And I'll Probably Be Happy by citrusjava for <user site="livejo

[springflingmod.livejournal.com]

Title: And I'll Probably Be Happy
Pairing: Jo/Bela
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Fluff, some violence, sexual abuse, allusions to abuse, child sexual abuse, misogyny and homophobia




The third time Jo kisses a woman, she's been longing for it for years.



Bela is the one who got away. Jo wants to learn how to do it too. Bela drives a car that would never have a bandana tied to its radio antenna. Talks like she just killed James Bond. Bela is Anywhere But Here, and that's gotta be better.

Bela leaves in clouds of bewildered, angry men, and it suits her. Threaten her with a shotgun, she smiles and convinces you to shoot someone for her. A glass breaks on the other side of the room, and Bela freezes, and for a moment her eyes are so young. Jo doesn't know how a bar full of hunters, hunters worth their salt, miss it. But she has to admit, Bela’s dresses are distracting.


But we get ahead of ourselves.




First time Jo kissed a girl, they were on Jo’s bed, flipping through Sheera’s Vogue. Sheera was sharing her samples, so they rubbed the magazine on their arms like princesses. ’Did it work?, ‘let me smell’. Being around Sheera was like something good would happen, like it could turn out to be summer.

In hindsight, Jo should have understood. But then, she was astonished. "You want to kiss me?"

"No!"

"Oh! No! I didn't think- wait". She was a hunter. "I didn't mean- just- no one ever wanted to kiss me before".

"I did" Sheera said.

"Oh”. Then- “OK" Jo smiled. They scooted closer, sparkling excitement, uncertainty.

Jo liked Sheera’s curls in her face. Sheera’s spit wasn't gross, just nice. She smelled like Milan.

Sheera put a hand on Jo's cheek, such a foreign feeling. Jo liked it, made a small sound into the kiss, shy and excited. Then the window burst in, shards scratching Sheera's hand wet, hanging in Sheera's hair.

Jo’s eyes filled with tears. The air pouring into the room had smelled like Dad's leather jacket, like his hug.


Sheera needed to get stitches, and therapy after that.


Jo never told her mom what happened. Sonic boom, maybe, who knew.

Never kissed a girl again, not for years.

Because that is what you do, isn't it? You live with the family you have. You think you've lost your Dad, but he sticks around to look after you- that's more than most people can get.

Sometimes she’s tempted to try it again, just once. To kiss a girl, just once more.

Make sure he’s still watching over her.



Jo doesn’t get over it, you don’t get over any of those things. But one day, she’s no longer the kid who lost her father. Well, she’s more things besides that.

She says goodbye. Says thank you.

Says goodbye.

Salts and burns her Dad’s jacket.

Drives to a gay bar, alone , dances with a girl, short hair and the cheekiest grin, like they're doing something naughty and that is half the fun. Smiles at Jo like she can't believe her luck. Jo marvels at the sensation, powerful thighs under denim, round belly, soft strong arms holding Jo, not demanding.

They kiss on Jo’s bed, so gentle. Jo didn't know any part of a person can be this soft. Kiss gentle like tectonic plates moving inside her. Jo grins into the kiss, happy. The woman says- "Has anyone ever told you, you drool a lot?"

"What?"

The woman wipes at her mouth, grimacing. "No one's ever said anything?" she looks at her hand. "It's just a little disgusting".

"God, I'm sorry.... I haven’t kissed a lot before, never even had a date…..”

The woman grimaces. "You taste weird. Do you think maybe you have a condition?"

"Oh, God". Jo curls up around her legs. "OK. You should probably leave".

"Yeah" the woman says. "Better leave. I don’t like flat girls anyway. Should have found someone good”. She moves closer, too close into Jo's space. “No daughter of mine will whore out to a woman under my own roof" she says, intimate.

Jo freezes, thoughts stuttering.

It is her father roof. He built the entire house.

He's in the walls.





Jo doesn't tell her mother, not most of it. Can’t deal with two parents on her case for this, not Mom too.

The parts she tells just make Ellen's eyes go soft. "It was just a sonic boom, Baby" she says. "I miss him too".

She takes Jo to the movies like when Jo was young.

It's the first Harry Potter.

Jo never watches the rest.


It gets worse.

Jo can't tell how far, how deep he goes. If he’s there.

She starts dressing up fast, pulling her pajama shirt from her clothes, like at camp. Salts the bathroom door, can't tell if salt means anything when you're in him.

Feels bad for caring so much. It's her own father. Died protecting the world. She’s supposed to be strong, strong enough to stop anything bad a ghost might do, strong enough to take it. Strong enough to tell her mom.

She's too young to leave. Nowhere to run anyway. Mom would hunt her down and bring her back home like anything. Lost your father, Joanna-Beth, ain’t gonna lose you.

