Sam/Jo ficcy. THAT SUMMER.
Sequel to The Strange Color of his Eyes.
Rating: R

Sam had been trying to finish page 125 for a good thirty minutes. He pretended he didn’t, but he kept getting distracted by Jo’s tossing around the bar and Ellen’s voice, telling her what to do from the kitchen. He had offered to help, but Ellen had patted his head and told him to keep reading.

He could perfectly remember being 11 or 12, arriving home with the best of grades, so proud of himself, and then seeing neither his dad nor Dean cared. He would sit on the stairwell for hours, trying to make out why they didn’t even try to like him a bit, appreciate the way he was and what he was good at. And then, out of the blue, Ellen would appear, pat his head, and tell him to go to the kitchen. She was not a sweet, delicate, smiling mom like the ones you see on tv-shows, the way he imagined Mary had been, but she was the closest thing he had to one. She would have some hot chocolate and cookies ready, and he didn’t know if it was because of the chocolate, but he always felt much warmer after listening to Ellen say how he was doing great and school, and how he was a very good boy for always helping Jo with her homework.

Some days, he couldn’t look her in the eye. She asked him about college when John or Dean weren’t there to make a fuss about it, and he could only think two hours before he had her daugher writhing under him in the backseat of her car.

It didn’t matter how he disguised the truth. He was betraying Ellen, he was betraying his dad, he was betraying his whole family, if the Winchester-Harvelle clans could be considered one.

Jo undid one of the buttons in her white shirt and smiled to herself. She had just finished cleaning the last but one table in the bar. The only one remainig had Sam sitting in it, with a pile of books next to him. Jo bended slightly, cloth in her hand, ready to clean the last table.

“Ahem,” she coughed.

“Huh, sorry, sor...”

The situation was about to send her into fits of giggles. Not only he was still on page 125, but he had also stopped his eyes on the little piece of red lace under her white shirt. She could tell he was trying real hard to look her in the face, but he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes out of her cleavage. When he finally managed to do it, she bended just a little bit more, enough to give him a decent preview, and mouthed the words “it’s new. Like it?” Sam nodded after checking Ellen was still inside the kitchen, and shallowed hard.

Jo’s mom strolled to the front door, still giving orders on her way out:

“And when you finish with the tables, can you mop the floor?” she frowned, “I’m sorry you have to do it all, honey, but I need to hand these papers to the administration. I can’t believe I had forgotten about them...” she shook her head, frustrated. “Will you be able to do everything?”

“Sure, Mom. Sam will gimme a hand,” she smiled mischievously to him.

“I... I will, don’t worry, Ellen, it’s fine,” he managed to say.

“What if someone enters the bar to...?” Jo asked.

“No way, Joanna Beth. You two alone behind the counter? No way. We’re not open,” Ellen changed the sign on the door to CLOSED. “Lock the door from the inside when I leave, ok? Will be back from town in two or three hours, I hope.”

Jo bolted the door and walked slowly towards Sam. Moving his table to have enough room, she sat on his lap, facing him. Sam almost jumped in his seat.

“Are you having a death wish? Anyone can walk in and see us!”

Jo rolled her eyes in desperation.

“Mom’s just left. Won’t be back in a while.”

“I know. I was here a moment ago,” he replied, “what about Dean and my dad?”

“Hunting in Chicago. Will take at least two more days,” she frowned, “You would probably know if you bothered to talk to them at all.”

“Ash?” he asked, in the end.

“Rock festival. Still one more day to go,” she answered, as she played with his hair, “isn’t someone more absent-minded than usual?”

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he let her face get closer and closer to him, until she stopped with her lips half an inch from his. He had always wondered whether she remembered the first time they kissed.

She was eight and he was ten and it was too late for them to be awake. But they had been eating some gummy bears while Dean slept and John and Ellen were on the bar. Then, the infamous possessed hunter incident happened and they shared a bed for the first time. Jo thanked him a million times for staying with her, her voice lower and lower so that Dean wouldn’t know how desperate she had been. Just before falling asleep, she thanked him for the last time and brushed her lips lightly against his, very softly, almost not touching at all. For years, he would wonder if she always tasted that sweet.

With that wicked smile of hers, she invited him to start the game. Sam devoured her lips like there was not tomorrow, left hand brushing her hair aside, preparing the imminent attack on the sensitive spot in her neck, right hand already up that ridiculously short denim skirt. The first moan escaped her mouth while he was sucking at her lower lip. Sam tried to think straight for a moment and remember all the good reasons why they shouldn’t be doing that. He would soon go to college far away from the roadhouse, she was probably too young, and he didn’t know much about psychology, but he was pretty sure the kind of relationship they had was far from healthy. Still, Jo always seemed to have the key to stop his doubts. He had just finished his ministrations on her neck. Breathing with some difficulty, she brought her forehead to his and smiled, flirting.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he answered.

Jo looked like she was plotting something. She bit his lower lip for a second and then spoke.

“I’ve got two words for you.”

“Just two?”, Sam joked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, but you’ll like them. Ready?” she asked.

He nodded and she brought her lips to his right ear, deliberately brushing it with them on the way. Sam’s jeans started feeling tighter and tighter even before the words ‘matching thong’ left her mouth.

Sometimes he worried about wanting her too much, that maybe he was forcing her into things she might not have wanted to do just yet. And then she would come with something like that, or a daring caress, or some very graphic explanation of what she enjoyed the most when they were together, and it made him feel so stupid.

Jo began another kiss, very much deeper than the first ones, as her hands travelled under his t-shirt. Sam hugged her as tight as it was physically possible and decided that, if she was looking for trouble, she was going to get it. He got up from his chair, lifting her in his arms. She gasped in surprise, but didn’t complain much. When he placed her on top of the table, she started sulking.

“I thought we were going, you know, somewhere,” Jo whined.

“We ARE somewhere,” Sam smirked.

Her face went white as a sheet.

“You don’t mean you wanna do it HERE!”, she managed to say.

Sam’s left hand tightened the grip on her waist, as he moved to undo two more buttons in her shirt with his right one. Jo whimpered when his fingers caressed the soft skin by the edge of her bra. While he licked his way to the column of her throat, he felt her nails digging his back under his shirt, urging him to do something more. He smiled and took one step back, provoking some more sulking.

“It seemed that someone was feeling brave today,” he teased.

“Well, I was thinking something more along the lines of sofa, or bed, or...”

Sam was then sitting in the chair in front of her, eyes darkening by the moment. He put his hand on her right knee and lifted it just enough to be level with his lips, and he brushed them against her milky skin. Softly, almost not touching, exactly the way she had kissed him for the first time. That night, many moans and lies later, she thought about that single kiss before falling asleep, she didn’t know why. Five years after that, some moans, many tears, much anger and some forgiving later, she would think again about that kiss while Sam found his clothes in the darkness. He was carefully opening the door when he decided to go back to the bed where she was sitting and gave her a slow, sensual kiss. Sam said that she still tasted that sweet. She didn’t know why.

