Generations Lost In Space [ Part 3 ]
TITLE Generations Lost in Space
RATING PG
WARNINGS Dean has some ever classy misogyny in this part
SPOILERS None
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS Dean, Jo
WORD COUNT 2100
AUTHOR NOTES I need more SPN icons, and also I suck so much at dialogue you dont even know.
The motel in Utah had a breakfast offered-it was make your own food-but Dean had gotten sick of the smell of pancakes and waffles, so had no problems toasting his own bread. On a whole, he preferred rye; a spicy tang to warm, clotting dough. With some grape jelly and butter, nothing beat it.
Still, he wasn’t living a life of luxury, and white toast was a damn fine meal for travelling. He ate probably four slices of bread that morning, packing up a few extra (untoasted, because really, cold toast? He’s hungry and poor, not stupid and tasteless) and trying not to be noticed while he packed his things up in the lobby. He kept his eyes off the hot blonde piece who was trying not to eye him. Probably some Mormon type, he figured. Wiping his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin, he stood up, feeling like a giant in the wake of cheap plastic motel furniture that barely hit his kneecaps.
He signed out without the hotel manager, leaving his key on the guest book and taking a tooth pick on his way out, duffel bag hitting the door lightly. He’d like to think that was the only real impact he’d left on the highway-side motel, but when he heard the door open again, there was little blondie trotting out, all pout and baby brown eyes and nothing to hide.
“Hey, sir, wait just a minute,” she called to him, shoes smacking against the gravel road. Dean didn’t turn around, because really, he didn’t need to get attached to some home grown girl next door.
“Listen, sweetie, I paid and everything, don’t you worry a bit.” His voice was pandering, patronizing, polite, but it sure as hell wasn’t paying her any unneeded attention.
“That’s not what I wanted to say! Sir, please, just stop for a minute,” she pleaded, standing in front of his car with her hair against her cheeks. Her face had flushed, and her knees were red from the cold. She was wearing a sundress, yellow and way too vibrant for February. She looked like a little fire, flickering against the cold earth.
“Well make it quick. I don’t know if you noticed, miss, but I’m not exactly cozying in for another night.” He gestured at his car, with his duffel bag in the passenger seat and its chrome shining in the fresh faced sunlight of morning.
“Where’re you going?” She pulled her hair from her face, eyes bemused and voice telling more of the same.
“California. Listen; is this for some kind of government thing? Because if it is, they’re picking cuter agents every year, I have to say.” Dean smiled, and cursed himself internally; this wasn’t the time to be charming. This girl was going to ruin his morning, set him off time, and he would have to sleep down in a California motel tonight if she took too long. Her face was red, from the cold or from the smile he couldn’t tell.
“No, not at all. I don’t know anything about that, I promise. I was only wondering because…well, can I be frank with you, sir?” She had her feet pointed together at the toes now, like she was trying to be cute and it was working because she was the picture of innocent and Dean wanted to leave but he couldn’t just go, not now when she was going to be frank.
“Well, if we’re getting frank, I guess you can call me Dean. I mean, as long as we’re being so frank, sir just won’t cut it, right?” He smirked, and she laughed, and Dean leaned against the car because he knew she liked the whole persona and he was the kind of guy who played to a crowd, love it or hate it.
“Can I…can I come with you? To California? Please, Dean, I know you probably don’t want me coming along and I don’t know why you’re out here or what’s got you moving around so much but I need to go and I know it’s probably nothing to you but it means a lot to me, please. Can I come with you?” The words stumbled out of her mouth, clumsy and flat-footed. She wasn’t some slinky starlet with red lipstick and a New York accent, that was for sure. Dean didn’t answer for a half of a moment, just stood there against the Chevy and looked straight at her.
“What are you, crazy? You don’t even know me. I could be married or dodging the draft or a druggie or a serial killer or God knows what,” he said, exasperated and unable to control the incredulity in his voice, before adding in a tone that should have been under his breath, “if you even have half of that in bumblefuck, Utah.” Her eyes were at the ground now, like she finally figured out that asking strangers for road trips was risky business, but still just stood there and let the cold air push against her thin frame. When she looked back up at Dean, her eyes were wet and bright. If she was trying to make him feel guilty about a completely rational decision, she was doing a fine job so far.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, but… I’m just so,” she stammered at Dean, hands gesturing fiercely to the motel and when she realized she wasn’t making sense she pulled those same red-knuckled fingers through her bright golden hair, “I’m so tired of being here. I’m not useful, nobody wants me, and they just keep me here because that’s what they think they’re supposed to do. After Dad left, we just… we had to carry on, and nobody knows what to do anymore and especially not me! Please, Dean, that’s your name, just let me come. I’m Jo. Let me come with you, let me see California and try something new and I can help you with anything you want, I promise. I can make breakfast better than toast, at least.”
