original by unperfectwolf
Remix Title: An Early Afterlife of Ordinary Days (The Joy Luck Redux)
Remix Author: poisontaster
Original Story: An Early Afterlife of Ordinary Days
Original Author: unperfectwolf
Rating: G
Pairings: None
Summary: A new beginning for the Roadhouse
Warnings: None.
Jo never met her grandmother. Doreen Chase died of ovarian cancer six months before Jo was even a sparkle in her daddy's eye. Even so, the wood-framed, sepia toned image of her grandmother had been a fixture in the Harvelle household for as long as Jo could remember. It was the only thing around the Harvelle household that indicated Jo's mom had even had a life before she became Mrs. William Harvelle.
At the same time, no one ever talked about Jo's grandmother. Well, not other than a terse, "She's dead," from Jo's mom and a snorted, "And good riddance!" from her dad, the one time Jo had asked about it. So Jo had only been left to daydream and wonder about the smiling, strong-jawed woman in the photo with her upswept victory rolls and sharp, tweed suit.
By the time Jo left for college, the photo had been hidden away in a box in the storeroom, victim of Ellen's post-Bill purge. Jo didn't even remember anymore how she came across it, only that she had, holding it in her hand and smelling the lemon Pledge with which her mom had polished it. She remembered tucking it under her shirt so her mom wouldn't see her sneaking it out of the storeroom, the edges poking into her skin.
It spent her whole time at college and the couple years after it in the pocket of her suitcase, mostly forgotten. But on those days when she was missing her mom most, when she was lonely and heart-sick and alone... Sometimes she would take it out and run her fingers across the old wood and gilt and feel just that little bit closer to her mom.
The photo is on the car seat next to her as she drives. It's not a peace offering. Not exactly. Because she hasn't done anything that she needs to apologize for, dammit. But it's there and all the rest of her stuff is packed up in the back of the car and she's not slinking home this time. She's coming on her own terms, as her own person and her mom's just gonna have to respect that.
Yeah, right.
The Roadhouse's new frame is already up when she pulls in, a stark skeleton against the faded out blue of the sky. Jo's stomach tightens up a bit when she pulls in next to the Winchester's Impala. She hadn't expected they would be here, which was probably stupid on her part. Of course they'd be here. Still. She's not here for them and she's not going to back down just because of them. Being a big girl means strapping on those big girl panties now and again.
Jo's mom has got her frown on as she comes over and Jo thinks she probably should've called first, told her mom she was coming. It's just that it would've felt too much like asking permission.
You had a life of your own. Have. You have a life of your own. You're not asking her for anything. You're here to help. That's all.
Jo climbs out of her car and leans back against the dust-filmed side to cover the trembling shakiness of her legs. It might help if they'd had more than a handful of angry, terse conversations in the past year, but they haven't. So there's her and her mom and enough stubborn between them to spawn a whole clan of mules.
"Didn't think you'd come." Jo's mom's hands smooth down her hips once before she tucks them in her pockets awkwardly. Jo was expecting the words to come out prickly and vicious, but instead, they're quiet, almost toneless. Jo wants to imagine they're almost tentative, but she thinks that's a bit too much to ask for.
Jo shrugs. It's hard to make it not sulky, the echo of a million sullen teenage conversations. "I wanted to help." She turns and snakes her upper body through the open window to grab her grandmother's portrait. Her throat is sour and tight as she holds it out, trying to remind herself that she's a woman grown and not a four year old giving Mommy her fingerpainted blobs of color. "I thought... I thought maybe..." She trails off uncertainly, no longer sure what she thought.
When Jo finally drags her eyes up, she doesn't expect the way her mother's eyes are narrow and wet, her sunlines pinched tight. Doesn't expect, either, the sharp-boned, squeezing one-armed hug that smashes her against her mom's side.
Her mom breathes out loud and noisily when she lets Jo go, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and knuckling the corners of her eyes. Jo hides her own sniffle behind the heel of her hand, her chest hot and fluttery. "Well, God knows there's plenty to do," her mom says briskly. "Place ain't gonna build itself."
Jo laughs, a full throw-your-head-back sound that lets out all the butterflies from her stomach. By lunchtime, they'll probably be cat-and-dogging it all over again, but right now, this moment...
This feels pretty fine.
"You got a place to stay?" Her mom holds the portrait cradled against her belly.
Jo shakes her head, tucking her cold fingers in her back pocket. "No. Just got here." Then, so her mom doesn't think it's a hint, she adds, "Figured I'd find some place tonight, once we got done for the day. I think Jenny could put me up."
She hasn't spoken to Jenny Nalum in seven years, but her mom doesn't know that. The point is, Jo's not coming cap in hand.
"I've been renting out that old carriage house at the Widow Johnson's," her mom volunteers, squinting over at the Roadhouse's skeleton, the men swarming over it like ants. "Not much to look at, but there's room enough for both of us, if you like." She scratches a bite on her neck idly before she glances back at Jo. "Least 'til you find a place of your own."
