Discover Top Posts Tagged with #goingofftherails

Jan 28, 2013

The Roof - Dean and Jo

Status: Completed Words: 11,639 Rating: T (language) Summary: An apology is due--though to start with, neither is sure who owes it to who--and, after making up, Dean and Jo head to the rooftop with a heart-to-heart discussion.

--------------------

Looking at the piece of pie that still remained, Jo knit her eyebrows together. Dean was upset about that argument to the point where he’d give up pie. Everyone she spoke to basically mentioned his attachment to the dessert. There wasn’t enough motivation for her to eat it; he clearly was trying to make it up to her about their silly disupute -which happened to be their first conversation. Technically. It was getting a bit obvious that he needed someone to talk to. She slid her hand into her pocket, gripping the handle of her knife, reminding herself that it was still there. It was driving her up the wall how he managed to get it. She doesn’t remember losing it but hell, how did he slip it into an asylum? That took skill.

Picking up the plate, Jo peeked her head outside her door to scan for any staff members. She was transporting precious goods, after all. One of the nurses was slowly walking by for her rounds, her shoes squeaking against the floor. Jo gave her an innocent nod and smile, secretly wishing for her to hurry her ass a little faster. Once the nurse had made her way around the corner, Jo slipped out of her room and down the hall walking as fast as she could without looking suspicious. Reaching room number seven, Jo prayed Dean’s sappy butt was still in there. Without a second thought, she knocked firmly on the door, “Dean, you in there? It’s Jo.”

One of these days, Dean would wear a hole in the floor from the amount of pacing he’d been doing. It was good exercise, and he couldn’t complain about that part of it, seeing as he didn’t get much otherwise. He didn’t want to get flabby like the angels would if they didn’t stop appearing from thin air. It was sobering to be alone, anyway. He’d gotten quite used to his own company.

The daily 3PM squeaking of shoes passed the hallway and Dean counted out the hours on his fingers that were left until dinner and then until curfew, wondering what he’d do for seven hours. A loud knock interrupted his thoughts, followed by a female calling after him.

“Y-yeah, I’m here, come in,” he responded to her immediately, turning to face the door. Jo was the last person he’d been expecting to show up; however, she wasn’t unwelcome in his presence, despite their previous meeting.

Dean swung the door open looking keyed up. Much to her frustration, Jo was unable to think of what to say. She felt as if there were dozens of responses she could vocalize; a thank you, an apology, some form of awkward segway to anything at all. She just looked up at Dean and felt stupid as ever not saying anything. Forcing herself to spout out some form of a sentence, Jo blinked, “Are you okay?” There was a second’s pause before she just let herself loose. “I mean you’re giving me your pie and—” She narrowed her eyes at him, “How did you get a knife in here?”

Inviting herself in, she barged into his room placing the piece of pie on the nearest table. ”How the hell did you get that knife?” Recalling the whole entire reason he even bothered giving it to her, she swung around to face him, raising her hands in surrender, “I’m not mad. It’s was some stupid hotheaded conversation over whiskey.” She let out a sigh of frustration and crossed her arms, “What I’m trying to get at here is that you’re going to awfully long lengths to get my forgiveness when I wasn’t even that mad. So I’m gonna ask again. You okay?”

Dean quirked a curious eyebrow downward at Jo, trying to sort out what her real message was and in what order to answer her questions, feeling overwhelmed by her monologue. Was he okay? How did he get a knife in here? How did he get that knife? And then again, was he okay? He wasn’t sure, for the most part, how to answer those.

“Look, the first thing you have to know about me is this: I’ve lost a lot of people, Jo, all of whom I cared deeply about,” he began to explain. “Friends. Family. Contacts. Resources. People who saved my ass. People I thought I could save. You were almost one of them, more than once, I’m pretty sure. I promised myself I’d do absolutely everything within my power not to lose anyone else, especially you. God, you don’t know how happy I was when I heard you were here. Well, not here, specifically, but that you were back in my life. And then there’s this little complication called Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and it kind of makes me freak out and get super pissed about seemingly trivial things. I wish it wasn’t like this, Jo, I do, and I’m sorry, but that’s me. This is what hunting has made me. And God, I don’t want this life for you. I’d never choose it, I’d never let you put yourself in that kind of danger again and if I could take back my fucking mistakes, believe me, I would. But life doesn’t work like that, and you have to make your own choices.”

“As for the knife, it was your father’s,” he explained. “When the Roadhouse burned to the ground, Ellen gave it to Sam and I. Said you left it behind after your last visit, and to give it to you next time we saw you. They let us keep a few select possessions with us when we checked ourselves in. So, one of mine was this knife, tucked into a pair of shoes that I pretended to have a special attachment to. I cut the sole apart and wedged it in there. Bastards never guessed a thing.”

Going through the motions of repeating whatever he just said, she took to processing it in small bite sized portions. She had just only begun understanding what this all meant, but the point was made clear. He cared about her. He cared about a lot of people that ended up dead or worse and the guilt weighs down on him. Her mouth dropped open slightly, but she quickly snapped it back shut. “Dean… Don’t worry about your uh, intermittent explosive disorder— Well do, but I mean that’s okay. We all have shit to deal with. I’m not going to hide in a corner cause you get mad and can’t help it.” Jo swallowed the lump in her throat and took a step towards him. “And don’t… take all that crap on yourself. Doubt you made me do anything I didn’t want to, cause if you tried that now I’d be pleased as punch to hit you.”

The room flicked to a dimly lit bar with a glowing violet jukebox in the corner. She blinked hard and looked back at Dean, smiling softly.”If it makes you feel any better you helped me out when you gave me my knife. I really owe you one.” The drift was definitely caught that he could be a jerk sometimes, but there wasn’t any deep seated bitterness towards him. She didn’t feel that one bit.

“I didn’t—I’d never—” he started before sighing. “I can’t just pretend that the past never happened. I mean, you’ll be glad to know that, no, I never made you do anything like that. But… you and I didn’t always agree. And there were times where watching you walk away damn near killed me, but I had to. It’s your life, not mine. Hit me if you want; I probably deserve it for one thing or another. I’m still not going anywhere.”

“You mentioned you wanted to hunt,” Dean explained of his actions. “It was in my possession, but it was yours to begin with. What’s the cat to do when the mouse is begging? I feel bad, Jo, for dragging you into my life and—” And what? And feeling constant regret about not being there to stop whatever happened that landed her in here? Dean, you can’t save the world, he reminded himself, taking a seat on his bed. “—And I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t snapped. I just… I got scared, okay?”

