jo harvelle - 5x10 (abandon all hope)
“can we, uh, be realistic about this, please? my guts are being held in by an ace bandage. i’m not going anywhere”
Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind you
Can’t carry it with you if you want to survive.
ooc: Oh yeah, way to give me feelz. This is beautiful!
ooc: kjhgfdg you’re sweet. feelzing everywhere!
Its just staring at her at the gas station. Mocking her; Jo was sure of it. The only way to make it stop taunting her was to just buy the damn thing and be done with it. Except there had to be more in case it seemed like…yeah, she wasn’t exactly good at the whole ‘woman of mystery’ thing. The last thing she wanted was to make everything worse if that was even possible. No. This was supposed to be about rising above all of that and doing something good…something nice. It was his goddamn birthday for Christ’s sake! The blonde had been trying to ignore that fact for six and a half hours and failing miserably so this was the best secondary option. And if it didn’t stop nagging her then she’d move on to plan C until it did.
All of it was her mother’s fault. Raising her daughter like the day of your birth was something special and not to be ignored by those who were supposed to care for you. And it was! The problem was, just because things were monumentally screwed up between them didn’t change the fact that she was someone who cared. Jo cared about the insufferable ass and today was his birthday so the rest of whatever was going on between them couldn’t—didn’t matter. The first thing to do was to stop worrying so much, she’d find a way to convey that this wasn’t some cruel joke to hurt him. The huntress didn’t have the best track record of that lately but if there was a way, she’d sure as hell find it. So with the small bag wrapped around a few fingers,—who knew they sold gift bags at the gas station?—-she dug into her jean pocket for her keys and headed back to the motel.
Her first thought was to leave it outside his door because there was nothing in the world that would make her knock and possibly come face to face with the last person who wanted to see her right now. Not having to see her was half of his gift, anyway. Fingers fiddling with her keys in her pocket gave the blonde an idea as she fished out a bobby pin and proceeded to jiggle the handle open. It didn’t take much before she was in the motel room, inhabited by two Winchester men who seemed nowhere in sight for the moment. Jo scurried to the bed she knew was his and tucked the small green bag on the floor between his night table and bed frame so it wasn’t in plain sight. He wouldn’t like that; better for him to discover it on his own. The motel pad and pen were handy to write the worst birthday car—note in existence:
It’s your birthday. A woman we both loved and respected taught me that birthdays are a day to focus on why we are grateful for the person who exists because of it. It’s a day that sits in a separate universe, where we ignore all the bullshit that could ruin it because that doesn’t change a thing. You’re either happy someone exists or you’re not. Maybe we’re not talking and never will again but today is still your birthday, so I gave you all the crap you would get if you got to be a dad because if I have to suffer through it then so do you. And you’re still a dad even if you’re not there. This is your first birthday as one and I couldn’t just ignore it.
Happy Birthday, Dean.
ps - I hope you don’t hate me for this.
Jo twisted the trucker cap in her hand, chewing on the inside of her lip and hesitating on her last decision before she left, slipping the note into the bag of tricks. Dean didn’t wear hats so no one would ever see it. Hell, it’d probably be tossed as soon as he saw it and that was fine with her. The most impulsive buy in her impulse streak today. With a sharp shake of her head and a huff, she tossed the cap into the open bag, haphazardly and locked the door behind her before closing the door to the Winchester’s motel room. It could even be the last time she’d ever be inside and consciously tried not to focus on that. The numbness wouldn’t let any emotions rise to the surface as she stalked over to her room, ready to bury herself in any work she could get her hands on.
I see your picture, I smell your skin on, the empty pillow next to mine
You have only been gone ten days, but already I am wasting away
I know I’ll see you again
Whether far or soon