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SPN fic: "Playing Rough" (Pre-canon)

Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Jo, Gordon Walker, OMC
Rating: R for violence, sexual situations, and non-con
Spoilers/Warnings: Rather dark, with an unsympathetic narrator and a potentially triggerish non-con scenario. Pre-canon with no spoilers, but draws from the CW Hunters' Journals.
Author's Notes: I wrote this one a few months ago, and I've been sitting on it since. It's not quite ... there yet, so I'd truly welcome some concrit on this one, if anyone can suggest ways to get it where it needs to go. Thanks to pkitten for the beta.
Length: 900 words
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Kripke.

Saturday night, and the Roadhouse was full of twitchy men carrying concealed weapons. Jack hadn’t been round in a few years, but the place hadn’t changed. CCR still blasted from the juke box. A group of young bucks were playing pool and comparing kill counts, working their way up to a brawl. A pair of scarred older hunters had taken over a corner of the bar. They sat silently, each with a wall at his back, matching each other shot for shot in a race to the bottom of a bottle of bourbon. Jack was sharing a table with Gordon Walker, telling him all about the succubus he’d taken down in Vegas.

Gordon gestured to the pretty young thing who was helping out behind the bar tonight. “Another pitcher of PBR here, Jo,” he yelled over the noise.

Jo? Well, well. Bill’s little girl had grown into a looker. Long blonde hair, grey t-shirt and tight jeans over a firm body, ripe for the picking. Her slim hips were graceful as she swung past a stumbling drunk with their pitcher.

Gordon interrupted Jack’s story. “Happy sixteenth, Jo. Sorry I missed it. There were some vamps acting up outside of Tucson. Let me make it up to you?”

She grinned as she set their beer on the table. “Sure. Tomorrow around ten sound good?”

So the little slut was already giving it away? Jack reached for a handful of that pert ass, got a stinging slap across the face and a casual, “Fuck off,” for his trouble.

Jack watched her saunter away, rubbing his cheek. So the girl liked to play rough. He could do that.

When he turned back, Gordon was looking at him. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said.

“What, you staking a claim there?” Jack wasn’t drunk enough to tangle with Gordon over a piece of ass. Man was meaner than a skillet full of rattle snakes.

Gordon chuckled, a quiet, rich sound, and poured himself a glass of beer. “No, just a little friendly advice.”

Ellen took off on a supply run a few minutes later. Jack walked over to the juke box, put in a pocketful of quarters, and selected ten of the loudest songs on the play list. Then he waited until Jo headed out the back door, carrying a bag of trash. Gordon put his feet up on Jack’s chair, a little smile dancing across his lips, as Jack followed Jo out the door.

There was a single spotlight outside the back door, leaving most of the parking lot black-dark. Jack gave his eyes a moment to adjust. He stepped into the shadow of a pick-up and watched the girl walk to the dumpster, lift the lid, and use both hands to swing the heavy trash bag into the opening. She dropped the lid back down with a clang that was lost in the thumping bass from the bar. No one would hear a thing.

Jack held perfectly still as she walked past him towards the door. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and she was muttering about something not being fair.

“Hey,” he called softly, and as her head turned he punched her in the face. She smacked into the wall and fell to the ground. The girl looked up at him, mouth open, eyes blinking rapidly as if she was having trouble tracking.

“You – you better get out of here before my Mom kills you,” she said, voice high and panicked.

“Your Momma ain’t here now, girl,” Jack said, hunger curling warm in his stomach. Christ, she was so hot lying there, trembling and inching away from him, red mark already springing up from his fist.

Blood trickled from the girl’s nose. Her tongue flickered out to taste it, and she stilled. Took a breath and let it out slow, staring up at him silently. Good. Screamers were no fun. Maybe she’d want to tussle a little more.

Jack stepped towards her and pain exploded in his knee. He fell forwards onto her, little cunt. She was bucking like a bronco, but he got his hands around her throat, squeezing. Fingers clawed at his eyes. Jack threw himself to the right to avoid them, but they snagged, ripping his ear. Then her knee smashed into his balls. He was on his side, curled around the pain, fuck.

She was up, scrambling to her feet. Jack managed to snatch her ankle, keep her from running away. She kicked him in the face, and there was a nauseating snap as his nose broke. He was trapped against the wall. She kept kicking him, again and again, silent except for grunts of effort. All he could do was curl tighter, try to protect his head, hope his ribs were just bruised. His body was a roar of pain, the bass beat from the bar gone heavy and strange.

It stopped. She stopped, he realized after a stretched-out moment, gasping for air. Jack turned his head through the hurt to look up at the girl, a wavering silhouette against the light.

“What’s the matter?” she snarled. “You not in the mood anymore?”

She pulled a small knife out of her back pocket. The blade caught the light as she flipped it between her fingers. “Well that’s too bad. Because I am.”

Jack wondered if the music in the bar was still too loud for anyone to hear a scream.


( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 6th, 2010 04:39 am (UTC)
Way to have Jo kick some major ass! And only 16 too... AWESOME! I like the way you ended this too, not knowing if she kills him or not. I love BA Jo. Great work here!
Jan. 6th, 2010 07:55 am (UTC)
Thanks, Deansmistress! Jo is one tough cookie!
Jan. 15th, 2010 05:07 am (UTC)
I'm cheating by sneaking in here and commenting with love and hugs. I'm sorry you are having a tough time right now. I hope it gets better for you, soon, because where you are right now, emotionally and mentally, sucks. Regardless, I'm keeping you in my thoughts and sending good thoughts your way. And hugs, of course. Always hugs.

And beyond that, I've seen a total of one (1) episode of SPN and I have no idea who these people are, but I love this story, the casual brutality of it. The simple fact that while these people hunt dark things, there's nothing darker than the human heart.
Jan. 20th, 2010 02:43 pm (UTC)
Thanks, aka. I've come out the other side of it. And thanks for the comment! Hunters ... they spend a little too much time staring into the abyss, you know?
May. 19th, 2010 08:35 pm (UTC)

Especially the whole anti-victim thing. Because that does really piss me off in SPN :)
May. 20th, 2010 12:21 am (UTC)
Thanks delta_mai! *nods* It can be a bit of a muchness.
May. 20th, 2010 12:07 am (UTC)
Jack's pov is quite disturbing and made me cringe. However, I really liked this. It pays great homage to the Roadhouse and the type of atmosphere Jo must have grown up in. Oh, and your Gordon Walker was spot on! I could SEE him!

Thanks for writing!!
May. 20th, 2010 12:25 am (UTC)
Yeah, Jack made me feel unclean, writing this. I love the roadhouse. And I'm so glad that Gordon felt in-character! Just setting up this little opportunity for Jo to put her training into action, make sure she's got the right stuff before he trusts her at his back in the field.
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )