dollarformyname | FIC: Put It All In Bags, Just Call It Charity 2/2

It's bad idea. The worst idea.

“You're their prime suspect!” she argues, tossing her hands up. God, he's infuriating, that creeping feeling that she's been aggravated in exactly this manner before coming back on strong. “Don't you have grandparents or aunts or something? Call them, go there, change your name and hide out! Jesus, It's like you want to get arrested again!”

“I have a hard time believing they're gonna be able to make it stick when I'm also one of the crispy, dead people they found in my house!”

“Things turn out too weird, and they'll find a way,” Ellen puts in from her position at the table. She pinches the bridge of her nose in a way that tells Jo she's getting one of those headaches with her name all over it. This one totally isn't her fault, though. “Always do.”

Adam finishes taping fresh gauze to the last of his bites, starts slamming things back into the med kit he borrowed. He could do it himself, he'd said, and he seems to know his way around first aid, truth be told. He's still a moron.

He pulls in a deep breath, shrugs on the shirt Ellen gave him—one of Daddy's old flannels she's kept—buttoning it up. They can't do anything about the jeans, though, a little short on boy clothes. “Look, just 'cause some idiot wrote it down in a report doesn't mean it's true. If I'm dead but not really, then my mom could be too. It could be the other pod-zombie or whatever.”

Jo crosses her arms and plants herself in front of the door, doesn't miss the flicker of his gaze toward the salt line at her heels, which had him convinced they were smoking crack when they told him it was for protection. The devil's traps led to satanist accusations, and the whole back-and-forth of disbelief and acceptance has gone beyond tiresome. He can give it a rest anytime now, really.

“And just how do you plan to get there, genius?”

Standing, he gives her a tired, puffy-eyed glare, face still red and splotchy. “I'll hitchhike, or I'll... I dunno, I'll walk. I don't fucking care, but I'm going.”

“Dumbass,” Jo huffs, running a hand through her hair. She gives her mom a beseeching look, and Ellen quirks a brow.

She knows what she's thinking. The hunt is over, done before they got into it, and this kid is just another casualty in another battle. They can't save everyone, don't usually stick around to coax people down from whatever crazy they've got going on when all's said and done, not that she hadn't tried at first. That was before she learned that peace of mind sits on a very thin wire over a bubbling tar pit of madness and grief and dangerous, dangerous apathy. But Jo talked to him, joked around with him while they were locked up, and there's still something that niggles when it comes to this hard-headed punk.

“Boy, get back in that bed and get some shut-eye,” Momma intervenes, pulling Adam's determined stride for the exit up short. “You'll make it as far as the edge of the lot 'fore you fall, state you're in. We'll drive you in the morning.” Ellen gets up and tugs her keys from her pocket. “I'll run and get us some food. Take somethin' for the pain and quit squinchin' your face up like that.”

She doesn't give him a chance to argue, pauses in the threshold long enough to say, “You got any family, kiddo, you should probably give 'em a call about now. Lock this door, Jo.”

“I already tried,” Adam says, directing it at Jo since Ellen's already gone, and she's relieved that he does as he's told and plops back down onto the creaky, old mattress, dry-swallows a Vicodin. “One phone call, right? Guess I wasted it.”

“There's no one else?” She settles on the opposite bed with her duffel, yanking out the guns they managed to salvage from the station. She scowls at the nicks and black powder dusted all over them, and starts the process of cleaning them up.

“Just my mom and me. My dad once in a blue moon, but he's pretty much useless most of the time.” Adam sweeps an arm out. “Case in point.”

“Not around much, huh?”

Adam scoffs. Sensitive subject, Jo figures, and doesn't press. He's not exactly a minor, anyway, so she shouldn't get herself worked up over who's gonna look after him. He's got it covered, or so he keeps insisting, even though he looks about as sure of his new situation as a kitten clinging to driftwood in the middle of a hurricane.

He lays back and throws an arm over his eyes, uneasy silence between them as Jo polishes her dad's old sawed-off, then sets to prying some weird-looking gunk from the grooves of his initials on her knife. Adam's peeking at her from beneath his arm, trying to be covert and failing miserably, and she figures he's still coming to terms with the whole monster-hunting gig and all the law-breaking it entails, not to mention the scary yet impressive array of weaponry.

“I'm fucked, aren't I?” he decides, still and weary. “If I'm not legally dead, I'm a murderer. Mom too, if she's—”

It seems rhetorical so Jo doesn't answer; doesn't want to be the one to confirm how very shredded his old life is, in all likelihood. She doesn't want to watch him bust wide open again, either. A girl can only take so much.

Her silence is answer enough. Adam sighs, rolls over and eventually succumbs to the painkillers.

-:-

Adam doesn't wake up to eat, so Ellen plops his share of the food on top of the ice bucket for later. Steam curls out of the bathroom as Jo towel-dries her hair, thoughts stuck on the unmoving lump in the bed.