Ok, so this is the epilogue. I really wanted to make it happier, but this was the result. I don't think it's too horrible, anyway. As for the rating, I honestly think this is still T and goes no further than "minor suggestive adult themes." But if anyone thinks I should put the whole story under a higher rating for this chapter, just tell me and I will.

Disclaimer: all characters are Kripke's, blah, blah, blah. If they were mine, Jo would still be on the show.

They were organising the bottles on the shelves when they heard the noise of a car. Ellen motioned her to take care of the main entrance; she would go to the backdoor. Jo couldn’t believe there were still thieves stupid enough to try and break into the roadhouse. As soon as the poor devil entered the bar, her rifle had made useless any sort of attempt on his part. Easier than average, she thought. Her mom’s voice told Jo she had succeeded in the other entrance, too.

“Are you Bonnie or Clyde?”, she snorted.

He simply turned around. Jo didn’t know what to do, or to say for that matter. The last thing she expected that morning was a Winchester in her bar. Scratch that. Two Winchesters.

When Ellen opened the door followed by a downcast Sam, her heart skipped a beat. He avoided looking her in the eye at all costs and she could not help gripping the rifle so tight her hands went white.

“Would you mind” Dean interrupted her thoughts, “not pointing at me with that thing? You may get hurt,” he winked at her.

Jo took the bottle on the closest table and splashed its contents on his face.

“Holy water!? What the fuck!”, he protested.

“There is no such thing as too much caution when demons could be involved.”

“You learnt that from us?” Dean asked, with a hint of pride in his eyes.

“From Buffy,” she shot, lowering the gun.

She walked to her mom’s side, standing by her. Ellen stared at John’s boys.

“So you’re running errands for him, you two?” she asked.

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. It did not feel like they had a plan for that moment.

While they hungrily ate some burgers, her mom and Jo sneaked to the car they had borrowed from Bobby, took their old duffel bags and put them on top of their old beds. It was Ellen’s way of inviting them to stay for a while.

48 hours of silent tension went by before the first outburst between the two brothers. Jo covered her ears with her hands the way she used to do when it was John and Sam arguing. Like then, that was not enough to suffocate the voices on the other side of the wall. When Dean slammed the door on the way out, she felt sixteen again. She should have anticipated what would happen next. The soft knock on the door, and the pleading eyes, and the dark circles under them. The whispered confessions and mumbled apologies, and the tears. The tears. She had spent the previous night awake, trying to make out why on earth she was not able to cry for John’s death. It was not until a fully grown up Sam Winchester sat on her bed, tears on his own eyes, that she became really aware that John would never ever again teach her a new move, or yell at his youngest kid next door. They hugged, and cried together, and kissed each other’s cheeks until she was not sure whose were the tears running down her face, and clumsy, salty lips moved dangerously to the corners of their mouths, and their bodies started reacting in ways they really shouldn’t. And she honestly tried to take a deep breath, and think things over again, and act normal. If only boundaries were clear, if only they had not been that blurred for so many years, it would have been easier to act normal. To grieve together without falling into something that, according to Dean’s reaction years before, was almost incestuous. With the lights off and his questioning fingers lifting the waistband of her pajama bottoms, she shut her eyes tight, pretending they were still those two teenagers discovering each other for the first time. When she woke up the following day, the marks left on the side of her neck by his stubble reminded Jo life had run fast from those days.

It was one of the most difficult things he had done in his life, looking at Ellen and Jo and telling them his father was dead. Dean and he had surprisingly agreed (it was almost a miracle to have them agree on something, lately) on driving personally to the roadhouse. They deserved it, Dean said after a long silent hour behind the wheel. For Jo it would probably be like losing her father all over again, he added. Dean took his eyes from the road and glanced at him for a second. Sam could almost see the question forming in his brother’s mouth. He didn’t bother, in the end. He probably thought there was enough conflict going on without the appearance of issues they had been very careful not to mention ever since everything happened.

Truth to be told, it was awkward at first. He hadn’t been hugged or cuddled that way in a year. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and he hit his head with her headboard. She responded with a teary giggle and a whisper about his clumsiness. And he realised that, after all, it was Jo, and it was not as if they didn’t both know how wrong everything was, how wrong those two kids they once were had grown up. Back in his bed, he remembered Sarah, the sweet brunette with smiling eyes back in New York. The sleepless nights, the nightmares, and that heavy load of guilt a simple kiss had caused. For weeks, he kept torturing himself over how easily, how fast he had forgotten Jess, even if just for a moment. He started feeling guilty no later than the moment her lips touched his. He wondered why that had not happened with Jo that night. Not when her fingers played with his hair, not when he pressed her tiny form against his chest, not when he touched her, neither when she was the one starting a caress down his stomach. When he woke up the following day, there were no signs of nightmares, not even a hint of nervous sleep in the linen of his bed. That moment, Sam assumed that pretty, smiling brunettes were not for him. Never had been, really. Downstairs, in the kitchen, he stared into his coffee as if it contained a magic solution for all problems on earth. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t avoid thinking Ellen would look at him and, out of the blue, know everything. He had this feeling that it was written all over his face, that if they paid attention to him, just a little bit, they would know. It was a re-run of the morning after kissing Jo for the first time, it was like being fifteen again.

The day Ash caught them kissing, he knew it was a question of time. He cursed their luck once and again. How was it possible that they had kissed once, freaking once, in the bar, and Ash chose that moment to open the door of his very smoky room. Jo made her cousin promise not to talk with very ugly threats in case he did. Sam knew she was lying when she told him everything was ok. He didn't even need to hear her sobs on the other side of the wall that night.

Dean enjoyed working in the bar. Not with the passion of hunting, but it was far from bothering him. The music, the orders and a hot girl every now and then were a good way to spend the usually long hours in between hunts. It kept one from replaying your own mistakes over and over again. Besides, the roadhouse was the closest thing to a home he could remember, and he had always been glad to help Ellen. As they were staying there for a while, it was just natural to go give a hand behind the counter. Ellen mentioned with a frown that he would would work beside her in the morning shifts because, hell, yeah, she trusted him, but not that much when chicks were involved. Dean didn’t know whether she referred to Jo or to his tendency to give free shots to the most daring cleavage of the night.

