Of Tears and Moonlight (Supernatural-M) COMPLETE

[CME]

Title: Of Tears and Moonlight (1/1)
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Dean/Jo, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Post AHBL – Part 2. Dean hears the bells tolling and it’s a hard burden to bear.
Author’s Note: Cross-posted at Fanfiction.net and Livejournal


<center>Of Tears and Moonlight</center>

He’s scared and he’s lonely and he’s not sure he can do this anymore.

He drains the shot of whisky, slamming it back down on the wooden table. He winces at the familiar sting of the alcohol as it goes down his throat. He clumsily digs a hand in his pocket coming up with a few crumpled bills before throwing them on the table. Pushing his chair back, he wobbles a little before he gets his footing and heads towards the door.

He tries not to count the days or the weeks but when you know that your time is finite, it just can’t be helped. He and Sam tiptoe around the issue but he knows that late at night when Sam thinks he’s asleep, he can hear his little brother clicking away on his computer researching for a way to save him. Dean doesn’t say anything. He let’s Sam hope because he knows that all he can give him, after all, his life isn’t his own anymore.

He stumbles out of the bar and into the cold, dark night, heading straight for his car. He’s not sure if he should drive but he does anyway figuring that it doesn’t really matter. For a second he thinks that he should call Sam, knowing that his younger brother will worry, but he throws that thought out the window figuring that he’s earned the right to be selfish for once, seeing as his time is running out.

He sees the apartment building ahead and pulls to the side, haphazardly parking the car against the curb. He cuts the engine and digs the torn piece of paper out of his coat pocket, squinting at the writing in the dim light of the car. He folds the paper back up and stuffs it back in his pocket, blowing out a nervous breath as he rubs his hands up and down his worn jeans. He looks up at a window in the building, trying to make up his mind.

“Come on, it’s not a big deal,” he mumbles trying to work himself up. With one last deep breath, he opens the door and steps out of the car, heading straight for the apartment doors.

He takes the steps slowly, deliberately, sometimes leaning against the wall for support. Oh he can feel those whiskey shots now as he clumsily puts one foot in front of the other. He’s usually good with his liquor, never a cheap drunk. Maybe it’s just the timing. Maybe it’s all just too fast and too soon and all he can do is hold on by the skin of his teeth.

By the time he gets to the third floor, he’s managed to chase the nervousness away and all that’s left is determination and stupidity. He reads the numbers on the doors and stops when he gets to 311. He runs his hand through his hair before rapping his knuckles against the door. He waits and knocks again but still no one answers.

“Shit,” he cusses. Just his luck, she’s not even home. Story of his life.

He turns and presses his back against the wall, sliding down to the floor like a rag doll. His legs are sprawled out in front of him while his hands hang limply against his sides. Finally, all the running and the drinking catches up to him and he falls asleep with his chin tucked against his chest in the middle of the apartment hallway.

<center>* * *</center>

He doesn’t know what time it is or where the hell he is but all he knows is that he’s tired and his fucking neck hurts and something is poking him in the leg.

He comes to slowly, drunkenly and realizes that it’s not a something that’s poking him in the leg, it’s a someone. More specifically, it’s the person he’s come to see.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Jo says annoyingly, the toe of her boot tapping him in the leg. “You’re scaring the neighbours.”

Dean scowls and grabs her foot, preventing her from kicking him some more. “Dammit, Jo. Can’t you see I was sleeping?”

Jo rolls her eyes and walks over him to unlock her door. He catches her scent and his mind flashes back to the bar where he’d been having a pity party earlier that evening.

“You could have called, you know,” she quips, taking off her coat and hanging it on a peg behind the door.

“Nah, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” he fires back, sauntering over to her couch. He shrugs out of his coat, tossing it onto a chair nearby before settling in on the couch.

“Gee, Dean. Make yourself at home,” she says sarcastically before making her way to the kitchen.

Dean slouches down into the cushions, letting out a big yawn. “Did Ellen call you?”

“Yeah,” Jo replies, the sound of clinking glasses following her voice. “Tells me that she and Bobby heard news of a possession in Barstow. Asked me if I’d like to tag along.”

“Yeah?” Dean rolled his head back against the couch.

