WIP Amnesty: SPN fic
A month later Bill called her, five days into a hunt, to tell her that he wasn’t coming back for another ten at least, and that a man was going to come and pick up a box sometime before that. He told her where the box was, that the guy’s name was John Winchester, and as usual that he loved her and to give a kiss to Jo. Ellen poured herself a shot of whiskey before opening that evening. Stupid cursed object that he already knew what it looked like didn’t need fifteen days to take care of. Stupid herself for still feeling hurt every time he did it. Wasn’t this the same way she had met him? And he always came back to their family, always would, she knew that. But she had the nagging feeling that if Jo weren’t in the picture she wouldn’t have been so sure.
He came in late, when she was already shooing customers away, and a stupid, girly fluttering started in her stomach. Her talldark&handsome was back and he was making a beeline for her, smoldering look and all. “Ellen, right? I’m John Winchester,” he stated with a pleasantly deep voice, almost a rumble. “I’m here to pick up a… a box.” He looked down, played with his ring. She resisted the urge to bat her lashes and keep her voice even. “Bill told me. Hold on, I’ll get it.” She bustled back in the kitchen, reminding herself too late not to swing her hips so much. She was getting all hot and bothered over nothing, knowing perfectly well that she had fantasized about him in her head but in reality she knew nothing of him beyond what he looked like and, now, his name. It was pure animal attraction and something she could control without making a sorry fool of herself, dammit.
She found the box just where Bill had said it would be and, curious about the all the secrecy, she cracked it open and peered inside. The plain wood was hiding a vicious knife, blade polished to perfection, nestled in packing hay. Dana’s work, even Ellen could tell. Damn hunters.
She brought it back and handed it to the guy, who took it with a polite ‘thank you’ and then, just because she could, just because otherwise he was going to turn and go and that was going to be it, she said “beautiful piece. Dana really knows her stuff.”
He startled, looked around warily at the couple of patrons she still hadn’t kicked out and then back at her, clearly unsure of how much she knew or how much he could trust her. She decided for him, and plunged ahead. “Bill has a silver machete she made for him. Needs to have it repaired every other hunt, but then silver’s a shitty material for blades. Maybe that’s why it’s the only thing that works on some of those monsters. Don’t worry, they’re all hunters. Can I get you anything else?” He looked surprised for all of a few seconds before breaking out into a genuine grin and pulling up a stool. Ellen silently counted it up as a pretty big win.
“Whiskey sounds pretty good right now,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. Broad, manly shoulders. “You know what Bill does,” he continued as she poured him a shot. She poured one for herself as well because “drinking alone is bad luck,” while she mulled over his statement a bit. She knew what Bill did, all right. “Kinda hard not to. Besides, why would he keep it from me? I’m his wife.” She registered the surprise on his face, and was dismayed to realize that he hadn’t known. Bill hadn’t told him they were married. Maybe Bill hadn’t told him he was married at all.
“You’re Jo’s mother,” he stated, nodding to himself. “I can see the resemblance. She had to get her looks somewhere.” Ellen was a little pleased by the roundabout compliment and a little puzzled. “You’ve seen Jo?” Bill hadn’t kept her around again when he talked shop with other hunters, had he? He had promised her he wouldn’t. “I’ve seen pictures. Bill shows them to anything that stands still long enough, “ he replied with a mischievous grin. Sexy mischievous little grin.
Ellen chuckled. That sounded exactly like Bill. “Bill’s a very proud father. And a very good one too,” she said simply. But he hadn’t even mentioned her, and that smarted. She hoped to flirt another compliment out of this guy, because she really needed it right then and there. He obliged. “He’s a smart man, not mentioning his beautiful wife. People would have gotten jealous.” She giggled then. It sounded nice, if totally lame. “So, are you jealous now?” She asked playfully. She didn’t expect him to answer truthfully, but he did. “Yes.” He started playing with his ring again. “My wife Mary died ten years ago. You remind me a bit of her, you… wear your hair the same way.”
Ellen had often heard the expression ‘cold shower’, but she had never felt it with such ferocity. She reminded him of his dead wife? She couldn’t even compose herself enough to mumble some sort of platitude before he fished out his wallet and picked out, with great care, a little photograph. He handed it to her with a fond smile, his empty hands reflexively going back to play with his ring. It showed a happy couple, smiling and in love, he in green fatigues and she in a pink dress, blonde hair flowing down her shoulders. ‘She doesn’t look anything like me’ was her first thought, but she didn’t speak. Looks weren’t all that reminded people of things and loved ones. There was this older guy, Elkins, who came in the first Monday of every month and always ordered a burger with onions and three beers who reminded her achingly of her father. It wasn’t resemblance- he just had the same walk.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, sincerely. For a lot of things, she added silently. “She was murdered,” he replied bluntly, putting the picture away, “that’s how… why I started hunting the… the supernatural. To find the thing that did it and kill it.” She poured them both another shot, which he downed almost fiercely, slamming the glass back down hard. Ten years hadn’t dulled any of the pain, apparently, but had gone a long way to build his anger. “Did you? Kill it, I mean,” she asked, even though she could guess. “No.” He slumped a little, eyes on the box. Beautiful hazel eyes, by the way. Then he grinned again. “But I’ve done some good along the way. People don’t need to go through what I had to, getting hit with it all without any idea of what’s out there. They don’t even need to really know, sometimes… though I’m not always sure if it’s better.” He opened the box now, and carefully took out the knife. Even in the yellow light of the bar it gleamed coldly. “I’m still learning. When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.” And she had no doubt he would.
“You’re going to have to clean it practically every day if you want to keep in top condition,” she said absently, but the comment picked his interest again and she found herself the focus of his gaze. She liked being the focus of his gaze, she decided. “I know my way around knives. Grew up among them, actually. My daddy was a butcher. Always thought I’d follow his footsteps, get a butcher husband and have little butcher kids. Family business, you know?” He smiled, nodding. She also liked his smile. It had dimples. “I think I still remember how to quarter a cow. But my life turned out very different. I guess we have something in common… my family was killed too. I’d probably be dead right now if it weren’t for Bill.” “I’m sorry,” he said quietly but with feeling. He put the knife back and Ellen was glad to see it gone. “Hey, you still managed to stay pretty near your old life though,” he gestured at the kitchen and, vaguely, at the rest of the place. “How d’ja mean?” “Hunters and butchers… sometimes we’re not that different.” She though of Bill, imagined him with a white apron and serving cuts to a gaggle of housewives. “Yeah, maybe.”
John Winchester didn’t stay long after that. As a silly little girl she might have called him a restless spirit, but now all he smacked of was hitchhiking hunter. And, if she had to be completely honest with herself and she rarely was, of sex. He thanked her for the chat, and she figured he didn’t get the chance to talk shop as much as her Bill did. He said “see you ‘round” with a drawl and a stare that would have made a weaker woman tremble at the knees, but she held his gaze with one just as intense and replied that they were “always here”, something she regretted later. As far as comebacks, that was the stupidest one she had ever said. Damn John Winchester and his smoldering hazel eyes.