He sure kept an eye on them both most of the evenings, while they started their shifts in the bar. And when he saw them behaving normally, the way Sam and Jo had always been together, he walked upstairs to enjoy a deserved rest. Dean was an excellent liar, so good sometimes he managed to convince himself of the most difficult things. Like when he was seven and made himself believe his mommy had not suffered any pain when she died. Like when he was twenty-seven and decided he had acted hastily years before, that, had he asked, he would have known there was never anything to make that much of a fuss about. They were good kids, the two of them, who, honestly, had probably never received enough attention, except for the one coming from each other. There had never been anything further than confusing feelings, and a smooch or two at worst, he thought. So every night, before going to bed, he would check on them, make sure there was nothing wrong, and sleep peacefully. Too bad one night a noise woke him up at 2 am. There was a giggle and a shushing sound next door, and Dean silently prayed in the darkness that his brother was sleeping on the other bed in their room, and Jo had taken some stranger to hers. It was not that big a surprise, not really, that Sam’s bed had not even been touched that night, that the whispers on the other side of the wall sounded suspiciously like him. A week after, Dean started officially considering it a curse. He would wake up every night just to hear their soft steps on their way upstairs after long working hours, and the kisses on the room next door becoming more and more frantic as days went by. And he would get up every morning thinking Sam would confess to him, that things between them were very much different to what they were years before. Every morning, Dean would have breakfast hoping Sam would at least ask for his advice. Every evening, he would have dinner silently cursing the goddamned kid who would take you as the enemy and persist in keeping everything to himself. He could almost swear he was quoting his father word by word.

Ellen could not say she was happy. She was almost sure that word had not even been in her dictionary for a long time. But she was allright having Jo and the boys at home. It was difficult to believe they were adults already. She could practically still see them every time she adjusted the rear-view mirror in her truck, Dean whinning about sharing the backseat with the younger kids, Jo half asleep on Sam’s shoulder, ten-year-old Sammy reading aloud all the signs they found on the road. Then, having them argue in the middle of the mall about which ones were the bestest cereals in the world. Those moments, she was able to convince herself John and her were not doing it that bad, all things considered.

She wished circumstances had been different, that John was still alive, that Sam had not gone through such horror, that her daughter had been more worried about her grades and college, even about boys, than about hunting.

Dean was the spitting image of John. Maybe not all his features reminded of him, but the way he talked, he dressed, he gave orders, and, why not, the way he seduced women, contained the pure essence of his father. The two little ones, Sammy and Jo, she was so proud of them. They were survivors, much stronger than John and Dean had ever admitted, much more independent, better trained and probably more intelligent than the previous generation had been at their age.

There was this one day Dean accompanied her to buy a TV they desperately needed for the bar after the old one decided to die in the middle of some basketball final. They were halfway through the road when she realised she had forgotten her credit card at home.

“ That happens a lot when you have too many things dancing around in your head,” she explained herself when Dean started sighting like a girl. “Anyway, stop whining. It’s my car, it’s my money, it’s my gas. You are simply the warehouse assistant.”

“I’d prefer it if you referred to me as your very handsome warehouse assistant,” he joked.

Ellen rolled her eyes.

“Whatever.”

When they arrived home, Ash was taking care of the bar. Ellen frowned. It was not like Sam to leave the bar just like that. Dean started moving around.

“I’ll get you your card, you just wait here,” he smiled nervously.

“You don’t know where it is,” she answered.

“Tell me, and I’ll go find it upstairs,” Dean insisted.

“Why?”,she asked, full of suspicion.

“Because I’m your personal assisstant today, Ellen.” He tried his best smile. One that would have tricked any woman. Any woman that had not been on the receiving end of that smile before by another Winchester.

Ash mumbled some cheap excuses with the intention of entertaining her while Dean climbed up the stairs. And that was it. Dean had barely put a foot on the upper floor when she caught his sleeve and stopped him.

“What?”, she asked.

She tried her best to make it clear that she was serious.

“If your brother has taken Jo to some hunt and put her into danger, I... I...” she threatened.

He didn’t answer, and all she had to do was look around. The door of the boys’ room was open. The cars were all in the garage, Sam and Jo were not downstairs, not in the kitchen and not in the small living room right next to her. Only Jo’s door remained shut and, suddenly, everything fit like the pieces of a puzzle. Suddenly, everything made sense. She kept her now wide open eyes stuck to the door.

“This has happened before, hasn’t it, Dean?”

So... this is the end. I hope you liked it. If anyone has read the whole story, liked it or hated it, comments would be incredibly helpful and welcome.

As you know, they are not mine. All characters are Kripke's, blah, blah, blah.

I know Jo is not particularly nice and lovable in this chapter. But, would you be much nicer if you were in her shoes, huh? Seventeen-year-old me certainly wouldn't. I promise next chapter (which will be an epilogue for the story) will make it up for her character.

Mmm, ok, I think that's basically it.

Long, loooong chapter for you. I think it's the longest I've ever written. Enjoy!

Looking at the image in the mirror, I let out a smile. I adjusted my denim short skirt, his favourite one, if memories did not lie to me. My hair had been dyed a little lighter than its original shade. Desperate times led to desperate measures, I thought, while I was fighting to make my push-up look a little less... pushy. And still, there was no reason why anyone would suspect anything strange. After all, I had a date in the afternoon. It was not like I was going to make it that easy to Sam.

I found John sitting in the stairs, scribbling in his diary. Stealing his pen from behind, the tense lines around his eyes softened when he saw it was me.

“No work during thanksgiving, remember?”, I teased.

“Yeah. Sorry, I know we promised. It’s just that I...”, he paused to find the words.

“John... you know... it’s still Sammy. And it’s thanksgiving, for god’s sake! We’ll do the same every damned normal family in this country does: yell at each other, eat too much, yell at each other again before an absolutely unnecessary dessert, and then thank god for having people to yell at.”

He nodded, staring to the front as if his mind were not there at all. I felt the need to wake him up from that state.

“Whoa! Where’s grandpa Winchester gone?” I enquired.

He laughed, turning his gaze back to me.

“After your not-that-subtle critics about my beard, I felt the need to shave,” he chuckled, caressing his jaw, “is it looking any better?”

“Huh, let me see,” I tried to look serious. “Gorgeous,” I nodded.

“Getting closer to your type?”, he joked.

“Gimme seven months,” I replied, lowering my eyes somewhere between coquettish and mysterious.

“Seven months?”, John certainly looked puzzled.

“C’mon John, you don’t remember? I’m legal in seven months.” I raised my eyebrows at his laugh. “It serious! You can’t say yes to a six-year-old proposing you holy matrimony and then like forget it or something. And I warn you that I could totally be a bimbo if I wanted to,” I grinned.

“Absolutely,” he managed to answer.

“Not joking! Gimme some high heels and two pairs of socks to fill my... not so strong features and I could be miss California”, I stuck out my tongue, as he drew his tanned arm close to my pale one.

“Ok,” I admitted, “probably not Miss California. But what about Miss Nebraska, huh? I could kick some ass there.”

“I would vote for you,”he winked at me, just before we both burst out laughing.

