Jukebox Tales - II

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Authors: Silverspoon & Welshwitch1011

Title: Jukebox Tales - 'Real Good Man'

Disclaimer: We own nothing except fertile imaginations, and a little crush on Tim McGraw.

Here it is guys, the second part of our 'Jukebox Tales' series. We hope you like it!

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and her heartbeat picked up just a little in response. Despite the facts that the last customer had already left, the tables had been wiped down, and the bar stools stacked, Dean continued to loiter. He hovered about Jo as she flicked the switch that turned off the flashing sign that read 'Harvelle's Roadhouse' and locked the main doors.

As he continued to follow at her heels whilst she completed her nightly inspection of the bar, Jo cast him a somewhat irritated glare; he was getting under her feet, and the twelve hour shift she had just pulled alone was beginning to take a toll on her temper.

“You need help with those crates?” Dean inquired, clearing his throat as he ran his hand over the back of his neck and widened his eyes.

“No, they can stay there,” Jo replied, her expression quizzical as she stared back at Dean. She wondered briefly why he had not ventured to his room when Sam had headed up almost three hours ago. However, she had not wanted to appear rude by voicing the question, and the roadhouse had been busy enough to keep her wandering mind more than occupied.

“You uh... you want a game of pool or something?” he attempted, smiling lamely as Jo stared at him askance. She stabbed one finger at the clock on the wall and Dean's smile faded.

“Dean, it's almost two in the morning, I'm pretty tired,” she said, adding a soft laugh to the tail end of her protest in a poor attempt to contain her nerves.

All evening, she had felt Dean's eyes boring into her as he sat in the corner of the bar and nursed the same glass of whiskey. Since Duluth, the brothers had been more frequent visitors to the roadhouse, and each stay seemed to last longer than the previous one. Jo had tried not to over think the matter yet as she and Dean spent more time together, the banter between them grew more flirtatious just as their stolen glances grew ever more intense.

Snatching up a damp cloth, Jo strode over toward the booths and busied herself with cleaning down the nearest table for the second time since closing.

“Right.” Dean nodded, jamming his hands in the pocket of his jeans as he leaned on the bar, partially blocking Jo's way. She attempted to skirt around him and sighed in frustration as he inadvertently mirrored her steps in an effort to move out of her way.

“Dean,” Jo swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she found Dean staring down at her intently. In that moment, the feeling had all but left Jo's knees, and she gripped onto the bar in an effort to prevent them giving way beneath her.

Wincing at his sudden inability to speak, Dean cocked his head to regard her. A smile lit up his face as he became momentarily lost within the recesses of her brown eyes. “I... I uh... I just... I thought maybe...”

“Dean, it's late, I'm tired... could you save the whole ‘Rain Man’ routine for another night?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean answered, blinking rapidly. He straightened up and stepped to one side, clearing Jo's path to the stairs and her escape. However, Jo found her heart almost sinking as she realised that right there, could have been a moment; perhaps not one as significant as she would have liked, but a moment nonetheless.

“Dean, I...” Jo began, pushing her hair behind her ears and licking her lips nervously. Dean's hand shot out from his side and cradled Jo's chin in his palm.

“You've got the prettiest eyes...” Dean breathed. Jo's mouth almost fell open as she observed the pure sentiment behind Dean's words and the fact that, for once, his ever present and insurmountable personal wall seemed to have been lowered.

Jo took a step forward, hesitant at first, until Dean responded with a single, measured stride of his own that almost brought the couple nose to nose. Jo covered the remaining distance and, as she stared up transfixed into Dean's chiselled features, his arms somehow found their way around her waist.

In almost perfect unison, their lips inched together without ever actually making contact. Jo closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath against her skin, but the moment his lips finally pressed against hers, the sound of heavy footfalls wrenched the couple apart.

“Are you guys still up, I...” Sam interrupted, shuffling through to the bar as he rubbed his eyes and suddenly paused in an effort to process the scene before him.

“Son of a...” Dean cursed under his breath, watching in exasperation as Sam's timely interruption caused Jo's head to drop in embarrassment, and a deep pink flush rose up her cheeks.

