a subtle sort of brilliance (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theladyscribe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
avandell2007-03-08 04:34 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2007-03-08 04:34 pm
Entry tags:
Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind (One-Shot)
Title: Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind
Characters: Dean, Jo, Sam (no pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 855
Warnings: spoilers for BUaBS, mention of rape, AU
Summary: She knows she should call, to let them know that she’ll be all right eventually (maybe), but it’s been three days and the nightmares have only gotten worse.
Notes: Part three of my dark!fic BUaBS AU, after Keep You from the Gallows Pole and A Face from the Ancient Gallery (read those first or this won’t make any sense). Title from Pink Floyd’s “Goodbye Cruel World.” X-posted a lot.
Keep You From the Gallows Pole | A Face From the Ancient Gallery
Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind | All These Places Feel Like Home
In My Hour of Darkness
Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind
Sam calls. Jo doesn’t answer, even though she knows she should (she did ask him to call), just lets it go to voicemail so she won’t run the risk of having to talk to Dean. She’s so glad that he refused to take her with him – she doesn’t think she would have been able to handle it if she had gone along.
She doesn’t listen to the message until that night, after she’s scrubbed herself raw from head to toe (three days and six scalding-hot showers later, and she still feels dirty).
“Hey Jo,” and it’s Sam’s calm and soothing voice, the one he probably uses on traumatized victims when the boys are running their cases. “Just calling to let you know we’re safe. You were right, it was possession. Bobby and I – we were able to exorcise it. Dean’s all right now, sleeping at the moment, because I laced his beer with sleeping pills. He was pretty shaken up about it.” He pauses. “I don’t know how much he remembers, Jo. Usually, when people are possessed, they don’t remember a thing. Dean remembers at least some of it, I know, because he was crying out in his sleep last night. If you could – I know you won’t want to, and I understand, but if you could call back sometime, just so Dean knows that you’re okay, that you’ll be okay…” He trails off, as if realizing the futility of what he’s asking. “Bye Jo,” he says suddenly, and the message ends.
She bites her lip, thinking about it. She knows she should call, to let them know that she’ll be all right eventually (maybe), but it’s been three days and the nightmares have only gotten worse with each night, Dean’s voice taunting her with little schoolgirl and my daddy shot your daddy and Jo, I’m sorry, I can’t (that terrified, unfinished sentence), and she just can’t do it.
It’s been a full week since that night, and Sam has called three more times. Jo lets it go to voicemail each time, still unable, still unwilling to risk hearing Dean’s voice, even though she knows it will sound different than it did in the bar.
She thinks about calling and letting it ring, just so Sam’s phone will register her number, so he’ll know that she’s gotten his messages and she’s still alive. She doesn’t do it, of course, but it’s the thought that counts. Right?
Three weeks later, Sam has (thankfully) stopped calling. But more importantly, she’s two weeks late – something that hasn’t happened since she was sixteen and still getting used to her cycles. With a sick feeling of dread, Jo forces herself to go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. When it comes back positive, Jo sits on the floor of her tiny bathroom and cries.
She should call her mother, she knows, but what would she say? Hi mom, Dean was possessed and raped me, and now I’m pregnant. She would be lucky if Ellen did not hunt the boys down and shoot them both, even though neither was at fault. She probably should also call the boys, but she can’t bring herself to do that, either. She doesn’t know what they would say – if they would help her or just leave well enough alone. She decides not to call them; the guilt would eat Dean alive, she’s sure, and she thinks that would be far worse than telling her mother.
Instead she packs what few belongings she has – her father’s knife, her journals, a gun – and pays the last of the rent on her apartment. The next morning, she’s driving away from Duluth, headed nowhere fast, with nothing left to lose.
Six months later, Jo’s got a job at a café in Chicago, near the University. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough for the rent on a tiny apartment nearby. She’s left the hunting community completely, though she still sends postcards to her mother to let her know she’s still alive. She wonders sometimes how the boys are doing. If she were being honest, she’d say that she thinks about them almost constantly, wonders if they’ll just show up and take her with them, but she can’t allow herself that weakness, especially not with a child on the way. Perhaps she can be excused, then, for thinking that she sees the Impala one night as she’s walking home from work. She saw it – thought she saw it – out of the corner of her eye, but she blinked and turned to look at it and it was gone.
Three more months pass, and it’s November – almost the dead of winter in Chicago. Jo checks herself into a hospital – the contractions have just started, but she’s not taking any chances in this weather.
Thirteen long and painful hours later, Jo is more exhausted than she’s ever been in her life. The nurses all smile and coo over what a pretty little girl she has as they clean her up. They finally hand little Glory Ann back to her mother who smiles sadly and says, “She has her father’s eyes.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: So I’m a big fat liar who can’t seem to leave this AU well enough alone. But I felt like I owed it to Jo to have her own thoughts about the whole Duluth debacle. So. I think she handled it a bit better than Dean did. Possibly the best of the three of them, actually.
Also, as far as this fic series is concerned, Born Under a Bad Sign took place in February sometime. I guessed as best I could, considering the distinct lack of timeline in Supernatural. I figured since Houses of the Holy obviously took place sometime in January, Born Under a Bad Sign took place in mid-February.
And I’ll tell you right now, that I’m not quite finished with this ‘verse. There’s one last piece I need to finish, because Duluth affected four people: Sam, Dean, Jo, and little Glory Ann. So yeah, I’m writing a futurefic.
Lyrics to “Goodbye Cruel World”:
Goodbye cruel world
I'm leaving you today
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye all you people
There's nothing you can say
To make me change
My mind
Goodbye.