It made me feel better, joking with John. While helping Mom in the kitchen, I could not stop asking questions.

“Sooo, there is a surprise, huh?”

“And, as I’ve told you a thousand times in the last day, it’s... please honey, pass me the salt...”

“It’s the salt, mother?”, I snorted, “because that would so not be the hell of a surprise. Hey guys! We have the coolest salt in town to impress Sam after over a year of absence in our lives.”

Mom rolled her eyes in desperation.

“For the hundredth time this morning: it is a surprise. Do you know what that word means?”

“But, is it like directly related to Sam coming?”, I chewed my lower lip.

“Yeah”, Mom sighed.

I started inspecting the kitchen, in case there was something I had missed that could give me a clue on what was happening.

“I think...” I started, “I think we are preparing too much food. Even taking into account Dean’s appetite.”

Mom did not answer.

“It’s that!! We are preparing too much food. Are we preparing to much food?”, I asked, excitedly.

“Are WE preparing food, Jo?”, she raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” I lowered my eyes, “I’m... in the kitchen.”

Unfortunately, after that, while trying to actually take part in the cooking, I broke a couple of dishes and burnt something in the oven.

“Joanna Beth!! A FRIEND!! Sam is bringing a goddamned friend today. Now you know it, please, please, please, GO. I don’t wanna see you anymore in the kitchen today.”

I left apologizing, and jumped into the sofa, joining Dean to watch the football game.

Hearing the knock on the door downstairs, that was the first awkward thing of Sam coming back home. I remembered finding his keys on top of the table in the living room the morning after he left for university. I had held them in my hand for a minute and then put them on the back of the drawer where I kept the things I did not want to forget. There they laid, together with my dad’s knife and the perfume mom always wore in their special occasions.

Mom called me and and I flew downstairs. Not that any of them noticed. I tried to elbow my way through the circle Ash, Dean, Bobby, Mom and John were forming.

When I did get to see something, I was so shocked I stumbled backwards, hoping to keep being unnoticed, and I knocked over a chair. Dean, who was the closest person, dragged me to the front, putting me next to him with his hand on my shoulder.

“And this is Jo. She’s like a sister to us,” he moved his eyes to Sam.

I sent an angry glare at him, if only to avoid Sam’s pleading eyes. It did not matter, anyway, because Dean was so busy pulling his just-for-girls smirk he did not even notice I was mad at him. Sam coughed.

“So, Jess. This is Jo. She’s... she’s Ellen’s daughter.” He coughed again. “Jo’s a very good friend to us.”

Later, during lunch, Mom called me for help in the kitchen.

“I thought you had told me not to,” I shot.

“I would be happy to help you, Ellen,” Jess suggested.

“Thank you, sweetie, but you don’t need to. You’re our guest”, she smiled, immediately before sending a quick angry glance at me. “Joanna Beth. Kitchen. Now.”

I dragged my feet following her. Mom shut the door.

“What’s gotten into you, kid?” she told me off.

“Into ME!? What’s gotten into YOU? Why did you lie to me in the first place?”

“What are you talking about? I never lied to you,” she said, waving her hands in the air.

“You said Sam was bringing along a friend.”

“And!!”

“C’mon, Mom! That’s not a friend. That’s... that’s some... chick,” I puffed.

“Jess, because she DOES have a name, is not some random chick. She’s Sam’s friend. You should be nice to her. I mean,” she took a deep breath, “for the love of god, you’re not ten-year-olds playing in the garden anymore. I know you miss him. I know”, she softened her tone a bit, and caressed my hair, “I know you used to spend a lot of time together and you had a horrible time when he left to Standford. But he’s in college now, and has a normal life with no hunting in it. That’s what he wanted, honey. And Jess is part of that life. So, if you love Sam, and I know you adore him, you’ll have to accept the way things are now. Alright?,” she asked, hands of both sides of my face.

I nodded.

“Will you be nice to her?” I nodded again. “With a beaming smile?” I tried my best, which only led to a sad smirk.

It was not difficult to stop thinking of the issue. Dean cut the tension.

“So, you burnt anything else, Jo?”

I stuck my tongue to him.

“Yeah, you can laugh at me, ‘cos you’re so good at cooking, you never burn anything. Oh, sorry, or is it because you’ve never tried, Mr. If-McDonnalds-Closed-Down-I’d-die-of-hunger? Huh?”

The rest of the meal went as good as a Winchester/Harvelle meal can go. By dessert, I started shifting nervously on my chair. Mom noticed.

“What time is Danny picking you up?”, she asked.

Sam lifted his gaze, for the first damned time, from Jess.

“Danny? Danny who?”

“Are you still dating that...?” Dean intervened.

“Watch your mouth!”, I shot.

“Hey, here! Who is that Danny?”, Sam tried to get some explanation.

“He’s a boy from school Jo’s been dating lately,” Mom answered.

“I will never get why you even let her hang out with him. It’s like he’s got the whole pack: bad-ass. Cocky. Class-cutter. Reckless. Insolent. Horrible driving.”

“Dean!!”, I interrupted.

“What?”

“You are describing YOURSELF”, I snorted.

“Which is a good reason why you should not date him,” he sentenced, narrowing his eyes. “And I am a VERY good driver.”

When Danny left the roadhouse with a tasteless kiss, I hated having to go back for dinner to our recently created perfectly average American family, so Sam could trick Jess, and basically himself into thinking he was normal. I walked, biting my lip in annoyance. Someone grabbed my arm from behind and I sent a kick in its direction.

“Ouch!! Hey, Jo, it’s me, ok? It’s me”, he whispered.

I shook his hand from my arm.

“Don’t touch me, Sam” I warned, already leaving. He grabbed my arm again, more softly this time, as if asking for permission.

“Please, let me explain.”

“Where is she?”

“Jess is helping your mom with dinner.”

“Oh, shit, she’s so perfect. Do you think I should worry maybe my mom could prefer her to me?”

“C’mon Jo, be a little more mature.”

“Mature? Me? You know what? I don’t want to”, I poked his chest, mad at him, “because I’m barely seventeen and the first guy I kissed, who happens to be as well the guy I lost my virginity to, decides to bring some hot chick home the first time we meet in a year. You were supposed to be my best friend and I haven’t heard from you in what? Like eight months? I didn’t even know she existed. And now you come home, and rub her in my face and ask ME to be mature? I don’t want to. And I don’t think you have the right to tell me to.”

He lowered his head. It took him some effort to look me in the eyes again.

“I know... I know. I did many things the wrong way. Even if I thought it was the only way back then. But... coming here... I just need you to know I didn’t do this on purpose, and I never wanted to hurt you. Jess was going to travel to spend thanksgiving with her family in Europe because her dad is working there. And then she discovered I was on my own, and was adamant to stay with me. Your mom called last week and she would not take no for an answer, and insisted that I brought Jess with me. And when I arrived and realised Ellen had not told you about her it was too late. But she did not know about us, Jo, it’s my fault really. I should have phoned you. If someone had the right to know about us beforehand, it was you. I’m so sorry.”