“Sorry you guys,” Sam winced, guessing by the murderous glare Dean was currently shooting in his direction that he may soon regret the consequences of his interruption.

“I should head up to bed,” Jo stammered, ducking her head as she shot Dean a smile and then tried her hardest to avoid Sam's gaze. Seconds later, she could be heard retreating upstairs to her bedroom at speed, and Dean folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow in distinct irritation at his sibling.

“You and Jo, huh?” Sam asked, although his question verged more on a statement. Nodding his head, he wasn't able to suppress the knowing, slightly smug smile that twitched at his lips as he watched Dean shrug.

Starting upstairs, Dean muttered angrily, “Shut up, Sammy.”

                                                                       x-x-x-x

Jo grabbed the bottle of tequila and attempted to fill the shot glass that sat on the bar top before her. Unfortunately, in her present inebriated state, Jo was finding it difficult to discern which of the several glasses that swam in and out of her focus were the real one. As a result, she tipped the almost empty bottle up only to pour a good quantity of the alcohol onto the counter itself.

“Damn it,” Jo grumbled, her tone thoroughly dejected. Miserably, she ran the tip of her index finger through the puddle of liquor she had created, and then popped it into her mouth.

It had been two weeks since what Jo liked to refer to as 'the incident' with Dean had occurred. The following morning, she had awoken to find the Impala and both Winchesters gone, and a hastily scrawled note tacked to the refrigerator. Jo's heart had sunk immediately upon seeing the three small words Dean had left her with; “I'll call you.”

 After a week had elapsed with unsurprisingly no word from either Sam or Dean, Jo's sorrow had turned to full blown anger, and she had allowed herself to be coerced by a group of hunters into a rare night out in a neighbouring town. There, she had met Todd; the son of a wealthy factory owner who was apparently a leading figure in the world of concrete production.

Though not remotely interested in forgetting herself in the arms of another man, Jo had tentatively agreed to go on a date with Todd. Dinner at a local restaurant had been pleasant, if not a mildly boring affair, and when he had tried to kiss her at the end of the evening, she had made her excuses and promptly ducked inside the doorway of the roadhouse.

She had of course noted the intrigued yet disdainful gaze he had bestowed upon her childhood home, and she had filed it away as yet another reason this brief flirtation would come to nothing. She had resolved to give him the obligatory 'this isn't going to work out' speech the next time she saw him and thought little more about the whole situation.

Nine days after their rather sudden departure, Jo finally received word from Sam and Dean, stating that they were hunting a changeling in Indiana and would be returning to the roadhouse when they were through. The news that they were there helping out an ex- conquest of Dean's was far less well received.

Consequently, despite an only mild attraction, and a list of reasons as long as her arm as to why they were simply not compatible, Jo had agreed to a second date with Todd. An act which now, in hind site, she realised had been entirely ill-advised.

“Lisa...” Jo rolled her eyes at the name, and she glared with misplaced anger at her glass, downing the shot with a grimace.

Becoming vaguely aware of the sound of footfalls in the doorway, Jo held up her hand and shouted in a slur toward the offending intruder, “We're closed!”

“Well I can see that,” a familiar, husky voice drawled from the doorway. Jo immediately sat up a little straighter and, with the action, almost toppled herself off the barstool. Attempting to muster as much dignity as she had left, Jo turned to regard the Winchester brothers as they stood upon the threshold of the roadhouse, bags in hand and wearing identical expressions of amusement.

“Get out...” Jo directed, sniffing as she turned away from the hunters and affixed her watery gaze upon the glass.

She noted that the bottle in front of her was now empty and, somewhat impatiently, began to wait for the brothers to leave before she attempted to retrieve another one.

“Maybe we should go,” Sam suggested, touching one hand to Dean's arm in warning. Dean shrugged off Sam's hand and shook his head, attempting to hide the smirk that played fleetingly across his lips.

“Ellen said we could stay Sammy, and it's another two hours drive to the nearest motel,” Dean said, arching an eyebrow as he stared at Jo, “we stay. If the princess over there is still pissy tomorrow, I guess we can leave then.”

“Fine,” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he strolled into the roadhouse and breezed straight through to the back. Offering Jo a wary smile, Sam disappeared from sight, leaving Dean and the drunkenly swaying blonde hunter in solitude.

