kore_logs | you might come, and you might break me

Entry tags:

you might come, and you might break me

Who: Dean, Jo, and Jo's ghost.
When: Day 126
Where: The kitchen
What: Dean's trying to make something to eat, when Jo's "ghost" appears to him.
Warnings: Talk of death, maybe suicide or suggestions of it; not actually sure yet, but just in case.

Dean isn't really thinking about anything in particular as he finds something worth making in the kitchen, but it doesn't matter, really, because these things are usually just underneath the surface anyway. Lately he's been getting flirtier with Meg, and it's... a thing that's happening, that's been building up for a little while now. It isn't like it's serious; all it means is that he's upgraded her from tolerable to maybe something like a friend.

Which means that he's betraying Jo and Ellen, which hurts like hell, and no matter what they say to him, really, he's convinced that he's on shaky ground and this is just... it. Ellen could talk to him at least, look him in the eye, but Dean feels like he can never go back to whatever home the Harvelles might set up. He can visit but not stay; that's how he sees it, anyway, how he feels.

He switches the oven on so it can start preheating, and that's when he hears her.

"Going to finish what I couldn't?"

That's Jo's voice behind him, but there's something sharp to it; he turns around, and then freezes. That isn't Jo, unless Jo's been attacked by hellhounds recently and up and walking around to talk about it. His stomach turns, and even if he can recognize that this isn't really happening, he's sucked into it for the time being.

"Jo?"

"What, you don't recognize me?" She looks down at her blood-stained shirt and back, eyebrows lifted, accusation curled up in a dark smile. "I thought you'd recognize what you did."

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It had been awhile now since Jo had started going out of her way to keep her distance. It was just easier, for both of them, she imagined. There was no compromise to be had. The rift between them had been caused by a number of factors, but the one that made it near impossible to close was an issue they would probably never see eye-to-eye on. It was easier, then, to stay away and spare both of them needless frustration.

Distance, of course, brought on a whole new kind of frustration and maybe even allowed for resentment to be seeded, but she was convinced it was better.

Their living situations had changed, however, which meant that avoiding each other was going to be more difficult than it had been back in town. She was almost prepared to do a u-turn when she caught a quick glimpse of him in the kitchen, but stopped when she heard another voice there speaking to him. One that was uncomfortably familiar. Her voice.

Frowning, she slowly but deliberately walked into the kitchen to find Dean standing there looking at what had to be the worst possible version of her, and she found herself looking from one to the other for a moment before she could speak. "What...?"

He was already aware that this wasn't the real Jo, but seeing the real one doesn't make any of this better, either. His eyes are still wide when he looks over at her, and his mouth opens to answer, but nothing comes out; he can only shake his head, too shaken from what he's seen already and also not into the idea of Jo having to watch... whatever this is.

"You know what this is," the ghost -- which is what Dean thinks it is -- says, and she gives Jo a quick smile, but her eyes flick back to Dean almost immediately.

"This is what he did. To you. To us. We were family, and he let us down. He couldn't save us."

It took her a moment to find her voice to speak, unsure of how to respond or if she should do so at all -- though the thing in front of her looked every bit the part of a ghost, it wasn't possible. She was standing right there. Finally, she shook her head and found the words, though they came soft and halting, uncertain.

"It wasn't his fault," she said, "And you're not real. You can't be."

"Jo," Dean says quietly, and he isn't sure what it's supposed to be. Asking for her help, or asking for her to leave, or asking for her not to interfere with this -- all of the above, maybe. And an apology too. She shouldn't have to see this, whatever it is.

"I'm real enough. And he's guilty. He knows he is. Remember, Dean?" Her eyes get brighter, sharper. "We've been through this one before. You were tried, and you were sentenced. I never did get to finish what I started."

Dean shakes his head, even if this had been what he'd almost wanted Jo to say to him when she came to kill him that night. That isn't what he really wanted, obviously, and everything Jo had really said was obviously better, but -- this is what he deserved to hear.

