mention of the job in town. The same job she was certain had brought them both to Podunk, Middle of America.
This was always her favorite part- the way a moment's playfulness dissolved into something angrier, something grittier. He cleared his throat and took a quick swig of his drink.
"Best watch yourself miss," he warned. "Best not to get in our way."
"That's funny," she said pushing off of the juke box and leaned in close enough to look like one flirting. "I could say the same for you."
Title: Gone A Hunting
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jo, gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters is the property of the CW? No profit is made by this, no harm intended.
Summary: Jo goes hunting, alone.
He wore a flannel shirt beneath a faded jean jacket and jeans that looked one size too big. Rousing himself from the bar he swaggered over with a beer in one hand to the jukebox where Jo leaned forward, thrumming her fingers in indecision against a rainbow of neon lights.
"I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said, his lips sliding up in a greasy smile that reminded Jo of old man Tyler after he had one too many whiskeys. She acknowledged him with the lift of one brow that he mistook for encouragement. She shook her head and smiled, laughing beneath her breath. Slipping a coin into the machine her fingers slid down the list of songs and settled on the button highlighting a Road House favorite.
Had she been bartending she would have stopped serving this man liquor two beers ago; but if the bartender was anything like her, he wouldn't take kindly to a stranger telling him how to do his job, even if this man smelled from a yard away. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be around all these ruffians." There was a slight drawl to his voice though she couldn't place it. Not a drunken slur, but an accent from another place.
Jo bobbed her head to the beginning chords of the song, the way Ash used to when he was just getting into his groove. She leaned against the plastic casing and tapped her foot against the floor. She knew better than to think ignoring him would take care of it, but that never stopped her from hoping. He drew closer, leaning the elbow holding the drink against the juke box.
She turned to the early 30-something grinning at her like a high school boy at the Sadie Hawkins dance. "Let me guess," she paused, pursing her lips up into a pout, "big brave hunter like you is gonna save little red riding hood from the big bad werewolf." He sobered at the mention of the job in town. The same job she was certain had brought them both to Podunk, Middle of America.
This was always her favorite part- the way a moment's playfulness dissolved into something angrier, something grittier. He cleared his throat and took a quick swig of his drink.
"Best watch yourself miss," he warned. "Best not to get in our way."
"That's funny," she said pushing off of the juke box and leaned in close enough to look like one flirting. "I could say the same for you."