Title: Her Fire
Fandoms: HP/Supernatural/BtVS(in later chapters)
Rating: PG to start, possibly will up it to M in later chapters.
Warnings: It’s a Jo fic. Set after Born Under A Bad Sign. I, like many SPN fans, hated Jo on sight. After reading several well written stories, I have changed my mind… as long as she isn’t paired with Dean.
Pairings: Het ** Jo/Someone from the HP ‘verse… not saying yet. Although it’s pretty obvious after she describes him.
Character(s): I haven’t completely decided yet. It is a future fic and will be part of a series that includes my current WIP – Sirenes, posted over at TTH.
Summary: After Dean left her hanging, not knowing if either he or Sam were okay, Jo couldn’t find her focus. But then he walked in…
She didn’t know why she was still here. It seemed pretty stupid to continue working in this town, not to mention this bar, now that the Winchesters both knew she was here. For some reason Jo just couldn’t gather the motivation to move on. She certainly didn’t want to go back to the Roadhouse and suffer under her mother’s watchful eye. Her mother would know something had happened and as angry as she was with Dean, Jo didn’t want to bring that kind of wrath down on the boys.
She glanced at the clock for what seemed to be the hundredth time and sighed in relief to see that with only 30 minutes to go before closing, it was time to start cleaning up. Walking around to the outside of the bar she straightened the stools. As she wiped the bar top, the sound of the bell over the door ringing caused every muscle in her body to clench. The soft sound of measured steps eased her anxiety somewhat as neither Winchester had ever managed to walk like that within her hearing. Jo glanced at the mirror above the bar and her breath stuttered at the sight of the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was dressed in black from head to toe and the color seemed to cause his white hair to glow with its own light. ‘Dean who?’ She thought and then flushed when she realized the man had caught her staring. A flash of amusement coursed through his strange silver eyes and Jo got the feeling he was laughing at her.
His throat clearing broke Jo out of her stasis and she whirled around, her glare seeming so yell ‘What?’.
“Excuse me, but could I get a pint? Or, are you closing up?” He gestured to the clock on the wall behind the bar. Jo watched him for a moment as he approached and she knew precisely when his gaze whispered over the bruise on her face. The silver of his eyes darkened to charcoal grey as they flew over the skin of her face, the anger roiling in his eyes causing her to flinch in remembered fear. She watched him warily as he drew in his anger and cloaked it behind a cool façade.
They were both startled when they noticed his hand had stopped halfway between them, as if he was reaching out to sooth the ache in her face. His hand dropped, “May I have a beer please?” His smooth cultured voice whispered across her skin and she shivered despite the warmth of the room.
Jo shook herself and moved behind the bar, relieved to place a little distance between them. “The tap is off, you can have something bottled or in a can.”
The man closed his eyes for a moment and asked in a hopeful voice, “I know it’s probably asking for the moon, but might you have Guinness?”
Jo allowed herself to smile slightly, “You’re in luck. We just got our order in. We have Guinness, Bass and Young’s. The owner’s best friend is English and he keeps the old guy’s favorites in stock.”
The smile that crossed his face was breathtaking and Jo missed his next question. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You actually have Double Chocolate Stout?”
“Yes. You want?” Jo flushed again as she realized what she had said and whirled around, missing the flash of heat that transformed the dark grey of his eyes back to liquid silver.
“Oh yes, thank you.” The deepened quality of his voice set off answering warmth in her body that Jo wasn’t sure she was comfortable with.
She uncapped the bottle and set it on the bar in front of him before rushing to the back. A heated argument with the owner had back out front, wiping down the bar. She put off cleaning the bar in front of him until last, and moved to get it done as quickly as possible.
“I don’t bite.” The softness of his voice stilled her movement and Jo looked up at him. “Would you tell me what happened to you?”
“Because such beauty should never be bruised. I hope you got in a good shot at least.” The wry humor in his tone startled her.
“What do you want from me?” Jo asked with a tight voice.
“Just some information and the pleasure of your company while I drink this excellent ale.”