She swiped her hand in a broad move of frantic hopefulness, her hand on her sternum, throat fluttering wildly. She was like a deer, Dean thought, so delicate and ready to move at the soonest snap of a branch or shift of Dean’s shoulders. Jo. He let the name roll on his tongue internally before shaking his head, a grin on his face that was not acceptance and closer to an internal questioning of his life thus far: How had this happened to him? Why was it always him? When he looked back at her, mouth open with a sarcastic slap on the mouth comment that he wanted to send her off with, back into the arms of her disjointed family; no one deserved a broken family, Dean understood that, but he knew running away didn’t fix a thing.
“Jo, Jo, Jo… you can’t. You just can’t, okay? It’s not that easy, I wish it was, really. But the thing is, Jo, you have a family back in that piece of crap teetering off the side of the road, and you might not like your dad being gone but he is, okay, he’s gone and you need to keep it together. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Jo. Your dad ran off, and so you’re going to run off too? Your family doesn’t need that. Think about it. Just…just think, Jo.”
His hand was steadying something nonexistent, something peripheral that both of them could visualize but neither could understand. Jo wiped a few tears that managed to fall from her eyes, smearing them across her cheeks. Her lips quivered. Dean reached for the door of the Chevy, hearing the audible click of the door as he propped it open and leaned inside, elbows on the open door and the roof. He looked away, bit his lip and tried not to regret his own actions, tried not to visualize the way he left Lawrence as running away because he was just getting his brother and coming back, he was just trying to bring everyone back together. He wasn’t running away from anything. He would never run away.
“Well…”
“No, Jo, just be quiet right now, okay? I’m going. I can’t take you, I just can’t. That’s not going to help anyone, not you or your family or your dad. You wanna go look for him, want to skip out on school and make that your life, go ahead. But I’m not going to drag your family down just because you want out. That’s your choice, and I don’t want any part in it.” Dean was quiet after that, breathing hard like he’d just finished running. His eyes were wide, and he hadn’t realized it but he had run his hands over his head, tangling the Brylcreem-ed hair into a messy bunch. It still moved relatively little when the wind picked up. Jo just stood there, a pained expression on her face like she wasn’t interested in going inside, but she still understood all the same. She didn’t say much else for a long while, just watched Dean pack his bags up. He stopped before getting into the car, keys in hand, a question on his lips.
“Why?”
Jo wiped more tears from her face, sniffling and wringing her hands. She let her arms fall limply at her sides, and she took the ends of her dress in her hands and started to bunch them as she spoke.
“I wanted to get out. Get out like Dad, and my brother. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to live my own life, without my family telling me what to do or who to look up to. I don’t want any of that. I just want to be on my own.” She smiled, looking vacantly to some memory or image Dean couldn’t see.
“I get it, Jo, I really do. My dad’s gone too, he’s in Vietnam and he’s probably dead but nobody knows. My brother’s off at college or something, hell if I know, and my mom’s been dead since I was just a little kid. Family has to stay together, though. Jo, it’s more important than even you or I could know. I don’t know what your brother does, or why he’s gone, but he didn’t need to run away either. Stay and be someone your dad would be proud of, someone your brother wants to come home to and see in charge. Do that for me, Jo, for you and me and all the other people who want to run away.” He pointed at her, his words softly juxtaposed against his harsh motions, and he sighed when she just nodded, solemnly and silently.
“He’s in the army,” she finally said quietly.
“Who is? Your dad?” Dean didn’t think if someone was in the army, that really constituted as ‘running away’ since your life went nowhere but down from there.
“No, my brother. He…he joined as soon as he was eighteen,” she explained, voice full of bitter pride and loneliness.
“Sounds like a stand up guy. He’s a great American.” It wasn’t what he meant; what he meant was more insulting, a bigger fit of frustration that someone would willingly put themselves and their family through hell like that.
“Thanks… I’m sorry, Dean,” she said quietly, her shoulders slumped and the tips of her toes turning in small half-circles on the gravel.
“Don’t be. Just go back inside, or you’ll catch a cold,” he chastised jokingly, smiling ear-to-ear at her because Dean didn’t know what to do during these kind of moments.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ve been through worse. Bye, Dean, and good luck in California, whatever you’re doing.” She waved broadly to him, the most exuberant gesture he’d seen from her yet. He waved back as he slipped into the driver’s seat, soft leather hushing around him in what would have been serendipity if he wasn’t pulling out and away from a sad young girl named Jo who lived in Utah and worked at a highway motel.
“Bye, Jo,” and he said it quietly, and she couldn’t hear it, but when they smiled like old friends who lived through too much, she knew what he meant.
And when he was two hours into his drive, hitting another city limit sign, then he finally looked behind him and thought about what exactly had happened, who he’d just talked to. The name slipped out on accident, a quiet whisper against the loud rumble of tires and highway: Jo.
