2590/Shot Through the Heart (Almost)

Shot Through the Heart (Almost)
Date of Scene:	26 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle

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Sam Winchester has posed:
It's really not the first time Sam has come home bleeding. It's not even the first time he's come bleeding //from a gunshot wound//. This one isn't even in a particularly dangerous place. It hurts emotionally more than it hurts physically.

Thus, he's not even really holding onto it when he comes in. He's just letting it free bleed into his grey and black plaid shirt, letting it stain the white t-shirt underneath. He's kind of hoping nobody's home so he can just sew it up and deal with things, because that would be the easiest way to avoid awkward explanations.

He's never that lucky, is Sam Winchester, but boy does he hope.

The fact that he's black eyed and glowering thunderheads probably doesn't tell a great story either.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"OW!" The door opens inwards, hitting Winchester-the-elder laying overtop the demon trap (hidden thanks to the rug overtop) the apartment's residents know is there while staring at the ceiling. "Geez," he murmurs, but doesn't make any effort to move. He definitely slept over it last night. He probably will do much the same again.

Blearily, Dean rubs his eyes and slowly pushes to a seated position. His head cants upwards and adrenaline pushes any semblance of hangover from his system. "Sammy! You're bleeding--" but then he catches his brothers eyes. "What the hell?" his hands hold out wearily. "What son of a bitch did this?" he's on his feet in three seconds flat, offering a hand to his younger brother to get him into a chair to inspect the wound properly. And remove the bullet.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam grimaces. He had thought Dean would be up by now. This was a silly thing to think, he realizes, in retrospect.

"Sorry," he says, grimacing. He lets Dean sit him in the chair, and he finally just pulls off his outer shirt. The V-necked white t-shirt beneath is fairly soaked by this point, but it's easily pulled aside to get at the bullet. Sam hesitates to answer, though he'd normally give that readily enough.

Then again, Dean might spot the calibre of the wound right away. Not that different people can't use the same gun calibre to be sure, but it is whatever John favors.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he soothes, in lieu of answering right away, not sure how he's going to have this discussion. Or, if forced to have it, how he's going to do it in a way that conceals his plan without risking John coming back and spilling it to Dean, who will surely want to stop it. It's a tangled web of bull, and he has no idea how to navigate it just yet.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"You're shot," Dean states flatly. He's already going about working on the wound. He treads to the cupboard and extracts a large bottle of vodka which he hands to Sam. His eyebrows lift. "Perfectly good waste of gin," he murmurs with a shake of his head. "Crying shame that," but Sam knows the voice. While he might make a big deal of the alcohol, his brain has honed in on the wound and the fact that Sam has been shot.

When Dean gets a look at the wound, his expression flattens. His lips twitch into a long frown and he inhales a long breath while he assesses how bad it is. His lips purse and his nostrils flare as he treads to the bathroom to find the first aid kid. It's an incredibly well-stocked version, complete with needles and thread to literally stitch someone up when necessary--the pair have played nurse many times thanks to their line of work.

Steadily, he threads the needle. He then proceeds to clean the wound with the liquor before working with the tweezers to get the bullet out. "Clean shot at least," he muses.

Green eyes try to find hazel, and with a smug smile, he asks, "So it was a happy family reunion then?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam drinks some of the Vodka-- hair of the dog and all-- but then pours it all over his own shoulder. "Alton Brown says everything in your kitchen should have more than one use," he quips dryly.

May would be totally pissed he didn't do this at SHIELD medical. He could have. He should have. But Sam is growing awfully uneasy about SHIELD again. They took down all his demon traps. Explaining there were demons on the payroll. On one hand, he doesn't have a lot of room to talk. On the other, demons with potential access to orbital strike codes scares him. Forget whatever they're doing with him. They could possess everyone at that agency and then rain doom and horror upon the world. There have got to be some obscure supernatural rules stopping //that// from happening. It's the only thing Sam can think of.

But Dean figures it out, and Sam sighs. The elder Winchester never gives himself enough credit for his own intelligence, but the truth is Sam is not the only one with the capacity to ace Stanford. He wonders what Dean would have chosen to be, devoid of the Hunter's life. Maybe not just a mechanic. Maybe he would have designed space ships.

A sad thought.

