Topic: Affirmation

Jo Winchester

Date: 2014-06-29 04:34 EST
((Follows closely on the heels of First Blood.))

Back in their hotel room, thanks to whatever member of the Greek Pantheon had come to their rescue, Dean was grumbling loudly at the first aid his lovely wife was forcing him to endure. He felt like he'd just gone head-on with a eighteen wheeler, and Nim seemed sure his ribs were at least badly bruised, if not broken. In all his years of hunting, he'd lost count of how many times he'd broken a bone or suffered a concussion, not to mention died. It all just went with the territory. "Ouch!" he complained, wincing in pain as her fingers explored his left side. "Would you mind not poking me there" It hurts!"

"Well, that's kinda the point of the poking, princess," his lovely wife informed him with a smirk. "God, you're such a baby about this stuff." Slipping her hands from his side, she handed him two pills and a glass of scotch from the mini-bar - because she knew her husband very well indeed - and started to slather topical analgesic cream over his bruised side. "How many times have you been beat up by a chick now?"

He said nothing about being a baby, just clenching his jaw as he remembered a similar conversation that had taken place between them. How many years ago was it now" He gratefully took the pills and the glass, muttering a mumbled, "Thanks," before tossing both back with another wince, this time from the burning sensation as the scotch made its way down past his throat. He glanced at her curiously as she rubbed something cool and soothing over his side, wondering what had happened back there and what they'd done to her head. She didn't seem any different really, but he couldn't be sure. "More times than I can count. It's getting a little old, to be honest." He knew some guys liked that sort of thing, even thought it was kinky, but not him. He wasn't overly fond of pain, no matter how it was doled out or by whom.

"You know, it's comments like that make me wonder if you just let me hit you when we met," she commented mildly, without thinking. That morning, such recollections wouldn't have been possible, and yet now they were all there, the gift of a goddess who had been obeying an order intended to keep her out of the fight that had ultimately killed her mistress. It would take a while for everything to settle into place, no doubt, but for the first time in three years, everything was there. No gaps, no blankness. She was herself.

"What?" he exclaimed, jerking his head toward her, stunned to hear her mention an event he remembered so clearly in his mind, but that had been wiped from her memory - at least, until now, it seemed. "You remember that?" he asked, knowing she had to be remembering the first time they'd met back at the Roadhouse in their own world.

She withdrew a little, wiping her hands clean on a towel as she settled down to sit beside him. "Please, God, let that be a rifle," she said softly, recalling their first words to each other. "No, I'm just real happy to see you." Her shoulders rose and fell in a slightly confused shrug. "I remember everything. I don't know what she did, but ....it's all there. All that emptiness in my head, it's full. I know who I am."

He lowered the glass of half-finished scotch to rest against his leg as she gave her his full attention, wrestling with memories of his own and worried those same memories might change her feelings for him. Especially, since he was still blaming himself for her death. "You..." he stammered nervously. "You remember everything?"

"Everything." She twisted to face him, meeting his gaze with honest eyes. "You got no right to feel guilty about that other part of me dying, Dean. Seriously, you're gonna take that away from me" For the first time in my life, my mother listened to me like I was an adult, she let me make a decision that she should never have had to be present for. It sucks, I know, and I'm always going to live with the guilt that comes with getting her killed, but that is my guilt, not yours. I made those decisions, I put myself in the firing line, and I'm the one who chose not to hold out for help. Don't you dare take that away from me. How many people can say they've died for the people they love, and then got a second chance to live with them?"

He still hadn't quite grasped the implications of what she was telling him. If she truly did remember everything, that not only did she remember her own death, but she remembered Ellen and Bill and Sam and Bobby and even John. She remembered that Dean's father was responsible for her father's death, the same way that Dean was responsible for Bill's death in this reality. She remembered their last goodbye, and how it had torn him up to leave her. She remembered everything in between - every stolen glance, every flirtatious remark, every moment they'd spent together, every word they'd said. She remembered that last kiss, the one that had nearly ripped his heart to shreds. He met her gaze for a moment, listening to her, trying to understand what it was she was telling him before dropping his gaze, ashamed of the tears that were suddenly filling his eyes. He thought he'd already come to grips with all this months ago.

"It just about killed me to leave you behind," he murmured quietly, afraid she'd hear the emotion in his voice, the grief and the guilt.

"I know," she told him softly, her hand gentle against his cheek in an echo of the touch her ghostly self had given him not so very long ago. Yes, she even remembered that, though this incarnation of her had been alive and well in this reality at the time. "You carry all kinds of crap you don't have to," she said in a tender tone. "This is our second chance, Dean. Stop worrying you're gonna screw it up, because I've got a wedding ring and a baby inside me that says otherwise."

He lifted his gaze to her, leaning his cheek into her hand, even as tears spilled over onto his face, grateful for her touch, for her love. He had known her as Jo and as Nimue, in the past, the present, and even the future, each of them a little bit different, but all of them equally her. He realized in that moment that having her back, knowing everything she now remembered, only made him love the woman she'd become even more. "Jo," he whispered, not afraid to call her by the name she'd been given at birth. Joanna Beth Harvelle. His Jo; his Nimue.

