[Timed to October 14, just after this.]He'd spent a damned long time at that pool table, knockin' balls around like it would give him some sort of comfort, some piece of mind
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Ellen had been in the kitchen when she saw John head for the door, slamming it open and heading for the hills. Shit. No way this ended well. She headed off after him, only a few steps behind. He followed the path for some time, but before she knew it, he was out in the brush, striking through the jungle, almost purposefully heading for the deepest part of the underbrush. She kept up with him as best she could, hiking in his steps and trying to avoid too many sharp branches
( ... )
Though John had been caught up in his own thoughts, replaying that conversation with Sam and Veronica over and over in his mind, he had been aware that someone was following him. A hunter and an ex-Marine, there was no way in hell much of anything got past him. He hadn't thought enough to turn around and call the person off. If whoever it was wanted to follow him through the damned jungle to talk to him, he was going to lead them through some thick stuff, which was exactly what he had ended up doing.
The only people crazy enough to follow him were his boys and Ellen, and so John wasn't surprised at all to see Ellen Harvelle standing in front of him, looking for all the world like she'd just bested a bobcat.
"Go home, Ellen," John said wearily, not moving his cheek from its perch. "You look like shit."
She cocked an annoyed eyebrow at him. "Yeah, but I've been tracking your sorry ass through the jungle. I have an excuse." She shook her head. Typical Winchester. She was pretty sick of this shit. At least back home they'd come and go with their vague family drama, and she'd shake her head as she watched them head out of the Roadhouse, but here? Sometimes she felt like the only voice of reason in a band of escaped inpatients.
She took a couple steps forward, winced, and bent backwards, stretching her back. "Listen, Winchester," She winced again, half-gasping. Damn near musta pulled something hiking up the mountain. "I just hiked up a mountain after your Marine Corps-trained ass." She paused, furrowing her brow. "No way am I getting sent home like some kid because you're feeling moody." She nearly spat the last word, trying to get something real out of him for once. Something honest. She caught his eye, not backing down. "Spill it."
"Nobody asked you to track my 'sorry ass', now did they?" John challenged, lifting and jutting his chin out at her. His hand fell to his thigh, skin slapping against denim. Typical Harvelle. Stubborn as a damned mule, followed a body to hell and back without a second thought.
"I'm not feeling moody," he insisted, looking up into her flushed, tired face. "And I'm sure as hell not drunk enough to spill, so do us both a favor and quit while you're ahead."
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The only people crazy enough to follow him were his boys and Ellen, and so John wasn't surprised at all to see Ellen Harvelle standing in front of him, looking for all the world like she'd just bested a bobcat.
"Go home, Ellen," John said wearily, not moving his cheek from its perch. "You look like shit."
Reply
She took a couple steps forward, winced, and bent backwards, stretching her back. "Listen, Winchester," She winced again, half-gasping. Damn near musta pulled something hiking up the mountain. "I just hiked up a mountain after your Marine Corps-trained ass." She paused, furrowing her brow. "No way am I getting sent home like some kid because you're feeling moody." She nearly spat the last word, trying to get something real out of him for once. Something honest. She caught his eye, not backing down. "Spill it."
Reply
"I'm not feeling moody," he insisted, looking up into her flushed, tired face. "And I'm sure as hell not drunk enough to spill, so do us both a favor and quit while you're ahead."
Reply
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