"Dad has decided I'm one of the monsters now," he confirms.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Alton Brown is a national treasure," Dean states flatly while he goes about his work. "I don't like cooking," and definitely never learned, "but anyone who can create food porn like that guy deserves a freaking medal," he begins stitching Sammy up.

"Food porn, if done well is as good as regular porn. That's all I'm saying." Which probably begs questions that Sam definitely doesn't want answers to. He tugs on the needle and tightens the stitches. There's little question he aims to keep them small. But he's no professional at this. The good news is being a mechanic makes him incredibly dextrous.

The confirmation causes Dean's lips to press into a thin grim line. "Of course he has," Dean stares at the work his hands are doing. "Would help if he looked in a mirror for once," he growls more to himself than Sam. His eyebrows lift and he ducks his head again. At this range, Sam might catch something that often doesn't surface when they talk about John.

Chaos shifts below his eyes. His thoughts are a cloud, a storm. There's little question of Dean's anger. It's a look Sam had seen once before. But only once. Big brother has a protective streak.

His lips twitch upwards and he gets a semblance of control over his expression. He sniffs. "I'll deal with it," he says evenly.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"He tried to tell me we should drop everything and hunt Azazel because you don't have much time left. He wasn't broken up because you're going to die. He just feels like it puts him on a time table."

Dean isn't the only one. There's a reason Sam's eyes are black.

"I might have punched him a few times. And threw him around a few times. And did a few more things he didn't like very much."

Privately, Sam hopes John goes to ground and stays there, at least long enough for him to do what he's going to do. Which he now needs help with. Halfrek's words weren't an all stop. They were just a hurdle that has to be overcome. Still, he pokes at this a little bit. If he can do it //without// lying to Dean...

"I wish //he// were the one dying in a year," he growls. "He was awfully proud of himself about your time under the ocean, too. Honestly I was tempted to shoot //him//."

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean hums in reply. His Dad doesn't care that he's set to die. "Yeah, I kind of already gathered that," from John's visit to the apartment. His nostrils flare angrily, but otherwise Dean maintains some semblances of cool. "I thought--" his head shakes. "Never mind." Whatever he thought is lost again, banished to the far reaches of his mind.

But as far as Sam's wish is concerned, Dean's eyebrows lift. "Sammy, I wouldn't wish this on anyone." He sucks on the inside of his cheek. "No one should make these kinds of deals." He lifts a hand to allay any potential argument. "We both know what hell looks like."

He reaches for the vodka bottle and takes a few long swigs of the liquor.

Sam Winchester has posed:
And thus Sam decides to keep it to himself.

He just sits still to let Dean finish playing nurse, staring grimly at the wall. "Well, maybe now that we've both given him a hard pass on his stupid plans he'll leave us alone. I mean it's not that I don't think Azazel needs to be dealt with, and Alistair, but..."

It was so easy to articulate the differences when John was standing right there. Now it seems harder. He shakes his head, mouth tightening, flattening into that thin line. He swallows, then looks at Dean. "You know what I mean?" Because sometimes Dean just gets it, and he doesn't have to go into a hard long expalanation. It's not going after Azazel //per se// that's the problem, after all. It's the way John wants to throw everything onto the pyre to do it. Including them. His own sons.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean's lips part and then they press together.

He stitches flesh together with care and hones in on the task at hand. And for a few moments, it's hard to know whether he's heard Sam at all. The sigh that escapes him draws his shoulders downwards, and matches the exasperation he feels when he observes, "That's assuming he leaves you alone," the words aren't judgmental. But the dangling thought at the end doesn't get uttered. If John has determined Sam a monster, who knows what he'll do.

"You just need to leave this well enough alone. It's bad enough he knows we live here," because keeping demons out is one thing. Keeping John out? Green eyes darken while his eyebrows knit together tightly.

"What is it with homes? How is it some people can keep 'em and others really can't?" He finally knots the stitching. "Is it so wrong to want something stable?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"We're not letting him take it from us. If he wants to hunt me here, I'll kick his ass again," Sam says coldly. "I didn't //expect// him to shoot me. But this time? I do. And I took something away from him too. You might like it. Though I've studied it, and it doesn't really work without the bullets. With the bullets I think it could kill...well. Anything. I think it's like the demon knife."

