Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Eric Kripke and company.
“This can't be happening." Dean Winchester leaned against the window pane inside Harvell's Roadhouse, his jaw set in determination. "It cannot be snowing."
Fat, white flakes drifted down past the streetlight, covering the surrounding area in a thick blanket. The snow even buried the Impala, letting Dean know he had no way out. For better or for worse, he was stranded.
"Looks like we'll be spending Christmas in Wisconsin," Sam sighed.
Stepping away from the window, Dean turned around and scowled at him. "I'd rather not." He looked back. "Maybe we can dig the car out?"
"Dean, even if we did, we'd still be stuck. The Impala doesn't have any traction."
Dean whirled around. "Blasphemy!"
Sam only rolled his eyes as he sauntered to the bar.
Dean cast one last wistful glance out the window before he joined Sam. He hung his head low, defeated.
Normally, he didn't mind staying at Harvell's. Sure, the beds in the back were lumpy, and Ash's snoring could wake the dead, but it was a comfortable place to rest his head. What bothered him was that it was Christmas. Christmas meant family. Christmas meant Jo would be coming home.
Joanna Harvell – deadly with a knife and even deadlier with her mouth. After being away from her for three months, Dean could still see her big brown eyes and her long, blonde hair. He could still remember how she felt in his arms. They shouldn't have been together. Hell, Dean resisted for a year after they met. But in the end, the spunky huntress won him over, and he fell hard. It was a whirlwind romance, lasting a full six months. Then she insisted on taking on her own hunts. Dean had been too protective for that, and an argument ensued. She threw things and he walked out. And that was the last he saw of her.
After he left, Dean had avoided Harvell's like the plague. But he couldn’t stay away forever. After a yelling match with Sam, the brothers returned to the roadhouse looking for information on a haunting in North Carolina. Neither one banked on it snowing them in on Christmas Eve.
Dean cast one more look out the window. If they were snowed in, maybe Jo was snowed out. The thought eased Dean’s heart a little and he turned back to his beer.
No sooner had he lifted the brown liquid to his lips than the front door swung open, blasting cold air throughout the place. Other stranded hunters grumbled in response.
“Hey! I had to get in here somehow,” a female voice replied.
The glass froze at Dean’s lips. He’d recognize that voice from anywhere. His worst fear had come true. Carefully, he set his glass on the bar and told himself he would not turn around. He would stay right where he was and let her pass by. In the end, his heart won out over his head.
Jo hadn’t changed a bit. Her blonde hair still swung down past her shoulders. Her body was still small, but firm. He watched her as she removed her heavy jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. She then faced the bar and her brown eyes quickly found Dean’s hazel ones. All the air left his chest. Damn…she could still take his breath away.
Jo recovered first, walking past Dean and around the bar. She gave her mother a hug and wished her a Merry Christmas. She turned to Sam and did the same. She bristled past Dean without a word, heading out into the restaurant area of the roadhouse. She spoke to all of the regulars, all the while ignoring Dean.
“Not exactly a warm reception,” Sam commented.
Dean only glared at him before downing the rest of his beer. He told himself he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. If Jo could ignore him, he’d ignore Jo.
“Dean, I need you to grab something for me.” Ellen’s commanding tone pulled Dean away from his thoughts. He almost told her no, but then he saw the determined look on her face. Dean never could say “no” to that look.
He slid off his stool. “What do you need?”
“A large brown box from the back room.”
“Alright.” Dean headed off toward the back room. His eyes swept over the main room as he passed, but he didn’t see any trace of Jo. He rounded the edge of the bar and weaved through a few empty tables and chairs.
Reaching the room, he placed his hand on the doorknob at the same time a smaller hand did. Starting from the hand, his eyes traced the slender arm to the shoulder and finally to Jo’s surprised face.
“Dean,” she said.
“Now you gotta kiss her!” Dean’s eyebrows rose as he turned to the source of the voice. Ash leaned on a pool cue, a knowing grin on his face. Ellen and Sam joined him, followed by the rest of the roadhouse.
Sam pointed to something above Dean’s head. He looked up and swore. A small bit of mistletoe hung in the doorway right above them.
“It’s tradition, Dean. You don’t want to break tradition, do you?” Ellen asked.
Dean looked down. He counted to ten backwards in his head, hoping his temper would cool. “Sam,” he said. “Is there really a haunting in North Carolina?”
“Mom.” Jo’s voice made Dean meet her eyes. “Do you really need something from back here?"
Jo crossed her arms, her eyes never leaving Dean. “I guess we should follow tradition.”
“I guess so.”
Dean took her face in his hands and closed his eyes. His mouth found hers, remembering every curve of her lips. Her lips were warm, inviting, and they reawakened his need for her. He felt her arms uncross and slide around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. God, how he had missed her, his body shuddering as the kiss deepened.
Reluctantly, they parted, both needing to come up for air.
Jo’s eyes softened. “I think we need to talk.”
“I think you’re right.” Dean twisted the doorknob and ushered Jo inside. He addressed the appreciative audience. “If you need us, we’ll be in here.”
He closed the door on their laughter.