The heat of that flushes right through Jo like a wave of sunlight, lighting up her smile. "I'd like that."
Remix Author: poisontaster
Original Story: An Early Afterlife of Ordinary Days
Original Author: unperfectwolf
Rating: G
Pairings: None
Summary: A new beginning for the Roadhouse
Warnings: None.
Jo never met her grandmother. Doreen Chase died of ovarian cancer six months before Jo was even a sparkle in her daddy's eye. Even so, the wood-framed, sepia toned image of her grandmother had been a fixture in the Harvelle household for as long as Jo could remember. It was the only thing around the Harvelle household that indicated Jo's mom had even had a life before she became Mrs. William Harvelle.
At the same time, no one ever talked about Jo's grandmother. Well, not other than a terse, "She's dead," from Jo's mom and a snorted, "And good riddance!" from her dad, the one time Jo had asked about it. So Jo had only been left to daydream and wonder about the smiling, strong-jawed woman in the photo with her upswept victory rolls and sharp, tweed suit.
By the time Jo left for college, the photo had been hidden away in a box in the storeroom, victim of Ellen's post-Bill purge. Jo didn't even remember anymore how she came across it, only that she had, holding it in her hand and smelling the lemon Pledge with which her mom had polished it. She remembered tucking it under her shirt so her mom wouldn't see her sneaking it out of the storeroom, the edges poking into her skin.
It spent her whole time at college and the couple years after it in the pocket of her suitcase, mostly forgotten. But on those days when she was missing her mom most, when she was lonely and heart-sick and alone... Sometimes she would take it out and run her fingers across the old wood and gilt and feel just that little bit closer to her mom.
The photo is on the car seat next to her as she drives. It's not a peace offering. Not exactly. Because she hasn't done anything that she needs to apologize for, dammit. But it's there and all the rest of her stuff is packed up in the back of the car and she's not slinking home this time. She's coming on her own terms, as her own person and her mom's just gonna have to respect that.
Yeah, right.
The Roadhouse's new frame is already up when she pulls in, a stark skeleton against the faded out blue of the sky. Jo's stomach tightens up a bit when she pulls in next to the Winchester's Impala. She hadn't expected they would be here, which was probably stupid on her part. Of course they'd be here. Still. She's not here for them and she's not going to back down just because of them. Being a big girl means strapping on those big girl panties now and again.
Jo's mom has got her frown on as she comes over and Jo thinks she probably should've called first, told her mom she was coming. It's just that it would've felt too much like asking permission.
You had a life of your own. Have. You have a life of your own. You're not asking her for anything. You're here to help. That's all.
Jo climbs out of her car and leans back against the dust-filmed side to cover the trembling shakiness of her legs. It might help if they'd had more than a handful of angry, terse conversations in the past year, but they haven't. So there's her and her mom and enough stubborn between them to spawn a whole clan of mules.
"Didn't think you'd come." Jo's mom's hands smooth down her hips once before she tucks them in her pockets awkwardly. Jo was expecting the words to come out prickly and vicious, but instead, they're quiet, almost toneless. Jo wants to imagine they're almost tentative, but she thinks that's a bit too much to ask for.
Jo shrugs. It's hard to make it not sulky, the echo of a million sullen teenage conversations. "I wanted to help." She turns and snakes her upper body through the open window to grab her grandmother's portrait. Her throat is sour and tight as she holds it out, trying to remind herself that she's a woman grown and not a four year old giving Mommy her fingerpainted blobs of color. "I thought... I thought maybe..." She trails off uncertainly, no longer sure what she thought.
When Jo finally drags her eyes up, she doesn't expect the way her mother's eyes are narrow and wet, her sunlines pinched tight. Doesn't expect, either, the sharp-boned, squeezing one-armed hug that smashes her against her mom's side.
Her mom breathes out loud and noisily when she lets Jo go, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and knuckling the corners of her eyes. Jo hides her own sniffle behind the heel of her hand, her chest hot and fluttery. "Well, God knows there's plenty to do," her mom says briskly. "Place ain't gonna build itself."
Jo laughs, a full throw-your-head-back sound that lets out all the butterflies from her stomach. By lunchtime, they'll probably be cat-and-dogging it all over again, but right now, this moment...
This feels pretty fine.
"You got a place to stay?" Her mom holds the portrait cradled against her belly.
Jo shakes her head, tucking her cold fingers in her back pocket. "No. Just got here." Then, so her mom doesn't think it's a hint, she adds, "Figured I'd find some place tonight, once we got done for the day. I think Jenny could put me up."
She hasn't spoken to Jenny Nalum in seven years, but her mom doesn't know that. The point is, Jo's not coming cap in hand.
"I've been renting out that old carriage house at the Widow Johnson's," her mom volunteers, squinting over at the Roadhouse's skeleton, the men swarming over it like ants. "Not much to look at, but there's room enough for both of us, if you like." She scratches a bite on her neck idly before she glances back at Jo. "Least 'til you find a place of your own."
The heat of that flushes right through Jo like a wave of sunlight, lighting up her smile. "I'd like that."