She will never leave this house.

He’s always in the walls, when Jo does he makeup, when she cries. When she whispers so Mom can’t hear. When she is alone in bed. Sometimes she can feel him. Sometimes she can’t, but he still is there. Can never tell.

He does all sorts of things.



Jo considers burning down the Roadhouse.

Maybe she should burn down the Roadhouse.
Instead it just becomes part of her life.



Bela is everything not here, everything else and unknown

Once, a hunter pushes Bela against the bar, his teeth inches from her face, his sabretooth pendant digging into her flesh. Before Jo can get her shotgun, her Mom- the hunter is leaving, Bela hums "Charming" collected and bland, smallest fake smile. Bela’s mouth-smiles are always fake.

Bela readjusts the straps of her dress, stops, mid-movement, registering Jo’s face. “Don’t fret, Darling” she says, soft, and Jo thinks she likes ‘darling’ better than ‘sweetheart’.

Bela finishes her drink in one sip, twirls the hunter’s pendant around her finger. “Lucky me” she gives Jo a tiny smile, not with her mouth



Jo practices that smile that says ‘no’. As she restocks glasses, sweeps up.

She takes a customer's order, and he chuckles. She'd used Bela's accent.



Bela has a meeting with a hunter Jo doesn’t like. He’s direct. Knife at her throat stained red. “I don’t respond well to threats” Bela says quietly. But her eyes are as if someone dropped a beer. In seconds Jo presses the barrel of her shotgun to the back of his neck, short hairs brushing against the metal, vibrating up her hands. “Get out. Don’t come back”. There’s satisfaction in saying that to someone she can kick, can bite.



Later, Bela tosses her a wad of cash. “excellent service at this establishment”. Her voice betrays nothing of her at all.

Jo tosses it back. “No thanks”.

“Don’t be daft” Bela presses on. “Hunters don’t tip”

“We get by”

“You performed a service for me-“

“Sure did” Jo smiles big and fake, gonna get her way. “You owe me a thank you-“ Bela’s eyes flick away- “-or you just owe me. I can use some help on this hunt”.


“You need a way to banish a spirit tied to this realm?” Bela considers Jo. “Why?”

Jo considers her right back. “Since when do you ask questions?”

“Wondering whether it’s worth a good artifact”.

“Don’t you owe me?”

“We’ll see”. There is soft delight in Bela’s eyes, smile that barely reaches her mouth, and Jo hasn’t ever told anyone who would listen.

So she does.



Weeks later, leaning against Bela’s car, safe distance from Dad, Bela pulls out a ring.

“This will trap any fully manifested spirit” she explains. There’s rage in her jaw. Jo wants to feel it with her fingers. “Wear it at all times. Next time tries to come near you- you’ve won”.



It’s a good plan, but it doesn’t work. Maybe Dad recognizes the ring from hunting. Maybe Jo acts suspiciously, sloppy on her salt lines, or smiling differently. More.



Bela calls to ask after Jo, every few days, more. Two months nothing happens, and it’s been so long, maybe it just won’t.



After Jo pins Ash to the wall for tapping her shoulder from behind, she picks the phone back up. “sorry, just Ash”. Bela sighs in frustration. “this won’t do. We have to create a spectacle to draw him out. Jo Harvelle, will you be my make-belief bride?”



Jo never realized how much work goes into planning a wedding. Expected just- tum-tum-tudum, priest, ghost, done.

She gets Heather to fake a hunt in Sarasota to get Mom away. A pastor friend of Dad’s- Dad, Dad when he was her Dad- to perform the wedding. Doesn’t give him too much details. Has Ash spread the word, invite hunters. Can’t risk civilian guests.

“No problemo” Ash says when Jo thanks him. “Gotta gank that polterguest. Gonna make sure this fake-wedding goes without a hitch”.

He looks from Jo’ to Bela’s grimace.

“I miss Dean” he says, sadly.



Bela insists on having a cake. Dresses. Makeup, hair. A supernaturally unlive band.

“You really care about this” Jo realizes suddenly, mid-protest about the price.

Bela shrugs imperceptibly. “ probably the only wedding I’ll have. No bride of mine will be wearing an off-the-rack wedding dress”.



Ash hands Jo the phone, jittery. “Your father is not a vengeful spirit, Joanna-Beth!” her mom is yelling already. “Your father was a good man, loved you mor’n anything!”

“OK, Mom” Jo sighs.

“We would have known earlier. He would have done something”.

Jo lets the call go. Bela squeezed her arm.

“She’s coming home. We gotta move everything up”.



That night, bagging pastel almond hearts, Ash says- “You ain’t really into-?“

She tenses. Should hide it, always keep silent.

“You know, Ash? I am!” she smiles bright to cover the panic.

