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Tweak says, "Hey Todd, how's it going?"

Chuck Shurley: that beardy dude with the laptop. (capriciousgod) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2010-07-27 17:19:00

Entry tags:

chuck shurley, jo harvelle

Who? Chuck'n'Jo
What? Soup, sandwiches, alcohol, and angst.
Where? The Roadhouse
When? After this network post.
Rating? Mild to moderate? Angst and alcoholic beverages, probably.

One of the bonuses, Chuck was learning, of writing someone as a character, was that you knew little things about them that most people probably didn’t. It could probably have been something that would make everything awkward, but in this case he was hoping it was a positive, something to help cheer Jo up.

It was, technically, his fault she was so upset right now. His fault she’d died, because he hadn’t warned her about it, not really, and he understood that, and felt bad about it and he wished he’d done it differently. Sure, he didn’t actually physically kill her, he wouldn’t do something like that, but he may as well have, by not warning her. Not that he’d known exactly what was coming, just that she’d ~~get hurt~~ die, he didn’t see more than flashes until after she was already gone and he’d had no chance to get to her, what with Dean and Cas and the archangel and everything...

But it was his fault, anyway.

Which was why he’d just been in the complex kitchen making tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches to bring over. The soup went into a thermos, the sandwiches were wrapped up and then bundled in a clean towel in an effort to keep them warm, and he’d snagged a package of cookies, thrown everything into a bag and set off for the Roadhouse. Yeah, this was decidedly one of the least masculine things he’d done recently, but whatever. He didn’t really care.

This was also the longest he’d been sober for a while, two whole days and he really didn’t want to be sober, but he couldn’t very well do this without his mind at least somewhat clear, right? Besides, he’d feel kind of hypocritical, telling her not to drown herself in alcohol if he was actively doing the same thing - drinking and brooding alone, the whole nine yards.

Chuck wasn’t entirely sure if she’d even actually let him inside - she’d (reluctantly) agreed to let him come, told him to be careful, but that... didn’t actually mean anything. He hoped she would, though. He moved up to the door and knocked, anxious and uneasy and hoping she didn’t plan on punching him in the face or chasing him away with a gun or something, for pushing her when she wanted to be alone.

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harvelle
2010-07-27 11:54 pm UTC (link)

After finally agreeing to let someone come over - Chuck, of all people - Jo shut down the computer in her office and headed for the liquor storage room behind the bar. She pulled out two bottles of her best whiskey, then headed for the stairs, cutting off most of the lights as she walked. During the renovations, she had divided the top floor in two; half of it was her apartment, the other half was a Hunters' haven - outfitted with a well-stocked supply room that was lined with maps on the walls, perishables, extra bunks, and roof access. On her side, she had a computer that was a twin to the one in her office, and held a feed to all of her security cameras and her alarm system. It was in front of this that she sat, to think.

The blond opened up one of the bottles and took a swig straight from it, then pulled out a glass to set beside the other bottle, in case Chuck wanted some. Chuck. The would-be prophet. She didn't get the point of his visions if they didn't do any kind of good. He supposedly couldn't tell people when they were going to die, or get possessed, or give someone a heads' up about one of the good guys being addicted to demon blood. As her thoughts drifted to Sam, she frowned. She was conflicted about him - he should have listened to everyone about how fucked up his plan was, but he'd been addicted; there had to have been a time when he started, though, when he could have told someone what he was doing, and gotten help. But instead, he had stayed silent, gone after Lilith, and now Lucifer was somewhere out there.

This was all kinds of messed up.

By the time Chuck appeared on her video screen, Jo was in a pissy mood and half the whiskey was gone. She was tired, she was in pain from where the demon bitch had stabbed her - killed her, actually, and shouldn't she still be dead, she wasn't supposed to be here now, she wasn't supposed to be alive, which was just weird and unnatural and made her a freak - and she was angry. For a moment after he knocked, she considered letting him stay out there, but she finally got up and headed downstairs to the door. She unlocked it and stepped back, then turned and walked back to the stairs without a word. If he was really him, he could walk in. And he'd lock the door, she was sure.

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capriciousgod
2010-07-29 02:47 am UTC (link)

The amount of time he was standing there waiting made him uneasy, made him worry. He probably didn’t need to worry, he knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier not to. He’d always been good at worrying, whether he needed to or not. Which was why he was here in the first place, right?

