"What the bloody hell?" Jo rocked back on her feet, still confused at what just happened and why everyone looked like a wreck. Even if she didn't feel as bad as she'd felt when she slammed the bed a few second back, she was sure of that. Except the girl was collpased and Sam's hands were red. "What was that? What did you do?"
What the hell kinds of magic with The Untouchables messing with these days?
That had been...That had. Jo was still breathing in hard and looking between them.
"No, you know -- no, I didn't mean to get here, and I have to. There's a kid--" Gus, Gil. Gilespie. She had to go. He was alone. He was new enough to have cellophane on him still. New enough she'd bitched about having to have him and now he was alone. "I have to go, Sam. You can call me." Even if he never would, and she didn't know if she believed more that he wouldn't tell Dean or that he would. She didn't think it would matter either way. It couldn't matter either way.
Gil and the Banquet. There was no time for her. For feelings. For second thoughts. She had to -- she focused hard, reaching for that space, picturing it perfectly, down to the damn dolley's on the floating platters, feeling the edges of herself waver as though she was blowing away -- right before Jo screamed and her hands fisted in the blanket, as though something sharp and hot had slammed straight down into her skull, keeping her solid in a threat to tear her right apart otherwise.
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What the hell kinds of magic with The Untouchables messing with these days?
That had been...That had. Jo was still breathing in hard and looking between them.
"No, you know -- no, I didn't mean to get here, and I have to. There's a kid--" Gus, Gil. Gilespie. She had to go. He was alone. He was new enough to have cellophane on him still. New enough she'd bitched about having to have him and now he was alone. "I have to go, Sam. You can call me." Even if he never would, and she didn't know if she believed more that he wouldn't tell Dean or that he would. She didn't think it would matter either way. It couldn't matter either way.
Gil and the Banquet. There was no time for her. For feelings. For second thoughts. She had to -- she focused hard, reaching for that space, picturing it perfectly, down to the damn dolley's on the floating platters, feeling the edges of herself waver as though she was blowing away -- right before Jo screamed and her hands fisted in the blanket, as though something sharp and hot had slammed straight down into her skull, keeping her solid in a threat to tear her right apart otherwise.