Down by the dock sits a man on a rock
With his hands in the air; hear him talk, hear him swearing
When I get older, I'm gonna be there to hold her
They spent their childhood summers on the water. Sammy preferred to be cooped up in the library but little Jo Harvelle was always willing and eager to follow Dean wherever he wanted to go. He was used to taking care of Sam, so having Jo's little hand in his all day long while they walked by the docks and waded in the water and bought ice cream didn't bother him at all. In fact, it was nice to have someone with him that didn't complain about the sun or the wind or the fact that the ice cream place didn't have pistachio. Who liked green ice cream, anyway? Jo had only grinned at her hot fudge sundae, not wrinkled her nose at it like Sam would have. It made Dean smile as she dug in, and he knew that he wanted the little blonde girl around, even when they got older.
They grew up together, skipping rocks on the water and riding their bicycles past the docks. They matured together, learning to fish from the docks and rowing kayaks out onto the bay. They were inseparable–like brother and sister, people used to say.
Long as I sleep through the night and make up my mind
Just know I regret the time I let you pass by
Brother and sister, people always said, but Jo knew better. She knew that she'd grown up looking into green eyes that she could get lost in. She remembered every freckle on Dean's face, remembered when each one had appeared. She knew, too, that Dean only saw her as a little sister–no different than Sammy, the boy that she actually viewed as a brother. They were older now, teenagers, and all Jo wanted was for Dean to look at her as more than the little girl with the scraped knees and the missing front teeth that tagged along with him all summer long.
That was why she'd showed up for their first meeting this summer with pouted red lips and dark, long lashes and rouged cheeks, a short skirt clinging to her thighs. She'd sauntered up to Dean who stared for just a moment before sputtering, "Uh… how are you gonna ride a bike in that?"
Jo had to remind herself not to cry as she changed into shorts and scrubbed her face.
Oh, maybe there's still hope, maybe there's still hope
Dean stood on the Harvelles' front porch, all but speechless as he waited for Jo to come back downstairs. When had his little companion grown up? He hadn't noticed her changing right before his eyes and his brain had short-circuited at the realization. All he knew was that she was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Out with my pals, getting lost in the crowd
See the girl in her heels raise her glass to the ceiling
When I get older, I'm gonna be there to hold her
It was the summer after Dean's senior year of college. He'd spent the last few summers working by the campus so that he could continue to live in his apartment–moving around during college was expensive and a pain in the ass, and he hadn't spent the summer at his Uncle Bobby's cabin in four years. This year, though, he was back, and he'd brought a few of his college friends with him to party like old times.
There was only one bar in town, a dive with a loud jukebox and plenty of character. Dean and his buddies were at a table toward the back, crowds of people around them drinking and dancing and laughing and the noise was deafening and he finally felt at home again.
Suddenly a shock of long, silky blonde hair caught his eye. The lithe girl in the little black dress was holding a glass of whiskey above her head, dancing to the song that was pounding through the speakers, and Dean was enamored instantly. It wasn't until she turned her head and caught his gaze that he realized it was little Jo Harvelle.
We wanna be like the celebrities
That we see on T.V. with a nice set of keys
But what I want is what you want
And we want to feel young
Yeah, somewhat mistreated
Yeah, somewhat misjudged
As soon as their eyes locked, her gaze hardened and her jaw clenched. Dean stood and made his way through the crowd to her as she chugged down the rest of her whiskey, slamming the glass on the bar loudly enough to turn a few heads. Dean didn't care–he was making a beeline for her and couldn't care less who was watching.
"Winchester," she spat, and his stomach flipped at the sound of her voice.
"Harvelle" he murmured, his voice quiet and gruff as he stared at her, her arms crossed over her chest, her heels making her almost his height, the little black dress clinging to her in the best possible way—
Before he could process his thoughts he had a hand tangled in those long blonde locks of hers and he was pressing their mouths together insistently until she sighed and fell against him, curling her fingers into the lapels of his leather jacket.
When I get older, I'm gonna be there to hold her
When I get older, I'm gonna be there to hold her
Yeah, what's with this whole parade of emotion?
Dean held her close, his arms wrapping around her as they broke apart, panting. He swayed her gently to the music as they both breathed heavily, his arms strong around her and his forehead leaning against hers. A slight smile tugged at his lips.
"I've always loved you, Jo," Dean murmured, and she broke out into a grin before pulling him in for another kiss.
"No chick flick moments, Winchester," she chuckled, tugging him out of the bar by the front of his jacket. Dean got her into his car and off they drove toward Uncle Bobby's cabin.
Oh, maybe there's still hope; maybe there's still hope
Oh, maybe there's still hope; maybe there's still hope
If what I want is what you want, wanna be like that then be like that
When they retired, they moved into Uncle Bobby's old cabin. They spent their summers on the water. Having Jo's softly wrinkled hand in his all day long while they walked by the docks and waded in the water and bought ice cream didn't bother him at all. Jo still grinned at her hot fudge sundae. They still skipped rocks and fished off the docks. They were inseparable–like husband and wife, people used to say.