[ Jo would put a sizeable portion of money down on the fact Dean's slept with at least one person here, even since she arrived, and whether that says something about her or him, or her opinion of him, or her opinion of herself, or her far too deep understanding of the weights in their goddamn life, it's not a question mark. She's not even sure it's a judgment by any score (nor does it stop it from being a buried sore mark that just had a Molotov cocktail thrown inside of it).
If she were back home, still alone out on the road for months or years, she probably would have by now. But she isn't there. And he's been here the whole time. And there's never been a benchmark where she matched the full any of their people—
—and there's so little out there she doesn't get why they're doing what they do. How this life made them exactly who they are, why they are.
Jo can't make her head shut up, stop looping, or stand still; her body refusing to properly process through being kicked in the teeth all the way down to her sternum and out through her spine without moving an inch. She doesn't know if it's shock or she's just not breathing anymore. Cas' voice takes up the space, even though the sore noted not-a-joke doesn't help, nor the details after. But she has to get a grip, and that grip has to go on Cas' last words, the same echo too far away in her head. ]
Right.
[ Jo nods, and then physically makes herself shakes her head and the movement goes all the way through her shoulders. A strong press of her eyes closed and then widens them, blinking that way, wide. Because she refuses. The way it's started to burn at the edges, thickening in her throat. If she could fucking refuse worse than this—with half of her face caved in; with her guts held in by duct tape and actively dying—she can fucking handle this, too. She's not even bleeding.
She pushes a breath out her nose and repeats it. ] Right.
What'd he do once you got there? [ Whatever the blister inside of her thinks, Cas' stood through however long it was in Dean-as-a-Demon in his face, being cruel, and Cas isn't someone who minces or exaggerated his terms. There's a rigidness to her bones she's clinging to as she looks over Cas' this time. The hunch of his shoulders and tuck of his head. Still not looking up.
Cruel. How cruel.
(And how is it too easy for her to think of a handful of answers she knows herself off the top of her head?) ]
You told him we're coming for him whether he likes it or not?
no subject
If she were back home, still alone out on the road for months or years, she probably would have by now. But she isn't there. And he's been here the whole time. And there's never been a benchmark where she matched the full any of their people—
How this life made them exactly who they are, why they are.
Jo can't make her head shut up, stop looping, or stand still; her body refusing to properly process through being kicked in the teeth all the way down to her sternum and out through her spine without moving an inch. She doesn't know if it's shock or she's just not breathing anymore. Cas' voice takes up the space, even though the sore noted not-a-joke doesn't help, nor the details after. But she has to get a grip, and that grip has to go on Cas' last words, the same echo too far away in her head. ]
Right.
[ Jo nods, and then physically makes herself shakes her head and the movement goes all the way through her shoulders. A strong press of her eyes closed and then widens them, blinking that way, wide. Because she refuses. The way it's started to burn at the edges, thickening in her throat. If she could fucking refuse worse than this—with half of her face caved in; with her guts held in by duct tape and actively dying—she can fucking handle this, too. She's not even bleeding.
She pushes a breath out her nose and repeats it. ] Right.
What'd he do once you got there? [ Whatever the blister inside of her thinks, Cas' stood through however long it was in Dean-as-a-Demon in his face, being cruel, and Cas isn't someone who minces or exaggerated his terms. There's a rigidness to her bones she's clinging to as she looks over Cas' this time. The hunch of his shoulders and tuck of his head. Still not looking up.
Cruel. How cruel.
(And how is it too easy for her to think of a handful of answers she knows herself off the top of her head?) ]
You told him we're coming for him whether he likes it or not?