The locks clicked in the door, shifted and turned and opened, but the door stayed closed. Chuck sighed, waited for a moment, and then turned the knob, pushing the door open cautiously. It opened, and nothing came flying out at his face, so he stepped inside, closing it behind him - and locking it, as an afterthought, because with all the crap that’s been going on lately, he’d feel better if it was safer here, even if a lock wouldn’t really keep demons out, and her wards would, but... still. Better, that way.

“Hey, Jo?”

Oh, there she was, over by the stairs. He waved slightly, offering a grin that faltered slightly because she didn’t exactly look like she was in the best mood ever - which, honestly, he’d expected, he knew she wouldn’t be, but it still kind of threw him off. “You okay?” was probably a stupid thing to ask, walking over to her and trying again with the bright grin, slightly more tentative.

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harvelle
2010-07-29 03:36 am UTC (link)

She hadn't made it up the stairs before he walked in. When he spoke, she stopped, one hand on the railing, and closed her eyes for a moment to try and calm herself. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then reopened her eyes. "I'm fine." She kept her back to him, and started up the stairs. "I'm going up to my place. You can do whatever." Which meant that he was probably going to follow her.

She hoped that he hadn't brought any food, because to be honest she wasn't really hungry. She didn't want to talk, or think, or any of that. All she wanted was to be alone for a couple of days. Jo didn't know why that seemed to be too much to ask, but it seemed that it was. First Sam kept pushing, then Chuck started pushing until she caved. The only reason she had, actually, was because she'd been pretty sure he would have shown up anyway, and she'd eventually feel guilty about him sitting outside the door all night, waiting for her.

By now, she had made it up to the second floor, and headed back into the small office she to pick up the bottle of whiskey she had left up there.

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capriciousgod
2010-07-29 08:16 pm UTC (link)

>"I'm fine." She didn’t turn, and he was pretty sure that meant she definitely wasn’t actually fine. He managed to bite back the sarcastic retort that tried to slip out, watched her as she started walking upstairs again, "I'm going up to my place. You can do whatever."

...right. Which obviously meant he was going to follow her, because the whole point was not leaving her by herself right now, and being downstairs by himself while she was upstairs by herself was better than nothing, but not quite good enough. So, he followed, plastic bag in his hand rustling as it swung slightly with his movements.

He lingered in the doorway when she slipped into the office, leaning against the door-frame and fidgeting slightly, uneasy in the silence. Chuck had never been fond of silences, even the comfortable ones could only go on for so long before they, too, turned awkward, and this one was far from comfortable. “Look, I get that you’re kinda pissed off at me. I mean, it’s okay, you’re allowed to be, you’re probably right to be. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, or stop it from happening, I really am.”

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harvelle
2010-07-30 02:59 am UTC (link)

She looked over at him as she sat on the small couch she had put by the window, her legs curling underneath her. Her eyes, when they met his, had a touch of vulnerability that was rare for her. For a moment, she hesitated, then sighed and dropped her gaze as she lifted the bottle in her hands for a sip. "S'not your fault. You just saw it. And besides, everything else you saw turned out to be real. The world's going to end, Lucifer's walking..." she waved a hand absently to take in everything, and glanced out the window.

"I shouldn't be here." The words were quiet, and she didn't even notice that she had spoken aloud. Her smile, when it came, was a tad bit bitter. "We're all going to die, aren't we Chuck? Don't worry, you can tell me the truth this time. I can take it."

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capriciousgod
2010-07-30 03:11 am UTC (link)

> "S'not your fault. You just saw it. And besides, everything else you saw turned out to be real. The world's going to end, Lucifer's walking..."

...wow, it sounds pretty bleak, when she says it like that. Bleak enough he’s eyeing the other bottle on the desk a little, before he dismisses the idea of going in and grabbing it. Later, sure. But first, he should probably worry about getting her cheered up at least a little bit, right?

>"I shouldn't be here."

And that is exactly why he’s here. That sentiment, right there, was what scared him. Because that way lead madness, or at least a lot of alcohol and a hard-to-break habit and maybe something worse than any of those things, and he wasn’t going to let Jo fall that way, even if she’d never hit bottom even without his interference. He didn’t want her to even think that way. “I’m glad you are,” was his reply, with a slight smile that was trying to be bright.