“Okay then,” Dean said, his tone patronising, “I think someone's had enough.”

“You're not my mother...” Jo protested, hopping down from her perch on the stool and almost sinking to the floor as one foot became hampered by the other. Cursing under her breath, Jo finally managed to coax her feet into obeying her, and ambled behind the bar to locate another bottle of tequila. Dean watched in silence, arms folded across his broad chest.

“Speaking of, where is she?” he inquired, stepping into the bar and closing the door behind him, “I'm guessing she's out of town since you're down here in the wee small hours drinking away her profits.”

“She's gone to a wholesalers, she'll be back Tuesday,” Jo managed to relay, leaning unsteadily on the bar as she rested her head on her arms and sighed.

“So what's with the bottle of tequila?” Dean asked, smiling wryly as he located a second, half empty bottle beside her arm and promptly corrected himself, “bottles of tequila.”

“Like you care,” Jo scoffed, wiping away a renegade tear that she had been trying her up-most to keep at bay.

“You know I do,” he seemed vaguely hurt, and sat down next to her on the neighbouring barstool, as she glanced up at him derisively and snorted.

“Yeah, right,” she exclaimed, her jaw tensing in anger as she went to pour another drink and found her hand being restrained by Dean's.

“Jo... seriously, you're gonna feel like ass in the morning if you keep this up,” he warned, smiling as he added, “I speak from experience.”

“In all areas,” she muttered, ignoring the quizzical frown she received in reply.

“Come on, let's get you into bed... I mean, up to bed,” he recovered quickly, attempting to manoeuvre her off of the bar stool with a gentle hand of encouragement.

“Ow, Dean,” she exclaimed suddenly, wincing as she peered down at her reddened, swollen hand with a suitably petulant pout.

“You been throwing punches again, Harvelle?” Dean narrowed his eyes, recognising the pattern of bruises on her hand that could only have come from aiming a blow at something, or someone.

“Todd,” she murmured irritably, groaning at the memory of her ill-fated love affair.

“What's a 'Todd'?” Dean asked suspiciously, suddenly hit with the realisation that he might not like where Jo's story was headed. A pang of jealousy began to rise up from his gut, but he tried to muster a nonchalant expression.

“Just some guy I was dating,” Jo shrugged, closing her eyes at the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame her. She sat up straighter in her seat, watching the bar swirl in kaleidoscope like patterns.

“Wait, what?” Dean blinked, putting his hand over the rim of her shot glass as she moved to refill it.

“A guy I was dating,” Jo repeated, rolling her eyes and sighing as Dean seized both the glass and the bottle, then peered at her in abject confusion.

“Well... when in the hell did all this happen?” he demanded, “we're gone, what? Ten days, and now you're playing 'Romeo and Juliet' with some assbutt named 'Todd’?”

“You have a good time at Lisa's?” Jo countered evenly, and she arched an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest; a gesture that would have been considerably more threatening had she not also been swaying.

“What?” Dean shook his head as if not comprehending how the two could possibly be related, “what's that got to do with anything?”

Jo let out a shriek of exasperation and clambered down from the stool. “Are you dense, Winchester?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

Dean took a second to consider the accusation and then shrugged. “Apparently. So you wanna fill me in sweetheart? Because you and the worm here stopped making sense about five minutes ago.”

He gestured to the liquor bottle and promptly tossed it in the crate of empties.

“Never mind,” Jo grumbled, suddenly backing down from the argument. Dean gaped at her, shaking his head as he slipped the shot glass under the bar counter.

“Ok, well, bedtime,” Dean ordered, ignoring Jo's loud protests as he suddenly swept her up into his arms and headed towards the stairs.

“I can walk,” Jo practically snarled, clearly having difficulty in focusing on Dean's features despite her outrage. She added as a quiet afterthought, “I don't feel so good.”

Dean winced, quickening his pace as he climbed the stairs in order to reach the top that much sooner. When they finally reached the darkened hallway, Jo's head was resting against his chest. Dean kicked the door of the room he knew to be her bedroom open and flicked the light switch with his elbow.