Jo takes a seat beside him, each hand holding a steaming cup. “Wish it was beer but unfortunately, I’m a little tight right now and all I’ve got is instant coffee.”

“Thanks. Coffee’s good,” he takes the proffered cup, putting his nose over the steam. The smell of coffee wakes him up a little, even manages to sober him up a bit. He takes a sip and burns his tongue. He pulls the cup away and frowns, before slowly bringing the liquid back to his lips. He notices that Jo’s gone all quiet. He looks over at her and finds her staring at him. He pretends not to notice; choosing instead to remain silent as he sips his coffee.

“So,” Jo says but Dean doesn’t take the bait. He raises an eyebrow in response.

Jo narrows her eyes as her grip tightens around her cup. Finally, she sighs and places her cup on the floor. “Why are you really here, Dean?”

Dean shrugs. “Can’t I just visit a friend?”

Jo snorts. “Is that what we are? I don’t hear from you after Duluth. I get a phone call from my mom telling me about the Roadhouse and what happened in Wyoming. Then you show up at my work weeks later, I don’t know how the hell you found me, looking bloody and broken.”

Dean has a flash of that night. It had been raining and he and Sam just finished torching the remains of a long-dead serial killer but not before the spirit decided to play a little football with him by tossing him out of a warehouse window. He’d been pissed and a little depressed after getting an earful from Sam about him not being careful and did he want to shorten the year he has left? Dean had stormed out of their room, gotten into the Impala and had driven to the nearest watering hole he could find. Luckily enough, it hadn’t been that far away and it was still open, despite the late hour. He hadn’t counted on seeing Jo again, but there she was, in all her blonde and smart-ass glory. It was that night that Dean had finally given in to his confusion and stopped denying his attraction to Jo. They’d had sex on top of the bar after closing and the next day, he and Sam drove out of town.

Jo shakes her head. “I get your random drunken calls for weeks after, then nothing. Tonight, I come home after work and I see your sleeping ass sprawled out in my hallway. Tell me Dean, why are you really here?”

Dean turns away from her, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his thighs, his drink forgotten as he cradles it in his hands. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I just…I just needed to see someone familiar.”

Jo huffs and moves off the couch. She grabs her duffel bag from the corner of the room and begins to stuff it with weapons and papers. “What about Sam? Isn’t he familiar?”

Dean snaps out of his mood and looks over at her. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Jo snaps, jamming a water bottle into the bag. “I’m packing for a hunt.”

“Oh,” Dean says and realizes that maybe it hadn’t been that good of an idea to come here in the first place. “I should go then.”

Jo sighs and drops her bag onto the floor. “Alright. Fine. I’m listening.” She moves towards the couch and resumes her seat beside him.

Dean looks at her before turning his head away and steepling his hands in thought. “I…I just wanted to apologize. For just taking off like that after we…you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jo says softly. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you,” she adds.

He turns and their eyes catch. She gives him a soft smile and he feels something clench in his gut. He finds himself reaching out and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The tender gesture is so unlike him that Jo’s eyebrows knit in a frown.

“What’s going on, Dean?” She asks and he can hear a bit of panic in her voice.

His lip quivers and he has to turn away for fear that she’ll see the tears in his eyes. He curses at himself for being such a girl. He should be able to handle this. After all he’d gone into the deal knowing full well what he was doing. He just wasn’t expecting that a year would go by so fast.

“When Sam disappeared, I’d been so scared,” Dean finally admits. “I thought that this was it, I was never going to see my brother again,” he squares his jaw, trying hard to keep his tears away. “Then Bobby and I found him and god…,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I’d never been so happy to see my pain in the ass little brother.”

Dean smiles to himself. “But then, one of the others, a guy named Jake, rushed up to him, stabbed him in the back. Sammy died, Jo. He died in my arms.” He angrily swipes away at his tears.

“But…,” Jo shakes her head. “He’s alive. I don’t understand what you’re saying?”

Dean looks over at her, his anguish clearly written on his face. Slowly comprehension dawns on Jo and she claps her hands over her mouth in horror.

“What did you do, Dean?” Jo asks.

Dean stares down at his hands. He can’t bear to look at her when she hears what he’s done.

“He was dead, Jo,” he shakes his head. “It was like my world had ended. My little brother, the only family I had left was gone. And the shitty thing is he hadn’t deserved it. He didn’t deserve some army grunt sticking a knife in his back. Didn’t deserve to die like that. I had to…I had to do something.”