“Jo, honey, this ain't gonna work, and you know it,” Momma says wearily, moving around to pluck up the bits and pieces of her weapon-cleaning. She keeps looking at him too, face clouding over, finally gives in and goes to tug his sneakers off. “We've already kept him on longer than we should. We'll leave him to his decisions tomorrow so don't be gettin' too attached.”

Jo just looks at her, and Ellen catches herself in the middle of coaxing the blanket from underneath him so she can drape it over his sprawled, snoring form.

“Well, hell,” she mutters, pulling back. Jo doesn't blame her, though. Her mom was the one trying to scrape up the majority of his meltdown—she's just better at that stuff, so Jo had left her to it. Hard not to feel for someone after something like that. “Maybe I'm gettin' senile, but I sweat there's somethin'...”

“Yeah,” Jo agrees when she trails off. They both move to the vacant bed, dropping onto it, and Jo punches at her pillow. “It's like I've met him before, only in pieces.” That makes no damn sense, but it's the best she's got at this ungodly hour.

Momma seems to get it, at any rate. “Well, we best solve the mystery soon 'cause you can't keep him.”

“Wasn't gonna.”

“Uh huh.”

-:-

The morning is sticky and gray, a light drizzle misting the rubble draped excessively in bright, yellow crime tape, two squad cars out front to keep watch like they think the charred mess of what used to be a home is gonna get up and start chomping on the rest of the locals any minute. Ellen's gone off to poke around and see what else she can find out about the victims and any possible survivors, and Jo feels obligated to stick around a little while longer, just to make sure the guy doesn't get himself busted again. He's not exactly inconspicuous.

They're squatting behind a row of hedges a little ways down the block, and Adam's got this glazed-over expression that won't let up, eyes bloodshot. She thinks of the Roadhouse, the galling emptiness she felt when Momma told her it had died an explosive death, taking a friend she'd known so long he may as well have been family along with it. Her whole life gone in one swift and fiery blow while she was off blazing her path of independence, and her gut churns uncomfortably at the memory. This kid's been nothing but unpleasant deja vu since she met him.

It wasn't her whole life, though, she supposes. Not really. She still has her mom, some keepsakes of her dad's, a couple of Ash's gadgets, a stellar poker face and hunting contacts aplenty. If his mom doesn't turn up—and she highly suspects it's gonna be the worst case scenario for this guy—Adam's left with nothing but a murder wrap.

A vibration against her hip distracts her attention from the severe lack of activity at the house, and she pulls her phone out to read the text.

Her face falls. There's no way in hell she's passing along this intel. A person can only bear so much bad news before someone forgets all about the messenger's innocence and starts throwing punches.

Jo snags Adam's arm and gently tugs him along. “C'mon, we're not accomplishing anything here but gettin' wet.”

He squints at her for a second, and she thinks maybe that poker face of hers might need some work after all. But then he kind of shakes himself and nods, hands crammed into his pockets and his shoulders hunched up against the weather, follows her down the sidewalk.

She has no idea what to do with him now, but her mom's right. The time to cut and run has long passed. Those bright, soft eyes are getting too dangerous to be around.

“You wanna try callin' your dad again?”

He shakes his head, shrugs before he completes the first gesture, opening his hand toward her. She drops her phone into it and zips her hoodie up higher as the drizzle graduates to actual rain. He's being so quiet now, jaw twitching as he holds the cell to his ear and glares off into the distance like he sees something especially infuriating there. She's not sure she likes this better than his thrashing hyperactivity.

“Hey, John, it's, uh, it's me again,” Adam says haltingly, shoulders inching higher. Jo figures the relationship's definitely gotta be rocky if it's a first-name-basis kinda deal. Not her problem, though, she reminds herself. Repeatedly. “Things are... well, you know, it's still all fucked up but I'm outta jail now. I think maybe... I think it's pretty bad.” He cuts an uncertain look over to Jo, who can't suppress the wide-eyed guilt, and he nods tightly. Definitely more perceptive than she gave him credit for. “I, um, I'm kind of running from the law now, I guess. It'd be good if you could call me back soon.” He grits his teeth, seems at a loss for anything else to say and hangs up.

“You should go ahead and tell me now,” he says flatly, thrusting the cell back at her without meeting her eyes. She hesitates, and Adam stops as soon as they round the corner of the next block, waiting.

Glancing around in paranoia, Jo nudges him forward, but he won't budge. “This is your neighborhood, jackass,” she hisses without much heat. “Someone's bound to recognize you if we're standing here in the rain having a pow-wow. I'll talk, just keep walking.”

Adam goes grudgingly, and she picks up her pace. “Momma's on her way to us.” Taking a deep breath, she stuffs her fidgety hands in her jacket, and decides to just get it over with. “There was a crypt that got burned down too. Whoever handled this one was some kinda reckless pyro, or maybe just really pissed. Most of those bodies were dead a long time ago, but they identified a couple of new ones through dental records. Some retired cop that went missing right before your momma and, well, they ID'd the second one as her. You know, again.”

She blows out a huff and bites her lip, not daring to look at him. It's like she can feel his grief rapidly clogging up her airpace. Only so many bodies can be pegged as Kate Milligan before he has to accept it.