Bright light flooded the room, throwing into focus an evidently home-made patchwork quilt, and a collection of stuffed teddy bears lining a chest of drawers. Dean's eyes were drawn instantly to the bears, but he bit back a sarcastic comment and the smirk that threatened to overcome him. Carefully, he laid Jo on the bed and began working to remove her boots. The hunter simply lay there for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet, and when Dean glanced up to ensure her well being, he was met with the sight of Joanna Harvelle silently crying. Dean's heart hammered to a halt in his chest, and he found himself thoroughly disconcerted.

“Guess you really liked this Todd, huh?” he asked softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and shooting her a sympathetic smile. Jo shook her head and hid her face in her hands.

“No,” she sniffled, not seeing the thoroughly confused expression that rapidly settled on his features.

Dean went to speak, but then fell silent and when he finally managed to find the words they did little more than induce further weeping from Jo's direction.

“So then why did you date the guy?” he asked, clearly not understanding when a further series of sobs racked her body.

“Because of you,” she managed, rubbing at her eyes as she tried to stem further tears. Letting Dean know he had gotten to her had never been part of her plan; although any coherent thoughts had admittedly gone out of her head after the fourth or fifth shot.

“Me?” he shook his head, gently prising her hands away from her face and edging that little bit closer to her, “look Jo, I can be blamed for a lot of things...but you and this...Todd?”

He wrinkled his nose derisively, unable to help himself from demanding, “What the hell kind of name is Todd?”

“I'm so stupid,” Jo groaned, turning her head into her pillow as she avoided his gaze in order to salvage any last traces of self-respect she could, “I thought... I thought you and I were... ughh, I don't know what I thought.”

Dean frowned as he nodded in agreement, “I kind of thought we were too.”

Silence settled upon them, until Jo leant up on her elbows and stared at him in disbelief, “What?”

Dean fidgeted at the intensity of her stare and he cleared his throat as he found her eyes still affixed upon his.

“I thought...” Dean began, uncertainty evident in his tone, “well, I kind of figured you and I were headed for something. Guess I was wrong, huh?!”

“Ughh!” Jo yelled, throwing the pillow over her head as she released a muffled threat, “Dean Winchester, I could kill you!”

He ignored her threat and stood from the bed, heading to the bathroom adjoined to her room. He returned moments later with a glass of water, which he pressed into Jo’s hand.

“Huh?” he finally managed as Jo sipped at the water, and succeeded in spilling half of the glass down her front before she rested it on the nightstand.

“You!” she hissed, suddenly sitting bolt upright and affixing Dean with a murderous stare. “You show up here with your damn shiny car and your... your damn tight jeans, and your…cassette collection and you save the world.”

Her tone ended up somewhere between wondrous and accusing, and Dean found himself stumped to keep up. Suddenly, Jo jabbed a finger into the centre of his chest and her tirade began again.

“You're all charming and handsome and... dangerous... and you make me like you,” she accused, eyes narrowing as though the impassioned speech made perfect sense to her own mind. “And then when I think, 'hey, here's a good guy... a real nice guy who'll look past the bar, and my mother, and the shotgun collection'... you get in your stupid car in your stupid jeans with your stupid brother and you go running to save Lisa... stupid... Lisa...”

“It was her son, actually, but...” Dean began, falling silent once again as she released another shrill, squeal of anger.

“I thought you liked me, okay?” she added quietly, picking at the pattern on the comforter beneath her, “and not like a little sister, not like some schoolgirl who has a crush on you... I thought... You know what? It's late, never mind.”

Although the prospect of escaping the present conversation was appealing, Dean forced himself to stay and straighten out the confusion that had managed to pass between them.

“Jo... nothing happened between me and Lisa,” Dean shook his head, as if the idea had never so much as crossed his mind, “it's not like that. Her son was in trouble, she needed help. That's all there was to it... although do I want to know what happened between you and Todd?”

“Nothing,” she replied simply, taking a further gulp of water and rubbing her hand over her forehead at the headache rapidly forming.

“Aspirin?” Dean questioned, glancing around her room.

“Night stand... top drawer,” she relayed, lying back against the pillows and groaning at her own stupidity.