Jo rolled her eyes at Dean, “I’m not actually gonna hit you.” Sitting on the bed beside him, she let her blonde hair fall forward, looking at her feet. “Well I’m here and I’m not walking away anytime soon. There isn’t much either of us can do about it.” She tilted her head to face the guilt-ridden man sitting across from her, “We deal with the cards we’re handed cause this is the best we got. Even if the hand’s shitty. Hell, the whole deck maybe rigged.” Jo was used to keeping a cap on her emotions so far and getting her to talk about topics deeper than what monster she saw today was a little tough. Enough with the poker metaphor’s, Harvelle. She pressed her lips into a thin line, “Scared about what?”

Dean turned on the bed, his body facing her completely. “Guess I’m stuck with you again. Lucky you,” he mused sarcastically before resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m kidding. There’s nobody I’d rather, you know, not-be-walked-away-from by.”

He took a deep breath, making a mental list and taking a moment to organize his thoughts into a list. “Spiders,” he confessed. “Airplane rides. A world without pie. Dying alone. Dying in here. Dying in here alone. Losing everyone I love. Sam going crazy beyond my control. Mom being back from the dead. Demons living in the room next door. Psychics. Reapers. You know, all stuff that comes up in a day’s work.”

Placing her hands on her chest dramatically, her voice slowed to a southern drawl. “Stuck with Dean Winchester? Well aren’t I the luckiest gal in the world?” Smirking, she patted his hand feeling a little accomplished, “I know.”

Jo snorted when he said airplanes but regained her composure. Dean Winchester who had been to hell and back is afraid of a plane trip. Cute. His complete honesty with her was surprising and rather refreshing. Maybe one day when she remembered a damn thing she could help him out more. “Well, that pretty much covers all the bases… we can’t do much about that crap except live another day.” Looking out the small barred window, her eyes lit up. Nothing like screwing around with authority to forget about crap. She knew her immaturity levels were off the wall, but as of right now she didn’t care. If Jo were outside the asylum walls, she may have been a lot more reserved and calculative; however, she was not. “Or we can do something exciting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you haven’t lost your sarcasm,” he muttered. “Then I’d really have to wonder who you are. And maybe run you through some unpleasant tests to make sure you’re not, you know, one of them.”

Nodding at her words, Dean agreed silently. “You ever get sick of just waking up and knowing that all you’ve got left is another day of the same old shit, though? Like, you’re stuck here, and nothing changes? You can’t leave, you can’t do the things you feel like doing… Hell, it’s a challenge to even die.” Voice cracking at the end of his statement, Dean swallowed the lump that was slowly rising in his throat. “Let’s just… I don’t know. Take our minds off it, I guess. Try to forget the world, just for a while. What do you feel like doing?”

Jo groaned at the thought of more tests. When was she ever going to have to stop proving herself? “No more tests for the love of god.” Her eyebrows quirked up, “Them? Do you mean a shifter or something?”

She sucked in a breath. Her memories of the Roadhouse were clear enough now. There were some parts that remained foggy, but the raw emotions were there. Not all memories were perfect. By no means was the Roadhouse anything close to this hellhole, but the feelings of being trapped was fresh in her memory now. “Yeah. It sucks. Being told what to do, when to do it, how to do it, that you’re not good enough, when all you’re thinking of is the day you get to walk out the door and hit the road, leaving nothing behind but dust.” The urge to comfort him was tempting, but she knew that they needed to be strong. Tenderness would end up in heartache or disaster. She had to swallow it down until they got out of here because that was the only option. They had to get out of here. Her hand stretched to touch his hand, but diverted its course a grabbed his wrist. “C’mon you big lug. I’m taking you somewhere fun.” Pulling him off of the bed, she moved towards the door.

“Not a shifter in particular, no, just, you know, anything… But now that you mention it…” How would she have remembered shifters if—? He stared at the ends of Jo’s hair, admiring the tiny curls forming at the ends that he remembered, before brushing her hair back for a minute with a muttered apology and tugging at her ear gently. When it didn’t come off, his hand dropped back to his lap. “You’re safe,” he confirmed aloud. “How’d you know about them, though? Shapeshifters.”

Dean nodded, confirmation of his understanding of her feelings. “Like the days seem to just jumble together, and you lose track of yourself along with them. You’re ordered around although authority’s never been good to you, and you’re sick of feeling like someone else’s pawn piece. You’re lucky you never met my dad.” His tone was resentful; why shouldn’t it have been? Dean still had his regrets about following his father around like a lost puppy his entire life; if he hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up here. Maybe he would have been someone besides who he’d turned out to be.

Jo’s suggestion shook him back into reality and he nodded, feeling her hand tighten around his wrist. Playfully, he twisted his wrist upward to grab onto her own arm.

She leaned away from him wondering what he was trying to do; then she got it. Staring at the ceiling until he was finished, she rolled her eyes back to him, “Satisfied?” Leaning back on both of her hands, she indifferently recalled the short films that ran in her head. “Told you the knife helped. ‘Sides monsters were the first memories that came back. Hunted a few shifters in my life apparently. Got a few others I could list off if you want.” It was interesting how the first memories that came to her were about the things that slunk around in the night and not her memories about the people in her life. Maybe it was her instinct trying to get her to prepare her or maybe her head was just a mess.

Jo didn’t have a clue what to say to Dean’s father. She didn’t remember that John Winchester was the one who led her father to the slaughter purely by accident. One fault in a salt line snowballed to a father of an eight year old daughter ripped to shreds and a little over a decade later, she would end up just like him. “By the sounds of it, I doubt I’d like it.” Jo’s lips pulled at the corners.Was his father the reason why he was here? The hunt sure, but he was stuck here because he was actually diagnosed.

Dean’s wrist was pulled out of her hand; she wasn’t expecting that. She was knocked slightly off balance, leaning towards him. His fingers wrapped around her arm and she piped up, “Ha ha. Funny.”

“Your head sounds like it’s a scary place to be at,” Dean said softly, nodding. “Not that I’m scared of you. Just feeling bad for what you’re experiencing, being confused about—” How had Sam described it? “—Not being able to tell what’s real and what’s not. Truth is, though, I hope you do get those memories back. ‘Cause as painful as they’re gonna be for a while, you’re gonna be so proud of yourself when you start to remember. Speaking of, how’s the medication thing going?”

“No. You really wouldn’t,” he agreed. He was proud of Jo; proud that she’d gone off on her own, that she’d followed her heart. And maybe, yeah, somehow, it landed her in here, but she was safer here, or so Dean liked to believe. “Do you remember him at all? Your dad?”

He smirked downward at her. “I try for funny,” he informed her. “I like you best when you’re smiling. This better?” Hesitantly, Dean slid his hand down to join hers.

Jo laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “Pain? I’ll live.” How many pills had she washed down the drain now? Had to be at least a dozen, if not more. Jo simply slipped the pills under her tongue and swallowed the water handed to her. “Haven’t taken one since I arrived.” She said honestly, “Wasn’t that hard to slip the nurses. Just gotta watch myself around the psychiatrist.” Which was by far going to be the hardest bit.

