[ There's a double-layered stiffening to Jo's shoulders when Sam's arm (unseen, unprepared for before the touch) closes around her shoulders, push-pulling her forward combined with an unbalanced, but unshakable feeling like what's happening in front of her--Dean's hands on Cas' face, so much like she's done with Dean's not too long ago--shouldn't be imposed on.
But Sam's in motion, and god damn redwood tree in action, while she's kicking herself for flinching and over-reacting into it instead of out of it, does not help her return to the first impulse to stand back or pull away at the third step. And by the time she's gotten there, Sam's already bulled his way into them. Cas' arm is slinging itself about her shoulder, and her arm is somehow already around his back, while all she can register of it is a tight steel grip of her hand against the far side of his body, leaning into the side of his shoulder.
The fucking relief of his being solid (ping-ponged with the too rapid, rattling pulse across her body being suddenly crowed in, covered, touched, or bunched up against so many people's bodies, and she'd give fuck all of a lot to stop feeling this way at all; how much smaller she is, how much that means she's penned in between, under, inside them; pushing it back, down, away). Cas is all dirt, blood, lesions, and what looks like disgusting things growing out of them, and she doesn't flinch from any of that, and she knows that's not the momentum of the other two (three) or the flinch rebound.
It's a feeling that kicks hard at the back of her throat, making her squeeze Sam and Cas tighter at her sides. Makes an entirely different kind of desperation drive nails made of ice through her lungs. The bitter, devastating relief of all of them in one place, all found, all safe(r). Of the too deep, too bare, want to hold on to this. The too desperate, too quickly identified and shoved away desire for it to hold on to her. To have this. Deserve it at all. Which, thank fuck, is when the ceiling caves in.
Dean jerks back, and Cas, draped over her shoulders, decidedly does not, and that tells her more than she needs to know about what 'got normal' in this place during everything, too. Jo shrugs out of the arms over her. Her throat was a little too tight, but she bulldozed out words and tried to make her mouth a wicked slant. ]
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But Sam's in motion, and god damn redwood tree in action, while she's kicking herself for flinching and over-reacting into it instead of out of it, does not help her return to the first impulse to stand back or pull away at the third step. And by the time she's gotten there, Sam's already bulled his way into them. Cas' arm is slinging itself about her shoulder, and her arm is somehow already around his back, while all she can register of it is a tight steel grip of her hand against the far side of his body, leaning into the side of his shoulder.
The fucking relief of his being solid (ping-ponged with the too rapid, rattling pulse across her body being suddenly crowed in, covered, touched, or bunched up against so many people's bodies, and she'd give fuck all of a lot to stop feeling this way at all; how much smaller she is, how much that means she's penned in between, under, inside them; pushing it back, down, away). Cas is all dirt, blood, lesions, and what looks like disgusting things growing out of them, and she doesn't flinch from any of that, and she knows that's not the momentum of the other two (three) or the flinch rebound.
It's a feeling that kicks hard at the back of her throat, making her squeeze Sam and Cas tighter at her sides. Makes an entirely different kind of desperation drive nails made of ice through her lungs. The bitter, devastating relief of all of them in one place, all found, all safe(r). Of the too deep, too bare, want to hold on to this. The too desperate, too quickly identified and shoved away desire for it to hold on to her. To have this. Deserve it at all. Which, thank fuck, is when the ceiling caves in.
Dean jerks back, and Cas, draped over her shoulders, decidedly does not, and that tells her more than she needs to know about what 'got normal' in this place during everything, too. Jo shrugs out of the arms over her. Her throat was a little too tight, but she bulldozed out words and tried to make her mouth a wicked slant. ]
One ticket out of this trash heap coming up.