And with a good bye, there she goes

“And with a good bye, there she goes”

Supernatural

Jo, Dean/Jo

Summary: You never ask questions, and you never cry.

Note: Title from “Virginia” by Tori Amos (the song on repeat while I was writing)

You stop asking questions the day your mother tells you your father is in heaven.

She strokes your hair as her eyes well up with tears. She whispers.

Daddy is in heaven now.

And you wonder when she started believing in heaven.

You accept this life as you grow older. You lose the pigtails, but keep the curls. You start shopping in the juniors section in the mall, but keep the grass stains on your knees. You smile and wink at the boys, but still give them a hard jab in the stomach if they look back at you the wrong way.

You help out at the Roadhouse after school and on weekends. You hear the hunters--men your father knew--tell your mother you’re looking more and more like a lady.

I’ll show them what kind of lady I am.

You hustle them in poker (Nate taught you that). You look up the names that circulate from their mouths (Ash taught you that). You perfect your swing with each throw of the knife until it hits the bullseye (Stan taught you that). You don’t flinch when the bullet explodes from the rifle and shatters the glass bottle (Gordon taught you that).

You never ask questions, and you never cry.

Your mother taught you that.

The day after you walk way from Dean and Sam Winchester, you toss your entire life in a duffel bag and leave the Roadhouse.

Your mother refuses to speak to you before you go, but she’s not stopping you. You know the truth now.

Your father is not in heaven.

You find yourself in another city, another bar. Instead of cleaning up your mother’s tables, these tables belong to a guy named Dick. The name suits him.

He makes you work late every night. You hate it, but you’re used to it. You still get out at a decent enough time to hunt. Decent being two or three in the morning.

Tonight you kick out the last customers and start picking up. You hear the door open and a pair of heavy footsteps. There’s always a straggler, and as you turn around you realize this isn’t your normal latecomer.

Sam Winchester tilts his head, cracks a smile, and says hi.

Later on, you find out he isn’t Sam.

As you stand there bound to the pole, head pulsating, you also find out you have a lot in common with your father.

This time it’s Dean who walks away from you. He let you go the first time. Might as well return the favor and not go after him either.

And even though he said he would call, he didn’t. You don’t try to call him. What’s the use?

You get sick of Dick and move to a new city, new bar. There are new tables, new customers, new leads, new hunts.

One day, your phone rings. It’s Dean.

Better late than never.

You meet them outside of Omaha, not too far from where the Roadhouse used to stand. You spend the night comforting your mother. She weeps for the bar, the men inside, for Ash. She tells you about what happened at Cold Oak, then her voice goes soft like the day she told you about your father being in heaven.

I saw him, Jo. John. I saw him. He saved his boys--us--and then there was this light. It was so beautiful.

She lets out a sigh like she’s remembering your father, but all you can remember is the demon inside Sam using his voice to taunt you.

My daddy shot your daddy in the head.

John Winchester is in heaven while your father burns in hell.

You’re shaking when Dean tries to kiss you. You turn your head and his lips find your cheek instead. He pulls away, eyes wide.

He should be stunned. It’s only been three weeks since your reunion. He hasn’t apologized for Duluth. Neither has Sam.

It’s not like you want their apology anyway. You just want them to acknowledge the fact that it had happened and that things were different now.

I’m not that girl anymore.

Dean tries again. His lips brush your lower jaw, but you step back.

His face grows cold, angry at the rejection.

Why? Why now?

But, you don’t ask him. You’re afraid of his answer. You’re afraid he won’t have one.

Dean ends up telling you on his own.

I made a deal. I only have one year.

He’s shaking as you kiss him. Mouths open, and you taste fear and sadness and regret.

Is it yours or is it Dean’s?

With each kiss, you begin to forgive.

When he enters you--slow and easy--you forget.

The days grow shorter. The night stretches for too long.

You and Dean lay side by side on the hood of the Impala and stare up at the black sky. The stars twinkle for you, for him.

There is life out there, not just here.

Dean’s hand dusts your arm and he lets it rest on your wrist.

The two of you don’t say anything. That’s what you like about these moments. No countdown, no memories, just the here and now.

You fall asleep in his arms, and when you wake up, the sky is orange. You lay still, and listen to Dean’s heart beat beneath his chest, the way he slowly inhales, exhales, and you don’t have to wonder anymore.

This is when you start believing in heaven.

THE END