"It means if somebody gives you a shovel and pile of horse shit, you start digging."
"I don't get it."
"Because, Sammy – gotta be a horse in there somewhere!"
ROTFLMAO!
That is my new definition of optimist.
the jar of peanut butter that someone had opened and dug into and that Whole Foods had, considerately, set on top of the dumpster. Organic, no sugar, no salt. Oily and dense and someone else's germs in there but...
But he could scrape that part out and it would be fine. Just fine.
Ouch.
What're the odds that Sam--that any of them--actually believe that?
The woman who worked at the little coffee shop beside the record store was on the back step, having a smoke, and her gaze flinched away from him as he passed her. It hurt, but it had hurt Dean more.
I never really stopped to think about how Sam supported himself those first few years--what kind of jobs he might've held, if he could even keep one with the kind of course load he must've had. How hard it was to pull together his life with Jess, making the idea of abandoning it to hit the road for the life he'd fought so desperately to leave behind unthinkable. Suddenly, that Sam, from the pilot ep, seems much more sympathetic.
And all the times Dean had to take care of Sam. Swallow his pride and be the dad when John wasn't there. Like that Xmas episode, only with no food on top of no certainty that the only parent you've got left is going to come home.
"He's getting dinner," Sam says, staring hard at his dad. Staring like a fucking basilisk, Dean says, and Sam wishes.... "We're out of food."
Dad's face smoothes out, blank and inscrutable, and Sam wants to hit him. Wants to make him react. Make him – make him....
"Out for how long?" Dad asks, and Sam finally hears the hoarseness in his voice – sees the bloodshot rims of his eyes and the way his shoulders are hunched, held awkwardly still. Hurt, Sam guesses. Hurt somehow, and just like that, the anger sinks away, leaving Sam feeling hollow inside – bones like sticks and his head too heavy – eyes gritty.
It's impossible to just love John, or hate him. Even if you're his kid. None of them should be in this position, should have to feel like this. John isn't exactly a good father. He's an okay leader (though how okay, when his troops are left to starve, and obviously not for the first time), a solid mentor, but not a good father. It's like he never stops to ask himself what Mary would think of her sons--her husband--living like this.
no subject
"It means if somebody gives you a shovel and pile of horse shit, you start digging."
"I don't get it."
"Because, Sammy – gotta be a horse in there somewhere!"
ROTFLMAO!
That is my new definition of optimist.
the jar of peanut butter that someone had opened and dug into and that Whole Foods had, considerately, set on top of the dumpster. Organic, no sugar, no salt. Oily and dense and someone else's germs in there but...
But he could scrape that part out and it would be fine. Just fine.
Ouch.
What're the odds that Sam--that any of them--actually believe that?
The woman who worked at the little coffee shop beside the record store was on the back step, having a smoke, and her gaze flinched away from him as he passed her. It hurt, but it had hurt Dean more.
I never really stopped to think about how Sam supported himself those first few years--what kind of jobs he might've held, if he could even keep one with the kind of course load he must've had. How hard it was to pull together his life with Jess, making the idea of abandoning it to hit the road for the life he'd fought so desperately to leave behind unthinkable. Suddenly, that Sam, from the pilot ep, seems much more sympathetic.
And all the times Dean had to take care of Sam. Swallow his pride and be the dad when John wasn't there. Like that Xmas episode, only with no food on top of no certainty that the only parent you've got left is going to come home.
"He's getting dinner," Sam says, staring hard at his dad. Staring like a fucking basilisk, Dean says, and Sam wishes.... "We're out of food."
Dad's face smoothes out, blank and inscrutable, and Sam wants to hit him. Wants to make him react. Make him – make him....
"Out for how long?" Dad asks, and Sam finally hears the hoarseness in his voice – sees the bloodshot rims of his eyes and the way his shoulders are hunched, held awkwardly still. Hurt, Sam guesses. Hurt somehow, and just like that, the anger sinks away, leaving Sam feeling hollow inside – bones like sticks and his head too heavy – eyes gritty.
It's impossible to just love John, or hate him. Even if you're his kid. None of them should be in this position, should have to feel like this. John isn't exactly a good father. He's an okay leader (though how okay, when his troops are left to starve, and obviously not for the first time), a solid mentor, but not a good father. It's like he never stops to ask himself what Mary would think of her sons--her husband--living like this.