He digs the Colt out and offers it to Dean. "That thing has got to be one of a kind," he admits. "The magic works in tandem, a spell so complex I think an honest to god White Council type would have had to do it. It looks like it dates back to the late 1800s too, which tracks. I think those types were still mostly souring milk and stuff back then, rather than fritzing technology. Not that simple tech like this has ever bothered any wizard I've ever heard of."

At least he's able to bring something to Dean out of all this. "Can't believe he tried to waste one of the bullets on me. He must have more than the 5 that are in there. There's no way he's learned how to make them."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The mention of the gun causes Dean to perk. A flicker of a smile follows when he feels the weight of it in his grasp. Dean always liked the weight of a weapon in his hands. The balance of it draws an easy smirk and a sardonic lift of his eyebrow. While he's not thrilled with Sam's family reunion, he's taken with the gun.

"If this could kill them," his gaze rests heavily on his brother. "That's a new game. Between the knife and the gun," he whistles sharply. His lips quirk again and he asks, "Think it could kill an angel?" There's a faint tick of his head that follows the question. "Not that I'm looking to do anything about angels... just. Thinking." He swallows hard. "About the future."

Consideration of John though wears heavily. "Just don't seek him out. Please. If he's already pegged you a monster, he's not likely talk before shooting next time." Dean scrubs his face to wash away the thought. "You and I didn't have an easy upbringing and we're still better adjusted than him. I have no idea how that happened."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I know how it happened," Sam says quietly. "It's because we had each other, Dean."

He knew the gun would distract Dean a little bit, and he's relieved that it worked. Fortunately, he doesn't need to seek John out for what he intends to do. He can do it all without either of them being there, as soon as he deals with the problem of John not being worth a damn thing. "You also knew what mattered and taught the same stuff to me. And yeah, if I'm reading those runes right it could even kill Michael himself."

Which is not off the table, as far as Sam is concerned. He is not at //all// amused with the designs that Heaven has put on his brother. He took the time to research angelic vessels and didn't like what he read. "Though for him just saying no should be enough. Problem is, he's going to try to maneuver and manipulate you into a corner where saying 'yes' probably looks like the only choice. So. I'll stay away from Dad, you stay strong on not saying yes to angels."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"I don't think we're at any risk of me being touched by an angel when it comes to possession. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt," Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. "Well I've heard nothing from Michael as of yet, so that seems promising at least." A twitch of a smile follows. "But it's nice to have a backup." His fingers run across The Colt again. "But we're gonna need more bullets."

"He had a normal life before Mom died," Dean muses. "You've never had a normal life until you took it for yourself." And as for Dean, "I can barely remember the normal." His eyebrows draw together again. "Makes me wonder if this apartment is all a pipe dream. I might be deluding myself." He doesn't even try to hide the thought. It's open and bare.

Delusions or not, he hasn't thrown in the towel on it either. "Maybe we should invest in a good old regular security system. That seems like a thing that would be useful regardless of dad or not. I mean, even demons have bodies. Sometimes."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Isn't that what Sam suggested before? Security cameras in the apartment?

But he decides not to call Dean on it. "I'll go to the hardware store and get one," he says. "I'll have it installed by the end of the day."

But he shakes his head. "It's not a pipe dream, Dean. Its ours. We just have to fight to defend it. Bobby has a home. Ellen has a home. Lots of Hunters work out of home bases. I'd say it's more common than criss-crossing the entire country in an Impala. Which reminds me."

Now he seems suddenly shy as he pulls his dirty outer shirt back on. It's silly; he needs a shower. He'll go take one.

But this thing he's been reminded of is a thing that might just keep him in SHIELD despite all his misgivings. "I um. I um. Ah. I kind of um. I kind of have another present for you."

He's not really entirely sure how Dean will take this one. He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand, since his right collar bone got shot.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"We just need to make a pact never to look at the footage unless there's cause." Which might be more incriminating than Dean intends it to sound. "I'm not great at remembering where there are and aren't cameras." Or at least he doesn't think he'd be good at such things.

"I haven't stayed in a place this long since Lawrence," it's been a long time. "Well... maybe Pennsylvania," but that doesn't count as a happy memory. They'd been abandoned far too long by a father who didn't care. "Yeah. Probably Pennsylvania." His eyebrows lift and he treads to the fridge. He opens it and extracts a bottle which he cracks open and takes a long drink.