True to his word Bill came back ten days after the phone call, way past Jo’s bedtime. He didn’t have freshly laundered clothes or a smile that was just a little too bright, and he didn’t try to steer away from the subject of what exactly had he been up to all that time. He also didn’t have his right index finger anymore. “Fucking cursed mask bit it off as soon as I picked it up. It didn’t go for my face because I was wearing the protective charm, but I didn’t think it would bite my damn hand. It had never happened before. It always chewed the face right off the skull without bothering with any other part. I guess it was pissed off it couldn’t do it this time. Never gonna do anything much anymore. I knew the doctors couldn’t put it back on, it was too mangled, and I’m not sure we could have afforded it even if it wasn’t… I stayed until they took the stitches out and the swelling went down… it was a real mess, I didn’t want to scare Jo. Or you.”
As it was, it was still obvious that it was a recent injury, the skin bright pink and tender looking, and Ellen found she couldn’t really get too angry with him once he started fretting that he wasn’t sure he could fire a gun properly ever again. She wanted to shout that she was his wife, that he should have told her, that she wasn’t some stupid shrinking violet, that she could handle a little blood and gore. Bill was still a sucker for protecting, but that’s when she realized she no longer was a sucker for being protected. So what she did instead was fucking him that night like they hadn’t in months, and signed up for a first-aid course at the community center as soon as she got a chance. And after that she asked Dana for a few pointers on what the nice paramedic lady wouldn’t know about.
“Always clean everything with holy water, even when it’s not necessary. If it’s nothing, it’s plain water and it won’t hurt. If it hurts, then it’s something all right.” Dana would tell her quietly, even when she could have shouted in the crowded bar without getting a raised eyebrow or when they met before opening, with Jo playing nearby. Dana was always very discreet, something much appreciated in her profession. “If you’re serious about this you should get at least a book on symbols, or sigils. I think Bill knows Bobby Singer, doesn’t he? If you need a book or research he’s a good bet.” Ellen nodded. Bill probably knew this Bobby Singer. Bill knew everyone worth knowing in his line of work.
Mostly they chatted, as always. Dana wasn’t a hunter, but her brother had been one. Nowadays she made sure that if someone couldn’t finish the job it wasn’t because they weren’t properly armed. Few people around the country specialized in the sort of thing that could kill the supernatural. Dana’s blades were known for being the most reliable. She was also one of the few women that lived reasonably near Ellen that knew what it meant to be around hunters.
“I’ve patched up a couple of hunters in my time. Often enough it’s their own mistakes that get them,” Dana told her once. Ellen thought of Bill poking the cursed mask, thinking he was safe because it had never gone for fingers before, and nodded. “But it’s not like I’m an expert. You talk to some of the people that come through here, you’re bound to get much better than me in no time. And I’m sorry to say I can’t come back until next week at the earliest, but I’ve got two orders coming up, and I promised both that I’d have them ready by the twenty-sixth. In fact, I’ll probably won’t come before that. When I deliver them you can remind me never to take two orders at the same time again. I hate not being able to concentrate on one job at a time.” Ellen offered her another slice of pie, which Dana took without any fuss. Pecan always got swept up within an hour of opening, and they had to get their fill before that. The funny thing was that Jo liked pie but always ate her slice only after driving her mother nuts saying she was already full. Ellen hoped that the fact that Bill didn’t have a sweet tooth wasn’t the reason. She already hero-worshiped her daddy enough without copying his bad habits. Right now she was coloring a book on the table near the window and hadn’t even looked at them the whole time. “All right, I’ll make sure to mention to your customers that you’re a lazy pig and not to bother you again. Anybody cute?”
Dana shrugged. The one thing they never agreed on was the relative attractiveness of men. Dana had found herself a very sweet guy who wouldn’t harm a fly and who worked as a clerk at the City Hall. What he thought of his wife’s business, Ellen had never found out. But if something nasty ever targeted them it wasn’t going to be Ned who took up the shotgun, that was for sure. “I’m making another sword for Elkins, the vampire hunter. It’s nearly done, I only have to polish and sharpen it. And do the blessings and the sigils.” She groaned. “I swear the old fool has started to collect them, and he still hasn’t finished paying me for the last one. If he thinks he can get himself killed and leave me hanging he’s got another thing coming. The interesting job- I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise, I was already working on Elkins’ and he’s an old customer- is a curved little beauty that should be able to slay any corporeal creature. I’ve done the design myself, very tricky, especially considering that it’s for a young boy and the heft and the balance had to be just right…” Dana went on, eyes glittering, but Ellen had gone cold inside and she had stopped listening. The other thing they never agreed on was just how responsible Dana was for what her customers chose to do with her merchandise. Arming a young boy, Jesus, custom-making a blade for him… Ellen stole a glance at Jo, still happy by the window with her crayons. She wondered what sort of parents would let a boy get something like that, whether they even knew what their son was up to. Bill had promised her that he’d never teach Jo anything dangerous without her knowing, but growing up in this place what could she expect? Sooner or later Jo would be big enough to make mischief on her own, whether her mum wanted or not and with or without the aid of her father. Thinking of Bill target-practicing with his left hand out back made her want to delay that moment as much as possible.
She tried not to think about it too much until Dana showed up again, on the twenty-six, to deliver her goods. She started a shouting match with Elkins in the parking lot that provided much entertainment to the other hunters, and rather worried Ellen. Dana was always a very quiet person, but still waters and all that crap did mean something: if she was shouting in front of everyone it meant she had reached way past her breaking point and that she was furious. It didn’t help that Ellen was on edge herself, thinking of the boy that was going to come and pick up the wooden box that wasn’t currently the center of a grotesque tug-of-war. Cat calls and jeers were coming
from everywhere, some egging Dana on, some ribbing Elkins for failing to overpower a woman. She was about to go out and give those people a piece of her own stressed mind when somebody intervened and, amidst much commotion, broke up the fight. Ellen went out anyway, only to find John Winchester in a glaring match with Daniel Elkins, standing on Dana’s side and holding the long box tightly in his muscular arms. “If the lady says you need to pay first, you need to pay first,” he rumbled mulishly.
“Show’s over! Either get back in and order or get out of here!” Yelled Ellen, finally getting the crowd to disperse. She had come out with her shotgun, but it didn’t seem like she’d have to use it after all.
Elkins, who had gone red in the face, hissed something at Dana, who promptly slapped him. John started laughing, a joyous, carefree gesture that Ellen hadn’t thought him capable of. “All right, Winchester, put that down, and I’ll deal with you later. Right now I need a word with this bastard.” Said Dana, keeping her glare on Elkins’. John did as instructed and came towards Ellen, eyes twinkling in the red light of the evening. She nodded at him. She had to admit that he was a sight for sore eyes, and something nice to look at sounded great right about now. Instead of skulking at a corner table he followed her right back to the counter and ordered a beer. He was in much better spirits than he had ever been before, at least here at the Roadhouse.
“I take it Dana’s a bit protective of what she makes, isn’t she?” He drawled, looking at her from under his lashes. “Dana cares more about her blades than the hunters she sells them to, that’s for sure.” She snapped, vaguely irritated with the whole world. He sucked on his beer for a bit, regarding her thoughtfully. His gaze was as intense as always, and didn’t fail to make her mind slow down and her blood to pump harder, hotter. “He wanted to sell that one on the side for a pretty profit, and then use the money to settle his debts. She didn’t seem very happy with the idea.” Ellen looked at him for a long moment and then started laughing herself. That double crossing son of a bitch! No wonder Dana had gotten so mad. Cheating her out of her money and selling her sword to a stranger, probably a non-hunter because all the professionals would know her handiwork. He was lucky if she was going to make him anything ever again.