Her heart tugged at the thought of her father. God, had it always hurt this much? She kept the thoughts of him to a minimum, not trying to dwell on it too long. “Yeah. I do.” She mentioned briskly.

She was about throw a sassy remark, but he caught her off guard… again. She swore internally at herself for letting him do that over and over again. Right about now, she wasn’t going to fight him on it. She simpered, feeling right at home, “Hmmm… maybe.”

“Damn, girl. Watch out, crazies, we got a badass over here!” Dean hollered loudly. He was sure Jo wouldn’t like the attention he was drawing to her, but in his opinion, not enough had been drawn. “Nah, the psychs aren’t scary. You’re one of my mom’s patients. She’s cool, promise. Nothing to be worried about. For what it’s worth, she’ll believe you about the demons and stuff.” He winked at her.

Assuming he’d hit a sore spot, Dean didn’t want to push further on the topic of her father. “Jo… I’m sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot lately, I know, but… I am. I mean it.”

“Maybe? Well, that’s not good enough, then,” he responded, realizing that he’d potentially made her feel awkward, releasing her hand. “Sorry,” Dean murmured quietly. “What’s better for you, then?”

Jo’s eyes widened and she covered her hands over his mouth in an attempt to stop his shouting. Last thing they needed was a nurse to catch them together in a room. Alone. That would look really great. She released him when he stopped yelling about her. Anna had mentioned Mary Winchester once. Relief sunk into her bones and she relaxed her shoulders. She would have to apologize to her about the pie. “Oh that’ll be nice. Someone believing what I say for once.”

Jo shook her head. Dean kept taking everything the blame for everything when he really had nothing to do with it. Her dad was a soft spot, she’ll deal with it like everything else. Move on. “Stop sayin’ sorry. You did nothing wrong.”

When he released her hand she left was a little confused, but she remained nonchalant. “We can do that again after I get the key,” Backing towards the door, she wiggled her eyebrows at him. “and get to the the roof.”

Dean grinned at his success—though he wouldn’t admit it, Jo was sickeningly cute when she was embarrassed. He put an arm around her shoulders, his laughter muffled by the hand she’d clapped to his mouth. “Seriously though, don’t worry about them. Chances are they’ve heard crazier things. Especially my mom. She was the hunter, you know, not my dad. Not ‘til later.” He dropped his arm, folding his hands in his lap. “For the record, though, I believe you.”

Confused by her comment about the rooftop, Dean laughed nervously, unsure of how to react. He rubbed the back of his neck, bowing his head, feeling awkward and out of place as he watched her back toward the door, wondering silently what she was doing.

Jo narrowed her eyes at Dean jokingly, blood rushing to her face. He was definitely enjoying getting her riled up. “Yeah, yeah.” She was originally thinking of the doctors and officers not listening to a word she said. She was getting rather tired of repeating the same old sob story over and over again.”You know what I mean.” Jo huffed. Considering he was a there for a portion of her life, of course he believed her.

Dean looked like he was lost. Maybe he was expecting something a little closer to people watching. Standing up straighter, she placed a hand on her hip, “I thought we could sneak up there, but if want to do something else…” She looked at him expectantly, wondering what was going on in his head.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed. “Just, seriously… you’re okay, right? I mean, all things considered?” He wasn’t going to force her to talk feelings, but he wanted to make it clear that if no one else would be there, he would. ‘Til the bitter end. It was a promise he’d never told her—or anyone, really—about. Jo being in here with him was enough proof to him that he’d broken that. Well, he wouldn’t let her down this time.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I just didn’t know what you had in mind. There’s really not much up there, to be honest. It’s pretty, uh, lacking in scenery.”

Jo swallowed even though the back of her throat felt dry as a desert. “I’m fine, Dean. Honestly.” That was half of a lie. She decided was fine with not being fine, if that made any sense to anyone with her. It was going to be a rocky trip, but even Dean kept saying it would be worth it. No use complaining about something you want. She gave him a half-hearted smile.

She leaned herself against the door, her lips tugging downward. Dean didn’t sound all that excited which defeated the point of bothering to go up there. “And we’re back to square one.” Goddammit she sucked at this. Did she normally suck at this or was she just this lame around him? “Got any bright ideas?”

“Yeah? You don’t seem it. Maybe ‘sjust me,” he decided aloud. Dean took a minute to study Jo’s expression, like she wasn’t sure of herself, and Dean couldn’t decide why. What was she thinking about? What was going through her head that had her so… so unlike herself, how he remembered her? He returned her smile, if only to comfort her.

Dean bit his lip. “Well, actually…” To speak or not to speak? That was the question. “Wait, why are we not going up there, though?” he asked with a frown, having looked forward to it when she’d mentioned it. “You seemed pretty keen on the idea up ‘til a few seconds ago.” Up until I opened my mouth about it.

Giving him a one shouldered shrug, she kept most of her snappy responses to herself. He just poured out most of his troubles to her and she wasn’t going to throw all that back in his face. “I’m not going to be pleased at punch about everything y’know.” Flashing him the brightest smile she could manage, she spoke through her teeth, “This good?”

Her lips parted slightly, “I—” She didn’t understand why it was this difficult. Perhaps they were reading too much into each other’s responses; the mixed signals were making her head spin. Jo threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Alright, we’re thinking about it too hard. We’re going to the roof out of pure spite.” Jo waited for some kind of response with mixed emotions.

Dean gave a genuine laugh at the face Jo pulled. “What large teeth you have, Mrs. Wolf,” he joked, sidling away slowly before squeaking playfully, “Don’t eat me.” He could tell Jo had something to say, just not what or when—maybe never.

He only nodded in response, taking her wrist just as she’d done his and leading her down the hallway. “C’mon then,” he replied with a grin. “Let’s go hunt some skylines.” If this was Jo’s idea of spite, he’d love to see what revenge was like. Leading her up to the top of the building, Dean kicked open the last door, releasing his grip on Jo and stepping forward to hold the door for her. “You first.”

Jo relaxed her face, smiling as hard as she was made her face hurt. “I’ll eat you for breakfast if you keep asking if I’m okay.” She smacked him playfully on the shoulder.”I’m fine.” Jo repeated as reassuringly as possible.

Pulled up to the roof by Dean Winchester, she was tempted to protest, however, she kept her mouth shut for the time being. When he kicked open the door a pleasant breeze blew through, her hair blowing in her face. By no means was the smell of wet cement and dirt refreshing, but it had been awhile since she had spent a decent amount of time outside. The burst of air gave her the illusion of freedom. Brushing the hair out of her face, she pushed Dean forward, “Oh please, ladies first.”