He swallows. "I know I said I need the road. I do. But what if I'm not meant to be in one spot." His eyebrows lift and he actually smirks. "Ehn. It's not like I believe in destiny anyways. Go Team Free Will." He lifts the bottle in the air.

The notion of another present though causes his smile to fade. Especially with Sam's strange bashfulness about the thing. Once more his expression flattens, "What's up Sam?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Maybe we can find a more fortified place later. Also, security cameras are only pointed //at// the doors and windows, not //inward//, so as long as you're not standing in our doorway with no pants on yelling 'pudding' or something you should be fine."

Sam is stalling. Giving important information, but he's also stalling. He finally withdraws his wallet from his back pocket and withdraws a slim bank card. Of course, they have credit cards aplenty. He walks over to the bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment's public areas and slides it across.

It says Dean Winchester on it. And it's a debit card, not a credit card.

"I um. Ah. I set you up with a bank account," he says, looking down like he did when he was 6 and not sure if he was about to get in trouble. "I-- its yours. I've been depositing part of my paycheck into it since I started drawing one. I-- don't be mad, okay? I just figure...you took care of me all those years. And I thought maybe...maybe I can take care of you now. And then neither of us have to break the law anymore. I mean I taught Claire how, weirdly, but...it's just...I mean I..."

Cause pride is a funny thing, and he has no idea if he's about to wound Dean's.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
It's been a wild time since she left the roadhouse for the second time and things aren't really slowing down. NYC is a big city and for a 'country' girl like Jo, a little overwhelming. Which is why it had taken her a while to find a bakery that sells just 'pie'. Some of the places she'd gone to had pastries and confections, but just plain pie had proven remarkably difficult to find.

Pie. That's what Dean needs. Pie. It makes all things right in his world, doesn't it? At least that's what Jo Harvelle thinks as she knocks on the door to the Winchesters apartment.

//Tap Tap//

The scent of freshly brewed coffee can be smelt. The blonde knows better than to turn empty handed.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean waggles his pointer finger at Sam, "Never, //never// underestimate the power of pants-less pudding calls. I'll have you know that crazy trumps a lot of things in this world, Sammy." A spark of humour follows the image. "There will always be a circumstance when even pudding makes sense. And when it might be our best way out of something bad."

The cheekiness fades quickly at the movement of plastic across the counter. Perceptibly, something shifts. It's subtle--the kind of thing that only rears its head when truly paying attention. But it's present. It reflects in his eyes, his muscles, and even his fingers. It's not angry, exactly. At least of that, Sam can be reassured. But it's not pleased either. And then, with a perhaps-unexpected edge, he finally asserts, "Sammy, I'm fine." The lie comes so easily it's as a mantra. "I never needed much. And I do fine. I've done fine--"

The knock at the door, however, temporarily cuts the discussion short. Beer bottle in hand, he treads to the door and cracks it open. "Hey," he manages a flicker of a smile. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he says to Jo with a flicker of a smile.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The apartment is kind of a mess. A beer bottle forest has taken up residence all over the place. Three here, four there, some on the floor. They have yet to clean up.

Sam has yet to clean up too. His shirts are a bloody mess, though he's no longer moving like someone who is actively wounded. He frowns down at the card a moment more, but leaves it right on the counter. For Dean to take or leave in place as he sees fit. There was no explosion, and in this case that's as much as Sam had hoped for. He turns to greet Jo with a welcoming smile.

"Hey, Jo," he says warmly. He is looking, of course, a damn sight better than he did in that car. His eyes have even faded back to hazel during the course of this conversation, the black anger that had taken them having been erased by his perhaps clumsy attempt to pay Dean back for...well. His whole life. Really. Somehow. With something as paltry and as silly as a debit card. Only it wasn't either: Dean kept them fed. No matter what.

To welcome Jo in, he finds a garbage bag and starts attacking that forest with a sheepish grin. He'd told Mercy she wasn't allowed to judge it, but he sort of self-judges.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo ... sniffs as she looks at Dean, blue eyes floating to the beer bottle in his hand and then over the apartment. At least Sam is starting to clean it up, a little. "And you smell worse than the Roadhouse after a Saturday night..." she says with a grin, reaching up to plant a kiss on his lips - this 'not girlfriend' of his "Big night was it?" she asks dryly.

