Jo Harvelle (knivesandreo) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-09-11 16:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | jo harvelle |
Who: Jo, Openish (To Dean since he's probably there or anyone who would stop by kind of thing)
Where: Dean & Sam's Motel Room
When: Afternoonish before they all go to find Sam
Rating: Is pretty clean
Status: Complete as a narrative, in progress if someone wants to tag in
She thinks this was easier when she stupidly didn't give a damn, when she was reckless running half cocked into situations that she still doesn't know how she got out of alive. At least then she hadn't been scared. Back then she always imagined dying in the middle of some damned hunt would be an improvement, maybe then the burning rage that ran through her blood would stop. Back then she had been dumb and selfish enough not to realize that there were worse things than dying yourself, things like losing someone else. She realized with a heavy weight in the bottom of her stomach that she had forgotten this part about letting people in, the part where people had an expiry date, the part where they died. She'd had more than her fair share of people to mourn and now the idea of possibly adding to that list tonight shook her more than it had in a while. She wasn't lonely anymore, not the crippling kind that used to overtake her in the middle of the night and claw at her insides worse than anything she hunted could, but now she was something much worse. Now she was scared.
She can remember being a kid, playing worst case scenarios in her head as the people she loved went to battle. What was the wost case scenario she could handle; alive but missing parts? Better than dead right. She can remember biting her tongue when classmates lost grandparents to cancer, heart conditions, old age; she lost friends, "uncles", family to werewolves, spirits, demons, things that went bump in the night. Old age was a pipe dream for them. She wonders if it's silly to think they could all come out of this unharmed.
She had changed her mind about seven times as to what she was taking with her that night, trading out guns and knives, unable to make a decision. She was a bundle of nerves at the upcoming events, unable to sit still, unable to take even half a minute to just stop. She worried that too much time had passed, that Sam was dead, or worse; that the Sam they found would be closer to the psychotic jackass terrorizing them now than the one they loved. Jo wasn't sure the last time she had been nervous about a hunt before, not that this really was one but close enough, she figured it was sometime before she had nightmares of her Uncle John shooting her Daddy in the head. Back when she used to give a shit. This whole caring thing definitely had its drawbacks.
Her things had been taken back to her own room. Not the pile of weapons she had on the bed that she sorted through, but the things like clothes that she had brought over despite Dean trying to convince her clothing was optional, her toothbrush, little things that had found their way to this motel over the days. She would go back to her own room when this was over (because really, so Sam we decided that when you were stuck in some hellish reality and your evil alter ego tormented people that would be the best time to start sleeping together didn't sound right in her head) and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that yet so she didn't much think about it. Instead she changed her mind again about the handgun in the yes pile and tossed it back into the no pile.