We both had tears threatening to fall from our eyes. Sam’s cell rang, a call from one of his friends at university, he said. I walked away to the now empty bar and found Dean hiding something under the table he was sitting in.

“You should know after some years living with you, porn doesn’t shock me anymore.”

“Ha.Ha. It’s not porn,” Dean answered, while putting his papers again on the table, “not this time, at least.”

I had a look at the untidy pile of papers.

“Dean! I thought we said no work today,” I protested.

“Shhh!! Shut up! This is... I’m preparing a case, so that maybe dad gives me the opportunity to solve it on my own, you know?”

“Really? Can I help you put it together?”

“Jo...”, he protested, “I don’t think so. You know Ellen doesn’t like you getting involved with our work.”

“I’ll tell her you let me drink beer during the match today.”

Dean stared open mouthed at me.

“I didn’t give you ANYTHING. You took MY bottle and drank”

“And did you tell her?”, he shock his head, not understanding... yet, “because that could be because you have something to hide about it.”

I smiled. Big time. He laughed.

“Ok, midget, first of all, do you have an internet conexion?”

I nodded, trying my most innocent smile.

“It helps me with my homework.”

Even Dean had noticed I did not really enjoy Jess’ company.

“You don’t like her, huh?”, he asked, while we surfed for the lore we needed.

“Dean”, I shifted my eyes from the screen to look him in the eye, “she wants me to go shopping with her,” I snorted. “Don’t laugh.”

“But, seriously. Do you really, really don’t like her for Sammy? I mean, she's hot! And I don't think she's bad for him, they kind of fit. What do you think?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s not like us. Not...” I shrugged my shoulders. “It might be me, but I don’t think it can work. As much as he wants to deny it, Sam is like us. And he will always be.”

Dean sighed.

“Besides”, I continued, “I think they are fake.”

“What?”, he raised an eyebrow.

I put my hands about half a mile in front of my breasts. Dean laughed his head off.

“I don’t think so, Jo. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been ogling them or anything.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“You ogle every girl’s boobs”, I remarked.

“Anyway, according  to  my personal experience, they are hers,” Dean smirked.

“I would check her armpits for seams. Just in case.”

We were setting the table for dinner when Jess started walking down the stairs. She had changed into a night dress and looked like she was going to the Oscars, instead of having dinner at our place. Dean was drooling. Ash was drooling. Sam was drooling which such intensity he did not even notice the other two. I shook my head, and someone patted me in the shoulder. I turned around and saw John standing there, a malevolent smirk in his face.

“Look,” he whispered, “Miss California.”

Fortunately, my giggles were not heard. They were all too busy at that moment.

Dinner, taking into account we had already been through lunch together, was not that horrible. Terribly long, but bearable. Dean was trying to bother Sam by telling Jess all the embarrassing anecdotes he could find which did not include any supernatural phenomena. When everybody thought he was done, he still found something else to tell her the moment Mom distributed the bedrooms.

“Ok, so I sleep in my bedroom, Jo in hers, John and Bobby go to the boys’ room, Sam and Jess will sleep in John’s room, and Dean? You get the sofa.”

“Lucky me.” he narrowed his eyes.

“Ellen, if there’s a room with twins in it”, Sam’s girlfriend said, “Jo and I can sleep there.”

“It’s ok, honey,” Mom answered tiredly, “we’re not that old-fashioned here.”

“I have the feeling I’ll have to remind you this conversation sometime in the future,” I added.

“In a very distant future. Like when you’re thirty or something.”

I rolled my eyes at Dean’s over-protective attitude towards me.

“Jess, you just be careful you don’t wake up with three people in your bed,”he sniggered.

“Dean...”, Sam warned in a low tone.

“C’mon, it’s true!” he protested.

“Dean!”, I tried to cut him, kicking his shin under the table.

“What?” Jess wondered, notoriously curious about the issue.

“First thing you should know,” he began, “is that your boyfriend is more of a girl than Jo is.”

Jess giggled, looking at Sam’s pretended smile.

“Ok, so these two”,he motioned towards Sam and I, while we both sunk in our seats, “ever since they were kids, everytime one of them was afraid of something, they would go find the other and sleep together.”

Sam cleared his throat, trying to stop his brother.

“We were kids, Dean. We took care of each other. That’s what friends do,” he stated.

“C’mon, dude!! I can remember it still happening regularly when you were like sixteen. Honestly,” he went back to a beaming Jess, “we were afraid he was taking her to college, They were like each other’s security blanket.”

Then, I got up and left the table. I heard Sam and Dean calling my name, and Mom asking them to leave me alone, telling Dean off because, god, how could he not be a little more tactful to me. I took a jacket and walked into the air of the night.

It had been pouring for a good fifteen minutes when I heard the familiar purr of the Impala. Dean’s voice came from the slightly-opened window.

“Where the hell do you think you are going?”

I quickened my pace.

“C’mon, Jo, you’re soaking wet. Your Mom’s gonna kill me anyway. Just get in the car, so you can punch me or yell at me or whatever.”

It was dark and, yeah, I was too cold to be stubborn about that particular issue. I entered the car.

“I’m not talking about it.”

He sighed.

“C’mon, let’s solve it now. I don’t like staying mad at each other,” his voice softened.

I shrugged my shoulders as an answer.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

I nodded.

“Ellen...” he cleared his throat, “Jo, your mom says that’s not actually the reason why you’re mad, you know?”

My body tensed at those words.

“She says you kinda”, he struggled to find the words, “have a crush on me, and today I made you clear that I think of you like a little girl, which leads us to...” he continued, covering his face with his hands.

As tempting as the situation was, I did not want to make him go through that. I took his hands.

“It’s not like that. You don’t need to worry, really.”

He looked surprised. As if he had prepared a whole speech about the impossibility of something happening between us and he was lost because I had broken the rules.

“Are you sure?”

I giggled.

“Yeah, Dean. I’m sure I don’t have a crush on you and I don’t think you’re the love of my life. Happy now?” I asked.

“Yeah, hell, yeah!” He took the keys to start the Impala, which had been parked since I had gotten inside.

Then, he stopped, and turned to me.

“But”, he frowned, thinking, “why would you be that bothered? I mean, it’s embarrassing, but basically everybody who was sitting at the table knew it beforehand, except for Jess. And still, you don’t even like her. I’d even say you ha...”

He stared at me, wide-eyed, as if that were the first time he saw me.

“Oh, crap.”

I pretended I knew nothing of what he was talking about.

“What?”