Moving through the door, still holding that package with the pie and the coffee in the other, her eyes light on the clear space on the counter - it's likely the only clear space there is. "I bought pie and coffee ... but it doesn't look like you need the coffee. You got one of those for me?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
The kiss is easily returned--without thought or remote apprehension. "I don't smell //that// bad," Dean feigns insult. "I've been to the Roadhouse early Sunday morning," like when he broke in recently. "Your Mom must have the strongest stomach out of anyone I've ever known. I swear that place can smell like a raccoon died, was preserved by a scientist in alcohol, then resurrected thanks to a witch. Only to die again."

He casts Sam a moderately irritated look at the cleaning. His time in a stable home to turn into a disaster zone has been limited. Cleaning now kind of suggests there's something to hide. He's not sure what he thinks about that, and so he answers Jo's question, "Something like that. We had a few drinks." His eyebrows lift to punctuate the point.

It's just as well Jo came late enough not to catch him sleeping in the middle of the demon trap. That might've put her on edge. Gratitude flashes across his eyes.

When Jo sets down the pie, it's next to the debit card with Dean's name, not that he takes stock of it. Instead, he's shifting to the fridge and pulling out a bottle for her. "Always," he answers easily. Even though it's well before noon.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I'll take the coffee," Sam says, and he does take one, grinning and sipping at it while he continues to clean. Not, in his case, out of any sense of something to hide, but out of a sense that it's polite.

The boyish grin is largely offered at the floor. This is him, ignoring all not-girlfriend/not-boyfriend smooching.

It adds urgency to the mission he's set for himself, though truthfully his urgency level is already 11 on a scale of 1-10. This just pushes it up to 12.

Meanwhile, though, there's pie, and while he's not quite the pie-fiend Dean is, he is hungry enough this morning to ask, "What kind of pie did you bring?"

And yep. He's just leaving that card right there too. It can sit there gathering dust for all of him. They can Not Talk About it till the end of time. Maybe someday Dean will pick it up, but it's his to pick up, leave behind, or not use at all.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Sure... and Hey Sam. How're you feelin'? The shirt looks like it's not long for this world..." Jo slides a cup over, giving Dean side-eye and a smirk, taking the beer and wrapping an arm around him. Does she know that Sam is being awkward around them? Does she know that Dean has said 'not girlfriend'? Possibly. Or she's just better at reading people than most.

"You're right there, about the Roadhouse and Mom can stomach a lot of things. Still this place doesn't smell much better. Need a hand, Sam?" Her eyes drop to the card on the counter. "Better put that in your wallet before you forget it, Dean." there's a frown though - it's in his name.

That's unusual.

Good thing Sam distracts her before she can say more "Uh, Apple and Rhubarb. Do you know how hard it is to find just plain pie in this city?" beat "Were you two celebrating or commiserating?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
When Jo wraps an arm around him, Dean does likewise. sidling up to her with a faint tick of his lips. There's something comfortable about the contact--a fact he wouldn't easily admit. Jo's offer to help prompts a lift of Dean's eyebrows.

But then. The card. "It's not mine," he states coolly. "It's Sam's. Baby bro may as well put it in his wallet." There's a spark in his eyes. Well that determines it. The debit card is likely o collect dust.

His arm that had easily slipped around Jo drops and he allows his chin to fall towards his chest as he slides away from the woman, the pie, and the counter. He sets the bottle down alongside the box and he turns on his heel towards the door. "I actually promised May I'd check in on a diner a few blocks out. Weird complaints," he shrugs.

"I'll be back later. Just..." he points towards the door. "Promised. I'll be back," he asserts again. He grabs the keys to the Impala from another spot on the counter and walks towards the door.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"No, I got it," Sam assures Jo.

But then Dean is coolly rejecting the card and taking off. A complex look flits over his face. 'Hurt' is the predominant emotion, but he wipes it away quickly. And does //not// put the card in his wallet. Stubbornly. That thing could very well sit there being a point of contention for //months// for all the brother's stubbornness.

He sighs. "I should have taken off so you guys could hang out," he says. "I was about to go take a shower anyway. If you want to go check out the diner with him it's fine by me, Jo, I'll take a shower and finish cleaning up the place and will be just fine." The edges of frustration in his voice cannot entirely be hidden, but they're certainly there. "Not that I'm running you out. You're also welcome to stay." They are friends in their own right, after all. He's just doing what he does, trying to be polite.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo leans into Dean, comfortable as he sidles on up, watching Sam and the cleaning. "If you're sure..." she says to him.

