Sweet Surrender, for offspeed (Bobby/Ellen, PG)
Title: Sweet Surrender
Author: tvaddictgurl
Recipient: offspeed
Rating: PG
Pairing: Bobby/Ellen
Summary: Bobby and Ellen find a measure of comfort in one another.
Author's Notes: This takes place after the events of the S3 finale, so if you haven’t seen it, it might be spoilery. Big thanks to clarksmuse for being my beta.
Ellen knew he'd be there, the one constant in her life all these years besides the Roadhouse. The bar was gone but he was still there. A single light burned inside the house when she pulled into the salvage yard. As she pulled the car to a stop in front, the door opened and there he was, waiting.
He knew the sound of her car, like she knew his. Two glasses waited on the table in the living room along with a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he’d been expecting her, not that she’d called, she hardly ever did. But after New Harmony, he had to have known she’d show up on his doorstep sooner or later.
He face cracked into a smile when she crossed the threshold. It had been too long. "Ellen."
"Bobby." Her face stretched into a slow smile; her voice all bourbon and honey. She wanted to laugh at the shot glass full of clear liquid in his hand. She took it without any prompting, knocking it back with one swallow. They'd played this game before, holy water before whiskey.
Half a bottle of whiskey gone and evening stretching into darkest night before she finally asked. "Is it true? Dean?"
Bobby struggled to say the words and only nodded. He hadn't seen it happen, only witnessed the aftermath. Ellen swore slamming the glass on the table.
"And Sam?"
"Boy took off, haven't heard from him. Never seen him like that."
"Damn John Winchester!" She reached for the bottle again, doubling what she had been in the glass before.
"Why are you blaming John for all this? Dean's the one that made that damn stupid deal to begin with."
"Because their father got them into this life. He should have just grieved for his wife and gotten on with his life. Not dragging those boys around, teaching them, training them. Ultimately it's his fault."
"I suppose you could wish him to hell but he's already been there." That elicited a smile from Ellen.
"Yeah, I guess so."
Bobby filled their glasses again raising his in a toast. He pushed the pain down at the thought of everyone he’d seen go and those he hadn’t. "To those we've lost."
Ellen nodded and sucked back the liquid. Too many people she had lost in her life; Bill, John, Ash, and now Dean. Jo was lost to her as well, but by her own choice. Her daughter's whereabouts had been unknown since the Roadhouse burned down. A year had passed with no sign or word from her. Ellen could only pray that Jo had found herself a nice quiet life somewhere and not become a victim along the way to one of Lilith's demons.
And Sam. Sam was lost to all of them now. Bobby's answer confirmed the stories she'd heard about Sam since Dean's death. Something dark and dangerous had taken hold of the young man. Something that no one could release him from.
A second bottle was drained dry, day long passed into night when Ellen stood. "I don't think I better drive tonight. Mind if I stay here?" She knew it wasn’t a question that needed to be asked. As far as Bobby was concerned she was always welcome under his roof. They both stumbled upstairs with him settling her into the room next to his.
Sometime later he thought he heard sobs coming from the other room, the sound of a woman mourning those she had lost. He had mourned them all too much already. His eyes fell on the picture frame on his nightstand. In the darkness he couldn't make out the picture, but he didn't need light to know every line and shadow of it. It was his wife in a white summer dress in front of this house, their house. He mourned her every night, her and the knowledge that he'd loved two women in his life. One, he'd been forced to kill and the second would never know of his feelings because she still mourned a husband long dead.
Bobby was surprised by his door opening in the middle of the night. The scent of her drifted to him before she reached the bed, smoke and dirt, as if she hadn’t showered since the Roadhouse burned down. It should be the kind of smell you turn your nose up at, but on her, it was rich and intoxicating.
She slipped beneath the covers, her cold feet tangling with his legs. Tonight neither one of them wanted to be alone.
He rolled to face her, just making out the lines and angles of her face in the darkness. Her cheeks were wet when he brushed the back of his hand across them. Ellen pressed closer finding his lips with hers. Bobby's hand slid down her body, unsure of what she wanted, merely comfort or something more. She answered his unasked question by reaching under his shirt, her fingers tracing years of scars. Another time or place she might ask how he got each one, but not tonight.
They fumbled with clothing for each one it had been too long since they'd touched another in this way. But in the darkness, naked flesh found its partner. He found a spot that made her sigh, a sound he knew only Bill had heard. Ellen's fingers dug into skin, needing more, not wanting to be treated like she was fragile. The sound of bites and sighs and flesh against flesh filled the room. When Ellen finally spoke, she said a name Bobby hadn't expected to hear. When they slept, his arms cradled her to him as if she was his.
Bobby woke in the morning alone. The sheets lay in a twisted pile at the end of the bed. His body was sore from muscles long not used and the scratches Ellen had left on his body. His house was empty again too. She was gone - no note to say goodbye or where she was headed. Their paths would cross again, they always did. But for now, he was once again alone.
