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It's humid. And summer. And she was stupid to tell Jack no.

And there are still more Winchesters than you can shake a stick at in Lawrence.

Which is why Jo is on the sidewalk, of the house across the street, painting her toe nails cotton candy pink.

It was the only color she saw yesterday when she went looking around in town and came back with a grocery cart full of varying ammunitions, a pile of multi-sized clothes, batteries and better beer.

~~Besides, it's pretty.~~

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Sam comes out of The House.

Sees Jo.

Stops.

Turns around to go back in.

Avoidance: The Winchester Family Motto.

It's hard to miss anything in this part of Lawrence.

Other parts had people. This street had Winchesters. So if someone made a noise, and it wasn't her, it was a Winchester.

Which is why when the door opens and closes across the street, she looks up.

The retreat evokes a frowns and a very loud yell.

"Hey!"

Edited 2008-06-12 22:06 (UTC)

Sam stops, mid-retreat, and looks up at her.

Guilty puppy eyes: ATTACK.

She's not sure whether that evokes anger or exasperation.

It might be both. Which is why she looking at him in a hard way.

For about thirty seconds before she reaches the hand, not holding the nail polish wand in it out, and beckons him with a finger.

With a face that makes this not a request.

Sam crosses the street, slowly.

"Hey," he says, with the air of somebody about to be put to death.

Oh, Sam. You should have been a drama major.

Jo, as soon as he start walking, goes back to painting her toes. Waiting until his shadow and feet are closer before she speaks.

"Do I hafta hit you again before you stop treating me like Typhoid Mary?"

Surprisingly, her tone is not sharp. At all.

"I didn't realize I...."

Yes, you did, Sam.

"I'm sorry."

Jo nods. It's very small and entirely possible to miss it because of her focus on her toes.

"You could sit. Unless you wanna move two feet and emulate a red wood for me?"

Sam moves two feet.

"I do very well as a sun visor. It could have been my calling."

"Somewhere they're mourning your lack of divine inspiration for it."

The shade is welcome even if she doesn't look up.

(She doesn't need to be reminded of the towering from an even lower vantage point.)

"You going to tell me why you weren't ignoring me like the plague?"

Sam sighs.

"Guilt, mostly. About what happened. About not checking up on you. Also about taking it out on you...see, when we killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon...I kind of died. And Dean made a deal to save me. And it came due, and I watched him die and then we were both here, and I'm still....really, really on edge from that."

Her first reaction is a look.

Strike that. Her first reaction is to want to say I know.

Her second is a look. One that clearly says she thought between punching him and getting a knife to the throat they were mostly good. At least topically.

"Maybe you should sit."

Sam sighs.

And sits.

He really is like a puppy in some ways.

The sigh probably effects her more than he knows.

Even if the next minute is spent finishing the toe nails on her right foot and saying absolutely nothing.

Putting the wand back in and shaking the bottle between her fingers, she said, "We're cool."

"Yeah?"

Beat.

"You still like me better than Dean?"

Little smile. Sam is happy.

She's not positive how true it is, but she is positive that she wants it to be true.

And that that was more important in Milliways, and is even here in Lawrence.

The second part made her laugh, which was easier to focus on. "Compared to him, I like you like the best fuckin' thing the world."

"Awesome."

Sam has a real smile for her, now.

"I'm glad. That we're okay."

He gets a mock glare.

"And we'll stay that way so long as you don't act like a dick again. There's already one dick Winchester. I don't think the world can handle another."

That's not exactly so much an insult with the way she smiles during it.

Sam salutes.

"Ma'am. Dick-hood is Dean's job. Yes, ma'am."

Jo snorted, hand going to her face.

"Much better."

She unscrewed the bottle, aiming to start on her left foot.

Sam looks at the color, considers snide commentary, and decides against it in the face of their recent truce.

Instead, "Mom likes that color too."

He gets the small tug of a rye smile on the side of her mouth he can see.

"My mom woulda hated it. In that way where she found it disgusting, and yet prayed it was a damn divine sign that I was going to choose to be a girl over bein' a hunter."

Edited 2008-06-12 22:59 (UTC)

Sam snorts.

"Yeah. I can see that from Ellen. Do as I say, not as I do, right?"

Beat.

"Not that, you know, I have anything against....your mom's great, you know?"

Jo laughed, hard at his word, having to pick her hand so she wouldn't smear across her toes.

"Yeah."

Yeah.

Dammit.

"I used to do Jess' for her," Sam says, gesturing at the polish. "If you ever tell Dean, I'll deny it to my dying breath, but I used to rub her feet and...just be with her."

Jo pulled her knees closer, looking at him.

He gets a soft appraising look. The kind that doesn't quite admit what she's thinking. (Which is he's the kind of guy who shouldn't have been pulled into their world.)

(Or that it sounds adorable.)

(Or that, against every swear word in her vocabulary, she might want that. Even if it could never fit the rest of her bill.)

Instead she smiled, "I won't tell. Not like he'd believe me anyway. You're his strappingly tall manly brother."

"Oh, he'd believe you."

Sam grimaces. "He calls me Samantha."

Jo paints her toenails silent with no response to the first part.

But makes a face at the second.

"We should tie him down and paint him with nail polish. In his sleep."

Sam is not giggling maniacally.

Much.

This is because Jo, smartly, did not mentioning the vision involving trichloromethane. Because smart Jo is very smart.

She smirked at the infectious laugh.

"I'll make sure to save the pink for it."

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