#because what's a little accidental incest horror without both the sexy bits and the fluff am i right.

[quietwingsinthesky]

your jo/dean/sam fic??👀👀👀

lmao yeah it took me a minute to find it in my wip folder because none of these fics have titles that make it easy on me (fun fact: it was sitting between one fic titled "oh my god" and another titled "choking your brother to death as an act of devotion" my wip folder is so normal)

ANYWAY. basic premise of this fic is that while I was watching s2 with my friend, I was thinking about her flirting with Dean, about how the original plan (Kripke's idea, i believe?) was for her to be their half-sister, and internally going "hey uh eric. hey eric. why was your idea directly after 'she's their sister' that 'she should want to fuck dean'" and then combine that with s2 having absolutely insane vibes around sam & dean, and i started putting together a little rewrite. nothing too fancy, just What If jo kept hunting with the boys, what if the three of them had insane sexual tension, what if she was secretly their half-sister. what if there is no escape from the winchester family curse no matter how much you try to hide from it.

it is also a fic i started for kinktober with the prompt of the day being "double penetration" asjdlaksjd. and then about 9000 words later i did not finish it in time.

i've tried to find a snippet that makes sense all on its own to share, but they're all very tied into each other, referencing lines from earlier parts and such. still! turns out i do have a little of the playthings part of the draft finished that mostly works standalone. just keep in mind this is very unfinished, try not to judge too harshly ^-^

He helps Sam into bed and watches him drunkenly snuggle into the mattress. Dean’s got the horrible urge to laugh because he knows just how shitty Sam will feel come morning and thinking about him whining over a hangover is better than lingering on Sam’s death wish. He won’t remember anything Dean said, that’s what he holds onto. He’ll be too busy vomiting his guts up to know what Dean just promised him.

Dean turns, and there’s Jo. He’s yanked violently out of his and Sam’s tiny world and into one where Jo’s brown eyes have witnessed every transgression this night. Dean wishes the worst of it was what he promised Sam, but he can still smell Sam’s breath as it beat against his face, his lips centimeters from Dean’s, dipping and swerving like he wanted as badly to kiss him as to run and never come back.

Jo is staring.

Dean goes on the offensive. It’s easiest.

“You let him get like this while we’re working?” he asks. Jo’s face ricochets through emotions, wide, confused eyes to her mouth twisting into a scowl to it falling open a little, head tipped into astonishment more than anything else.

“You think I could have stopped him?” There’s a slur to her words that Dean picks up on. She hears it, too, shakes her head. “I thought we were having fun. And then, I thought he was trying to prove he could drink me under the table. And then, he got...” She gestures at Sam. Sam snores, always so helpful. She looks between him and Dean. She meets Dean’s eyes, and then her gaze falls, in a way that should be familiar and instead leaves him nauseous, to his lips.

“Jo,” he says, “please.” He wants to say that he’s begging please don’t tell anyone else. But... cat’s out of the bag. There’s no way she can’t be putting the pieces together. He knows what he’s really asking. Please don’t look at this like it’s something ugly. Don’t look at Sam like he’s a monster. Don’t look at me like I ruined everything.

(And deep down, he’s crying out, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I know you will one day but don’t let it be now, not for this.)

Jo’s gaze darts over to Sam again. She’s got her arms crossed.

“Please,” Dean says again.

“He was drunk,” she says, slowly. It’s almost like a way out. Pretend this never happened. Go back to normal. Only Dean can’t take that option either, not if she knows and she hasn’t run away screaming yet. Just one more person to bear this secret, and maybe it won’t be so heavy. (Jo doesn’t deserve to have to carry it, to have to hide it, but Dean is so tired of him and Sam being the only ones.)

She waits for him to take the out. He doesn’t.

“But that’s not why he was trying to stick his tongue in your mouth,” she finishes.

“He’s messy when he’s had too many.” Dean’s voice is too strained.

“You’re real fucked up, you know that?” Jo says. Dean expects it to come with a slamming door or something thrown at him. It doesn’t.

“I know,” he says. “We know.”

“Who else?”

“What?”

“Who else knows?” Dean shrugs.

“I don’t know.” Gordon’s eyes, narrowed and disgusted and murderous. “We don’t exactly give that info out freely.”

“Just me, then?” Dean could point out that he didn’t tell her either, that she eavesdropped on him and Sam’s private world. It doesn’t change anything, and besides, he’s telling her now, isn’t he? Can't help himself.

“It’s just you,” he confirms. “You gonna stand on a street corner and start shouting ‘Extra! Extra! The Winchesters are brotherfuckers!’” Jo grimaces.

"Don’t put words in my mouth. I'm not going to tell anyone," she says. “I’m not- Let me think.” She puts her hand to her forehead, grimace deepening, and then he hears her mutter, “Fuck.” He knows that tone very well. He’s said that exact word that exact way dozens of times. Jo stumbles as fast as she can into the bathroom. She manages to make it to the toilet before she starts retching. Dean moves without thinking twice, bending down next to her and gathering up her hair in his hands. He holds it out of her face and listens to her curse around the burn of stomach acid and alcohol in her throat. When she’s done, she slumps. Dean flushes for her.

He should probably back off. Let her go.

He strokes her back instead. He can just barely feel her heartbeat against his palm, reaching through muscle and skin and the thin fabric of her tank top to reassure him she’s still here.