RATING PG
WARNINGS Dean has some ever classy misogyny in this part
SPOILERS None
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS Dean, Jo
WORD COUNT 2100
AUTHOR NOTES I need more SPN icons, and also I suck so much at dialogue you dont even know.
The motel in Utah had a breakfast offered-it was make your own food-but Dean had gotten sick of the smell of pancakes and waffles, so had no problems toasting his own bread. On a whole, he preferred rye; a spicy tang to warm, clotting dough. With some grape jelly and butter, nothing beat it.
Still, he wasn’t living a life of luxury, and white toast was a damn fine meal for travelling. He ate probably four slices of bread that morning, packing up a few extra (untoasted, because really, cold toast? He’s hungry and poor, not stupid and tasteless) and trying not to be noticed while he packed his things up in the lobby. He kept his eyes off the hot blonde piece who was trying not to eye him. Probably some Mormon type, he figured. Wiping his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin, he stood up, feeling like a giant in the wake of cheap plastic motel furniture that barely hit his kneecaps.
He signed out without the hotel manager, leaving his key on the guest book and taking a tooth pick on his way out, duffel bag hitting the door lightly. He’d like to think that was the only real impact he’d left on the highway-side motel, but when he heard the door open again, there was little blondie trotting out, all pout and baby brown eyes and nothing to hide.
“Hey, sir, wait just a minute,” she called to him, shoes smacking against the gravel road. Dean didn’t turn around, because really, he didn’t need to get attached to some home grown girl next door.
“Listen, sweetie, I paid and everything, don’t you worry a bit.” His voice was pandering, patronizing, polite, but it sure as hell wasn’t paying her any unneeded attention.
“That’s not what I wanted to say! Sir, please, just stop for a minute,” she pleaded, standing in front of his car with her hair against her cheeks. Her face had flushed, and her knees were red from the cold. She was wearing a sundress, yellow and way too vibrant for February. She looked like a little fire, flickering against the cold earth.
“Well make it quick. I don’t know if you noticed, miss, but I’m not exactly cozying in for another night.” He gestured at his car, with his duffel bag in the passenger seat and its chrome shining in the fresh faced sunlight of morning.
“Where’re you going?” She pulled her hair from her face, eyes bemused and voice telling more of the same.
“California. Listen; is this for some kind of government thing? Because if it is, they’re picking cuter agents every year, I have to say.” Dean smiled, and cursed himself internally; this wasn’t the time to be charming. This girl was going to ruin his morning, set him off time, and he would have to sleep down in a California motel tonight if she took too long. Her face was red, from the cold or from the smile he couldn’t tell.
“No, not at all. I don’t know anything about that, I promise. I was only wondering because…well, can I be frank with you, sir?” She had her feet pointed together at the toes now, like she was trying to be cute and it was working because she was the picture of innocent and Dean wanted to leave but he couldn’t just go, not now when she was going to be frank.
“Well, if we’re getting frank, I guess you can call me Dean. I mean, as long as we’re being so frank, sir just won’t cut it, right?” He smirked, and she laughed, and Dean leaned against the car because he knew she liked the whole persona and he was the kind of guy who played to a crowd, love it or hate it.
“Can I…can I come with you? To California? Please, Dean, I know you probably don’t want me coming along and I don’t know why you’re out here or what’s got you moving around so much but I need to go and I know it’s probably nothing to you but it means a lot to me, please. Can I come with you?” The words stumbled out of her mouth, clumsy and flat-footed. She wasn’t some slinky starlet with red lipstick and a New York accent, that was for sure. Dean didn’t answer for a half of a moment, just stood there against the Chevy and looked straight at her.
“What are you, crazy? You don’t even know me. I could be married or dodging the draft or a druggie or a serial killer or God knows what,” he said, exasperated and unable to control the incredulity in his voice, before adding in a tone that should have been under his breath, “if you even have half of that in bumblefuck, Utah.” Her eyes were at the ground now, like she finally figured out that asking strangers for road trips was risky business, but still just stood there and let the cold air push against her thin frame. When she looked back up at Dean, her eyes were wet and bright. If she was trying to make him feel guilty about a completely rational decision, she was doing a fine job so far.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, but… I’m just so,” she stammered at Dean, hands gesturing fiercely to the motel and when she realized she wasn’t making sense she pulled those same red-knuckled fingers through her bright golden hair, “I’m so tired of being here. I’m not useful, nobody wants me, and they just keep me here because that’s what they think they’re supposed to do. After Dad left, we just… we had to carry on, and nobody knows what to do anymore and especially not me! Please, Dean, that’s your name, just let me come. I’m Jo. Let me come with you, let me see California and try something new and I can help you with anything you want, I promise. I can make breakfast better than toast, at least.”