"Don't do this, Jo." There's a note of fear in his voice now as he talks to the ghost. "Let her get out of here first."

"Sentenced? What are you talking about?"

She's never been told that particular story, and despite Dean's protests on her behalf, she doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Now it's her turn to shake her head, stubborn and resilient as ever as she stares her spectral mirror down. It can't be her ghost, because she's right here. She just has to keep telling herself that.

"I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you alone with this-- whatever she is. She's not me, that's for damn sure."

The ghost -- reflection -- image -- whatever of Jo just smiles icily, almost like she thinks Jo's protests are funny, and she turns back to Dean, inclining her head.

"Yeah, Dean. What are you talking about? Why don't you tell her?" It's phrased like a question, but it's edged enough to send a shiver down Dean's spine.

He swallows thickly, then closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to look at either of them.

"There was this Egyptian god. He -- He put people on trial for the things they did. Decided if they were guilty or not." That's not the way it really worked, but that's as far as Dean can get right now.

It wasn't a whole lot of information, but she didn't need the exact details. She could piece the rest together. Dean being put on trial for things he was responsible for. Clearly, she had been a part of it.

"He asked you about me?" she asks, almost hesitant. It hadn't been his fault. Even now, here with the opportunity to look back on the situation and find a way to point blame if she really wanted to, she didn't blame him. Jumping into the fray to save him had been her choice. What came afterwards had been the consequences.

"Oh, he didn't just ask, did he, Dean? We made an appearance." Jo looked a hell of a lot better then than she does now, but she still looked... well, dead. Dean swallows thickly, his head ducked, not looking at either one of them. There are way too many Jos floating around in his head: the real one, this ghost thing, and the ghost at the trial, who was way nicer than this other one, at least.

"You were a witness," he says thickly. "He put you on the stand, and you tried to stick up for me."

But it wasn't Jo's opinion that got Dean convicted. He can almost hear the fake Jo sneer.

"Not that it mattered. It wasn't what we thought that mattered, but what Dean thought. It just so happened that he was right, though. He is guilty."

"No, he's not."

The answer is sharp, immediate. It's something she's thought about before, something that's weighed on her as she's looked back and examined her decisions, her actions. She's had a lot of time to do that since she first got here. More than she would have otherwise, she imagines. If she were really dead, if she'd gone to whatever afterlife awaited her, she probably wouldn't have been so troubled by the past.

Jo shakes her head as she moves forward, gravitating towards Dean. "He's not guilty. What happened wasn't his fault. He didn't free the hellhounds, and he didn't make me go back for him. It's not his fault."

Dean's watching Jo defend him, almost scared, and even though she's saying good things? It still hurts. Everything hurts, and yeah, that makes no sense; Jo defending him somehow hurts as much as Jo accusing him, and Dean can only stand here and feel knives going in him, no matter what they say.

"But what about now? He's awfully cozy with the person who did release those hellhounds."

He shrinks, hunching in on himself.

That's a much more complicated manner, and it shows. It gives Jo pause, and her defense isn't immediate this time. What more can she say about that? She's already said so much, made it known just how much it feels like a betrayal, but condemning him...

That's not right, either. It's hurt their relationship, possibly beyond repair, but she doesn't hate him. Just his choices, and even then, hate feels like too strong a word.

"I died to protect him from her," she begins slowly, very careful not to look at Dean as she does so, "So yes, it hurts. But things have changed. I don't agree with it. I probably never will, but--"

She swallows her before she can manage the next part.

"I've been gone a long time. What Dean does none of my business anymore."

It hurts to say. It's more dismissive than she would like-- but it's the only way she can get herself to come to terms with it. She's not a part of things anymore. Not the way she feels she and Ellen should have been. It's not how she expected things to end up, but it's out of her hands. Time has passed, decisions have been made, and different paths have been chosen. There's no changing that now.