With the laughter and the grinning his dimples had popped out again. Suddenly Ellen was very aware of how close they were, and how this was pretty much how one of her staple fantasies involving him always started, staring at each other across the bar counter. Instead of the intense silence and solitude, voices filled the place and people bustled about. Instead of grabbing his face and kissing him hungrily, she cleared her throat and asked him if he wanted a burger. “Ah, Ellen, your burgers are the best I’ve had in years,” he said, making her glow with pleasure. A small compliment, but it was the way he had said it. She may be a married woman, but she could tell flirting when she saw it. Besides, she knew his name all right, but he had remembered hers, and she was pretty sure he didn’t think of her at nights when he had trouble sleeping. She put an extra sway in her hips this time, as she retired to the kitchen.
Bill was already there, unloading the second beer drum of the evening. She kissed him as she passed, feeling attractive and sexy, and set to get the orders sorted with Mackie, the cook. Mackie had been a half-assed hunter until a rawhead had poked his eye out. Now he was just a half-assed cook for hunters, but damn him if Bill didn’t collect strays worse than a kid. Ellen made the burger for John herself and, while it sizzled on the scalding grill, she indulged in one of her fantasies. She imagined taking a road trip with Winchester, in that shiny black car he drove, going at it like rabbits in every corner of the good ‘ole US of A, seeing all the places she had never been to, and wasn’t that a lot of ground to cover. She chuckled to herself as she put the burger in the bun, and added a couple of fistfuls of fries.
The smile died on her lips when she entered the bar again and saw John talking quietly with Dana and Bill. They were bowing their heads over an open box. Two dimpled grins from the man and Ellen had forgotten all about the “special” knife. As she neared the counter she could hear Bill whistling admiringly. “He’ll get plenty of years of good service from this knife, provided he cares for it properly,” Dana was saying quietly, once again her usual discreet self. Ellen dropped the full plate near their elbows, right next to the box. John flickered one look towards it, then raised that smoldering gaze towards her for a moment and asked to get it on the go. Then he turned to Dana again and, speaking as softly as her but with a decisive undercurrent of pride and defiantness, he said “Dean always takes good care of his weapons, he knows they might mean the difference between a successful hunt and a disaster. I didn’t teach my boy to be sloppy, and I certainly wouldn’t be wasting all this money on something he’d damage.” Bill nodded approvingly. Coldness, starting from her chest and radiating all over, stole over Ellen’s body. Nobody noticed how still she had gone. Dana just flicked her hair and said that she wasn’t giving him a discount, that her beauty was worth every penny.
“This is for your son?” She finally managed to ask, her voice sounding far away, as if coming from another room. She could see it clearly, shiny and sharp in the nestle of fake hay in the plain wooden box. It was even more vicious looking than the one she had seen him buying the first time, the blade curving forwards and backwards around the handle, something designed for close combat, up and personal. It wasn’t even a throwing knife he was getting for this boy. His son. John nodded. “Birthday present. He’s a good boy, he’s earned it.” “Now, which one is Dean again?” Asked Bill, all absorbed by that horrible thing. Dana was tipping the box this way and that, making the light play over her handy-work. “He’s my oldest.” Ellen grabbed a dishcloth and buried her hands in it. They were shaking. “Haven’t you got a picture tucked somewhere in that journal of yours?” Prodded Bill, making John search his pockets with a sigh. He came up with a journal, bound in leather. He opened it at the beginning, and took out a couple of pictures. Ellen glimpsed a page overflowing with tight, neat writing and a couple of precisely-drawn symbols before he snapped the thing shut again and passed the pictures to Bill.
“Dean’s the one sitting on the right and Sammy is the one sitting in my lap,” said John with a touch of pride. Ellen saw two kids, babies practically, not much older than Jo, sitting with their father on the hood of that black car of his, all of them carrying rifles and grinning, dimples peppering each face as only good genetics can. It looked like autumn. “Isn’t he a bit too small for this knife?” Asked Dana, and Ellen would have been grateful for it if she didn’t know that Dana meant literally small, as in strength and reach, not age. “Isn’t this an old one?” Asked Bill, a little puzzled. He had bought a Polaroid camera with the sole purpose of taking pictures of Jo, a new one every time he left for more than a few hours. Ellen would bet that by flipping all of them quickly through your hands you’d see Jo literally growing up, like a fast-forward movie, like they did with flowers blossoming on TV documentaries. “This one’s more recent,” drawled John, holding up the second picture with a pleased grin. Bill and Dana chuckled over it, then passed it to Ellen. She saw John and the older boy sitting in two high-backed chairs, tied up and gagged, with the smaller one standing on the side, posing with his hands on his hips and a smug smile for the camera. John was laughing through his gag, but his other son didn’t seem half as pleased by the situation. He was glaring at his brother with all the force of righteous little-boy indignation. John always looked the same, but both boys were much older than the other picture. “I was teaching them knots- actually, an old friend of mine, we served together, was teaching them, I was more of a teacher’s tool than anything -“ that startled a snort even from Ellen “- and anyway Sammy got the hang of it much faster than Dean. A rather humbling experience, getting you ass handed over to ya by your kid brother.” Ellen forced a smile while the others had a hearty laugh. She retreated to the kitchen and got a doggie bag and carelessly dumped in all the food from the plate, angry and upset. Bill came ‘round back, still laughing, and gave her a playful smack on her rear before reaching for the bag. She gave him a pat without any enthusiasm, but he didn’t notice. “Can you believe that Winchester?” He said, with what she was afraid was almost awe. “Training little kids to be hunters? I’d rather not, but I’ll guess I’ll have to believe it.” “Oh, c’mon, they’re not that small. I think Dean is about fourteen, and it’s not like he goes around hunting with John, they’re just training for when they’re older. You know, Jo is getting old enough for some target practice, we should-“ Ellen marched right up to his face and, when he backed away, bewildered, followed him until he hit the wall with his back. “You are not going to teach my daughter how to get in harm’s way, William Harvelle” “No,” he replied, “but I am going to teach our daughter how to protect herself. Jesus babe, what’s with you tonight? Is it that time of the month? You’re all over the place.” “No, it isn’t, but how would you know, spending every night plotting with other hunters, never coming to bed before I fall asleep? So here’s a convenient little excuse for me disagreeing with you, isn’t it? It’s not like I may be right… you promised me, Bill! You said you wouldn’t teach her hunting shit without telling me!” “I didn’t! I haven’t taught her anything! And, right now, I was asking you about starting, just like I said I would! Whatever it is, get a grip Ellen, because I’m not going to be yelled at for something I didn’t do.” He stalked off, fuming, and Ellen found nothing better to do but grab the dirty plate she had just used and throwing it in the sink, where it smashed in a million pieces. Mackie, the cook, looked at her for a long moment then muttered something about a smoke break and made himself scarce.