Author: tvaddictgurl
Recipient: offspeed
Rating: PG
Pairing: Bobby/Ellen
Summary: Bobby and Ellen find a measure of comfort in one another.
Author's Notes: This takes place after the events of the S3 finale, so if you haven’t seen it, it might be spoilery. Big thanks to clarksmuse for being my beta.
Ellen knew he'd be there, the one constant in her life all these years besides the Roadhouse. The bar was gone but he was still there. A single light burned inside the house when she pulled into the salvage yard. As she pulled the car to a stop in front, the door opened and there he was, waiting.
He knew the sound of her car, like she knew his. Two glasses waited on the table in the living room along with a bottle of whiskey. Maybe he’d been expecting her, not that she’d called, she hardly ever did. But after New Harmony, he had to have known she’d show up on his doorstep sooner or later.
He face cracked into a smile when she crossed the threshold. It had been too long. "Ellen."
"Bobby." Her face stretched into a slow smile; her voice all bourbon and honey. She wanted to laugh at the shot glass full of clear liquid in his hand. She took it without any prompting, knocking it back with one swallow. They'd played this game before, holy water before whiskey.
Half a bottle of whiskey gone and evening stretching into darkest night before she finally asked. "Is it true? Dean?"
Bobby struggled to say the words and only nodded. He hadn't seen it happen, only witnessed the aftermath. Ellen swore slamming the glass on the table.
"And Sam?"
"Boy took off, haven't heard from him. Never seen him like that."
"Damn John Winchester!" She reached for the bottle again, doubling what she had been in the glass before.
"Why are you blaming John for all this? Dean's the one that made that damn stupid deal to begin with."
"Because their father got them into this life. He should have just grieved for his wife and gotten on with his life. Not dragging those boys around, teaching them, training them. Ultimately it's his fault."
"I suppose you could wish him to hell but he's already been there." That elicited a smile from Ellen.
"Yeah, I guess so."
Bobby filled their glasses again raising his in a toast. He pushed the pain down at the thought of everyone he’d seen go and those he hadn’t. "To those we've lost."
Ellen nodded and sucked back the liquid. Too many people she had lost in her life; Bill, John, Ash, and now Dean. Jo was lost to her as well, but by her own choice. Her daughter's whereabouts had been unknown since the Roadhouse burned down. A year had passed with no sign or word from her. Ellen could only pray that Jo had found herself a nice quiet life somewhere and not become a victim along the way to one of Lilith's demons.
And Sam. Sam was lost to all of them now. Bobby's answer confirmed the stories she'd heard about Sam since Dean's death. Something dark and dangerous had taken hold of the young man. Something that no one could release him from.
A second bottle was drained dry, day long passed into night when Ellen stood. "I don't think I better drive tonight. Mind if I stay here?" She knew it wasn’t a question that needed to be asked. As far as Bobby was concerned she was always welcome under his roof. They both stumbled upstairs with him settling her into the room next to his.
Sometime later he thought he heard sobs coming from the other room, the sound of a woman mourning those she had lost. He had mourned them all too much already. His eyes fell on the picture frame on his nightstand. In the darkness he couldn't make out the picture, but he didn't need light to know every line and shadow of it. It was his wife in a white summer dress in front of this house, their house. He mourned her every night, her and the knowledge that he'd loved two women in his life. One, he'd been forced to kill and the second would never know of his feelings because she still mourned a husband long dead.
Bobby was surprised by his door opening in the middle of the night. The scent of her drifted to him before she reached the bed, smoke and dirt, as if she hadn’t showered since the Roadhouse burned down. It should be the kind of smell you turn your nose up at, but on her, it was rich and intoxicating.
She slipped beneath the covers, her cold feet tangling with his legs. Tonight neither one of them wanted to be alone.
He rolled to face her, just making out the lines and angles of her face in the darkness. Her cheeks were wet when he brushed the back of his hand across them. Ellen pressed closer finding his lips with hers. Bobby's hand slid down her body, unsure of what she wanted, merely comfort or something more. She answered his unasked question by reaching under his shirt, her fingers tracing years of scars. Another time or place she might ask how he got each one, but not tonight.
They fumbled with clothing for each one it had been too long since they'd touched another in this way. But in the darkness, naked flesh found its partner. He found a spot that made her sigh, a sound he knew only Bill had heard. Ellen's fingers dug into skin, needing more, not wanting to be treated like she was fragile. The sound of bites and sighs and flesh against flesh filled the room. When Ellen finally spoke, she said a name Bobby hadn't expected to hear. When they slept, his arms cradled her to him as if she was his.
Bobby woke in the morning alone. The sheets lay in a twisted pile at the end of the bed. His body was sore from muscles long not used and the scratches Ellen had left on his body. His house was empty again too. She was gone - no note to say goodbye or where she was headed. Their paths would cross again, they always did. But for now, he was once again alone.