She swiped her hand in a broad move of frantic hopefulness, her hand on her sternum, throat fluttering wildly. She was like a deer, Dean thought, so delicate and ready to move at the soonest snap of a branch or shift of Dean’s shoulders. Jo. He let the name roll on his tongue internally before shaking his head, a grin on his face that was not acceptance and closer to an internal questioning of his life thus far: How had this happened to him? Why was it always him? When he looked back at her, mouth open with a sarcastic slap on the mouth comment that he wanted to send her off with, back into the arms of her disjointed family; no one deserved a broken family, Dean understood that, but he knew running away didn’t fix a thing.
“Jo, Jo, Jo… you can’t. You just can’t, okay? It’s not that easy, I wish it was, really. But the thing is, Jo, you have a family back in that piece of crap teetering off the side of the road, and you might not like your dad being gone but he is, okay, he’s gone and you need to keep it together. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Jo. Your dad ran off, and so you’re going to run off too? Your family doesn’t need that. Think about it. Just…just think, Jo.”
His hand was steadying something nonexistent, something peripheral that both of them could visualize but neither could understand. Jo wiped a few tears that managed to fall from her eyes, smearing them across her cheeks. Her lips quivered. Dean reached for the door of the Chevy, hearing the audible click of the door as he propped it open and leaned inside, elbows on the open door and the roof. He looked away, bit his lip and tried not to regret his own actions, tried not to visualize the way he left Lawrence as running away because he was just getting his brother and coming back, he was just trying to bring everyone back together. He wasn’t running away from anything. He would never run away.
“Well…”
“No, Jo, just be quiet right now, okay? I’m going. I can’t take you, I just can’t. That’s not going to help anyone, not you or your family or your dad. You wanna go look for him, want to skip out on school and make that your life, go ahead. But I’m not going to drag your family down just because you want out. That’s your choice, and I don’t want any part in it.” Dean was quiet after that, breathing hard like he’d just finished running. His eyes were wide, and he hadn’t realized it but he had run his hands over his head, tangling the Brylcreem-ed hair into a messy bunch. It still moved relatively little when the wind picked up. Jo just stood there, a pained expression on her face like she wasn’t interested in going inside, but she still understood all the same. She didn’t say much else for a long while, just watched Dean pack his bags up. He stopped before getting into the car, keys in hand, a question on his lips.
“Why?”
Jo wiped more tears from her face, sniffling and wringing her hands. She let her arms fall limply at her sides, and she took the ends of her dress in her hands and started to bunch them as she spoke.
“I wanted to get out. Get out like Dad, and my brother. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to live my own life, without my family telling me what to do or who to look up to. I don’t want any of that. I just want to be on my own.” She smiled, looking vacantly to some memory or image Dean couldn’t see.
“I get it, Jo, I really do. My dad’s gone too, he’s in Vietnam and he’s probably dead but nobody knows. My brother’s off at college or something, hell if I know, and my mom’s been dead since I was just a little kid. Family has to stay together, though. Jo, it’s more important than even you or I could know. I don’t know what your brother does, or why he’s gone, but he didn’t need to run away either. Stay and be someone your dad would be proud of, someone your brother wants to come home to and see in charge. Do that for me, Jo, for you and me and all the other people who want to run away.” He pointed at her, his words softly juxtaposed against his harsh motions, and he sighed when she just nodded, solemnly and silently.
“He’s in the army,” she finally said quietly.
“Who is? Your dad?” Dean didn’t think if someone was in the army, that really constituted as ‘running away’ since your life went nowhere but down from there.
“No, my brother. He…he joined as soon as he was eighteen,” she explained, voice full of bitter pride and loneliness.
“Sounds like a stand up guy. He’s a great American.” It wasn’t what he meant; what he meant was more insulting, a bigger fit of frustration that someone would willingly put themselves and their family through hell like that.
“Thanks… I’m sorry, Dean,” she said quietly, her shoulders slumped and the tips of her toes turning in small half-circles on the gravel.
“Don’t be. Just go back inside, or you’ll catch a cold,” he chastised jokingly, smiling ear-to-ear at her because Dean didn’t know what to do during these kind of moments.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ve been through worse. Bye, Dean, and good luck in California, whatever you’re doing.” She waved broadly to him, the most exuberant gesture he’d seen from her yet. He waved back as he slipped into the driver’s seat, soft leather hushing around him in what would have been serendipity if he wasn’t pulling out and away from a sad young girl named Jo who lived in Utah and worked at a highway motel.
“Bye, Jo,” and he said it quietly, and she couldn’t hear it, but when they smiled like old friends who lived through too much, she knew what he meant.
And when he was two hours into his drive, hitting another city limit sign, then he finally looked behind him and thought about what exactly had happened, who he’d just talked to. The name slipped out on accident, a quiet whisper against the loud rumble of tires and highway: Jo.