Ellen paced back and forth, absolutely furious and unable to calm down. She was angry with Dana and her lack of morals, she was livid with Bill and his superior horse-riding through any argument they ever had, and most of all she was all-consuming mad with Winchester. Speaking of which, his food was still there. She grabbed it and stormed in the bar, but he was already gone. Dana was at the counter, counting a big fat roll of cash. When she saw Ellen and her expression, she pointed at the door without saying anything. Ellen got out and for a moment she thought she was too late, that he was already gone, but then she heard a trunk being closed and she circled around to the side, just in time to see Winchester opening the driver’s door. “Are you really going to give that thing to your boy?” She yelled at him as soon as she could make him out in the gloom. He turned, surprised, then drew himself up, good little hunter preparing for battle. “Yes,” he replied shortly. He fixed on her one of the most mulish, defensive and -god help her- smoldering looks she had ever seen. A feeling of rage, of vengeance surged through her and, before she even knew what she was going to do, she ran to him and tried to hit him with the food bag, but he caught her wrist firmly, and twisted it until she dropped her edible weapon. In a matter of a breath he grabbed her other hand before she could even raise it from her side and twisted them both, pinning her to the car with all his weight. She could smell his scent, sweat and plain soap and engine oil, she could see his eyes, dark under half-lowered lashes. She was trapped. Her anger, instead of abating, drew up with a rush of adrenaline. She tried squirming, but he was stronger. Her arms were trapped, and there was not enough space to draw up her knee and step on his feet, let alone giving him a good one where it hurts. Helpless and furious, she used the only part of her body still mobile and slammed her lips against his with as much force as she could muster, a clumsy attempt at a head-butt.
She tasted blood. And then she closed her eyes and stopped breathing, because they were kissing, as fiercely and as passionately as she knew how, and Winchester was kissing her back, sucking and biting with bruising force, not at all tongue-shy. They stopped simultaneously and looked at each other, and it was difficult to tell who was more astonished. Ellen wanted nothing more than to continue -hell, she was practically ready to go all the way through right then and there in the parking lot, against that black car- and from his color, his expression, she could tell that he wanted it too. Actually, since they were pressed together so tightly, she knew for a fact that he was as ready as her. Neither spoke as they panted in the half-darkness, the only light a spluttering bulb hanging by the kitchen door, both perfectly aware of just how bad of an idea this was. And, sure, as long as it had stayed an idea it had seemed bad bad bad, with little satisfaction to be had for all that trouble, but now that it was more, now that it was real, satisfaction was all they needed and the rest be damned.
Ellen gulped, mouth suddenly dry. She shifted and he let her, releasing her and leaning back to give her space, but she only used it to open her legs slightly and to grab his head and bring him back forward, picking up the kiss where they had left it. A warmth spread through her body, making her skin more sensitive, craving contact. She could feel her pulse beating between her legs, his arousal rubbing against her through his jeans and her skirt, and when she began to nibble his jaw line and to work herself down to his neck he gave a sigh, deep and animalistic. She guided his hand under her skirt, and then he needed no further encouragement and helped her drop her panties in the cold mud. She was already so far gone that as soon as his fingers found their way to the right spot she came, shuddering against him and swallowing her moans in his mouth. They stood there, panting for a few moments, before the reality of what had happened crashed down.
Winchester drew a sharp breath and let her go slowly, taking a few steps back, eyes firmly anywhere but her. He fussed with his pant leg and Ellen was pretty sure that there was a wet stain there that only darkness was concealing at present. “I…” he said, unable to continue. “Thank you,” she said, because she was feeling more gratified than ashamed at that moment and it only seemed like the polite thing to do, “but you should go now.” He nodded, but didn’t move, finally fixing his eyes on hers. It took her entirely too long to realize that she was still leaning against his car and that he couldn’t very well leave without it. They circled each other like wild animals, she leaving him the car, he getting in it, still staring. “I’ll come again,” he said before gunning the engine out of there. “I’ll be here,” she whispered to herself, sinking on an empty beer drum and drawing her knees up. Now, alone in the dark, she felt numb. She didn’t understand what had just happened or, rather, if she were honest with herself, she knew exactly what had happened, and how it had happened, and a part of her even knew why… except she didn’t, because between having a fantasy and acting it out there was still a big difference and she knew it, she knew it dammit.
Shame, cold and un-abiding, coursed through her body and she began to weep. She had managed to cry herself out before the kitchen door slammed open and Bill stormed out with Mackie, brandishing his shotgun and yelling at her to get back in. For the briefest of moments she was shocked into stillness, thinking that he had somehow seen it and that he was going to go after Winchester before dealing with her, but when he grabbed her she could see even in the unreliable light that he was concerned and scared, a bit like the first time she had seen him, and she realized that he was hunting. She went inside, and hurried directly to Jo’s bedroom. Even through the noise of the Roadhouse she could make out Bill out back, yelling at something. He sounded furious but not cowed, and that gave her some grim comfort. Then another car peeled out and on the road and quiet, or at least the relative quiet of a bar, returned. For the first time since the beginning of the evening, watching her child asleep, Ellen was calm.
She heard Bill’s steps on the stairs and went to meet him. He looked a bit shell-shocked, wanted to peek at Jo himself, and then finally let her pull him to their bedroom to explain. “So… I’ve fired Mackie,” he began, a little baffled smile illuminating his face. “Finally,” she interrupted, “but what the hell happened back there?” “I fired Mackie because he had managed to gamble a leprechaun away from some idiot hunter. No, you know what? That idiot Mackie managed to get himself saddled with a leprechaun by a damn bastard hunter, that’s how it is.” Ellen stood amazed for a long moment, and finally all that she could mange was, “a leprechaun??” “ He had it in the trunk of his car, parked out back, near the kitchen door. That damn thing was trapped, and so it decided that playing a bit with human emotions was as good a way to wreak havoc as any. Everybody was on edge the whole time because of it. I- humm, I might have said some stupid things tonight I wouldn’t have said otherwise.” Ellen couldn’t believe it. “A leprechaun.” “Yes!” He started laughing. “Thank God tempers didn’t run any hotter… hunters, booze and a fucking leprechaun cranking it all up to eleven. It could have been a bloodbath.” He fell back on the bed, still chuckling and in the good mood that only successful hunts could give him. “But how did you find out?” “Well, for that we have to thank John, babe. He figured something strange was going on and called from the road… said he felt different as soon as he lost sight of the Roadhouse. After that all it took was a couple of questions. Mackie folded like a cheap suit.” Ellen nodded, and even managed a little, desperate laugh but Bill didn’t notice. She wanted to ask him how different Winchester had felt, what did he mean by that, was he coming back any time soon, but she was too afraid and too smart to do it. She settled on working out her emotions, by no means a small feat for, even though the leprechaun was by now far away and unable to influence them, she still felt that given the chance she’d make her mistake again, over and over.