There's this choked-off sound and a loud sniffle that instantly blows down all her defenses. “Oh, hell, please don't do that.”

“I'm fine,” he grates, all anger-masked misery, and then he stops again. “Look, just...”

Jo turns to look at him, a huge mistake because his face is so open and lost, all her accumulated hunting armor cracking to itty, bitty pieces.

Standing there getting soaked, Adam swipes at his face, some sleight of hand that banishes the mist in his eyes and leaves him stony. “This is where you get off, right? I gotta... I dunno, I gotta get out of here, and you got shit to do, so.” He shrugs stiffly, looking at anything but her. “I'm gonna take off, I think.”

Jo crosses her arms tightly. “Yeah, okay.” This happens all the time—not the instantaneous, I-knew-you-in-another-life-or-something-equally-stupid-and-sappy bonding part, but the leaving. It's part of what she signed up for, she knows that. “Do you know what you're gonna do?”

Another shrug. “Track my dad down or something, I dunno. I mean, I tried a while ago, but that was before I realized he's a dick and I had a life and all. Got nothing better to do now, so maybe I'll have more luck.”

“Here,” Jo says on a whim, yanks out her pocket notebook for recording those pesky clues that pop up when you least expect them, and writes her number down. “Get a phone as soon as you can and call so I'll have the number. If you don't mind giving me a name, I know some people who're scary good at tracking the untrackable.”

He waggles his fingers at her and she hands him the pencil and book, watching him scribble in it just as the dragging splash of tires announces her mom's arrival.

The horn blares with Ellen's impatience, and Jo quickly takes her stuff back, waving her off. The window comes squeaking down once Momma realizes what's taking place, and there's a brief, distant exchange of 'take care of yourself' between them while Jo shuffles her feet.

“Your mom looks kinda pissed,” Adam says, lowering his voice so she won't hear.

It's true. She's sitting behind the wheel looking like someone just crammed a whole bowl of lemons down her throat. Jo smirks. “It's 'cause she likes you.”

“Oh.” His hands disappear into his pockets again. “Well. Okay, then. Thanks for trying to help me and everything.”

“No problem.” Jo nods, and they hesitate a second longer, then simultaneously turn on their heels and march in different directions before something embarrassing happens.

She doesn't quite make it inside the cab, however, finds herself being roughly pulled around and enveloped in long, shaky arms. She returns the embrace without much thought, and she's not crying. The rain is fucking acidic or something, is all.

“Word of advice?” Jo says when they pull apart, sniffs. “The alien conspiracies are always last on the list.”

His laugh is all jagged edges. “I'll keep that in mind. Try not to drive anymore cops to early retirement, huh? I think that guy was writing up his resignation by the time we left.”

“I make no promises.”

Adam flashes a wobbly smile and pulls himself straight, spinning to walk away again, almost sprinting this time. Jo climbs into the truck, slamming the door and absolutely not watching the side mirror, and Ellen says sourly, “So what suicide mission you got on the agenda next?” as she guides the truck away from the curb.

Squeezing the notebook in her fist, Jo sighs. “Don't we still need to take care of that freeway haunting?”

The look her mom gives her could dim the sun. “You think I was waitin' around for you when people were dying? You gave me the intel, I took care of it.”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“You said you weren't gonna do that! Hunting is my thing! I get to set the corpses on fire!”

“Sweetie, don't make me smack you.”

Jo huffs and flops down in her seat, seething. It takes her a few minutes to realize what just happened, and she grins. Her mom's an expert at pissing her off when she needs to be distracted from some maudlin funk. “Thanks, Momma.”

“Welcome, baby.” Ellen flips the radio dial while Jo pulls out her cell phone again, glancing at Adam's messy scrawl with the intent to get the hounds on this guy's tail as soon as possible.

“Holy shit!”

Ellen nearly jumps out of her skin. “Jesus, are you tryin' to give me a heart attack? What?”

Stunned, Jo holds the notebook out, and her mom's eyes blow wide. She doesn't quite get the context yet, so Jo elaborates, “I said I'd look for his dad.”

“Son of a—“

The brakes shriek, spun momentum smashing Jo into the door. It takes mere seconds to catch up with him, tires throwing up water as they squeal to a stop. Jo hurls her door open, nearly smacking him with it.

“You gonna stand there catchin' flies all day, or what?” is her mom's response to Adam's wide-eyed shock. “Get in the damn truck!”

“Huh?”

Jo scrambles out and forcefully hauls him over, shoving him into the cab. Effectively trapped once Ellen starts driving again, Adam looks between them frantically. “What'd I miss?”

“Shut up,” Jo says, twisting her mouth in consternation. She drums her fingers on her leg, glaring out at the passing houses, starts scrolling through her contact list and jabs the call button. When the line rings in her ear, she turns that glare on Adam. A freaking curse, that's what they are. She knew there was something wrong with him. “I'm not tellin' him, Momma. It's your turn.”

“Goddamn Winchesters,” Ellen mumbles, recklessly speeding for the freeway.

END