veneficusvenato | [Flashback; Sam's First (Unofficial) Meeting]

[Flashback; Sam's First (Unofficial) Meeting]

Time: Back Then
Location: Dean's Flat
People: Jo, Sam (Maybe Dean)

The front door is open, because the late spring breeze is nice.

And Jo is laying on the couch, pulling a curl absently, while reading.

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"And Ellen's." Jo corrected.
But she might have been beaming.

She liked being William Harvelle's Daughter.
Even if no one really got the reference anymore.

Beaming is not the response he expected, looking at the daughter of the man John Winchester shot between the eyes.

Sam's eyebrow lifts but he's not about to criticize her happiness. Just... the last person he'd expect to shack up with his brother.

"Well... hi. Your mom has a nice bar."

"I'm still a fan of it." Jo nodded.

"Though she says I never visit enough."

"Parents do that."

He's heard.

"That's how you met Dean?"

Not that he had to worry about that now.

"Oh, no." Jo shook her head, smiling at the honest memory of it in her head. "Though I probably did my mom proud that day. Your brother was waiting for some mysterious friend, being a right arse the day I met him."

When he gave her the best introduction to herself she'll ever remember.

Bill Harvelle was British, but as familiar as he's gotten with American hunters, with that Roadhouse, it's weird to hear Ellen Harvelle's daughter say 'arse.'

"Right so... you met him on a day ending with Y, then."

"I still give him crap for it."
Though mostly for his man!crush.

Even if he says he got the best of both worlds.
When he was allowed to imply he had her at all.

"The pretty face only gets him so far."

With.....apparently everything ever.
That no one else got from her.

Though Sam looks like her description is debatable.

At best.

More beer now, please.

"Oh," he says, lowering the bottle. Referring to the crap she gives him. Thoughtful.

"I guess you can stay."

She has Sam Approval.

Jo snorted. The back of her hand coming to her mouth.

"I do get to tell him that was the easiest approval ever, right?"

He laughs back, smile breaking out at her girlish little snort and leaning back against the counter.

"Was he actually waiting for me to give it? Really?"

Jo tilted her head, leaning on a counter.
"I might have left long ago if he was."

"But." Is a protracted word.

"Obviously, if you hated me, that'd be problematic."
For Dean. And for Sam. Because Jo is not easy to live with then.

Sam shrugs, bottle half-lifted. "You'd have to be pretty awful to have me 'hating' you within ten minutes."

Sam likes to think he's not a hard man to get along with.

...outside of work.

Whereas Jo is looking at this in the complete reverse.
It'd be so easy to talk easier if she could just tell him.
That he's already met her. Worked with her. Knows her enough.

"I'm sure he must have dated someone who accomplished it at least once."

"Dean has a different definition of 'date' than most people."

Drink, swallow, pause. Eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"...that's probably something I shouldn't have said to you."

Jo was holding her beer, not too precariously.

"The kind where they happen on one calendar day, and are over pretty much by the time the next calendar date happens?"

"Calendar days usually cover daylight hours, but yeah, sure."

Another pause.

And he grins, wide and bright.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I've never gotten to grill my brother's girlfriend before, I'm kind of screwing with you."

Jo doubts he really is.
It was a downside of the job.

A need for contact, but no way to connect.
Too many oaths, vows, promises, contracts.

Jo shook her head, and gave him a smile anyway.
Bright, a little uncertain, but still true, too.

"And to think, I'd been looking forward to this."

...and now Ellen Harvelle's daughter is being all vulnerable at him. Another thing he did not expect from a girl from that family.

Another sip of his beer and Sam sets it aside, smirking. "Looking forward to finding out if I hated you?"

Jo's eyebrows rose, faintly pointed.
It made the quite vanish in amused.

"Meeting his brother."

Which was different from the man she worked with.

Different parts and portions of different lives.

Eyebrows lower and there is a moment of examination.

"...why?"

Jo looked up, before looking at Sam.

"There isn't anything more important in his life."

And Dean had become ultimately important to hers.

And the eyebrows lift again.

In the silence of the otherwise empty apartment.

Now filled with echoing words and the suddenly obvious pictures scattered here and there, few but with similar faces.

"Well, now it's just awkward," Sam points out uncomfortably, shifting.

Jo grinned, smugly, with a shrug.
"I think we're one for one then."

She made a motion back to go back to the living room.

Sam blinked.

Then smirked and followed her.

"If you're this mean to Dean," he says, leaving the bottle behind to follow, finally shrugging his coat off his shoulders, "I think you have my tentative approval."

"His fault he picked a hunter."
Her mother would expect no less.

Jo took the couch back.
Curling her feet under.

"Even as a witch."

It was hard to tell in some moments.
What was the game and what was real.

It all blurred. Except what didn't.

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carpefatorummea.livejournal.com - 2011-10-25 02:46 (UTC) - Expand

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veneficusvenato - 2011-10-25 11:34 (UTC) - Expand

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