Dean pulled a shocked face. “You know, that really wounds a guy when you talk like that!” he exclaimed. “If you’re gonna eat me, do I at least get to pick the toppings?” He realized the conversation was ridiculous, but he’d try anything to cheer her up right now.

“Pfft. Whatever.” Dean spun around and picked Jo up, carrying her forward. He set her down in front of him. “Ladies first, just like you said.” He took her hand again and walked closer to the edge, looking out over the top of the building. Outdoors, he felt a little more calm; it reminded him of the breeze whipping through the pen windows of the Impala, driving around with Sam. The memories brought a smile to his face. He sat down, legs crossed a couple of feet from the ledge.

There wasn’t serious note in her voice.”Mhm, I’m sure it hurts.” She tilted her head, looking at him incredulously. He wasn’t even making sense by this point; there wasn’t a reason not to go along with it. “Nope. Not even that.”

Her eyes widened in surprise when he picked her up, “Wha—” Last time she checked, her legs were working perfectly fine. Dean Winchester was fairly lucky that Jo Harvelle didn’t recall how to kick some ass because he would be first on the list. Her nostrils flared, “So help me god, put me down.” When he set her down she fixed her ruffled shirt in a huff and crossed her arms. He managed to grab her hand anyway, leading her close to the edge. She sat down next to him, crossing her legs as well. Taking in a deep breathe of air, she looked over at Dean and saw him smiling,”This is nice.”

“Well, see, that’s just rude. Pretty sure Ell—your mom brought you up better than that. Manners, Jo, God!” he responded with a dramatic eyeroll. “I’d just get pulled back to life and the first person I’d find was you, you know that.”

Dean released her hand, sensing a bit of tension in her voice as she spoke; he hoped he hadn’t upset her. He’d only meant to be fun about things. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to come up sometimes,” Dean told the blonde. “Just never had the reason, I guess. Not that there’s much up here. We should’ve brought food and had a picnic.” Looking far into the distance, Dean showed off a faint smile. “This would be a good place to watch the outside from. Y’know, guard it, I mean. Make sure no one breaks in or out.” Dean ignored the desire to scale the wall and leave the premises himself; he’d already half-planned his escape, anyway.

“Mm, she tried.” Jo mused, “Wasn’t really a success.” Flipping through the recent episodes, there was always a lot of yelling and door slamming between the two of them. They were both too stubborn to give in to each other. If there was a world record for the number of times a kid was grounded, Jo Harvelle would have smoked the competition.

She snorted at the suggestion, “A picnic? That’s cute.” Jo peeked over the edge, scaling how far the drop was. The chances of surviving the fall were slim to none. “Not a picnic without beer.” She raised her eyebrows, intrigued “Who’s going to be breaking in? Doubt anyone wants to get into here anytime soon.” Glancing around, she realized there no one was going to bother watching the roof. Didn’t expect anyone to be quick enough to get up here. Jo looked over the edge again. “I don’t there’s any rope around here. Maybe bedsheets, but we’d need some expert knot tying or else the whole thing could fall to pieces. Nylon is good too when you’re in a tight spot.” When Jo unashamedly snuck out of the Roadhouse late at night, she had to get creative.

“I dunno, I think she did a great job with what she had. Couldn’t’ve been easy, all things considered,” Dean reminded her. “She’s a good woman, your mom.” Ellen tried her hardest, no matter what it was—keeping her daughter away from the family business, or bringing her up with the self-respect Dean had never quite gotten the hang of.

“What can I say? I like food,” Dean mumbled. “Though you’re right about the beer—did you want me to go get some?” He started to stand in case of the event that she told him to do so. He scanned the area again and confirmed Jo’s observation. “Nothing to get down, unless you feel like five flights of fire exit stairs is a good plan,” he replied with a chuckle. “Nylon, though… huh. Never considered it an option. How’d you do that?”

“Yeah. I caught that.” She could weight the pros and cons all she wanted about the memories she was gaining back. Although, when push came to shove it was tough learning about relationships that you had with your family, not knowing the full story, where they were, how they were doing, and if they missed her as much as she was starting to miss them.

Jo stretched her arms, bringing them up as high as she could before slowly bringing them back down. “Nah, this is fine.” Looking off into the distance, she ran through the possible scenarios of how that could possibly work out. Shut down the power? We might be running in the dark but that would give us a head start. False fire alarm… Nah, an actual fire probably would be needed to get a good enough distraction. Jo kept her ideas to herself for right now. For a proper escape attempt she needed to plan it out on paper with the proper maps. Jo chuckled at the memory of tying pairs of nylons together, it seemed ridiculous now that she looked back. “Think of a bungee cord, but less springy. You hope to god your knots are good enough, tuck and roll, and you’re home free.” The roof was too high up to pull any of those risks. Jo quickly amended her idea, “From this distance just use them for the extra stretch. It’s too high up to do any of that.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re smart, guess you got her brains,” Dean replied with a smile. “You okay though, seriously? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

With a shrug, Dean sat back down at her side. “Can’t wait to get out of here,” he commented softly. “Seriously, I’ve scoped this place out a million times now, I think. I don’t think there’s a safe way out, unless you jump into the garden to break your fall a little bit. Soft surface and stuff.”

As he listened, Dean smiled, admiring Jo for her quick thinking. “I thought you meant as a net to catch yourself when you jumped or something. But clearly I’m not experienced with nylons. Well…” Dean burst into laughter at the accidental innuendo. “Don’t say it,” he warned. “But seriously, I don’t understand nylons. Especially wearing them… Don’t they, like, cut off your circulation or something?”

Dean was pressing the topic pretty hard. Jo wasn’t particularly excited to start the conversation that very moment. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Dude, I’m fine. If something pops up and I need to talk about it, I will.”

She hummed at the thought of getting out and rediscovering her roots. Every fragment counted at this point. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Dean endlessly going around and around the asylum looking for possible weaknesses and escape routes. There wasn’t a lot you could do inside the asylum in the first place. “But then there’s the risk of glass and breaking your neck.” Jo leaned over slightly and bumped him, “The usual.”

Jo bent over, shaking with laughter. She didn’t remember the last time she had laughed this hard. Recovering her breath, she managed to slip a few words in between the rolls of laughter, “No, they don’t cut off your circulation.” Intaking a deep breath of air, Jo composed herself. “I don’t prefer wearing them cause they get runs, but they’re not that bad.”

He continued to eye her, full of concern and disbelief. “Please, do,” he mumbled, dropping the subject with a sigh.

“There’s also the risk of dying while diving birth, but plenty of women do that every day,” Dean said pointedly. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time for either of those. I’ve died in every imaginable way, hundreds of times. I bet you couldn’t even think of enough ways to die for all the times I’ve kicked it. I believe my middle name is Badass for a reason,” he informed her with a smirk.