> "We're all going to die, aren't we Chuck? Don't worry, you can tell me the truth this time. I can take it."

...how did their roles get reversed this fast? Wasn’t it just earlier this week she was trying to stop him from being this hopeless? He was pretty sure it was.

“I haven’t seen anything like that yet,” he said, moving into the room and setting the bag on the desk, trading it in for the bottle - which he holds out with a tilt of his head, an unspoken do you mind...? - and then crossing to sit next to her, leaving enough space between them that she hopefully wouldn’t get annoyed with him. “Look, I know it looks really... really, really, really bad right now, okay? I mean, hi, apocalypse. But... I don’t know. Maybe we can... do something?”

...yeah, he was still really bad at the whole optimism! gig. But, hey, he was trying, at least. Maybe that would count for something.

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harvelle
2010-07-31 08:36 pm UTC (link)

She took another sip, a longer one this time, her eyes still on staring at nothing outside the window. "I'm glad you are." She shut her eyes for a moment. She was glad she was alive, too, but still...it wasn't right. She was supposed to be dead. And that's not to say she was going to go right out and kill herself, but a part of her knew that something wasn't right about her being there, being alive again. Once she got past that, she'd be okay...she hoped.

She didn't notice him picking up the bottle, though she did see it in his hand when he sat beside her and she glanced to him. She'd pulled it out specifically for him, so she didn't mind him drinking from it. As he spoke, she slowly met his eyes. "I'm still going to fight. I'll still do the job, get it done, whatever....even if there is no point." There hadn't been much of a point the past few days, she'd found out. While they had all been distracted by the demon party in Lawrence, Sam had been chasing after Lilith, and him killing her had literally brought hell on Earth.

Honestly, she had no idea how they were going to even start to get out of this one.

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capriciousgod
2010-08-01 02:07 am UTC (link)

> "I'm still going to fight. I'll still do the job, get it done, whatever....even if there is no point."

“Good,” was about the only response he could come out with that wouldn’t feel fake or hypocritical. Arguing about whether there was or wasn’t a point was something he wasn’t prepared to do right now - because part of him wanted her to go on thinking there was a point, some kind of hope in all this... but most of him knew he may as well not even try to convince her that they had a chance. If he was wrong, he didn’t want to have lied to her ~~again~~.

He didn’t want her to give up, though, even if it really was as hopeless as he felt it had to be, as she seemed to think it would be. Because if she gave up, if she stopped fighting, he didn’t know what she’d do. She was Jo Harvelle, the girl who got grabbed by a demon-possessed Winchester and bounced right back to patch the other one up and didn’t even skip a day of work after it, she was the girl who could out-shoot a lot of older, grizzled hunters, she was Jo and he hoped he never had to see her without her fire.

He uncapped the bottle he’d taken off the desk, took a swig from it - okay, sue him, he wasn’t going to wait after all; he really was way too sober right now - and set it on the floor next to the couch, where he’d be able to reach it easily enough, then turned so he was pretty much facing her, twisted over sideways and offering a smile, something close to an unspoken are you okay? Are we okay? which he promptly did his best to switch off, looking away and motioning with one hand towards where he’d left the dinner (...late dinner) he’d brought her.

“I, uh... brought tomato soup and grilled cheese. Since, you know. I knew you liked that. And, um. You should probably have some before it gets cold. I don’t think the sandwiches would be salvageable...”

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harvelle
2010-08-01 05:44 pm UTC (link)

"Good." She bit back a sigh, her eyes studying the whiskey bottle in her hands again as she gave a faint nod, then withdrew back into silence. Jo was starting to wish she hadn't said he could come over, or that she'd let him in. A part of her - a part that had been locked away since she was ten and her father hadn't come home - wanted suddenly to cry.

It was childish, but she wanted her mom.

Setting her jaw determinedly, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath to calm down, then opened them again and glanced over to him. She noticed the smile, of course, and caught the meaning behind it, but didn't respond. Instead, she just watched as he gestured towards the bag and thermos.

"That's my fav..." Oh. Right. She shook her head a little, then gave a shrug. The reason that that simple meal was her favorite was that it had been something she could remember her dad fixing for her whenever she did something good, or even when she missed a target and had been upset. She wanted to tell Chuck that no, she wasn't hungry, and that he shouldn't have bothered, but her stomach gave a small rumble, reminding her that she hadn't eaten in...well, she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. It might've been the day before?