It's dismissive, but it could have been so much worse; he'd been braced for that, actually, been waiting for her to change her mind and attack Dean the way she should. Dismissing him hurts; cutting him out of her life in that way hurts, but maybe if she cuts him out, she can find a way to move on. That'd been what he thought Ellen wanted, after all.

The ghost loses some of its power then, flickering, unstable. The sight of that vulnerability gets Dean in motion again, and he fumbles around in the kitchen until he finds the frying pans. He pulls out an iron skillet and swings it at the ghost, and she disappears. Or, she disappears because Dean's mind believes a ghost ought to disappear when iron touches it. That, too. Dean just thinks it's the ghost thing.

He waits a few moments to see if she's going to come back, but when she doesn't, he tries to smile, but it's very weak.

"That was weird." Ha. Ha? Heh...

She doesn't manage a smile in reply. It feels inappropriate, somehow, and even if she wanted to, she doesn't think she could pull it off. For a moment, she just stares at the spot where the so-called ghost had stood, then folds her arms and looks back to Dean, pressing her lips together into a thin line.

She can see the effect her words had on him, and it doesn't feel great-- but that's the way it is, isn't it?

"I've been seeing them, too."

That is the way things are, but Dean's accepted them. If that wasn't true, that not-ghost would still be here. And right now, even though it's gone, he wants space between them. She saw and heard way more than he wanted, way more than he ever intended.

"What -- ghosts?" Yes, let's change the subject, sort of.

"Yeah. I've heard other people mention them, too." Though nobody has been too forthcoming with the details. She can't blame them. These things seem to like to-- well. Get personal.

She shifts her weight, uncomfortable. "There have been a few of them. They all seem to go right for the jugular."

He snorts, but it's broken, and he turns his head, trying to keep her from seeing him. The problem is she's seen too much of him now.

"Yeah, apparently. Look, Jo. I'm... I'm sorry you saw that."

"It's--"

She cuts herself off after a moment and sighs, shaking her head as she closes herself off, arms folded and looking a whole like like she has no intention to move. Not immediately, anyway.

"Look, it's not big. We've all got crap to deal with. It's fine." She pauses for a moment before offering an addendum. "You know I don't..."

She presses her lips together, fighting back another sigh.

"I don't hate you or anything, Dean. You know that, right?"

Did he? Probably. Maybe. He couldn't say he'd been sure one way or the other before today, though. He chances a look in her direction, but it's short and then he's keeping his eyes carefully away from her.

"Sure. We're family, right?"

"Yeah. We're family."

But it feels hollow. She can't say she's felt at all like family since coming here, with the exception of Sam. Sam, who conceded that she had a right to be hurt. To feel the way that she did. He, too, acknowledged the divide.

She pauses before moving forward, stiffly, but relaxes enough to put her arms around his middle. It doesn't need an explanation. It's been too long since they've spoken, let alone hugged, but now, it feels appropriate.

It does feel hollow. Dean has a hard time acknowledging other peoples' right to hurt because he gets so caught up in his vision of how the world should be, how it should go; he stuffs aside his own feelings a lot, enough, that he has a difficult time not getting it when other people don't do the same thing. He's not upset with Jo, though, just sad, almost sad and resigned.

He puts his arms around her and sets his chin on her head and hugs her, and if it starts out stiff, it warms up, and he spreads his hand out on her back, holding her close.

There's too much to say, maybe, but he thinks the hug says enough. Things are hard right now, but he'll be here for her, always. She's still the same person she was to him.

She lets them stay that way for a moment, standing in silence and just letting the embrace and what it means sink in. It says more than they themselves would be able to right now. Eventually, however, she has to pull away, and though she's slow to do so, she finally releases him, looking anywhere but directly at him when she takes a step back.

"I should--"

She hates to think of it as making a retreat, but as much as she wants to leave, she's sure that his need for her to go is even greater.

"I should leave you be for awhile. But if you need me-- I'm... I'm around."

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you might come, and you might break me

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