Jo (_enihpesoj) wrote in family_business, @ 2010-01-28 23:25:00 |
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Current location: | Roadhouse |
Entry tags: | 2000, dean, jo, s01e01, sam, story: gordon walker & the false ponies |
i can haz cheezburger plz?
There's something wrapped around Jo's legs, binding her in place, and she can't feel Sam anywhere near her. Oh shit, nonono she thinks, because whatever's happening being tied up and alone can't mean anything good. She moves cautiously, burrowing her face deeper into the pillow and—wait...pillow? Her eyes snap open and she rolls onto her back, exhaling all her air and most of her tension in a gasp that definitely does not come uncomfortably close to a sob when she's greeted by the sight of the dumb, glow-in-the-dark stars she'd tried to arrange into constellations one year. They're a bit dusty now (because who cleans their ceiling?) and in the early afternoon light not even a bit luminescent and all in all, she realizes for the first time, one of the most normal and comforting views she could ask for.
She lies there for a long moment just letting the fact that she's home, that what's twisted around her legs is a sheet not a rope or anything like that, that she's warm soak in before she lets the memories of the night before anywhere near the forefront of her mind. Even when they come they're mostly a blur after the car had pulled away from the Roadhouse and she'd let herself go completely. She remembers curling up against Sam who had been sprawled all over his brother and laughing a little to herself at the pathetic pile of tangled up trauma they'd made, straining towards the heat in the car like a plant growing towards the sun, reaching the Roadhouse and her mother saying ”It's okay we're home”. Then her mom had given her some pills, for the pain, and everything after that, even the incredibly unpleasant process of having nine broken fingers carefully reset (she remembers that she's been worried, had kept demanding her mother recheck them no matter how much it hurt because she'll need her fingers, a hunter can't have old breaks tripping them up, especially in their hands) had gotten even less distinct. Ash had been babbling something about cameras, she knows that, and her mother kept making her drink water before she'd let her go to bed and when she finally did her mother had sat with her, stroking her hair lightly, until she'd gone to sleep.
Great, she thinks, sitting up and kicking her legs until they're free of the sheet, I'm home, I'm safe, I slept about a year I guess...but Gordon's still out there isn't he? And despite her determination to think about that she discovers it isn't something she's really ready for yet. She swings her legs almost violently over the side of the bed, half stumbling to her feet as if motion will eliminate the need for thought. Maybe it works, at least a little, because all she thinks after that is God, I'm starved instead of anything else about Gordon. Taking that as a cosmic thumbs-up on the whole action-not-thinking plan she reaches behind her and fumbles with her newly-splinted fingers for her quilt, managing, after several awkward moments, to sling it around her shoulders like a cloak (because even though she knows it's warm in here she still feels cold, maybe not really the temperature, it's like the sensation just before a violent shiver is stored up in her body and...whatever she's taking the damn quilt no matter how silly she'll look) before moving out into the hallway. She tries to walk confidently instead of creeping around looking into shadowy corners because screw Gordon this is her damn house. Your house where you got kidnapped from in the first...shut up.
She bangs down the stairs and through the kitchen with perhaps unnecessary force, at least the creaks the doors make seem to protest to that, but slows down once she's in the empty bar area. Mom must have closed for the day, she thinks distractedly, heading down the hallway to where the guest rooms are because the starving thing isn't going away and she can't exactly make herself any lunch with all her fingers broken. Also, though she doesn't want to admit it, she doesn't want to be alone right now and (with less embarrassment) she wants to make sure Sam's okay, that whatever that ritual was didn't permanently scramble his brain or anything. Plus, she thinks raising the heel of her hand to rap on Sam and Dean's door, Ash is shit at cooking. “You guys awake?”