Dean may have held on to the idea of the Roadhouse and built it for himself and the others, but sometimes Jo can't quite tell where it ends, and she begins if she isn't focused. The Horizon is made of dreams and memories (and things too deep to see straight), both conscious and conscious, and there are decades of her pressed into each and every board of the dream and memory of this place.
And now it's twisted and tilted and turned, and Jo's not sure that's not also seeping backward.
When Lucifer falls out of nowhere, that's all thrown out for the breath of a second, right before the lights start flickering madly, in discordant lack of pattern, throughout the whole place the moment his eyes finally land on her. She doesn't even deign to give that question an answer. She hates that he's there (and somehow even more that he's there to see the house in whatever these throes are).
"Lucifer." Her mouth sets that name down like a stone. "Get the fuck out."
ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ꜱᴘɪɴɴɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅʟᴇ 'ꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ
Dean may have held on to the idea of the Roadhouse and built it for himself and the others, but sometimes Jo can't quite tell where it ends, and she begins if she isn't focused. The Horizon is made of dreams and memories (and things too deep to see straight), both conscious and conscious, and there are decades of her pressed into each and every board of the dream and memory of this place.
And now it's twisted and tilted and turned,
and Jo's not sure that's not also seeping backward.
When Lucifer falls out of nowhere, that's all thrown out for the breath of a second, right before the lights start flickering madly, in discordant lack of pattern, throughout the whole place the moment his eyes finally land on her. She doesn't even deign to give that question an answer. She hates that he's there (and somehow even more that he's there to see the house in whatever these throes are).
"Lucifer." Her mouth sets that name down like a stone. "Get the fuck out."