“They’re so, I don’t know, tiny! It’s weird. I hate when you take them off and they stretch even more. I just never see it coming, no matter how many times I—sorry, too much imagery for you?” He chuckled nervously. “I don’t like wearing them either! What a coincidence! Not that I’ve ever tried, which I assume, being female, you’d been forced to at least once.” Watching Jo laugh, Dean found himself smiling again, relaxed and at peace. Up here, he felt he could be whoever he wanted. Up here, he wasn’t anyone but himself.

“I will” She replied with a snap in her voice and a curt nod. Regarding Dean, it looked as if he had given up on trying and relief washed over her.

Wrinkling her nose at the thought of giving birth, Jo shook her head, “No babies.” Glancing dubiously over at Dean, a smirk spread across her face, “Really? Dean Badass Winchester? Seriously doubting that. Thought it would be something along the lines of Pretty boy or Reckless— maybe even Paul. Dean Paul Winchester. Suits you. ” Doing her absolute best to keep her pokerface intact, she looked at him straight in his eyes. She trusted him enough to catch that she was joking with him.

Jo wasn’t bothered about talking about sex or other relations. To her, it wasn’t as if it was a big secret that people knocked boots and she was old enough to get that. Stretching out her legs, her feet dangled over the edge. “Naw, I know what you mean. Getting them off are a pain in the ass by yourself or with someone else.” Jo raised an eyebrow; Dean was digging his own grave here, “Sure you haven’t.” She remarked playfully. “But yeah, wearing nylons are a basic girl experience.”

“It’s not,” Dean commented with a grin. “Dean Paul? Gross. Just reminds me of Paula Deen, ‘cept with less butter. I actually cannot believe how off you are. Jeez, Joanna Beth, get it right. God.” He rolled his eyes dramatically before returning her smirk. “What were your parents thinking naming you Joanna, anyway? It’s so old-school. You’re definitely more of a Jo.”

Dean watched closely at Jo’s feet, careful that nothing happened to her. It was unlikely, as long as she didn’t move, but he worried regardless; just one mistake and she could be gone. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything, and instead lay on his back, staring up at the sky as he spoke. “Oh, so someone else has taken your tights off, huh?” He sent her a suggestive, playful wink, but couldn’t hold the straight face. “Sometimes I wish I knew what typical guy experiences are. ‘Cause I think I missed out on most of them.”

Jo bowed her head, her hair falling forward to conceal her chuckling. Her snickering died off when “Joanna Beth” rolled off Dean’s tongue. The words sounded abnormal coming out of his mouth as casually as it did. Staring at her feet, a distinct memory of her mother yelling at her to come downstairs in a severe tone replayed in her head. Ellen Harvelle could strike fear into her unlike any other monster. Jo blinked hard and raised her head, shaking the hair off of her face. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Think my mom was the only one to call me Joanna.” The lump in the back of her throat was there again, “My uh, dad didn’t even call me that.”

A coy grin was plastered across her face. “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.” Jo rubbed the back of her neck unsure of what to say. There wasn’t a whole lot she had gotten back from her younger days, but what she had seen was the farthest thing from what the typical girl would be doing. Jo had always been a little different from the other boys and girl. Once her dad died it had spiraled downwards. She thought to herself what the normal guy things were, trying to help Dean out. “Hmm… Getting your first beer is probably a big one, getting a driver’s license, your first car, getting your first job, homecoming, football games, baseball games, prom, motel after prom night, graduation day, frat parties, getting with cheerleaders, oh and spring break.” Jo let out a breath, “That’s just off the top of my head. I know ‘em, but I don’t think I ever got most them. From the memories I’ve gotten back from my school days they were pretty much a train wreck.”

Dean’s body tensed when Jo’s laughter halted. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, realizing the memories it could have triggered; Dean was no mind-reader, but what little intelligence he had regarding females was telling him Jo was upset—just the thing he’d set out not to do only moments before. “I didn’t mean to—my bad, it just kinda… slipped, I guess. Habit. Maybe I hung around your mom too long. or something.” He sat up, touching Jo’s shoulder gently before pulling it back. Maybe comforting wasn’t his strength; maybe the action had been unwelcome. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stayed quiet.

“Maybe I would,” Dean stated, his tone curious. “I mean if not, I’d—nah, never mind.” Subtlety, Dean had learned, was another weak point of his. Time to shut your mouth before she thinks you’re an ass, he reminded himself. Responding to her list, Dean grinned. “Done, done, done, not really done, not done, done, done, not done… motels, yeah, but not after prom night… not done, not done, done and still doing, and… not done.” Some of the unfinished things on the list were surprising considering Dean’s personality. Then again… “I never finished high school. Dropped out,” Dean admitted, lowering his head in shame.

She slid her eyes up to look at Dean, “S’not your fault. Although if you say sorry one more time I’m going to explode.” Her threat was half-serious. Jo’s tone was light enough to sound as if it were a joke, however, her eyes were grave and unwavering. She sighed, “I’m not going to fall to pieces anytime soon.” Her face relaxed and she offered him a small smile. “You don’t have to freak out that I’m going to burst into tears.” Jo placed her hands behind her head and laid down on the cement floor, not caring if she got her clothes dirty.

A short snigger burst from her lips. Watching Dean struggle was more than entertaining. “You done over there?” She propped herself on her elbows, peering over at Dean. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how hard a hunter life was let alone a kid trying to work through the life. “Hey…” Wanting to get his attention she nudged his side with her hand. “I’m betting that you had a crap ton on your plate not to mention school isn’t for everyone.”

“Does it count if I apologize for saying sorry?” Dean asked, turning around to smile at her, meant to cheer her up. “Smile,” he requested. “You’re prettier when you smile.” Dean moved closer to the ledge, his entire lower leg dangling over. “I just… Wanna make sure you’re not gonna fall to pieces at all, I guess. I get that it’s not my job, but… I just need you to, I don’t know, not leave my life again. I don’t think I’d forgive myself if I let you go again.”

“Shit happened,” Dean said simply. “I ditched to go on the road, hunting with Dad. Sammy went off to university later on, and I just… I dunno, never made an honest living in my life. So, yeah, it’s been rough. But look at how many people I’ve saved—I think I’d rather have that accomplishment than a ton of money. I think about it, though… Going back, finishing school, getting an honest job when I’m out of here, maybe. Don’t know what I’d do though.” He gave Jo a small smile in return, leaning on his hands, arms outstretched behind him.

“It counts.” She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Dean. Instinctually, she did not want trust most people because it was safer that way. He seemed to be speaking genuinely, but what if he was simply good at lying? He was tiptoeing around her constantly reminding he didn’t want her to leave. What was he responsible for? What had she done? The pavement scraped against her skin as she desperately clenched her calloused hands into fists. There were too many holes for her liking. “If you haven’t noticed we can’t go anywhere right now. So just take a breather.”