She can feel the tension in Deans body and the change in his attitude and then he's gone ... leaving the blonde looking confused and not a little hurt herself. She's not quite sure what just happened.

For a long moment, she just stands there staring at the door before she shakes herself and grabs a trash bag, collecting bottles and dropping them, noisely into it. "I came to see both of you. Not just him. I'll take off if you want to me, though. I didn't mean to break up brother time..."

Seems Sams going to have help with the cleaning. Even if it is rather loud help. "What was that about? If I can ask."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam heaves a sigh. "You weren't breaking up brother time," he assures her. "You're always welcome here. And brother time is a minefield anyway. That debit card is one of them."

Clank, clank go the beer bottles from both of them. There are a lot, and not just from last night's drinking binge. Sam takes a moment to take a swig of that coffee, hesitates, and decides to explain.

"He took care of me all my life. He raised me, you know? Dad didn't always make sure we had enough money or anything. I mean he'd leave us some, but it usually ran out before we ran out of things we had to spend it on."

He shakes his head. "For better or worse-- and I'm still not sure it's not worse-- I'm drawing a regular paycheck now. So I thought I'd share, you know? I set up a bank account for him; he automatically gets part of my checks. We've always shared everything. And sure, we have ways of getting our hands on funds without that, but...just...I wanted to take care of him back. And it backfired. Someone will probably be able to retire on that thing before Dean ever agrees to use it."

He shoots her a rueful glance before tying off his garbage bag. He'll get the dishes up and to the sink while they're at this, too. He seems to appreciate the help he'd declined. Nobody ever turns down cleaning help twice, not really.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo listens as she tidies. Stopping for a moment to pull her back into a ponytail and roll her sleeves up. "That man." she mutters when the story comes out. "He's still looking after you, Sam. Whether either of you want it, it's so ingrained in him, he can't see anything else. What you did was nice - specially given he didn't sign on like you did."

Oh yes, Jo knows about that. Knows that Dean's on contract, sort of.

"And I made it worse by mentioning it, didn't I? I'm ... I'm not sorry. What you did was nice, you know?" When Sam talks about how long it might be before Dean uses it, another look of pain crosses Jo's face and she gets real busy tying off the bag she's got.

"Possibly. Mans more stubborn than a mule. I can try to bring him round, if you like... not sure it'll help though." Placing the bag by the door, the blonde turns to the kitchen and starts to make inroads on the dishes. Anyone would think she does this for a living.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"He does get the contractor checks just like I used to, but that's not regular, and I think he's using check cashing places to actually convert those into money." Sam admits. "And no, don't. I don't want our stuff to put a divide between you guys."

He rolls up his sleeves and starts getting to work on washing the dishes. "He always takes care of me," Sam agrees. "And I don't know that it would be accurate to say I want him to stop, but...I don't know, Jo. I never can shake the feeling that I just took his entire life. Not by choice, not that it's my fault or anything, but no kid should have to raise another kid, and he did."

He pauses. He hesitates. And then..."I'm not going to let a Hellhound take him in a year though. You can count on that. Speaking of family members, how's your Mom? Is she mad you're out here?"

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"He's using something. When he came into the Roadhouse with cold hard cash, I didn't believe it was legitimate. Ask him where he got such a good forgery done." Jo smirks, takes a swig of the beer Dean had given her - it's midday //somewhere// in the world, possibly Australia, after all - and picks up a dishtowel. If Sams going to wash, she'll dry.

"I know you feel like that and your Dad has a lot to answer for. But you can't change what's gone before, Sam. So quit trying. Look forward, and make a difference there. If you want to put money away for him, do it. You never know when he'll need it."

She doesn't say anything about speaking to Dean though. She will, when the time is right. She's not one to let him get away with being plain dumb, not without thinking about it.

The mention of the hellhound has her fumbling a dish and blue eyes rising to the meet the Hunters. "You know? He swore me to secrecy, said you didn't..." It's all there, in that look. Her worry and how scared she is, for Dean. "Ellens recovering after the possession. Headed back to the Roadhouse when SHIELD released her. She was mad when I took off the first time, but the not so much the second. We talked a bit. I think she understands."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Yeah, I know," Sam says grimly. "He ended up dropping enough clues for me to put something together. Even if he hadn't, I got all my memories back after South Dakota, so that would have at least tipped me off to the whole 'I spent some time dead thing.'"

