#paradean

The pillow called to her with a little more persuasion that night. Although her mind was filled with broken hopes, sleep overcame her gracefully. For once, the length of time before dozing off wasn't riddled with thoughts of concern. She had told herself all day to not worry; she just wasn't going to. With the power of sheer will things finally seemed to go her way. Slipping beneath the freshly cleaned sheets, Jo found peace in the darkness. That is, until, she actually began dreaming. The nightmares resumed. Although scary while sleeping, consciously she didn't fear them at all. At least, on her good days, that's what she told herself. Numb. That's what they called it, right? It was routine, then. Rest was necessary, whether enjoyable or not. 

A loud slam interrupted the images of blood. Jo shot up from her rest, hair knotted and crazed. She felt her breath leap from the slow beats of unconsciousness to the drumming of adrenaline. Another clatter from the floor below her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she attempted to find any reason this could be happening besides a break in. Her scattered and dazed mind couldn't seem to fumble across anything. Moving silently to the side of her bed, she grabbed her sawed off from beneath it, eyes fixed widely on the wall. There was a tactic she used for these types of situations. It was called apathy, familiarity, a sort of 'ugh, again?' kind of deal. Her demeanor and self slipped into the mindset, stepping stealthily across the wooden panels. Whoever the aggressor was would be faced with a hunter in underwear, apparently. Just her standard black pair; Jo was never the type of girl who had sequined lingerie and cute little bows on the butt. Cold air pushed past her skin and left goosebumps in its leave. The noises had mainly stopped as she crept down the stairs. Taking in a breath of stability, she clenched her eyes together before opening them, body pressed against the end of the banister. 

The doorbell had rung not more than two seconds ago. Jo's eyes tumbled over the brown stoop, taking in the little details of Dean's home. She wondered if he had done any work on it. It wouldn't be too ridiculous to assume something like that. On a first impression, he did sort of seem like the carpenter type. Her pupils shifted around to find new wood or less tarnished glass. Nothing could be decided for sure. It was then that she noticed it had almost been a minute since the doorbell rang, and she flicked out her wrist to look at an analog watch. The hands indicated eight thirty. Watching the sun slowly begin it's descent into the horizon, Jo sighed and considered pulling out her flip phone. Yes, she had a flip phone, the smart phones always felt a little too new age for her. Anyway: she didn't. He must've been caught up at the diner; she didn't mind waiting. 

The day was a long one. Besides all the usual crap to sort at the store, Jo had spent hours lugging gear and fertilizer from the shop to the garden. It immediately vanished and reappeared where back where she had started. Sometimes the pocket liked to torture her like that. It wouldn't be the first time that she had her hard work erased so unreasonably, in fact, it might of been the millionth. By now she had basically gotten used to it. Liked it, even. Hard work was good for the soul. Still, the weirdest thing was, she had never heard of anyone else having the same problem. Maybe the pocket just didn't like her. Or, no one else bothered to talk about it. It was already eleven in the evening by the time she had redone all the transport, and she dragged her feet home, covered in dirt from head to toe. The heavy rain that soaked through clothing didn't help any.

There was just enough energy to fit in a shower between entering the door and passing out. She crawled inside a tank top and pajama shorts, tossing her watch carelessly onto the vanity. Jo gave out an 'oohf' as she fell onto the satin sheets. Just as soon as blissful rest enveloped her, there was a knock on the door, and a low whimper slipped out from the woman's throat. Who the hell would be visiting at such an hour? Dozing off as she walked downstairs, the woman opened the door, only to have her eyes shocked open by the sight. "Dean, what are you..." She trailed off, quickly accessing the situation. He was soaked, drunk, and brimming with depression. All that could be read from his face. She moved out of the way without hesitation. "Come inside," Jo told him.

The man staggered over the threshold, and thankfully didn't seem to be all that intoxicated. She closed the door behind him before giving him a once over. Her hand took his with certainty, and she moved close to him. "You wanna go to sleep, or you wanna tell me what's wrong?" The woman looked up at his broken gaze, ready to lead him to wherever he asked. 

This had to be the worst idea she had ever come up with. Or was it Dean's suggestion? She couldn't remember, the memory was too fogged up from the intoxication of excessive alcohol and the hunter's eyes. Shoving her feet into the same black boots she always wore, Jo left her porch and headed towards the boutique. It would definitely be an interesting experience. She wondered if the man had ever actually gone and done a real shopping before. Maybe she could squeeze him into something besides a plaid shirt or thick jacket, though the huntress had to admit that they were very attractive. Her nerves spiked at the image and brought  a goofy looking grin to her lips. The boutique came into view, and she quickly swiped it off, reminding herself to stay as nonchalant as possible. Her hands smoothed over the navy fitted v-neck that started to feel unbearably tight around her waist. A average breaths were savored as she tried to calm down a little further.

So it was just a date. Jo hadn't been on a real date in years, and not just because of heaven. She really hadn't gone out with someone romantically since college. Even that, actually, was just for her mom. The huntress was never really the romantic type. Was this a real date? Pizza and booze in her living room? There wasn't anything wrong with subtlety. In fact, it was something that the two of them had in common. They didn't need a lot to be satisfied. On Dean's part, that was mostly because he never had much good to compare it to. An 'As long as you're not in a life or death situation, your fine,' sort of guy. She had that too, but she really didn't care for the dramatics. 

Her fingers clicked against the bathroom sink, eyes flickering over the image in the mirror. She had been planning to fiddle with something. Maybe mess with her hair, or put on more make up (which she did wear now, even if it was only a top wing of eyeliner). But there wasn't too much anxiety. Jo liked the way she looked fine. What's the point of fiddling if you don't know what to fiddle with? A deep sigh came out, which was cut off midway by the sound of a doorbell. It would be a lie to say that her hands didn't tense up around the cold marble of the sink. For about half a second she practiced what she was going to say when she opened the door, 'Hey, Dean! I like your face!' The woman shook her head in rejection and immediately left the bathroom.

Briar was forever grateful to Faye for saving her, but it was driving her nuts being 'under house arrest' as she'd named it. Her leg wound was annoying her. Being a werewolf, she wasn't used to having pain continue. She'd limped down the stairs of her bed to the door to unlock it and then crawled back up. Normally, she'd want to be alone after the extremely pride-bruising action of getting the shit beaten out of her by a hunter, however, Dean needed someone to talk to, and she knew that. A sigh left her lips as she laid back in her loft bed, waiting on the older man to show up. She briefly wondered if he'd talked to Faye lately, but decided not to ask either of them. Faye was happy with Kit, and she didn't want to bring up bad memories for Dean. 

Everything was going to Hell. She could feel it. Feel everyone's emotions because they were all on high. Briar's head was driving her crazy. So crazy that she was drinking on her way to Dean's. A bottle of Jack in her right hand, the two pies in a bag in her left. The brunette had sent him the text earlier that day. Earlier before She found out about Faye and Derek. Earlier before everyone's emotions began going haywire. Right now, she would just deal with it all. She could feel a slight buzz coming on already, and was grateful for it. It may not have been the best idea to be hanging out with Dean on a day like this... but, what else was she going to do?

While she was passing a darkened store front, she looked into the window. She'd taken a skirt of Lydia's to wear today, thinking it would be a nice day. A grimace marred her face while she stared before she turned away from her reflection. Too much was going on and the alcohol wasn't helping her head like normal. After making a quick mental note to get more alcohol later, she made for his house in a sprint. It wasn’t too far away from where she was now, for her speed, which in her mental state was a great thing. Briar double checked the address she’d written down and walked to the door, knocking on it a few times, not even bothering to put on a smile.