Jo bit the inside of her cheek, only able to understand a fraction of the pain he went through. There was an innate connection she had to the entire world of hunting that she literally could feel in her gut. “Someone’s gotta do the job. It’s dirty and it wears you down, but you’re right. It’s worth it ‘cause of the lives that are spared.” She tried to imagine Dean working a nine to five job, five days a week— that wasn’t the hard part. Seeing him being happy was the hard part. How screwed over would he be because of his past? You can only outrun your past so long until it bites you in the ass. Jo collected her words carefully, “Do what makes you happy, Dean. That’s the best I can say to you.”

Her words had sounded vaguely threatening, her tone upset. “It’s not—I just—forget it.” Dean stood, having picked up the sense that Jo didn’t want to be around him. He could explain easily; Jo wasn’t the listening type, though. She didn’t want to hear his excuses, he was sure, and he’d set that aside for now, ‘til the time came. “I get it. And one day, I hope you will too,” he stated. Jo had no idea that she was part of one of the happiest times of Dean’s life; she couldn’t recollect that memory, and he knew that wasn’t her fault. It was the way she made him feel, like his emotions weren’t worth any more than the shirt on his back and the blood on his hands, and like his apologies were just as hollow as his smile.

Jo had a point, Dean understood it very clearly. He’d spent the majority of his life making other people happy rather than himself; he’d spent years confused about his identity and who he was meant to be, when the truth was exactly what Jo had implied—he had to be whoever it made him happiest to be. Maybe that wasn’t through hunting, but if he’d wanted out that badly, he’d had his chance. He turned his back to her, ready to walk away, but found himself pacing back and forth instead, and wiped at a tear in the corner of his eye. “But for what it’s worth, Jo, I meant it.” He took his place beside her again. “And for the record, I’ve always really wanted to be an astronaut.”

Jo didn’t know what to expect from him. As he got up she was wary of what he was going to do. She sat ramrod straight and brought her feet closer towards her body. She could see his back muscles strain with whatever he was struggling with. Jo wanted to understand every single fragment of her life desperately. There were times where she was scrabbling around in the darkness of her own head, waiting for the next hit of memories. The harder she tried to grasp them, the quicker they slipped of of her grasp. She had to take them on effortlessly; as if she was breathing. She was unsure of completely trusting anyone. Jo kept her voice as stable as she could control, “I want to understand, okay? But I don’t completely. It’s like smashing my head against a brick wall hoping for some revelation.”

As he sat next to her, her hear rate slowed. Jo roughly ran her hands through her curls annoyed at herself. “Some automatic part of me trusts you, okay? Believes whatever you’re saying. Don’t think I’m not processing what you’re trying to tell me.” Dropping her hands into her lap, she let herself breathe for a second. Try harder, Harvelle. Jo let out a breathy laugh and licked her lips. “Astronaut? That’s adorable.”

Dean twirled one of her curls around his finger absent-mindedly. “Try a pillow instead of a brick wall. Watching brains splatter isn’t exactly my favourite scene. Actually it makes me feel pretty sick to my stomach,” Dean admitted. Only a hunter could possibly say truthfully that they’d seen brains explode all over. Luckily they weren’t human; he’d be twice as creeped by the sight. “I wish I could help you,” he said finally with a sigh. “I don’t blame you for your lack of trust, Jo. I’ve been there. I’m there all the time. It can take years to get to know someone properly. So… I don’t blame you for the things you’re feeling and thinking. You’ve got reason to be mistrusting and skeptical. You’ve been through a lot in the past while.”

“I guess,” he commented pertaining to his dream job. “Everybody has those ridiculous goals that they don’t give up on ‘til they’re on their deathbed, right? I guess that’s one of mine.” He stayed silent, not mentioning the others, and gave her a meaningful smile. “Shh. Breathe.” Dean rested his hand gently on her knee, noticing she was tense, though he couldn’t figure out why. Automatically, he began to blame himself before struggling to shake the thought. “You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

The truth was simple; no, he couldn’t relate to Jo’s experience completely. But he wished more than anything that he could, that he could reiterate that experience and promise her everything would be okay. False hope wasn’t his style, though, and he recalled previous words of his own. You deserved better, Jo. And she did, so much more than a promise he’d either fulfill or die trying to.

Her blood soaked episodes brought enough gore to memory to understand exactly what Dean was talking about. Jo wiped her face with both hands almost tempted to hide behind them for awhile as if she was five again. Close your eyes and if you can’t see them, they can’t see you. What monster was that for again? Rawheads. Right. There was some sick poem to that. Pulling them down she let out a weak laugh, “Not literally smashing my head, Dean.” She didn’t want to be babied or coddled; she knew that he was just trying to help, but accepting it was a pain.

“Yeah… guess so, huh.” She remained silent for awhile trying to sort out her thoughts from the frustration she was feeling. The all too familiar feeling of reality escaping washed over to her and she tried to fight it off. An all too dramatic moment zoned in on her and here she is zoning out.

Young Jo Harvelle was writing on her bed in the early morning before she had convince her small legs to run to get to school on time. The house was silent as her mom soundlessly worked in the kitchen getting her lunch downstairs. Gripping a pencil she wrote in her journal with carefully.

I miss my Daddy so much it hurts to even think about him. But I have to think about him, and I have to remember what a great hero he was. My Daddy helped people and saved people and kept everyone safe. And now I’m going to do that, too. I don’t know if I can ever really be a hero like my Dad, but I’m gonna try my best.

She refocused back to reality where Dean telling her to breathe. Letting out a large breath of air to relieve herself, she moved her focal point to him. My timing’s always bad. Shaking her thoughts off Jo immediately smiled. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You really don’t need to do this.” She stood up, dusting the dirt off of her clothes. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“Well, good, ‘cause then we’d have to worry not only about sneaking you out, but brain damage, too,” Dean teased. He could see something was up, but pressed no further on the issue. She was straining to get something out of her head, from what he could tell, and though he wouldn’t ask what, he watched her expressions change.

“I know I don’t need to,” Dean told her, “but honestly, I sorta feel responsible. Like I never should’ve reminded you. Like when you came through those doors, I should’ve just kept quiet and saved you all this regret.” Maybe it was more than that; maybe it was just that simple. If Dean could have it his way, he’d never tell. It had been his experience, though, that the truth always came out in the end. Watching her get to her feet, Dean’s heart sank—he’d done it again, he’d pushed her away. With a sigh, Dean turned his focus back to the sky, silent apologies escaping his unmoving lips.

“As if losing my memory wasn’t enough damage.” She scoffed. “Smashing my head around it not part of the game plan.” Jo rolled her shoulders to ease the knot that was in her upper back. Sleeping on the thin matreses didn’t leave most people with a good night’s rest.

