playinginsand | Summer of Sam

Summer of Sam

[ Summer of Sam: Ending B ]

Twenty minutes later, when he's washed his hands and put the kit away, Sam is standing in the bathroom again. Confident this time to complete his shave, since he'd threatened to tie Jo to the hotel bed and/or make her use the crutches in the car for the rest of the day - possibly tomorrow - maybe the next day if she didn't stay the hell on the bed at least until he'd finished putting their things to rights.

She's yelling at him, but only over the sound of the television and the water running over his razor. Got the books out, the notebooks, suggesting places to go, people to see. Things to check into. And maybe it's the afterglow talking, but it's the first time he's felt at all ready to address any of it.

"We're not going anywhere near Nebraska until it's been a week since I lied to your mom."

Well, there are still some things going unaddressed.

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"You can pick out the crumpets."

He might be smirking.

"Oh, Sam."

Mocking sweet, high pitched.
As she turned the page again.

"How did I ever get by before you?"

"With difficulty," Sam replies smoothly, definitely smirking now as he clicks to the next website.

Jo snorted.

Before. "She'll have questions."

"Gee, if only we knew how to shut unwanted questions down."

It took a moment, but he looked at her.

"What's bugging you about this? Having a new person around?"

There's something irritable in the first reaction.
Not looking away from the book. Rereading the page.

"Maybe it's just the next thing I get to do, that doesn't involve a hotel bed." It's a little drier than flippant.

Well then. That certainly puts his eyes back on the laptop.

Not shut down. But definitely getting the message.

"They tell you anything about the witch? Your contact?"

"Don't insult her?" Jo asks the air.

"Apparently she's really touchy."

Sam considers this, clicking and typing ceasing for those few moments.

"Uh. Okay."

He is not going to point out the percentage possibility of either of them keeping their tempers around a 'touchy' witch.

He is not.

"I didn't ask." Jo shrugged. She didn't care much.

"Apparently, she's used to hunters already."

Which the two contradict. But the same could be said of people like her mother and Bobby, too. Sometimes it worked out in your favor.

"Well, that'll make a few things easier."

Not as many questions to answer. Or ignore.

He clicked through a few more examples of blocked graves. Spell, cement, physical barriers, electrical, cursed. Most of them describing the situation only, rather than explaining how it was solved.

Most likely because it wasn't.

Jo leaned her head back and reaching up to rub her eyes. She glanced barely at the phone beside her before looking back at the ceiling. Only from her peripheral.

"Some."

There was only so much help before you hit how and why and what they were looking for.

"All right."

Sighed. Fingers resting on the keys.

"She'd have to know about the deal. That there was one. The terms shouldn't matter."

Jo frowned.

Her page unturned. "No."

It's more disagreement than order.

Sam glances over, frown slight.

"To which part?"

Jo glanced up at him.

"Would you want to help someone who got what they agreed to?"

Someones. Very specifically someone. Anyone. A Hunter. A normal.
Anyone who was not Dean. Who they were willing to give anything.

He hesitates but he doesn't shout at her. Doesn't even raise his voice.

If only because it's Jo saying the words.

"If she's gonna go looking into something like this, she'll need at least that much information."

She watches the tension wondering if he even knows.
The way his shoulders turn rock hard. And his jaw tightens.

That cold, almost immediate need, to snap out at her for it.
Except in check. Except, what? She wonders. Because it's her?
Because she's allowed to walk on the broken glass and point it out now?

Because she's never tried to leave, or told him to stop.

Jo let the book rest back on her thighs again.

"That there was one. Not that it was for you."
And she tried not to twinge at her own tone.

For you.

If she thought his shoulders were tense before, she won't like how they look at her words.

But he nods. Jerky and sharp, but a nod.

"Just that there was one. The rest doesn't matter."

Even though, if they get even slightly close to a demon that feels chatty, all the details will be spilled in a moment.

She can't touch him.
But she doesn't look away.

The rest all matters. All of it.
Each domino, each of them, each death.
The Winchester & Campbell Roulette Wheel.

"She won't like it," Jo frowned. "None of them would. Well. Depending on how far into the black she is on her house calls. Subtle for references doesn't exactly get you a catalog on what is done in the back room."

Beat. "But Jimmy wouldn't shut up about how she was a great psychic, too."

Sam considers this. And considers his words, too. The possibility that they'll get him punched.

"Well. We're talking about doing to her what you accuse me of doing. Walking into her life, dragging her into this.

"No one's going to like it."

The back of his head gets a glare. He's lucky it's not a pillow.
"Pretty sure you'll still be able to leave her when we're done."

It's hard to decide if it's her or we which is more important.

It's hard to decide if she means that as an insult or not. Enough to turn his face toward her, not quite meeting her gaze, not quite frowning.

Wondering if she's taunting him for coming back.

"I'm talking about what it'd do to her to walk into all this."

Nothing about leaving.

She's not pierced by Sam's stare.

She's not thinking about the coming back.
She's not thinking about the walking into this.

"For an afternoon. We aren't adopting her."
She's had far than enough with Ruby.

"We're-" Exploiting the means they had.

Yes. Exactly.

He lifts his eyes if only for what wasn't said.

Willing to do it, but understanding exactly what they are doing.

"It's a good plan."

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