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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 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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