"...Fine." She reluctantly set the bottle on the floor next to the couch, then held out her hand for him to pass the dinner over.

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capriciousgod
2010-08-01 06:36 pm UTC (link)

Chuck was quickly learning that he didn’t much like it when Jo was silent. Not, like, she had to be making noise all the time, because that would be... impossible, and also kind of not good for a hunter, and generally just ...completely not what he meant, but even her silences shouldn’t have been so still, and her stillness made her seem quieter than just not speaking.

He wanted to fix it. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he was going to chalk it up to being an author, wanting to fix all the problems he got his characters into, even if she wasn’t really a character, she was real - it was still something he’d caused, sort of, mostly. He hadn’t killed her, but he hadn’t saved her, either, he hadn’t saved anyone - the world was going to end and it was all his fault, but he couldn’t help that, not right now. This, though - he could help Jo, he could at least try.

>"That's my fav..."

She didn’t finish, but she really didn’t have to. He shrugged a little, smiling a little, “That’s why I brought it.” Comfort food was always a good plan, in times like these. Not that this was something commonplace or anything, dying and coming back to life, but he was pretty sure it fell under the category of things comfort food should be involved in, which was kind of a long list.

>"...Fine."

Almost before she’d spoken, Chuck jumped up and moved over to retrieve the bag, pulling out things as he walked back over to the couch, setting the sandwiches down on the couch and unwrapping the towel from them, then offering her the thermos. The cookies came out of the bag last, and he kind of gestured vaguely with them, “Oh. Cookies, too. Figured, you know... dessert is important. Sugar is good. Do you like Oreos? I don’t think I ever saw if you liked Oreos, but I figured, you know, most people do, so it seemed like a safe bet...”

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harvelle
2010-08-03 08:38 pm UTC (link)

She watched him for a moment, arms crossed over herself. Right now, she was mainly trying to not think about what had happened. She was the kind of person who did better dealing with things like that when she was alone. But instead, everyone seemed to want to push - ask how she was, make plans to meet up, come over with comfort food. She had finally given in to the last request, but now...she still wasn't happy to have her solitude disturbed. First chance she got, she'd be at a target range or gym, working out her aggression once that kicked in. For tonight, though, she wanted to focus on the other side. But it seemed that Chuck wouldn't give up that easily.

Biting back a sigh, she accepted the thermos. Opening it, she poured some soup into the top, then sat back against the cushions and took a small sip. Her eyes closed for a moment as the flavor brought back so many memories of her childhood. A moment later, they reopened and she took a second sip, then glanced at him.

"It's good." Lowering the cup, she reached out for one of the sandwiches and picked it up to take a bite. After her third, she set it down again and met his eyes. "Happy?"

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capriciousgod
2010-08-05 01:25 am UTC (link)

>"It's good."

Chuck smiled almost brightly again, happy that she liked it, even though it wasn’t like he made it from scratch or anything. Just canned soup, he didn’t even do more than heat it up - no special things added, nothing changed or altered. Just warm tomato soup, just plain grilled cheese sandwiches. It was probably better that way - he wasn’t the worst cook ever, he could make the basics, but anything beyond that seemed to take on a mind of its own, turn out strange or wrong, and besides, there wasn’t much that needed to be done for this kind of a meal, anyway.

>"Happy?"

“Close enough,” was the best he could offer in response to that - between the kind of week he’d been having and the kind of things he’d seen and the fact that she’d died and it was his fault and she was pissed and upset and the world was ending and he probably had Dean plotting to destroy him for not telling him anything sooner, it was kind of hard for him to be happy. And, yeah, he knew she didn’t mean it entirely literally, just meant it in terms of the fact that she was being semi-agreeable and eating, but anything else felt uncomfortably close to a lie, and lying was out of the question right now.

“I’m sorry.” It was probably the millionth apology he’d offered, so far, but... that didn’t make it any less genuine. And it wasn’t like he had much else he could say - because everything he had to say was either an apology or was pointedly-diverting remarks on things like the weather or how he likes the arrangement of the furniture in here or how terrified he’d been when he woke up and realized he wasn’t going to be able to save her, how confused he’d been when he’d realized that, because she was just one person, and lots of people were dying, why did he care so much?... stupid, pointless things she’d be able to see right through.

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