She kicked at the concrete with one of her hands wrapped around the handle of her knife. Jo paced back and forth, her eyes downcast towards her shoes. “Regret? Remembering crap was going to happen whether you came around or not. I could’ve ended up in some other hospital thinking the entire time that I needed those pills to make myself better. That I was delusional thinking that I could save people, that I could actually made a mark in the world. Not just some messed up kid who screwed around with graves and destroyed a few houses. Well… I technically did, but you know catch my drift.” She twisted her body to face Dean. He looked as if he was straining to say something. “If anything you helped me out.”

“Hey, it happens. Sure, it happens to the wrong people, but it happens. Maybe it’s a chance to start over,” Dean told her. “With all the weird stuff going on, who knows, right? I like to think anything’s possible.” Watching Jo roll the muscles in her shoulders, Dean stretched instinctively, his spine crackling as he did so.

“I’m not saying I’m the reason you remember it,” Dean argued. “Just that maybe you would have remembered things differently if I hadn’t come around that day. Better, maybe,” he added. “I don’t think I helped you out in any way, but… you’re welcome, I guess.” If he’d been honest, it was an accident—he had really just been pressing Jo with questions to test out what she did and didn’t remember. It wasn’t so much an attempt to help as it was the selfish need to have her back in his life. He folded his hands in his lap and stared down at them quietly.

“What if I don’t want to start over?” She grumbled to herself. The voice in the back of her head was telling her to grow up and get over it. Looking over at him, she pressed her lips into a thin line, “Can I even start over? If I wanted to I can’t run away from everything— even if I didn’t mean to do it. It would bite me in the ass one day.”

Dean was silent. He didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t understand she only told him the bare minimum about what was going on and now he was blaming himself for things that he should never. She crossed her arms infront of her and began to walk back and forth again,”Just accept the thanks, will you?” She was practically pleading to him, “You helped. I wasn’t exactly going down a memory lane that was buckets of joy. Well, maybe enjoyable in the sense that I was doin’ good in the world, but I wasn’t getting many memories of people.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” Dean backtracked. “I’m saying it’s a chance to change things if you did want to. An opportunity—not one that you have to take. Everything’s gonna come back to bite us in the ass one day. Doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun while doing whatever it is.”

“Th-thank you,” Dean stammered out, disturbed slightly by Jo’s bluntness. “I mean you’re welcome. I think that’s what I mean, anyway. People suck, that’s all you need to know,” he concluded simply. Was she always like this? He wasn’t so sure, thinking back to memories of her. Maybe she was just bitter about the things she couldn’t remember, for all he knew; he wouldn’t say anything.

She scratched her head, still trying to wrap her head around starting over. Her memories were chasing her down and who knows what else was. She hadn’t made many friends judging by the amount of creatures she saw. “Is it really worth the risk? Cause that sounds like wishful thinking to me.”

Jo stopped short and walked over to Dean, leaning against him teasingly. “Not all people suck.” She turned her head up to the sky and playfully considered another option,”They do have their moments though.” Sliding over and looking back down at him, she smirked. “It was confusing seeing things I had no background story for. Maybe I was happy at the time and I don’t know it yet.” Jo chuckled, “I don’t know a lot of things.” Plopping herself back beside him, she crossed her legs. “Guess I just have to wait for the right time for figure it all out.”

“I’m gonna tell you flat-out something you already know,” Dean stated. “There are only a few things that are worth the risk. Cheeseburgers, pie, and whiskey, obviously. Hope. Trust. Friends, family, love. All of that—those are the only things that should be worth anything to you. Because the truth is that when you’re confused or upset or angry, those people that care about you will be the first ones to drop what they’re doing to make you smile again. And if they don’t, then fuck ‘em. You don’t need them and they aren’t worth the risk nor the time.” This, he’d learned through experience; every time he’d fallen down, Sam had been there to pick him back up. The truth was that while Dean didn’t know Jo’s friends or most of her family, he knew she was well-looked after and that no matter what risks she took, they’d have her back. He envied her.

“Hey, waiting’s the painful part, I know,” he said in an attempt to comfort her. “But once that’s over, everything’s better. Even the people you’re waiting on to be less sucky get over their suckiness… usually.” He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Just… let me know if there’s something I can fill you in on, ‘kay? I’ll try my best. Promise.” He lifted his head, returning her smile.

Jo patiently listened to Dean with her hands hidden in her pockets. “I know.” She stated simply as a fact. “I meant the running away part. I feel as if…” Jo Harvelle was the type to keep her personal issues locked tight. It was a habit she had developed from her school days as the freak, from having to bottle her desperate desires to be a hero like her dad at the tender age of eight, and from being woman on the road in a world full of men; not wanting to look weak for a fleeting moment. Unfortunately, her habits carried on when she was placed back on earth. Bottling up emotions was the quick and easy way until the moment where you wanted to say something. “I feel like a coward doing that. That I’m running from the responsibilities that I have.”

She leaned into Dean, her head tilted towards his. She could smell the the standardized soap they handed out to everyone at the asylum on his skin and it was oddly comforting. Her eyes were facing the horizon, blazing with determination. Jo had set out her goals out for her and she was stubborn enough to do it all. “I’m good. I want to do this myself.” Her jaw dropped taking in how harsh she was. “But thank you. I know you want to help… but I want to figure this crap out on my own. “

“Well, you are,” Dean agreed. “Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. We all have responsibilities though—God, I hate lecturing you, but… you just need to follow through with them.” He reached over, squeezed her hand gently and releasing it immediately. “I get that you don’t trust anyone but trust me… it’ll make you a stronger person, I promise. Hey, we all have shit to deal with, and truthfully, you can’t outrun the past. But it’s always worth that risk. If you never try, you’ll never know. Coldplay taught me that.”

Dean nuzzled her hair gently, smirking at her bluntness. “Y’know, if there’s one thing I’ve always admired about you, it’s that you tell it like it is. Seriously.”

Jo snorted, “Coldplay? Seriously?” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. Maybe he didn’t enjoy lecturing her, but she wasn’t enjoying it all that much either. “I know, I know. I’m not shirking anything right now.” Jo’s tone was light, not in the slightest bit convicting, “You were the one saying to start over. Starting over does require some neglect of the past.” She bit her lip in deep thought, squeezing his hand back. “I’m doing my best here.”

Jo breathed in deep and let out a short laugh. “I don’t mean it. I find beating around the bush is annoying after awhile. It became a habit to just say what I mean to say.” A smile spread across her lips. “But thanks.”

He laughed. “Yeah, Coldplay. Seriously. Guilty pleasure, don’t judge me.” He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to continue, but knowing it wasn’t his place. Jo had been a little sister to him for as long as he’d known her; that wasn’t about to stop now, or so he’d like to believe. It was more or less Dean’s job, in his eyes, to look out for her, to want nothing less than what’s best for her. He couldn’t—and wouldn’t—make her decisions for her, but he could give her his best guidance, whatever that would be. “You’re doing great,” he comforted her simply.