She held his gaze, her own eyes a little watery in the face of his tears. "Yeah," she whispered back to him softly. "I'm your Jo again, if you want it. Joanna Beth Winchester, just like I scribbled in my journal for three years." She shrugged, her expression just a little self-deprecating. There was no denying the influence of her time as the amnesiac Nimue - the Jo he remembered would never have admitted that, but this Jo, with the maturity Nimue had given her, this Jo wasn't afraid to share that information with him.

Jo Winchester

Date: 2014-06-29 04:35 EST
"I don't..." he started, breaking off as he felt the tears welling up again, unsure how to answer that. Had she really loved him that long" But things had been different then. Even if she hadn't died, Ellen or Sam or Bobby or someone would have come between them. She'd had Ellen then, and he'd had Sam, and the demons would never have let them have a happily ever after. Hunters didn't have that option, but here....Everything had changed. He laughed a little through a haze of tears. "I don't know what to do."

"How about you start by giving me that kiss you promised me?" she suggested, a playful look in her eyes that was somehow more complete now she knew herself truly once more. It was a look she'd given him plenty of times before her death, and one he knew very well indeed. "I think my self-respect can handle it, don't you?"

"It's not our last night on Earth anymore," he reminded her, though it didn't really make any difference. They both knew that any day could be the last in their line of work. It was what had made him take advantage of every opportunity to enjoy himself when he'd been younger. At least, until he'd lost her. Every other woman in his life paled beside her. She was his perfect match in every way and always had been. He leaned close, as if he was going to kiss her, hesitating a moment, just as she had years ago before she'd died, when she'd turned him down for the last time. "Still love me?" he asked, as if he needed to know that her feelings for him hadn't changed.

"Always," she promised him, leaning closer to claim that kiss for herself, her fingers teasing into his hair. And it was true - she'd loved him a long time before he'd seemed to realize it, and even when those memories were gone, she'd loved him before knowing him. Some things just couldn't be forgotten or pushed aside - Jo loved him, Nimue loved him. They were one and the same, and nothing was going to change their heart.

He claimed the kiss finally, reassured by her declaration of love, or at least of her reassurance of the love that they shared. No matter how many years had passed or how many women had come after her, she had always been the one who'd burned the brightest in his heart. She'd been the one he could never forget. He touched his lips to hers, forgetting the glass of scotch he was precariously balancing against one knee, thinking only of her, his heart burning with mingled love and desire.

Drawing back, she grinned up at him, that familiarly bright-eyed grin he knew very well indeed. "I love you, Dean," she promised him once again, nipping the end of his nose affectionately. "But you gotta do one thing for me, okay?"

"I never get tired of hearing you say that," he told her, the tears fading, a soft smile on his face as she kissed his nose, the only person who'd ever dared get that close. "What's that?" he asked, pressing another kiss to her lips as his fingers wandered over her cheek and into her hair, desire flaring inside him, despite the bruises.

"You get to explain to Ellen why I'm gonna strangle her with hugs next time I see her," she murmured, still grinning as she took his kiss and gave it back to him, shifting close enough to knock the glass from his knee. The thump it made on the carpet was ignored as her arms curled around his neck, warm and tender, more than happy to celebrate their victory like this. After all, they had until dawn.

"Mmm," he murmured a reply beneath her lips, heedless of the spilled scotch. There was more where that came from, after all. He had his Jo back, and though Hades didn't know it yet, Persephone had made a grave error in giving her back her memories, causing her not only to remember Dean and Ellen and how much they'd meant to her, but restoring all the knowledge she'd lost when she'd died and been drawn into this world. For now though, all he wanted to do was enjoy the moment and celebrate their first victory against Hades and his minions in their own way.

For a long time, there was nothing but Dean and Jo, wrapped up in each other as though it were the first time all over again. And in a way, it was. This really was Jo in his arms, and she wasn't pretending not to love him any more. Wearing his ring, carrying his child, and definitively his, beyond any shadow of a doubt, she gave as good as she got, savoring every moment, secure in the knowledge that he loved her.

Love was perhaps an inadequate word to describe what Dean was feeling now that he had his Jo back, and he intended to let her know it in every possible way, until they were both weak with exhaustion. Things couldn't have turned out better, despite the bumps and bruises. The lines had been drawn. They had drawn first blood, and instead of one of them being killed, the enemy had inadvertently given him his Jo back. Despite his body's protests, Dean was in high spirits. Round One was over, they had won, and Dean couldn't wait to see the look on Ellen and Bobby's faces when they returned home, not only with what was arguably the most powerful weapon in existence, but with Jo's memories intact. It was going to be an interesting reunion, that much was certain, and Dean could hardly wait for it to happen.

((How's that for a happy consequence? Reunion in Sioux Falls coming up!))