He stops and silence hangs in the room, heavy and oppressive. His mind recalls the events of that night. He feels numb as his actions play out in his head like a movie.

“So I drove out to the crossroads.”

“Oh Dean,” Jo’s voice cracks. “Tell me you didn’t. Please.”

“I made a deal with a demon and I would do it again if it meant Sam’s life,” he says with conviction.

Jo remains quiet for a moment and Dean can feel her eyes assessing him.

“How long do you have?” She asks her voice soft and resigned.

“She gave me a year,” he replies, his eyes fixed on a point beyond her shoulder.

“A year,” she whispers. “Wait a minute,” she says after a brief pause. “My mom told me that all that stuff in Wyoming happened ten months ago.” Her eyes widen in understanding and Dean has to turn his eyes away. He can’t bear seeing his fears reflected in her eyes.

“Dean,” she whispers and he feels her gentle hands cup his face forcing him to look at her. “There’s got to be a way to get you out of this,” she says. “Does Sam know?”

Dean nods his head. “He’s been going crazy researching, trying to see if he can get me out of the deal.”

“Okay, maybe there’s something that he hasn’t come across yet,” she says, dropping her hands from his face. “I’ll take a look at my books, see if I can find anything. I’ll cancel my hunt and talk to some people that might be able to help.” She makes a move to push away from the couch but his hand on her wrist stops her.

“It’s okay, Jo,” he says sadly. “It has to happen this way.”

She shakes her head, tears finally falling down her cheeks. “It’s not okay, Dean. Deals with demons can be broken. There’s always a way,” she insists.

“No,” he says quietly. “The Demon said that if I back out of it, she’ll take Sam’s life away, just like that.” He snaps his fingers emphasizing his point.

She sniffs and angrily wipes her tears away. “If you’re so resigned to this, why did you even come here to tell me, huh?”

His hand tightens its hold on her wrist. “Because,” he says, before reaching out and wiping away the tear that fell from her eye.

She looks at him then, really looks at him and Dean lets her. An understanding passes between them and finally, finally he knows that it had been the right thing to do to come here.

The mood between them changes. Jo shifts closer towards him until he feels her press her lips against his. At first he doesn’t move, enjoying the closeness and quiet stillness of the situation. But soon, he feels something inside him wanting her, needing her and he reaches out and pulls her towards him deepening their kiss. He can taste the saltiness of her tears and soon the kiss turns desperate, like he’s trying to pour his fears, his hope, and his needs into her.

She straddles him and his hands automatically move down to her hips, his palms rubbing against the denim of her jeans. She pulls away never taking her eyes off of him as she slowly pulls her shirt over her head.

“Jo, I didn’t –” he protests but she silences him by putting her finger against his lips.

“It’s okay,” she assures him. She leans over him and presses a soft kiss against his forehead, which becomes his undoing. He feels his chest constrict in emotion and slowly tears spring to his eyes. Jo kisses them away and Dean wants to scream at the unfairness of the situation. This time when Jo pulls away to shed the rest of her clothing, he looks at her like he’s never seen her before.

She’s neither the rookie hunter that annoyed the hell out of him, nor is she a chick he merely wants to lay. Jo is someone who understood. She accepted and she understood, and it only cost him his own mortality to finally recognize it.

When she reaches out her hand, he understands what it is she’s offering. It’s almost like she knows what he needs despite having said nothing at all. He takes her proffered hand and follows her into the bedroom where she helps him undress. They make love that night, slowly and thoroughly, their sweat mingling with their tears. It’s as painful as it is pleasurable because they both know that this is the last time. When Jo falls asleep that night, Dean lies there wide awake, his arm wrapped possessively around her stomach and his nose buried in her hair (memorizing her scent). He doesn’t want to leave her but he knows that he must.

Slowly, gently, he untangles himself from her, dropping one last kiss on her bare shoulder before getting dressed. As he quietly makes his way to her bedroom door, he turns and takes one last look at her. The moonlight from the window illuminates her fair hair and pale skin and he thinks for a moment that she looks like an angel buried beneath the white sheets.

“Goodbye, Jo,” he says before closing the door behind him.



fin.