And that's all she wrote. The editing's a bit wonky but I kept it in the interest of archaeology... this was one of my first fics, and I was still learning the ropes, so to speak. I was planning on going on and chronicling all of Ellen and John's relationship, maybe with an epilogue for the day she met Sam and Dean for the first time... there was going to be some h/c driven by Ellen's new-found First Aid knowledge, and sometime there there was going to be a big fight with Dana (Jo's collection of knives that she had in college? Dana gave them to her. ellen did not appreciate it) and I think I was planning on there being some actual angsty sex/affair. As it is, this is the smuttiest thing I've ever written. I'm glad I'm finally letting it go, even if I never finished it.
He came in late, when she was already shooing customers away, and a stupid, girly fluttering started in her stomach. Her talldark&handsome was back and he was making a beeline for her, smoldering look and all. “Ellen, right? I’m John Winchester,” he stated with a pleasantly deep voice, almost a rumble. “I’m here to pick up a… a box.” He looked down, played with his ring. She resisted the urge to bat her lashes and keep her voice even. “Bill told me. Hold on, I’ll get it.” She bustled back in the kitchen, reminding herself too late not to swing her hips so much. She was getting all hot and bothered over nothing, knowing perfectly well that she had fantasized about him in her head but in reality she knew nothing of him beyond what he looked like and, now, his name. It was pure animal attraction and something she could control without making a sorry fool of herself, dammit.
She found the box just where Bill had said it would be and, curious about the all the secrecy, she cracked it open and peered inside. The plain wood was hiding a vicious knife, blade polished to perfection, nestled in packing hay. Dana’s work, even Ellen could tell. Damn hunters.
She brought it back and handed it to the guy, who took it with a polite ‘thank you’ and then, just because she could, just because otherwise he was going to turn and go and that was going to be it, she said “beautiful piece. Dana really knows her stuff.”
He startled, looked around warily at the couple of patrons she still hadn’t kicked out and then back at her, clearly unsure of how much she knew or how much he could trust her. She decided for him, and plunged ahead. “Bill has a silver machete she made for him. Needs to have it repaired every other hunt, but then silver’s a shitty material for blades. Maybe that’s why it’s the only thing that works on some of those monsters. Don’t worry, they’re all hunters. Can I get you anything else?” He looked surprised for all of a few seconds before breaking out into a genuine grin and pulling up a stool. Ellen silently counted it up as a pretty big win.
“Whiskey sounds pretty good right now,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. Broad, manly shoulders. “You know what Bill does,” he continued as she poured him a shot. She poured one for herself as well because “drinking alone is bad luck,” while she mulled over his statement a bit. She knew what Bill did, all right. “Kinda hard not to. Besides, why would he keep it from me? I’m his wife.” She registered the surprise on his face, and was dismayed to realize that he hadn’t known. Bill hadn’t told him they were married. Maybe Bill hadn’t told him he was married at all.
“You’re Jo’s mother,” he stated, nodding to himself. “I can see the resemblance. She had to get her looks somewhere.” Ellen was a little pleased by the roundabout compliment and a little puzzled. “You’ve seen Jo?” Bill hadn’t kept her around again when he talked shop with other hunters, had he? He had promised her he wouldn’t. “I’ve seen pictures. Bill shows them to anything that stands still long enough, “ he replied with a mischievous grin. Sexy mischievous little grin.
Ellen chuckled. That sounded exactly like Bill. “Bill’s a very proud father. And a very good one too,” she said simply. But he hadn’t even mentioned her, and that smarted. She hoped to flirt another compliment out of this guy, because she really needed it right then and there. He obliged. “He’s a smart man, not mentioning his beautiful wife. People would have gotten jealous.” She giggled then. It sounded nice, if totally lame. “So, are you jealous now?” She asked playfully. She didn’t expect him to answer truthfully, but he did. “Yes.” He started playing with his ring again. “My wife Mary died ten years ago. You remind me a bit of her, you… wear your hair the same way.”
Ellen had often heard the expression ‘cold shower’, but she had never felt it with such ferocity. She reminded him of his dead wife? She couldn’t even compose herself enough to mumble some sort of platitude before he fished out his wallet and picked out, with great care, a little photograph. He handed it to her with a fond smile, his empty hands reflexively going back to play with his ring. It showed a happy couple, smiling and in love, he in green fatigues and she in a pink dress, blonde hair flowing down her shoulders. ‘She doesn’t look anything like me’ was her first thought, but she didn’t speak. Looks weren’t all that reminded people of things and loved ones. There was this older guy, Elkins, who came in the first Monday of every month and always ordered a burger with onions and three beers who reminded her achingly of her father. It wasn’t resemblance- he just had the same walk.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, sincerely. For a lot of things, she added silently. “She was murdered,” he replied bluntly, putting the picture away, “that’s how… why I started hunting the… the supernatural. To find the thing that did it and kill it.” She poured them both another shot, which he downed almost fiercely, slamming the glass back down hard. Ten years hadn’t dulled any of the pain, apparently, but had gone a long way to build his anger. “Did you? Kill it, I mean,” she asked, even though she could guess. “No.” He slumped a little, eyes on the box. Beautiful hazel eyes, by the way. Then he grinned again. “But I’ve done some good along the way. People don’t need to go through what I had to, getting hit with it all without any idea of what’s out there. They don’t even need to really know, sometimes… though I’m not always sure if it’s better.” He opened the box now, and carefully took out the knife. Even in the yellow light of the bar it gleamed coldly. “I’m still learning. When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.” And she had no doubt he would.
“You’re going to have to clean it practically every day if you want to keep in top condition,” she said absently, but the comment picked his interest again and she found herself the focus of his gaze. She liked being the focus of his gaze, she decided. “I know my way around knives. Grew up among them, actually. My daddy was a butcher. Always thought I’d follow his footsteps, get a butcher husband and have little butcher kids. Family business, you know?” He smiled, nodding. She also liked his smile. It had dimples. “I think I still remember how to quarter a cow. But my life turned out very different. I guess we have something in common… my family was killed too. I’d probably be dead right now if it weren’t for Bill.” “I’m sorry,” he said quietly but with feeling. He put the knife back and Ellen was glad to see it gone. “Hey, you still managed to stay pretty near your old life though,” he gestured at the kitchen and, vaguely, at the rest of the place. “How d’ja mean?” “Hunters and butchers… sometimes we’re not that different.” She though of Bill, imagined him with a white apron and serving cuts to a gaggle of housewives. “Yeah, maybe.”
John Winchester didn’t stay long after that. As a silly little girl she might have called him a restless spirit, but now all he smacked of was hitchhiking hunter. And, if she had to be completely honest with herself and she rarely was, of sex. He thanked her for the chat, and she figured he didn’t get the chance to talk shop as much as her Bill did. He said “see you ‘round” with a drawl and a stare that would have made a weaker woman tremble at the knees, but she held his gaze with one just as intense and replied that they were “always here”, something she regretted later. As far as comebacks, that was the stupidest one she had ever said. Damn John Winchester and his smoldering hazel eyes.
True to his word Bill came back ten days after the phone call, way past Jo’s bedtime. He didn’t have freshly laundered clothes or a smile that was just a little too bright, and he didn’t try to steer away from the subject of what exactly had he been up to all that time. He also didn’t have his right index finger anymore. “Fucking cursed mask bit it off as soon as I picked it up. It didn’t go for my face because I was wearing the protective charm, but I didn’t think it would bite my damn hand. It had never happened before. It always chewed the face right off the skull without bothering with any other part. I guess it was pissed off it couldn’t do it this time. Never gonna do anything much anymore. I knew the doctors couldn’t put it back on, it was too mangled, and I’m not sure we could have afforded it even if it wasn’t… I stayed until they took the stitches out and the swelling went down… it was a real mess, I didn’t want to scare Jo. Or you.”
