jo harvelle took one for the team. (damnrightreo) wrote in mundus_district, @ 2009-02-08 19:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester, jo harvelle |
Who; Jo, Dean
Where; Starting Texas, then her room, then the streets just outside the building
When; Early afternoon
Why; Arrival and probable awkwardness
Rating; This now rated R or Adult or whatever for the whole, nothing says good to see you again like totally doing it on the couch.
Notes; It's kind of long as I wanted to bridge where she had been before coming to Mundus to her arrival, so this is pretty much what would have been happening to Jo in episode 4.02 and that's her canon point of arrival.
"You should have saved me, I LOVED you and you couldn't save me!" the spirit taunted her, the words echoing into the small bathroom that she had holed herself up in, a line of salt that she had managed to pour the only thing keeping her alive at that point.
"You're NOT HIM, SHUT UP!" she yelled back and let off another rock salt round if only to give herself a few moments peace. Nothing she had ever fought before was like this and she honestly had no idea how much longer she could hold on. How much longer she could handle the accusations in the spirit's eyes, the words that taunted her more than when she had found him with blackened eyes and threats to send her back to her mother in pieces. And at least before she knew what had to be done, she had a strategy, get it into a trap, spout off the Latin crap that made up the exorcism. This though she had no idea. It was a spirit without a body, the body had already been salted and burned, this shouldn't be happening. And the mark on his arm she had no clue where to even begin to start trying to figure that one out. The laptop was out there somewhere in the trashed room.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself as small as possible in the bathtub, a salt ring ran along the edge of the top, fingers curled around the sawed off shotgun. She peered out the door to the trashed motel room, broken glass from the mirror where she had been flung against it. The side tables overthrown, holes in the wall from missed shots. Her entire body ached, but the most vivid pain the sharp pain in her right shoulder and she could only pray it wasn't dislocated, or worse. She could feel the start of a bruise along the left side of her face, from her eye to her cheekbone. She drew in deep, ragged, breaths wincing at it pulled at her ribs.
And then he was back.
"Come on Jo Beth, you already killed me once," the spirit said reappearing a foot or so away from the doorway, unable to enter past the salt line.
She shook her head, biting hard on her lower lip at the way the damn thing used her name like that, a sting sharper than anything that had come before. "Shut up! You're not him, you're NOT!" She screamed again, her voice filling the hollow space of the bathroom. She didn't kill him, it wasn't her fault, she tried to tell herself over and over again. He had been possessed for over a year, no one could survive that, by the time she found him and pulled the demon it had been too late. It was the damn demon that killed him, not her. Though it was a hard thing to believe when he kept telling her otherwise.
"If you really loved me you could have saved me," he taunted her, pacing the length of the salt line, waiting for her to break, waiting for her to come out. "You could have found me earlier, you could have stopped the demon from using me to do those things. Sixteen months Jo! Sixteen months it had me, the things it made me do.... why didn't you come sooner!"
"You're not him, you're not him...." she kept repeating softly to herself, fingers white with the grip on the gun.
And then suddenly as soon as it had begun, it was done. Silence. She aimed the gun to where the spirit had once been, convinced it would reappear any second. Her breath, heavy with pain and fear, echoed off the walls and she stayed like that, gun cocked and ready for twenty minutes before she allowed herself to relax, letting her body fall against the back of the bathtub, head hitting the wall and her body giving into the shaking, silent sobs.
The panic as she realized this was not where she had been when she passed out the night before was immediate and gripping. In her line of work waking up somewhere that was not familiar and not where you had put yourself willingly was never a good sign. She bolted up out of the bed, her first sign that this was wrong as she remembered passing out in sheer exhaustion in the bathtub her fingers clenched around the gun, eyes darting around the room and taking in that it was a far nicer place than the trashed motel room she had gone to sleep in. The events of the day before came flooding back to her and the throbbing pain in her shoulder. Jo set the shotgun that had still been in her hands on waking aside and pressed her hands to her face, taking in as deep of breaths as she could muster through what she could feel were bruised ribs. Her body shook slightly as her mind worked through the day before, for the moment letting herself forget that she was not where she had been hours prior.
Getting up she groaned, the realization that it was indeed still the morning after getting her ass handed to her by a spirit. She touched the side of her face, wincing slightly at the swollen bruise she could feel. Jo pushed herself out of the bed and found the bathroom to take in the damage. She tried to push the image of Rick, the hatred, the blame in his eyes as he advanced on her, yelling at her that she should have been able to save him. She stared at her reflection, hating herself in that moment because she knew he was right, she should have been able to save him. She touched the bruise that ran along her cheekbone gingerly, making sure that nothing under the ugly black and blue felt broken. The shoulder was next, she pulled at the light weight jacket she had over a tank top and hissed as her fingers grazed the swollen, bruised mess that was her shoulder. "Dammit," she muttered to herself and pushed through the pain to make sure she could at least move it, rolling it forward and back. Her ribs she didn't bother to look at, she knew from being flung into the dresser on her side they would only prove to be as damaged as her shoulder and as long as they didn't feel broken she knew there wasn't a damn thing she could do now.
Jo went back into the room and of course it became clear it was too much to ask that her stuff had come along with her. Just the clothes on her back and the gun she had fallen asleep with in her hands. Checking to make sure she at least had her ID, bank card and knife still tucked into her back pocket she left the room, hoping to figure out where the hell she had ended up.
She didn't remember driving anywhere and as she hit the cold air of the outside street she realized she was a hell of ways from Texas, the last place she could remember going to intentionally. Jo pulled her jacket, far too light for the coolness of the place she had ended up in, tighter around her and started walking down the street hoping to pass a drugstore where she could find a newspaper to figure out her where, makeup to cover the bruise (call her crazy but she was always less than thrilled with the idea of walking around looking like she just got beat up), an ice pack, and as she felt a grumble in her stomach she added food to her mental list of things to do.