“Holly crap! We’re morons. I can’t believe we’ve spent years thinking... and now...” he chuckled. Dean put an arm around me before continuing. “But, honey, the answer is still the same. You are like a little sister to us, you know that.”

I jumped in my seat.

“I’m not your sister, ok? I’m not your sister, and no matter how many times you say it, Dean, I will never be,” I yelled in desperation.

Dean took a deep breath, as if wondering how to break my defence.

“It’s not because of Jess. Even if he wasn’t with her, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, Jo.”

I snorted to myself. Or maybe not that much to myself.

“He’s never laid a finger on you, right?”

I shook my head vigorously, but he was not convinced.

“No, look at me. Look me in the eye. He’s never laid a finger on you, has he, Jo?”

“No... no, no. He hasn’t, Dean, never,” I tried to sound as certain as I could get in the nervous state I was, soaked, freezing inside the car, wishing he had never found me.

He fixed his eyes on mine, trying to find something, anything that confirmed my words, hoping he would be out-stared, that it became obvious I was telling the truth.

The Impala went faster than usual. Dean, behind the wheel, drove ignoring my pleads and tears, the way I desperately tugged at his jacket and repeated it wasn’t true, like a psalm.

Then, everything went too quick. I still tried to stop Dean with all my strenght, which was obviously not enough. He climbed the stairs towards his dad’s room. Jess answered at his insistent knock on the door.

“Could you leave us alone? It will only be a moment,” he told her.

She moved to leave the room, but Sam stopped her.

“No. Dean, whatever you wanna say, you can say it before Jess,” he reassured her.

Dean closed the distance between him and his brother.

“Alright.”

He threw a punch to Sam’s jaw.

Sam rose to his feet again, and told his girlfriend to wait downstairs. Jess dragged me to the living room, and asked things I was not really able to hear. Everything I could understand at that moment was Dean’s words upstairs. Dean’s, because Sam did not seem to answer anything in his defence. The words hammered in my head once, and again, and again, for weeks.

“How old was she?”

And there was only the sound of another punch, and silence. And again, spitting every word furiously.

“Just tell me... How.old.was.she?”

The front door opened, with John and Mom, and Bobby and Ash, who had been trying to find me all the time, because Dean had obviously not called.

Jess said something, I don’t know what, as soon as they opened the door. They jumped the steps to John’s old room. John yelled and yelled, asking for explanations, and Dean... Dean said nothing.

Sam took their things and held the hand of a still shocked Jess, and all I could see was how Dean looked at his brother, like a bull ready to charge at him. How the eldest brother was basically unharmed, while the youngest had taken every one of the blows that had been directed at him.

I spent the whole night sitting on the lap of a drunk John, who kept mumbling unintelligible curses to himself. He thanked me later, when he sobered, red eyes and a vulnerable expression I could have never imagined in his face before. When I searched for the spot in my shirt he kept staring at, I saw my left shoulder was soaked in his tears. And that was the first time, the only time, I saw John Winchester crying.

Characters are still not mine. I just have some non-profitable fun with them every now and then.

“You’re tanned”, I said, putting my arm next to his.

He chuckled a bit. Just a bit. He was still mad I had beaten him during morning practice. John had gotten angry at him. Dean had laughed at him. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was a Winchester. All pride and stubbornness.

“You’re not,” he teased.

I tried to punch his arm, but he was faster and captured my hand in his. It was more of a caress than any other thing.

It had not been my fault, really. Of course it was a dirty trick, but hey! I’m a girl, a little girl, and the big bad wolf is out there, ready to eat me for supper if I don’t make the most of my opportunities. And, as I said before, it was not my fault Sam had been my training partner that day.

He should have pinned me to the floor and kept his body stuck to mine. That’s what you do when the adversary is basically defeated until John tells us to stop. But that day his grip was too lose and I had dreamed about that for years: just having a little opportunity to win only once. To be congratulated by John for something more than just trying hard. So I took my opportunity and ended up on top of Sam, effectively immobilizing him. I was not sorry I had won. But maybe I was a little sorry I had done it by kicking him... ahem... down there.

“You’re taller”, I smiled, nervously watching how he was slowly cornering me.

“You are...”, he bit his lip, pausing to find the words. He had never been good with words, “you’re rounder.”

“You mean like fatter?” I tried to get away from him, frown in my face. Sam put his grip on my waist. He didn’t want me to escape.

“I mean it like”, his hand travelled softly to my hip, “curvy in the right places.”

I saw his lips approaching.

“You’re the one who stopped this, remember?” I found a way out when Mom suddenly called me.

Almost at the door, I looked back at him. He was still mostly the Sam I remembered. Still the Sam that made me feel weak in the knees. But that was not the way he was going to get it. Not with some easy pick up line and pretended cool attitude Dean had assured him chicks dig.

The following evening, there was a big argument. University, again. Nobody, not even Dean, dared trying to calm things until they were finished. John took the Impala and drove God-knows-where. Dean drank beer after beer in the Roadhouse. After he finished his sixth one, Mom caressed his hair and shook her head. He just sent her a tired, but thankful look, and she served him the seventh. I went upstairs and put on my pajamas.

The only answer to my knock on his door was some kind of groan. I interpreted it as ‘come in’. Even if I was mostly convinced that was not what he actually meant.

“What?”

“Erm, Sam, I’ve been having nightmares lately and I was wondering... If you don’t mind.”

“Oh!”, his expression relaxed, as he lifted the cover of his bed. “C’mere.”

That night, he hugged me more tightly and desperately than he ever had. Times like that, he drove me mad. It made me want to shout at him. How had he been able to confront the most horrible creatures most people could imagine, but not to ask me for a hug he obviously needed with all his soul. I swear nothing happened that night. I guess that was why I found it so funny when I overheard  Dean’s conversation with Mom the following day.

“Ellen, I’m just saying I don’t think it’s appropriate anymore.”

“The hell, Dean, is that you?”, she joked, “Worrying about what is appropriate?”

“Honestly, it was ok when they were kids, but now...”

“Ok. I know it’s childish, and I know you think needing others makes one weaker. But I reckon your brother could use a friend yesterday, couldn’t he?”

“Guess you’re right. But still, Ellen, I don’t think they should be sleeping together anymore. Things have changed. I mean, Sam is a man already and...”

I carefully moved to get sight of them.

“Because he is eighteen?”, Mom looked him in the eye, amused at Dean’s argument.

“Because he’s been”, Dean was, I swear, on the verge of blushing, “he’s been with women. Like in been, been.”

Mom raised an eyebrow.

“Well, girls.”

Still amused look on her part.

“Alright, Ellen, it was just like one or two girls. But I still think things like what happened last night could make them... confused about stuff.”

“Are we talking about Sam and Jo? The kids who used to play hide and seek in our backyard?”

