[ There's a look back to him, the vaguest pass of something—surprise, uncertainty, confusion, doubt; it's hard to say, the flicker so faint and brief—before it, too, passes. With what might have been, even two weeks ago, three weeks ago, the snap-back response of Do you even care? rather than anything that contended with an answer to the question itself.
Or maybe it's the relation of the whole knot. That he's the one asking her. That he's the one related person not living under a roof where no moment escapes it. But more than that, that he's the one Dean chose the longest here. Unflagging from however far back it went. Kept bringing him back in. Who had to feel...even more outside of that house, then, without him?
That's. She doesn't want to have the room to feel how that pinches. Where there's some hazy unshaped responsibility she hasn't met.
And yet he was asking her how
Some part of her head meant to roll a shrug into it before the words fell out, but there's no artistry in her anymore, and her shoulders don't move, nor does she seem to have had it in her vision past the thoughts of it. ] One foot in front of the other.
[ It's both more honest and more esoteric than she'd answer at home. Was a hunter's house truly a home before it was somehow bathed in blood? Jo blinked, trying to shove that into whatever black it came from.
Her lips pressed, and she added the other vein of it. ]
no subject
Or maybe it's the relation of the whole knot. That he's the one asking her. That he's the one related person not living under a roof where no moment escapes it. But more than that, that he's the one Dean chose the longest here. Unflagging from however far back it went. Kept bringing him back in. Who had to feel...even more outside of that house, then, without him?
That's. She doesn't want to have the room to feel how that pinches.
Where there's some hazy unshaped responsibility she hasn't met.
And yet he was asking her how
Some part of her head meant to roll a shrug into it before the words fell out, but there's no artistry in her anymore, and her shoulders don't move, nor does she seem to have had it in her vision past the thoughts of it. ] One foot in front of the other.
[ It's both more honest and more esoteric than she'd answer at home.
Was a hunter's house truly a home before it was somehow bathed in blood?
Jo blinked, trying to shove that into whatever black it came from.
Her lips pressed, and she added the other vein of it. ]
And taking care of them.