Her advice is good advice. Finally, baby bro puts the card back in his own wallet. Maybe Dean will get enough consulting jobs to not need it, though it's hard to know when he keeps feeling the need to take off on stuff SHIELD may not pay him for. It was a clumsy move, all told, but an earnest one.

Then again, earnest-but-clumsy could occasionally describe entire parts of Sam's whole MO when it comes to people who are actually close to him. The ones he's good with are the ones who will never see him again after the bad thing is killed.

"I'm glad she's okay. She's tough, so I didn't doubt she'd bounce back, but all the same...possession. I'm glad you and she got to clear the air a little bit."

He starts chuckling suddenly, as a thought occurs to him. "Looks like you and I both get grumpy parent-figures to wrangle." Just. Jo's is actually her parent.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"I'm glad. I only promised to not tell you till I had to..." she shakes her head again, starting to look a little annoyed "Man is so stubborn. Took him long enough to ask me to come with him. Spend what time he had, together." The 'not girlfriend' nods as he puts the card away. It might be needed and Jo won't let it lie, but that's a good move on Sams part.

"Yeah, possession. Moms more pissed about that than my jaunt." The chuckle gets a look and the blonde sighs "I get to deal with them both. Just one of them, I'm sleeping with... Well I might not be, given he just walked out on me." Deans going to have to deal with the blonde for that behaviour.

There's a pause as she dries the dishes and looks out into the middle distance "... Do you really think you can stop the hellhounds when they come?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam hesitates. He says, "I have a plan. And it's a good one. Dean will hate it, which is why I'm not telling him about it. And I don't want to put you in a bad position, but I also don't want you sitting there stressing thinking nothing's being done. I've told him this much already, he knows I have some sort of plan so. I'm not asking you to keep secrets from him or anything."

He clears his throat on that one, offering dish after dish. There are a lot of dishes. If they hadn't done this today the next logical step would have been eating food on the back of tupperware lids. Which is just the end of the line as far as adulting goes. It's already happened twice.

"Did he tell you about the angel yet?"

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"I want know, Sam" Jo says quietly "Help if I can. What I tell Dean is up to me." she sighs and keeps drying as they talk "I don't know if what we have is long term, but I'd rather have more than a year."

She hasn't spoken about this with anyone. Not even Dean, really. They'd agreed to use the time he had together but that doesn't mean she doesn't want more. Maybe.

Tupperware lids? How about Out of the packs. No washing up to be done then.

"Angel? "

Sam Winchester has posed:
"His name's Castiel. He says he left Heaven because he doesn't like something that's brewing. He also appointed himself as Dean's guardian angel, though who knows how good he'll be at it."

And yes, Sam totally went //there// instead of revealing his plan. What Jo tells Dean //is// up to her, but if she tells him the wrong thing, Dean might stop him. And that, Sam can't abide. So he keeps right on scrubbing the dishes, adding, "We met him last night. He was shadowing us. Badly." He shakes his head, trying to reconcile the thousands-year old guardian angel with bad shadowing. "We're going to try to corner him for a few more answers soon. It seems like there's all these weird factions that are drawing us all into this or that scheme. Seems wise to get what information we can."

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Dean has a what? " For the moment Sams ploy works and Jo is distracted. The air of hurt and worry changing to amusement" God knows he needs one.... " She giggles a bit at her own pun.

"Factions of Angels? Now I've heard everything." the look Sam gets now says that's she's not forgotten though and the Hunter might need to watch his shadow.

"How, exactly, do you find an Angel? Pray loudly? "

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Apparently. That's in fact what he told Dean to do," Sam says with amusement. "Just call my name, I'll hear you, he said. I don't doubt that he will, or can. He's a weird duck. But it's a little funny, watching him get frustrated with Dean. He kept growling 'you ass,' at him. Cause you know how Dean is, he pokes and pokes and jokes until people who don't know what to expect finally lose it. Apparently? It works on angels too."

The dishes are complete at long last, and he says. "Well. I hate to let that pie you brought go to waste. I'm ready to dig in, how about you?"