I smiled. Playing, we were good at. That was something we had done from the very moment we met. We used to compete about who could hold their breath longer inside the water, who ran faster or who was able to eat more chocolate ice-cream.

When I got back to his room, I found him sitting in his bed, eyes lost somewhere nobody but him knew. I was going to leave him with his thoughts when he lifted his gaze to me. There was no need for further words. I sat next to him. Sam’s big hand, warm and comforting, caressed my hair.

“Thank you”, he simply said.

I pretended not to know what he was talking about, mumbling something stupid.

“For last night,” Sam finished.

It was a sudden impulse. Before I could think what I was doing, my lips were on his. By the time Sam tried to put some sense into both of us, I was straddling his lap, breathing with some difficulty, our bodies so close I could perfectly hear his heartbeat.

“Crap, Jo,” he panted, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

Looking at him, I could see his eyes darkening and his body tensing. And that was something I, only I, was provoking. That night, I couldn’t sleep much. I kept thinking about that situation, and about what Dean had told Mom. About how maybe the effect slightly-older Jo had on slightly-older Sam had something to do with the not-so-effective pinning of my body to the floor during the practice. I remember putting my head under the covers, somewhere between self-consciousness and excitement.

That summer we played a lot. We played more than ever. We competed about who risked more getting caught by the others in the house, who played harder to get or who was the first to make the other moan. Playing, we were good at.

The Winchesters, as you know, are not mine and I do not get any profit from writing.

The story is AU, completely AU in relation to Sam/Jo. It will be somehow linked to the first scene in which we met Ellen and Jo in the show, but it will not be exactly that way because my characters DO know each other.

You would say I hated saying goodbye to them, but I didn’t. What I loathed the most was seeing them again. Not knowing if they would ever come back. Checking my e-mail every hour and carrying my cell phone with me everywhere for two months just in case something wrong happened, only to be rewarded with some short, dull e-mail from Sam every three weeks, at best. Feeling the tension in my stomach when they did call to say they would reach the Roadhouse in a couple of days. Being nervous to the point of sickness when I saw that damned black car approach, then extremely relieved when the three of them got off and I could check none of them was badly injured. Listening to jokes only they could understand. Being, in the end, inevitably charmed by them every single time because, as much as it hurt, I did not have any right to be mad at them. I was not part of the family. Just an insignificant accessory they could perfectly do without.

John would behave the way he always did with me and he would soon have me eating out of his hand. Dean would pester me to the point I would lose that façade of pretended indifference towards them. Sam had traditionally used the puppy eyes on me, and moved on to hidden kisses in the storeroom after the thing with us started.

I hated, above all, how weak that made me feel before them. I had assumed a long time ago they would always be physically stronger than me. But not stronger in every sense of the word. I wanted to be a hunter, not the silly little girl who waves goodbye from the doorway.

I hated how the very moment Mom announced they would be there the following day, I already knew things would turn out as they always always did.

That day everything seemed familiar, but still had a hint of novelty in it. I saw the car approach from the windows in the bar, instead of watching anxiously from the doorway. I concentrated my morning efforts on drying glasses to help Mom, maybe to have a small chance of looking if only a bit older before their eyes. The moment I heard the purr of the Impala, everything seemed to go slow-motion.

John was the first to open the door, thick beard and noticeably grayer hair than one year before. He hugged me tight and dropped a fast kiss on the top of my head and everything was finished before I even had time to think what I wanted to say. He talked to Mom, tired voice and scarce words, for some minutes. He was soon on his way upstairs, leaving her with a hint of sadness in her eyes for a second, and I wondered if it was true. If they ever had something.

Sam was next, and she was soon all over him.

“Oh, god, how much have you grown up, Sam Winchester?” She looked at him from head to foot. “And what the hell have they been feeding you? You are too thin. Much thinner, ain’t him, Jo?”

I nodded, staring, but keeping my composture. He had always been tall, even a little gawky. When he left, he was about Dean’s height. One year after, Sam was certainly taller than him. Thinner or not, he did look more muscular than I had ever noticed him being. And I had noticed him a lot.

“Thinner, yeah.” I answered.

“Tomorrow I’m gonna... You can’t just... Really, don’t they know you’re growing?” she rambled, waving her hands, “You know I’m not much into cooking, but tomorrow I’m gonna prepare my special stew, so you can have your first decent meal in a year.”

His eyes searched mine with that naughty look we used to share when we were kids plotting some mischief. He hugged Mom so she wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes at me with one of his trademark smiles.

“Thanks a lot, Ellen,” he managed to say, trying to cover my soft giggle with his voice.

Dean was the last one entering, darker hair and sadder eyes than the Dean in my memory. I experienced the joy of being greeted with a punch in my arm.

“How’s things, kiddo?”, he smirked

“I am sixteen, you know?”, I snapped back.

“I do. So how’s things, sixteen-year-old kiddo?”, he ruffled my hair, trying to get to bother me the most in as little time as possible.

Now, that, that was my Dean. I snorted and slapped his hand away from me, while I realized how much I had missed them.

Sam was upstairs without any of us noticing he was missing, probably just seconds after Dean opened the door. I was going to call him for help against his brother when I saw he was not there anymore.

“It’s nothing personal, you know?. They are mad at each other. That’s all.”

“And which team are you in?”, I raised an eyebrow, hoping I could get some more information.

“There are... There are not teams in this. It’s just a stupid row. Sam has this silly idea of going to college and being ‘normal’. Huh, ‘normal’, what do you think?” it was not really a question, so I just nodded for him to go on. “It’ll be over soon. He’ll listen to reason. He will.”

“So you’re in John’s team?”, I winked at him, trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah,” he said, and took a long sip of his beer

“Me too.”

Hi there! I know. You're thinking: this chapter took ages. Aaaah, don't tell me. I kept writing, and deleting, and writing, and getting stuck, and writing some more, and feeling stupid. I guess I need a beta OR... maybe a new brain with more/better ideas. Anyway, hope the chapter is not too bad. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Noo. The characters are still not mine. I just like playing with them.

"Words written like this" are dialogue

(Words written like this) are thoughts

I couldn’t stop thinking it looked better before I bought it. When I stared at the image in my mirror, skinny jeans and black tank top on, I saw less of the sexy young woman I had caught a glimpse of in the shop’s glass and more of a little girl wearing the clothes of her elder sister. I was tempted to change back into my old jeans and the Metallica T-shirt Dean had given me a couple of years before. But Mom was so glad I was worried about girly things instead of obsessed with hunting she had given me some bucks to spend on clothes for my birthday. We were not exactly rolling over money after Dad’s death, so at least I should have the decency to wear what I had bought. I was finally approaching the door when someone downstairs felt the need to shout at the top of his lungs.

“JOOOO!!!! Are you bloody sewing your own clothes? ‘Cos some people here are getting hungry.”