“It’s good, though. Not many people can just speak their minds like that,” Dean complimented openly. “It’s better than just burying things and holding silent grudges.” He spoke from experience—being on the road with Sam for so long had taught him all of this. “People never have to guess what’s going on in your mind. I like that.”

Jo threw her hands into the air, “Alright, alright. No judgements.” She bit the inside of her cheek. The comment he made was short; maybe there was something more he had to say, maybe not. When push came to shove it was her who decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life. Not Dean Winchester. Not anyone else. She smiled tightly at him and nodded, “Thanks.”

She had never thought of the way she communicated to others was anything great. It was how she preferred it in comparison to beating around the bush endlessly. Jo spoke the way she did out of selfish convenience rather than the benefit of others. “I know how to hold my tongue. It depends on the audience.” She stated matter as fact. “I don’t give out all my secrets either. It’s me bein’ self-centred, really. I don’t want to deal with nonsense on a day to day basis.”

Dean laid back down again, back flat on the ground, pondering what, exactly to say to Jo, but coming up empty-handed—mouthed, whichever. “It’s fine,” he told her with a shrug.

“So, what I’m getting then is that you only speak your mind like this around people you don’t know?” he assumed. “I mean it’s good that you don’t really, you know, share everything. ‘Cause people just use it to blackmail you most of the time, to be honest. But the more you can avoid around here, it’s probably better. People seem to like to talk.” Silently, he commented about how it grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit aloud, hoping Jo hadn’t noticed the bitter tone of frustration that crawled into his voice.

“Naw, it’s a habit of mine. Good or bad, I don’t know. I talk to most people like that unless they need the sugar coating or y’know, the moment calls for something more sincere.” Jo cleared her throat to prepare for her role switch. A sweet smile spread across her face, “Heya sir, what do you want? Beer? Miller. Tap or bottle? Tap. I’ll get you that in a minute.” Her smiled dropped and Jo hoped Dean wasn’t thinking she was two-faced. It wasn’t as if she was unaware of how she acted; sometimes she felt the need to change how she approached people. As Dean went on, Jo’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. The topic was continually narrowed down and he ended on a biting note. “I’m getting the feeling we’re not just talking about people talking about themselves here. Did I miss something or?”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, comes with the job,” he noted after her role switch, grinning at the memories it brought. “It’s your job to give short answers, keep things as quick as possible. You don’t lie, at least. If things need to be downplayed and you have to tell people you’re an optimist, you should probably just stop talking while you’re ahead. I get you. Also, Miller’s not my style—give me something a little harder,” he joked.

“Not really my place to say much,” Dean answered. “I’ve shared things with people and then days later heard them sharing it with someone else. It’s just, you know—I didn’t ask them to get involved and to share my life’s story. I’m pretty offended, to be honest. People just fucking suck and don’t know when to shut the hell up.”

“Guess so.” Jo’s words tapered off. She didn’t think much of how she acted, but it was nice for someone in the asylum to understand where she was coming from. Another luxury she never expected to get. Jo let a bubble of laughter escape her lips, “I’ll remember that for the next time I offer you an imaginary drink.”

“Uh well…” Jo fell silent, unsure how to respond. She fidgeted with her hands, her fingers tapping against each other. “I can agree with you on the whole people suck idea. Totally for that.” Her eyes trailed to him, giving him a sympathetic glance. “Maybe you should talk to them about it?” She scratched the back of her head, trying to come up with a better answer. “In all honesty, I wouldn’t tell them much anymore. What they said also is a factor here but… I’d be pissed as hell too.” Jo shrugged, “You’re not bein’ irrational.”

“You better,” Dean threatened jokingly. “‘Cause it’ll probably be soon, if I can help it. I swear, Jo, the minute we get out of here, it’s the first thing I’m doing. Drinking like I just hit 21 again,” he clarified. “‘Bout you? What’re you gonna do?”

“Sucks even more when it’s someone you grow to trust,” Dean said simply. “Someone you’ve put your ass on the line for, and someone who once said they—never mind.” For fear of giving away an identity of the person he’s been talking about, Dean halted his speech. “Just… feels sometimes like you can’t trust people anymore. At least, not the people you expect you’d be able to on any other given day.”

Jo tilted her head towards the sky, “I don’t know.” For some reason she couldn’t get it out of her head that she was going to be trapped in the asylum for longer than she would like. Always the pessimist. The first thought that popped into her head was going home. God, she missed it. “Maybe go to the nearest bar and order a greasy burger and fries.” She added, “Get a car, get my life back together somehow. Then a big glass of Johnny Walker Blue.”

“Well damn.” Jo scrunched her nose at Dean’s bitterness. Betrayal was always a messy topic to her. Jo Harvelle was the type to stand firm with whatever or whoever was fighting the good fight and didn’t budge. “People change and you have to watch your own ass for a bit.” Jo gnawed on her bottom lip, “Maybe you should should hold off telling them everything for right now. Wait for things to cool down.”

The hunter-turned-patient smirked at Jo’s suggestions. “I don’t like telling people everything anyway. Just that everything I do tell them turns around and bites me in the ass somehow. Just gets tiresome. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m telling you.” He frowned, pressing his lips together in a tight line, shaking his head dismissively.

Standing, Dean brushed himself off and stretched his arms with a yawn, extending a hand to Jo as an offer to help her up. “Getting dark,” he noted aloud. “Dinner’s soon. You comin’ or staying out here?”

Jo winced internally at his comment feeling as if all the things he had said to her, he wanted to take it back. It didn’t matter now. One of the downsides of life is once you let something out in the open, there is no reverse button to reel you back to the start.

Turning her head to face his hand, Jo looked up at Dean. Chances were that she wasn’t sneak herself back up to the roof anytime soon. Besides, there wasn’t much to do at dinner other than swallow down the goop that the “chefs” threw together. Curling her legs towards her chest, Jo placed her chin on her knee. “Not that hungry. You go on without me. I’m gonna hang back here.”

Dean frowned, a look of concern crossing his face. Something in Jo’s words tipped him off with worry. He forced a smile, plastering it across his mouth, and made his best attempt at looking happy, if only to set whatever might have been on Jo’s mind at ease.

“Alright,” he said softly, patting her shoulder with a heavy hand. “Take care of yourself, ‘kay? Let me know if you, um, find anything. If there’s something good at dinner, I’ll save you some.” He pivoted on his heel, taking a deep breath before he started back through the door, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten after his talk with Jo. His mouth twitched into a genuine smile as he mumbled a quiet, unheard ‘thank you’.

#the roof #dean and jo #goingofftherails #completed

case-ofthecrazies-blog