Fic: Fortitude (Supernatural)

[keep_counting]

Title: Fortitude
Characters/Pairings: Jo Harvelle
Rating: PG13 - light R
Warnings: Blood and guts, swearing. Spoilers for the first two seasons only
Genre: Drama/Character-study
Word-count: 411
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this.
A/N: Written for fueschgast for International Women's Day 2012.
Summary: Jo, after a hunt. Bloodied and bruised, and feeling so alive.

She still has a bruise from yesterday, and now bites on her throat and along her arm that still slowly seep blood: not enough that there’s any worry, really, but enough to stain her jacket and shirt and her hair that is already mattered with the red liquid and dirty from the dust and mud she’s been rolling around in.

She looks like a mess, like she’s been beaten and maybe worse, her jeans scratched on one leg, showing part of a tanned thigh, luckily not cut from the vampire’s crazy-looking knife: really that thing had been like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of knifes and Jo was perhaps just a little bit glee-full that it now belonged to her. She was so going to pull it out next time some creep decided to hit on her by placing his hands on places they really shouldn’t be.

She wonders idly if she’s broken her wrist, because it hurts like a bitch as she pulls open the door to her motel-room, but she really can’t get herself to care much. It’s over now, and she’s alone and somewhat safe – she checks the salt-lines and that none of her gear or money has been nicked while she was out, thinking of the shifty-looking manager that had not even given her a second glance when she walked in all bloodied and grinning like the Cheshire-cat.

Well, anything could have happened you know? She could have been attacked. Or she could have attacked someone else. As it turns out, it’s both. And if you think Jo looks bad now, well, you should see the other guy and his severed head.

Okay, a shrink would have a field-day out of that last one, or maybe he would have run away and hid in terror, but Jo merely finds that that thought pleases her even more. She’s still buzzing from the kill and the thought of that frankly awesome knife, and she doesn’t care that she’s alone in a crappy motel-room, that the vampire took a good chunk out of her neck and that she accidentally bled a little over the last post-card she sent to mom, it was an accident, really.

She misses her like hell, of course. She misses the road-house and the people walking in there, hunters and civilians alike. She misses Ash and Bobby and Dean and Sam.

She raises a hand to touch a bruise on her shoulder and grins.

Yes. Definitely worth it.