“Shut up, Dean! Don’t be such a whining girl. I’m almost done here, ok?”

(One...two...three... four...five), I focused on counting the steps as I was walking down the stairs. My eyes were fixed on that spot in my boots where the leather was almost torn. (Twelve...thirteen... fourteen... fifteen. End of the journey, Jo, you’ll have to raise your head.)

I searched their faces for some sign of an opinion. John was wearing his poker face and, man, he was good at that. Mom looked surprised. I could feel I was making Sam nervous, though not really if it was in a good or bad way. We had a nice lunch, the cake was really good and I loved my presents. For some reason there was a moment when I thought my outfit would not be mentioned.

But, of all people, Dean had to be the one speaking.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”, he asked, mouth still full of chocolate.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“I don’t know... Could they be clothes, Einstein? And don’t speak while you’re eating”, I shot back.

He sent me the hell of a murderous look while he swallowed that piece of cake. I was gonna pay for that during a training, sooner or later.

“I think you’re showing too much.”

“Well, I think you’re staring too long.”

“Do you know who stares too long? You know who, Ellen?”, he directed a look to Mom, trying to get some co-operation, “boys your age, Jo. They stare too long, and they stare at body parts they shouldn’t be staring at. And you know what boys your age think about all the time? Tell her, Sammy”

Sam jumped on his seat.

“I don’t think about anything”, he shook his head vehemently, all puppy eyes, “I swear, Ellen.”

“Maybe I should wear a burka”, I interrupted.

“Finally a good idea there!” Dean snorted.

“Dean! I’ve got tits, get over it already!”, I tried to shut him up.

“Joanna Beth!” my mother was looking serious.

“But Mom!”, I complained, with no results at all. The conversation was over.

We talked about this and that and took some pictures for Ash, who was away at the time doing some business we didn’t wanna know about. My friends were soon waiting for me at the door. Sam and I took our jackets and listened to the last pieces of advice before leaving.

“I’m trusting you, show me it’s the right thing”, Mom gave Sam the keys of her truck. That was gonna be his first time ever driving without an adult watching him. “And Jo, no matter what the rest do, don’t lose Sammy, ok? You’re going to that concert in town only because he’ll be watching out for you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Sure, Mom. I wouldn’t dream of getting an inch of separation from Sam. I’ll go to the toilet with him if that’s necessary.” I affectedly batted my eyelids.

Claire, Kate and Mark were waiting for us at the door.

“Wow! You look different!” Kate smiled.

“I join the WOW!” Mark added, ignorant of what he was asking for with that comment. I was sniggering even before Dean put his grip in the back of his neck.

“You touch her, I’ll gut you. You look at her, I’ll gut you”, Dean directed to my poor friend his most menacing look “you think of her...”

“You’ll gut me, I get it” Mark said in a barely audible voice.

I rolled my eyes.

“Ok, thank you for your protection, Cerberus, but I think I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

He turned his gaze to his younger brother.

“Keep an eye on her, Sammy.”

“Sure, Dean, sure”, he answered, already on the other side of the door.

“Sam! You got us lost and when we finally arrived there, the concert had been canceled ‘cos the place didn’t have the appropriate license,” I argued.

“You mean this is not your very best birthday ever?”, he gaped, pretending to be offended.

“As much as I’m enjoying our thumb wrestling competition, I had a different idea of what today was gonna be like.”

Sam’s face went immediately straight.

“If you’re bored and wanna go back home, I’m ok with that.”

“Nay, I like playing with you.”

He smiled. We were killing time in Mom’s truck before returning home. Maybe we were not the most popular kids in school but that didn’t mean we were ready to arrive home one hour before curfew with our tails between our legs.

“It was still quite a good birthday, anyway,” he stated.

“Was it?”, I raised my eyebrow while I tried to beat him once more.

“Dean’s face when he saw your clothes? Totally worth eating Ellen’s special stew.”

I burst out in laughter.

“Is it just me or it’s getting worse every year?”

“It is,” he took a breath “And the burka part? Genius.”

He laughed again, cute, cute, cute dimples appearing. I bit my lip. I was getting goosebumps all over my skin. He had been making that happen the whole afternoon. Dean had told him to watch my back. Sam was an obedient boy, so he did it. Literally. Every now and then, I felt his eyes on the small of my back, staring at the skin between the hem of my top and the waistband of my low-ride jeans. Maybe trying to assume I was not his little girl anymore. We had been exchanging looks and shy smiles nobody else seemed to notice. But by the time Kate, Claire and Mark had been dropped back at their homes and we were finally alone in the car, nothing happened. Apart from the thumb wrestling competition, of course.

“Ha! I WIN!”

“Not fair! I wasn’t paying attention,” I protested.

“Good point, Harvelle”, he strained his voice so it would sound husky and older “because if you ever thumb wrestle against a demon and you’re not paying attention, he’ll be fair to you. Now stop thinking about the burka you’re buying tomorrow. Once more from the beginning!”

I smiled at his impersonation of John.

“Do you also think that it is, you know,” I gazed at my outfit “too tight?”

He stopped the game, hands still intertwined, and avoided my eyes nervously when he spoke.

“I think tight looks good on you.”

I needed to look somewhere else, too, trying to hide my blush. He squeezed my hand.

(Ok, Jo: it’s now or never. You’re so not gonna have better opportunities than this one. He’s not going further than that remark if you don’t dare make a move. One. Two. Three. Go.)

So I kissed him. Suddenly, probably clumsily, without any kind of warning. At first, my eyes were shut and my teeth so tightly clenched together it hurt. Then, I noticed he was not rejecting me. I relaxed more and more as Sam’s hands moved to caress my hair, my neck, my waist. I couldn’t think anything coherent till I felt he was moving his face away from mine with a worried look.

“It can’t happen,” he whispered.

“Why?”, I demanded to know.

“It’s complicated. I’m so sorry, Jo, I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t. Really.”

He moved to start the engine. I put the key in its initial position. I was not gonna end the conversation that way.

“But Sam...”

“Look, if you were... If I were...” he sighed “it’s not going to happen again, that’s it.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not your sister, Sam.”

“I know.”

“What if things were different? What would happen if this was the first time we met? If I was not Ellen’s daughter, and you were not John’s kid? What if...?”

“Jo, you are who you are”, he closed his eyes, “and I am who I am, and this is not right. Not right.” He opened them again, and pulled a strand of hair behind my ear. “You understand?”

I pushed his hand aside, and avoided his eyes.

“I wanna go home.”

“Jo...”

“I’m tired, I wanna go home.”

He took the keys and started the car. I had my eyes fixed on the dark scenery.

“Crappy first kiss”, I mumbled, breath misting over my window. It was gonna be a long sleepless night for me. (Happy fourteenth birthday, Jo. You've fucked up big time.)