As it was, it was still obvious that it was a recent injury, the skin bright pink and tender looking, and Ellen found she couldn’t really get too angry with him once he started fretting that he wasn’t sure he could fire a gun properly ever again. She wanted to shout that she was his wife, that he should have told her, that she wasn’t some stupid shrinking violet, that she could handle a little blood and gore. Bill was still a sucker for protecting, but that’s when she realized she no longer was a sucker for being protected. So what she did instead was fucking him that night like they hadn’t in months, and signed up for a first-aid course at the community center as soon as she got a chance. And after that she asked Dana for a few pointers on what the nice paramedic lady wouldn’t know about.
“Always clean everything with holy water, even when it’s not necessary. If it’s nothing, it’s plain water and it won’t hurt. If it hurts, then it’s something all right.” Dana would tell her quietly, even when she could have shouted in the crowded bar without getting a raised eyebrow or when they met before opening, with Jo playing nearby. Dana was always very discreet, something much appreciated in her profession. “If you’re serious about this you should get at least a book on symbols, or sigils. I think Bill knows Bobby Singer, doesn’t he? If you need a book or research he’s a good bet.” Ellen nodded. Bill probably knew this Bobby Singer. Bill knew everyone worth knowing in his line of work.
Mostly they chatted, as always. Dana wasn’t a hunter, but her brother had been one. Nowadays she made sure that if someone couldn’t finish the job it wasn’t because they weren’t properly armed. Few people around the country specialized in the sort of thing that could kill the supernatural. Dana’s blades were known for being the most reliable. She was also one of the few women that lived reasonably near Ellen that knew what it meant to be around hunters.
“I’ve patched up a couple of hunters in my time. Often enough it’s their own mistakes that get them,” Dana told her once. Ellen thought of Bill poking the cursed mask, thinking he was safe because it had never gone for fingers before, and nodded. “But it’s not like I’m an expert. You talk to some of the people that come through here, you’re bound to get much better than me in no time. And I’m sorry to say I can’t come back until next week at the earliest, but I’ve got two orders coming up, and I promised both that I’d have them ready by the twenty-sixth. In fact, I’ll probably won’t come before that. When I deliver them you can remind me never to take two orders at the same time again. I hate not being able to concentrate on one job at a time.” Ellen offered her another slice of pie, which Dana took without any fuss. Pecan always got swept up within an hour of opening, and they had to get their fill before that. The funny thing was that Jo liked pie but always ate her slice only after driving her mother nuts saying she was already full. Ellen hoped that the fact that Bill didn’t have a sweet tooth wasn’t the reason. She already hero-worshiped her daddy enough without copying his bad habits. Right now she was coloring a book on the table near the window and hadn’t even looked at them the whole time. “All right, I’ll make sure to mention to your customers that you’re a lazy pig and not to bother you again. Anybody cute?”
Dana shrugged. The one thing they never agreed on was the relative attractiveness of men. Dana had found herself a very sweet guy who wouldn’t harm a fly and who worked as a clerk at the City Hall. What he thought of his wife’s business, Ellen had never found out. But if something nasty ever targeted them it wasn’t going to be Ned who took up the shotgun, that was for sure. “I’m making another sword for Elkins, the vampire hunter. It’s nearly done, I only have to polish and sharpen it. And do the blessings and the sigils.” She groaned. “I swear the old fool has started to collect them, and he still hasn’t finished paying me for the last one. If he thinks he can get himself killed and leave me hanging he’s got another thing coming. The interesting job- I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise, I was already working on Elkins’ and he’s an old customer- is a curved little beauty that should be able to slay any corporeal creature. I’ve done the design myself, very tricky, especially considering that it’s for a young boy and the heft and the balance had to be just right…” Dana went on, eyes glittering, but Ellen had gone cold inside and she had stopped listening. The other thing they never agreed on was just how responsible Dana was for what her customers chose to do with her merchandise. Arming a young boy, Jesus, custom-making a blade for him… Ellen stole a glance at Jo, still happy by the window with her crayons. She wondered what sort of parents would let a boy get something like that, whether they even knew what their son was up to. Bill had promised her that he’d never teach Jo anything dangerous without her knowing, but growing up in this place what could she expect? Sooner or later Jo would be big enough to make mischief on her own, whether her mum wanted or not and with or without the aid of her father. Thinking of Bill target-practicing with his left hand out back made her want to delay that moment as much as possible.
She tried not to think about it too much until Dana showed up again, on the twenty-six, to deliver her goods. She started a shouting match with Elkins in the parking lot that provided much entertainment to the other hunters, and rather worried Ellen. Dana was always a very quiet person, but still waters and all that crap did mean something: if she was shouting in front of everyone it meant she had reached way past her breaking point and that she was furious. It didn’t help that Ellen was on edge herself, thinking of the boy that was going to come and pick up the wooden box that wasn’t currently the center of a grotesque tug-of-war. Cat calls and jeers were coming
from everywhere, some egging Dana on, some ribbing Elkins for failing to overpower a woman. She was about to go out and give those people a piece of her own stressed mind when somebody intervened and, amidst much commotion, broke up the fight. Ellen went out anyway, only to find John Winchester in a glaring match with Daniel Elkins, standing on Dana’s side and holding the long box tightly in his muscular arms. “If the lady says you need to pay first, you need to pay first,” he rumbled mulishly.
“Show’s over! Either get back in and order or get out of here!” Yelled Ellen, finally getting the crowd to disperse. She had come out with her shotgun, but it didn’t seem like she’d have to use it after all.
Elkins, who had gone red in the face, hissed something at Dana, who promptly slapped him. John started laughing, a joyous, carefree gesture that Ellen hadn’t thought him capable of. “All right, Winchester, put that down, and I’ll deal with you later. Right now I need a word with this bastard.” Said Dana, keeping her glare on Elkins’. John did as instructed and came towards Ellen, eyes twinkling in the red light of the evening. She nodded at him. She had to admit that he was a sight for sore eyes, and something nice to look at sounded great right about now. Instead of skulking at a corner table he followed her right back to the counter and ordered a beer. He was in much better spirits than he had ever been before, at least here at the Roadhouse.
“I take it Dana’s a bit protective of what she makes, isn’t she?” He drawled, looking at her from under his lashes. “Dana cares more about her blades than the hunters she sells them to, that’s for sure.” She snapped, vaguely irritated with the whole world. He sucked on his beer for a bit, regarding her thoughtfully. His gaze was as intense as always, and didn’t fail to make her mind slow down and her blood to pump harder, hotter. “He wanted to sell that one on the side for a pretty profit, and then use the money to settle his debts. She didn’t seem very happy with the idea.” Ellen looked at him for a long moment and then started laughing herself. That double crossing son of a bitch! No wonder Dana had gotten so mad. Cheating her out of her money and selling her sword to a stranger, probably a non-hunter because all the professionals would know her handiwork. He was lucky if she was going to make him anything ever again.