“So... why'd you hit the guy?” Dean asked, his features suddenly clouding over in suspicion as he reached into the drawer beside him and rummaged around for the bottle of pain killers.

“He wanted to be friends,” Jo replied, pausing in order to swallow the pills that Dean offered her. Dean affixed her with a frown and arched an eyebrow.

“Ok, little harsh on your part, Jo.” Dean stated, trailing off as Jo chuckled and shook her head.

“Special friends... friends that have sleepovers...” she said dryly, shaking her head as Dean stared back at her askance. “Apparently I’m not the type of girl he’d like to take home to Mom, but I’ll do for scratching his Saturday night itch in the backseat of his car. He put the moves on, and so I hit him.”

Dean glowered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he ground his teeth together.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, as if about to stand from the bed, “now I wanna punch him.”

“Dean...” Jo sighed, rolling her eyes and managing a brief smile as she placed her hand on his wrist in a restraining gesture, “I think I punched him hard enough for the both of us.”

“Yeah? Well good,” Dean growled, slipping his wrist slowly from Jo's grasp so that he could tentatively curl his fingers around hers.

“And he's a loser... you're worth better than that Jo,” he murmured, watching his thumb begin to brush hesitant circles across her palm, “any guy who's with you should know what a lucky son of a bitch he is.”

“Was that a compliment, Dean Winchester?” Jo inquired with a playful smile, rubbing once again at her forehead as she willed the Aspirin to begin to take effect soon.

“Just being honest,” he shrugged, avoiding her eyes and clearing his throat as he spurred himself to continue, “and I do like you, Jo... I like you a lot. And for the record, I've never thought of you as my little sister, or a schoolgirl. I don't even know where you got that idea into your head. You think I'd go around kissing my sister? This isn't 'Deliverance', sweetheart.”

He smiled, trying to lighten the moment and she grinned in response, momentarily forgetting the insistent swirling in her stomach.
“You never did kiss me,” Jo said suddenly, a cunning smile creeping in place across her lips. Dean peered down at her, returning her smile with a mischievous glint present in his eye.

“I guess I didn’t,” Dean agreed. Jo opened her mouth to respond, but Dean closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was fevered and hungry, and Dean’s palms slid up Jo’s back until his fingers entangled in her hair.

As Jo began to drag Dean down on top of her, her hands moving down his chest and towards his belt, Dean shook his head and finally broke their clinch. Jo stared at him, embarrassment, hurt and shame playing across her features quickly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Dean explained, panting somewhat in an effort to control himself, “God knows... I want to...”

“What then?” Jo demanded, almost pouting now as she stared at Dean, still revelling in the kiss that had lived up to every expectation she had ever had.

Dean shrugged self-consciously, and an embarrassed blush coloured his cheeks, "Well, at the risk of sounding like a total girl, or ya know- Sam- I just don't want it to be like this with you and me. I want it to be something more, you know?!"

Jo appeared to think this over for a moment and then nodded in agreement.
"Okay," she whispered, caressing his jaw with her fingertips. A tender smile graced her features. Dean’s lips twitched in amusement as Jo flopped back against her pillows with what now sounded to be a contented sigh.

“If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall,” he said as he ushered Jo beneath her quilt and pulled it up around her chin. She gazed up at him through red and swollen eyes, and Dean felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart as he realised that his inadequacy at expressing his feelings had been the reason for her sorrow.

“I’ll even hold your hair back whilst you puke,” Dean offered, only half joking as he debated the state that Jo would undoubtedly be in by the time morning came.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” Jo murmured, her words slurring into each other and her eyes fluttering closed, the tequila now clearly taking effect on her body. Dean leaned forwards and brushed her lips with his own in a tender, goodnight kiss that he hoped would be the first of many.

“Goodnight,” Dean whispered, pausing in the doorway for a moment as he watched Jo, who had already succumbed to thick, heavy sleep.

A small, serene smile adorned Jo’s lips as she slept, and Dean couldn't deny the tug he felt at his heart as he watched her.

Dean closed the door softly and, as he crept to his room, he replayed her words in his head.
She had said he was a good man; and Dean knew beyond doubt that Jo Harvelle deserved no less.