Characters: Dean, Jo, Sam (no pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 855
Warnings: spoilers for BUaBS, mention of rape, AU
Summary: She knows she should call, to let them know that she’ll be all right eventually (maybe), but it’s been three days and the nightmares have only gotten worse.
Notes: Part three of my dark!fic BUaBS AU, after Keep You from the Gallows Pole and A Face from the Ancient Gallery (read those first or this won’t make any sense). Title from Pink Floyd’s “Goodbye Cruel World.” X-posted a lot.
Keep You From the Gallows Pole | A Face From the Ancient Gallery
Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind | All These Places Feel Like Home
In My Hour of Darkness
Nothing You Can Say to Make Me Change My Mind
Sam calls. Jo doesn’t answer, even though she knows she should (she did ask him to call), just lets it go to voicemail so she won’t run the risk of having to talk to Dean. She’s so glad that he refused to take her with him – she doesn’t think she would have been able to handle it if she had gone along.
She doesn’t listen to the message until that night, after she’s scrubbed herself raw from head to toe (three days and six scalding-hot showers later, and she still feels dirty).
“Hey Jo,” and it’s Sam’s calm and soothing voice, the one he probably uses on traumatized victims when the boys are running their cases. “Just calling to let you know we’re safe. You were right, it was possession. Bobby and I – we were able to exorcise it. Dean’s all right now, sleeping at the moment, because I laced his beer with sleeping pills. He was pretty shaken up about it.” He pauses. “I don’t know how much he remembers, Jo. Usually, when people are possessed, they don’t remember a thing. Dean remembers at least some of it, I know, because he was crying out in his sleep last night. If you could – I know you won’t want to, and I understand, but if you could call back sometime, just so Dean knows that you’re okay, that you’ll be okay…” He trails off, as if realizing the futility of what he’s asking. “Bye Jo,” he says suddenly, and the message ends.
She bites her lip, thinking about it. She knows she should call, to let them know that she’ll be all right eventually (maybe), but it’s been three days and the nightmares have only gotten worse with each night, Dean’s voice taunting her with little schoolgirl and my daddy shot your daddy and Jo, I’m sorry, I can’t (that terrified, unfinished sentence), and she just can’t do it.
It’s been a full week since that night, and Sam has called three more times. Jo lets it go to voicemail each time, still unable, still unwilling to risk hearing Dean’s voice, even though she knows it will sound different than it did in the bar.
She thinks about calling and letting it ring, just so Sam’s phone will register her number, so he’ll know that she’s gotten his messages and she’s still alive. She doesn’t do it, of course, but it’s the thought that counts. Right?
Three weeks later, Sam has (thankfully) stopped calling. But more importantly, she’s two weeks late – something that hasn’t happened since she was sixteen and still getting used to her cycles. With a sick feeling of dread, Jo forces herself to go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. When it comes back positive, Jo sits on the floor of her tiny bathroom and cries.
She should call her mother, she knows, but what would she say? Hi mom, Dean was possessed and raped me, and now I’m pregnant. She would be lucky if Ellen did not hunt the boys down and shoot them both, even though neither was at fault. She probably should also call the boys, but she can’t bring herself to do that, either. She doesn’t know what they would say – if they would help her or just leave well enough alone. She decides not to call them; the guilt would eat Dean alive, she’s sure, and she thinks that would be far worse than telling her mother.
Instead she packs what few belongings she has – her father’s knife, her journals, a gun – and pays the last of the rent on her apartment. The next morning, she’s driving away from Duluth, headed nowhere fast, with nothing left to lose.
Six months later, Jo’s got a job at a café in Chicago, near the University. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough for the rent on a tiny apartment nearby. She’s left the hunting community completely, though she still sends postcards to her mother to let her know she’s still alive. She wonders sometimes how the boys are doing. If she were being honest, she’d say that she thinks about them almost constantly, wonders if they’ll just show up and take her with them, but she can’t allow herself that weakness, especially not with a child on the way. Perhaps she can be excused, then, for thinking that she sees the Impala one night as she’s walking home from work. She saw it – thought she saw it – out of the corner of her eye, but she blinked and turned to look at it and it was gone.
Three more months pass, and it’s November – almost the dead of winter in Chicago. Jo checks herself into a hospital – the contractions have just started, but she’s not taking any chances in this weather.
Thirteen long and painful hours later, Jo is more exhausted than she’s ever been in her life. The nurses all smile and coo over what a pretty little girl she has as they clean her up. They finally hand little Glory Ann back to her mother who smiles sadly and says, “She has her father’s eyes.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: So I’m a big fat liar who can’t seem to leave this AU well enough alone. But I felt like I owed it to Jo to have her own thoughts about the whole Duluth debacle. So. I think she handled it a bit better than Dean did. Possibly the best of the three of them, actually.
Also, as far as this fic series is concerned, Born Under a Bad Sign took place in February sometime. I guessed as best I could, considering the distinct lack of timeline in Supernatural. I figured since Houses of the Holy obviously took place sometime in January, Born Under a Bad Sign took place in mid-February.
And I’ll tell you right now, that I’m not quite finished with this ‘verse. There’s one last piece I need to finish, because Duluth affected four people: Sam, Dean, Jo, and little Glory Ann. So yeah, I’m writing a futurefic.
Lyrics to “Goodbye Cruel World”:
Goodbye cruel world
I'm leaving you today
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye all you people
There's nothing you can say
To make me change
My mind
Goodbye.
no subject