With the laughter and the grinning his dimples had popped out again. Suddenly Ellen was very aware of how close they were, and how this was pretty much how one of her staple fantasies involving him always started, staring at each other across the bar counter. Instead of the intense silence and solitude, voices filled the place and people bustled about. Instead of grabbing his face and kissing him hungrily, she cleared her throat and asked him if he wanted a burger. “Ah, Ellen, your burgers are the best I’ve had in years,” he said, making her glow with pleasure. A small compliment, but it was the way he had said it. She may be a married woman, but she could tell flirting when she saw it. Besides, she knew his name all right, but he had remembered hers, and she was pretty sure he didn’t think of her at nights when he had trouble sleeping. She put an extra sway in her hips this time, as she retired to the kitchen.
Bill was already there, unloading the second beer drum of the evening. She kissed him as she passed, feeling attractive and sexy, and set to get the orders sorted with Mackie, the cook. Mackie had been a half-assed hunter until a rawhead had poked his eye out. Now he was just a half-assed cook for hunters, but damn him if Bill didn’t collect strays worse than a kid. Ellen made the burger for John herself and, while it sizzled on the scalding grill, she indulged in one of her fantasies. She imagined taking a road trip with Winchester, in that shiny black car he drove, going at it like rabbits in every corner of the good ‘ole US of A, seeing all the places she had never been to, and wasn’t that a lot of ground to cover. She chuckled to herself as she put the burger in the bun, and added a couple of fistfuls of fries.
The smile died on her lips when she entered the bar again and saw John talking quietly with Dana and Bill. They were bowing their heads over an open box. Two dimpled grins from the man and Ellen had forgotten all about the “special” knife. As she neared the counter she could hear Bill whistling admiringly. “He’ll get plenty of years of good service from this knife, provided he cares for it properly,” Dana was saying quietly, once again her usual discreet self. Ellen dropped the full plate near their elbows, right next to the box. John flickered one look towards it, then raised that smoldering gaze towards her for a moment and asked to get it on the go. Then he turned to Dana again and, speaking as softly as her but with a decisive undercurrent of pride and defiantness, he said “Dean always takes good care of his weapons, he knows they might mean the difference between a successful hunt and a disaster. I didn’t teach my boy to be sloppy, and I certainly wouldn’t be wasting all this money on something he’d damage.” Bill nodded approvingly. Coldness, starting from her chest and radiating all over, stole over Ellen’s body. Nobody noticed how still she had gone. Dana just flicked her hair and said that she wasn’t giving him a discount, that her beauty was worth every penny.
“This is for your son?” She finally managed to ask, her voice sounding far away, as if coming from another room. She could see it clearly, shiny and sharp in the nestle of fake hay in the plain wooden box. It was even more vicious looking than the one she had seen him buying the first time, the blade curving forwards and backwards around the handle, something designed for close combat, up and personal. It wasn’t even a throwing knife he was getting for this boy. His son. John nodded. “Birthday present. He’s a good boy, he’s earned it.” “Now, which one is Dean again?” Asked Bill, all absorbed by that horrible thing. Dana was tipping the box this way and that, making the light play over her handy-work. “He’s my oldest.” Ellen grabbed a dishcloth and buried her hands in it. They were shaking. “Haven’t you got a picture tucked somewhere in that journal of yours?” Prodded Bill, making John search his pockets with a sigh. He came up with a journal, bound in leather. He opened it at the beginning, and took out a couple of pictures. Ellen glimpsed a page overflowing with tight, neat writing and a couple of precisely-drawn symbols before he snapped the thing shut again and passed the pictures to Bill.
“Dean’s the one sitting on the right and Sammy is the one sitting in my lap,” said John with a touch of pride. Ellen saw two kids, babies practically, not much older than Jo, sitting with their father on the hood of that black car of his, all of them carrying rifles and grinning, dimples peppering each face as only good genetics can. It looked like autumn. “Isn’t he a bit too small for this knife?” Asked Dana, and Ellen would have been grateful for it if she didn’t know that Dana meant literally small, as in strength and reach, not age. “Isn’t this an old one?” Asked Bill, a little puzzled. He had bought a Polaroid camera with the sole purpose of taking pictures of Jo, a new one every time he left for more than a few hours. Ellen would bet that by flipping all of them quickly through your hands you’d see Jo literally growing up, like a fast-forward movie, like they did with flowers blossoming on TV documentaries. “This one’s more recent,” drawled John, holding up the second picture with a pleased grin. Bill and Dana chuckled over it, then passed it to Ellen. She saw John and the older boy sitting in two high-backed chairs, tied up and gagged, with the smaller one standing on the side, posing with his hands on his hips and a smug smile for the camera. John was laughing through his gag, but his other son didn’t seem half as pleased by the situation. He was glaring at his brother with all the force of righteous little-boy indignation. John always looked the same, but both boys were much older than the other picture. “I was teaching them knots- actually, an old friend of mine, we served together, was teaching them, I was more of a teacher’s tool than anything -“ that startled a snort even from Ellen “- and anyway Sammy got the hang of it much faster than Dean. A rather humbling experience, getting you ass handed over to ya by your kid brother.” Ellen forced a smile while the others had a hearty laugh. She retreated to the kitchen and got a doggie bag and carelessly dumped in all the food from the plate, angry and upset. Bill came ‘round back, still laughing, and gave her a playful smack on her rear before reaching for the bag. She gave him a pat without any enthusiasm, but he didn’t notice. “Can you believe that Winchester?” He said, with what she was afraid was almost awe. “Training little kids to be hunters? I’d rather not, but I’ll guess I’ll have to believe it.” “Oh, c’mon, they’re not that small. I think Dean is about fourteen, and it’s not like he goes around hunting with John, they’re just training for when they’re older. You know, Jo is getting old enough for some target practice, we should-“ Ellen marched right up to his face and, when he backed away, bewildered, followed him until he hit the wall with his back. “You are not going to teach my daughter how to get in harm’s way, William Harvelle” “No,” he replied, “but I am going to teach our daughter how to protect herself. Jesus babe, what’s with you tonight? Is it that time of the month? You’re all over the place.” “No, it isn’t, but how would you know, spending every night plotting with other hunters, never coming to bed before I fall asleep? So here’s a convenient little excuse for me disagreeing with you, isn’t it? It’s not like I may be right… you promised me, Bill! You said you wouldn’t teach her hunting shit without telling me!” “I didn’t! I haven’t taught her anything! And, right now, I was asking you about starting, just like I said I would! Whatever it is, get a grip Ellen, because I’m not going to be yelled at for something I didn’t do.” He stalked off, fuming, and Ellen found nothing better to do but grab the dirty plate she had just used and throwing it in the sink, where it smashed in a million pieces. Mackie, the cook, looked at her for a long moment then muttered something about a smoke break and made himself scarce.
