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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
EXPECTATIONS
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“‘Kay, you just keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart. Well, you look like Mom, so. Oh, quit your bitching and just tell me how glad you are t’see me. How long’s it been, anyway?"
"Okay -- first of all, we both know I'm the one with the better hair, and secondly; who says I'm happy to see you? It's been months. Could'a sworn you fell off the face of the Earth."
"It’s just ‘cause I’m the better-lookin’ one outta the two of us. Nah— I was just droppin’ by to see if you were still alive, and, looks like you are."
"Yeah -- no. I'm the better lookin' one." It's because you look like dad. "I don't need you to check on me. I'm a big girl."
+sonofaharvelle
"-- I swear to god, every time you come around, I gotta do a double take. You need somethin'?"
Jo Harvelle in No Exit (2x06)
She's always had a horrible habit of wanting what she can never have.
-- No. No, this -- this can't be happening. It can't. In some corner of her heart and mind, Jo wants to believe that this isn't some monster standing in front of her, that he's actually here -- but paranoia wins over as she trains her rifle right between his eyes.
"You get out of him right now you -- you sick son of a bitch!"
while I'm no sinner
I ain't no saint --
ATTENTION
Okay — so this is sort of silly, I guess, but I need to ask a favor of all of you. Obviously, you don’t have to do this, and I have nothing against you whatsoever if you don’t, but it’d mean a lot to me if you took a minute or two of your time to participate.
For those of you that don’t know, my name is Jo — and my grandpa is in the hospital —(nursing home, now) and has been since December. He had a surgery at the time to correct an exposed nerve in his cheek that was causing him a lot of pain which involved going in under his brain to fix the nerve. Sadly, everything that could go wrong, did, and they found that the nerve was fused with one of his major arteries. When they moved to separate them, the artery was punctured, resulting in a small stroke. It’s been a long, grueling, emotionally trying recovery process and it’s taken us seven long months to get as far as we have. Infection after infection set him back, pneumonia, MRSA, a horrible bed sore on his back, a tracheotomy, breathing machines, ventilators, shunts, surgeries to reduce the swelling in his brain, numerous life flights to Pittsburgh, physical therapy to teach him how to speak again, how to swallow, how to sit up, how to stand, how to use his hands — this man has been through so much, and still he manages to smile every day and promise us he’s going to get better.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, tomorrow is his birthday — July 17th. He’s going to be 66 years old, and I want all of you to help me bring one more smile to his face. He’s always been a very social person, always willing to lend an ear to anyone whether they be stranger, friend, or family. He loves people. Now — here’s the plan:
I’m asking all of you to wish him a Happy Birthday. It doesn’t have to be a long message, you don’t have to be articulate, all it has to be is something short and sweet, along with yourname/nickname. I’m going to take all these wishes and write them all in a huge card and give it to him tomorrow — I’ll read every message to him individually, just to show how many people care and are supporting him in his recovery.
Drop into my ask, send it in a fanmail — all I ask is that you help me brighten up his special day with a kind word or two. It would mean the world to myself, and my grandpa as well.
If you’ve read this far — thank you. You’re all amazing, and I can’t stress enough how much this means to me.
"I know it's, uh, been awhile -- but we're open for business again, if it ain't too late."
l o v e is a dress that you made long to [ hide your knees ]
l o v e to say
this
to your face:
"I'll love you only."
Sam smiled at her in relief, bringing a hand up to press comfortingly against her cheek for a moment. His thumb trailed along the skin there before he pulled his hand away, warm honey-colored eyes promising her that he’d make it better.
It was a conversation for another day, his story, and one he vowed to tell her. His trip down to the Cage was easier for him to deal with, although one he’d locked away in the darkest parts of his mind and bolted shut. Sam wouldn’t be able to tell her everything, but enough to help heal her.
Maybe.
“Are you hungry?" He asked, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. Him and Dean had a bit more cash to spare nowadays, since they weren’t constantly spending money at diners for food and cooking in the Batcave’s kitchen. It was nice, and Sam was happy. “There’s a place down the road. I got some money."
At first, she'd flinched -- her body reflexively inching away from the press of his hand against her cheek as it expected the worst -- pain, suffering, torture -- but after a moment she found herself leaning into it, craving that comforting touch from a calloused hand that was gone too soon.
Jo yearned for a gentle touch more than she cared to admit -- but she feared it, too. Vowing to herself never to admit either of those points aloud, she rose to her feet with her heart pounding in the concave of her chest. Wounded pride barred her from spilling everything she both desperately did and didn't want him to know -- guilty secrets that weighed on her conscience, screams that echoed in silence and the flash of blood-stained memories behind closed eyes. Thoughts of the place plagued her mind even then, but she shook herself from her dark reverie upon question if she was hungry or not.
How long had it been since she'd last eaten? If the gnawing in her gut was any indication -- too long was the answer to that.
"-- Starving," she answered, despite not knowing how well she'd be able to stomach anything. She felt sick to begin with -- but it was worth a shot, right? "Does this place serve alcohol? I could go for a good, stiff drink right about now."
[3:36:26 PM] Sam: i kinda
[3:36:29 PM] Sam: want him to die
[3:36:30 PM] Sam: ngl
[3:36:45 PM] Jo:
[3:36:47 PM] Jo: you're grounded
Jo has her dad's journal -- she keeps it hidden in her duffel, pours over it every night, commits every word to memory as though her life depends on it.
'never should we become arrogant in our 'goodness'; as men we are but one step from the abyss that we deem darkness. never are we too 'good' to become the thing we hunt.'
“He is? Uh, I think I’ll wait ‘til Dean gets back, I’m.. not so great at reunions of sorts —but I’m sure we will, Jo. Dad always said he was a great man, and he had a great wife, and he’s got a great daughter, so I don’t have a reason to disbelieve it.”
"He's a real friendly guy, Sam. If that's what you're worried about, I mean -- there's nothin' to be worried about. It's your choice, but would you at least stick around for a little while? You don't come around as often as you used to. I miss you, y'know."
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