Ash nods sagely. “Cool. I don’t judge”.

Jo resists the urge to hug him, muss up his party-hair. He’s her first. First one to tell.



Sometime before dawn, Bela hands her an espresso. Jo staresat it. “Where did you-“

“A wife never tells” Bela smiles like she’d been Clockwork--Oranged with Snow White.

Outside, Jo doesn’t let go of Bela’s hand.

Just one more day, it will all be done. Jo’s haunting. Bela’s hand in hers.

“Why are you doing this?” Jo asks.

“Unsettled debt”.

“Bull” Jo smiles, bright. “Come on”.

Bela looks smaller, arms closer in. “You wouldn’t understand”.

“Told you mine”.

Bela looks at her, very quietly, carefully. Jo can’t tell whether she passes the test.

“The things your father does” Bela says. “You know he should never do that, right? Not ever, not even if he loves you?”

“Yeah” Jo nods.

Bela gives her another searching look. “Good”.



Jo plays with her ring while a stranger does things to her hair that should never be. Her thoughts race so fast she isn’t sure anymore what parts she is giddy about, what parts make her apprehensive.

The Roadhouse never looked as frilly. It’s packed with hunters, in their ideas of formal-wear. Jo knows many came for the food, or the chance to watch girls kissing. But it still warms her heart

The music starts, vibrates inside Jo, thrilling. She steps out and almost stumble. Bela is breathtaking, dark hair softly curling around her bare shoulders, and she gotta be the only person who can make gloves gorgeous.

Jo reaches the pastor, he’s talking, official. Bela make a little wave at her. Jo’s stomach flutters, it’s so real.

“Do you, Joanna-Beth Harvelle-” the pastor is saying. The door slams open. Jo startles, already bending for the knife in her boot, but it’s Mom, possible stunned silent for the first time in years.

Jo goes for it. "Hi Mom. I'm into lesbians. Dad isn't. We’re dealing with it”.



Her Mom is about to respond, when Jo’s shoulder explodes in pain. She can’t place it at first, just feels. Recognizes. Five finders digging into her flesh. Her arm is twisted, and the ring pulled off. Her Mom runs to her, but is flung down, face hitting the ground. Dad’s image flickers in and out of sight. The guests are pinned to the walls, an array of plaid butterfly decorations. Bela grabs Jo’s iron boot-knife, stabs into the place the ghost stands, but he is not yet corporeal, she meets no resistance. Jo’s white dress drips red. She grabs for her holy water, throws it in the ghost’s face, but he persists. Jo is slowly lifted, floated towards the ceiling, by the violent spirit of her Dad. Her arm is agony.

Mom grabs a gun one of the hunters dropped, blasts Dad full of rocksalt. “You get your hands off my daughter”. She sounds dangerous.

Jo slips back to the floor, her father begins to manifest. Even after everything, it’s overwhelming to be looking at her father’s face once again. One last time. Part of her wants nothing but his hug, to hide her face in his chest, breathe in the smell of leather, of Dad.

He is wearing the same leather jacket. The one she’d burned. Holding his old knife.

“No daughter of mine will live to enter into a tie that twists the soul”.

“Always been a little twisted” Jo says. She turns his wrist, pushes his own knife into his flesh. Her hands sink a little into his image before she touches solid, but he sure feels the knife. It is a hunter’s knife, iron and ready for ghost hunting. He shrieks as he becomes solid, part of this plane.

“Now!” Bela yells, and grabs for Jo’s hand. She hesitates before placing the ring on her finger. “You know this is irreversible”.

“I do” Jo says.

Bela puts on the ring, and the world shivers, like the walls will crash down, the air itself flung around the hall. Bela stands strong next to Jo, holds Jo’s hand up. Ellen supports it from the other side.

The spirit shrieks and growls, Jo doesn’t want to- think of her father making these sounds. It struggles, makes a last grab at Jo’s face as he is sucked into the gem. As he disappears, he air clears, and Jo realizes it’s been dark and cold, like being all alone, like being chained alone in the basement.

“I’m never gonna have to deal with you again” Jo says. “ You’re never gonna hurt another soul again”.

The guests and pastor slowly soften against the walls, regain possession of their limbs, breathe out.

Jo pockets the knife. “I’m keeping this”.



Bela holds Jo around the waist, eyes shining, disheveled, and Jo’s heart sinks. Last time.

“I think we should kiss now” she says.

A shiver runs through Jo, unexpected delight “Yeah?”

“Yes” Bela says.

Jo presses her lips to Bela’s, slippery lipstick and dust, and the world melts into fluttering, Disney birds.

In the background, Pastor Jim is spluttering- “I can’t actually marry-“

Jo pulls away, searching Bela’s eyes. They’re sparkling with delight. “I think we should go on a date first”.