Ellen paced back and forth, absolutely furious and unable to calm down. She was angry with Dana and her lack of morals, she was livid with Bill and his superior horse-riding through any argument they ever had, and most of all she was all-consuming mad with Winchester. Speaking of which, his food was still there. She grabbed it and stormed in the bar, but he was already gone. Dana was at the counter, counting a big fat roll of cash. When she saw Ellen and her expression, she pointed at the door without saying anything. Ellen got out and for a moment she thought she was too late, that he was already gone, but then she heard a trunk being closed and she circled around to the side, just in time to see Winchester opening the driver’s door. “Are you really going to give that thing to your boy?” She yelled at him as soon as she could make him out in the gloom. He turned, surprised, then drew himself up, good little hunter preparing for battle. “Yes,” he replied shortly. He fixed on her one of the most mulish, defensive and -god help her- smoldering looks she had ever seen. A feeling of rage, of vengeance surged through her and, before she even knew what she was going to do, she ran to him and tried to hit him with the food bag, but he caught her wrist firmly, and twisted it until she dropped her edible weapon. In a matter of a breath he grabbed her other hand before she could even raise it from her side and twisted them both, pinning her to the car with all his weight. She could smell his scent, sweat and plain soap and engine oil, she could see his eyes, dark under half-lowered lashes. She was trapped. Her anger, instead of abating, drew up with a rush of adrenaline. She tried squirming, but he was stronger. Her arms were trapped, and there was not enough space to draw up her knee and step on his feet, let alone giving him a good one where it hurts. Helpless and furious, she used the only part of her body still mobile and slammed her lips against his with as much force as she could muster, a clumsy attempt at a head-butt.
She tasted blood. And then she closed her eyes and stopped breathing, because they were kissing, as fiercely and as passionately as she knew how, and Winchester was kissing her back, sucking and biting with bruising force, not at all tongue-shy. They stopped simultaneously and looked at each other, and it was difficult to tell who was more astonished. Ellen wanted nothing more than to continue -hell, she was practically ready to go all the way through right then and there in the parking lot, against that black car- and from his color, his expression, she could tell that he wanted it too. Actually, since they were pressed together so tightly, she knew for a fact that he was as ready as her. Neither spoke as they panted in the half-darkness, the only light a spluttering bulb hanging by the kitchen door, both perfectly aware of just how bad of an idea this was. And, sure, as long as it had stayed an idea it had seemed bad bad bad, with little satisfaction to be had for all that trouble, but now that it was more, now that it was real, satisfaction was all they needed and the rest be damned.
Ellen gulped, mouth suddenly dry. She shifted and he let her, releasing her and leaning back to give her space, but she only used it to open her legs slightly and to grab his head and bring him back forward, picking up the kiss where they had left it. A warmth spread through her body, making her skin more sensitive, craving contact. She could feel her pulse beating between her legs, his arousal rubbing against her through his jeans and her skirt, and when she began to nibble his jaw line and to work herself down to his neck he gave a sigh, deep and animalistic. She guided his hand under her skirt, and then he needed no further encouragement and helped her drop her panties in the cold mud. She was already so far gone that as soon as his fingers found their way to the right spot she came, shuddering against him and swallowing her moans in his mouth. They stood there, panting for a few moments, before the reality of what had happened crashed down.
Winchester drew a sharp breath and let her go slowly, taking a few steps back, eyes firmly anywhere but her. He fussed with his pant leg and Ellen was pretty sure that there was a wet stain there that only darkness was concealing at present. “I…” he said, unable to continue. “Thank you,” she said, because she was feeling more gratified than ashamed at that moment and it only seemed like the polite thing to do, “but you should go now.” He nodded, but didn’t move, finally fixing his eyes on hers. It took her entirely too long to realize that she was still leaning against his car and that he couldn’t very well leave without it. They circled each other like wild animals, she leaving him the car, he getting in it, still staring. “I’ll come again,” he said before gunning the engine out of there. “I’ll be here,” she whispered to herself, sinking on an empty beer drum and drawing her knees up. Now, alone in the dark, she felt numb. She didn’t understand what had just happened or, rather, if she were honest with herself, she knew exactly what had happened, and how it had happened, and a part of her even knew why… except she didn’t, because between having a fantasy and acting it out there was still a big difference and she knew it, she knew it dammit.
Shame, cold and un-abiding, coursed through her body and she began to weep. She had managed to cry herself out before the kitchen door slammed open and Bill stormed out with Mackie, brandishing his shotgun and yelling at her to get back in. For the briefest of moments she was shocked into stillness, thinking that he had somehow seen it and that he was going to go after Winchester before dealing with her, but when he grabbed her she could see even in the unreliable light that he was concerned and scared, a bit like the first time she had seen him, and she realized that he was hunting. She went inside, and hurried directly to Jo’s bedroom. Even through the noise of the Roadhouse she could make out Bill out back, yelling at something. He sounded furious but not cowed, and that gave her some grim comfort. Then another car peeled out and on the road and quiet, or at least the relative quiet of a bar, returned. For the first time since the beginning of the evening, watching her child asleep, Ellen was calm.
She heard Bill’s steps on the stairs and went to meet him. He looked a bit shell-shocked, wanted to peek at Jo himself, and then finally let her pull him to their bedroom to explain. “So… I’ve fired Mackie,” he began, a little baffled smile illuminating his face. “Finally,” she interrupted, “but what the hell happened back there?” “I fired Mackie because he had managed to gamble a leprechaun away from some idiot hunter. No, you know what? That idiot Mackie managed to get himself saddled with a leprechaun by a damn bastard hunter, that’s how it is.” Ellen stood amazed for a long moment, and finally all that she could mange was, “a leprechaun??” “ He had it in the trunk of his car, parked out back, near the kitchen door. That damn thing was trapped, and so it decided that playing a bit with human emotions was as good a way to wreak havoc as any. Everybody was on edge the whole time because of it. I- humm, I might have said some stupid things tonight I wouldn’t have said otherwise.” Ellen couldn’t believe it. “A leprechaun.” “Yes!” He started laughing. “Thank God tempers didn’t run any hotter… hunters, booze and a fucking leprechaun cranking it all up to eleven. It could have been a bloodbath.” He fell back on the bed, still chuckling and in the good mood that only successful hunts could give him. “But how did you find out?” “Well, for that we have to thank John, babe. He figured something strange was going on and called from the road… said he felt different as soon as he lost sight of the Roadhouse. After that all it took was a couple of questions. Mackie folded like a cheap suit.” Ellen nodded, and even managed a little, desperate laugh but Bill didn’t notice. She wanted to ask him how different Winchester had felt, what did he mean by that, was he coming back any time soon, but she was too afraid and too smart to do it. She settled on working out her emotions, by no means a small feat for, even though the leprechaun was by now far away and unable to influence them, she still felt that given the chance she’d make her mistake again, over and over.
And that's all she wrote. The editing's a bit wonky but I kept it in the interest of archaeology... this was one of my first fics, and I was still learning the ropes, so to speak. I was planning on going on and chronicling all of Ellen and John's relationship, maybe with an epilogue for the day she met Sam and Dean for the first time... there was going to be some h/c driven by Ellen's new-found First Aid knowledge, and sometime there there was going to be a big fight with Dana (Jo's collection of knives that she had in college? Dana gave them to her. ellen did not appreciate it) and I think I was planning on there being some actual angsty sex/affair. As it is, this is the smuttiest thing I've ever written. I'm glad I'm finally letting it go, even if I never finished it.