Here I Stand, Head in Hand
Title: Turn My Face to the Wall
Summary: Ellen and Bill are enjoying a quiet moment at the Roadhouse when they get a call from John Winchester.
Word count: 1,100
Rated: pg (Language)
Notes:Set preseries; implied spoilers for "No Exit"
Genre: Het
Characters: Ellen/Bill, brief wee!Jo and mention of John
Disclaimer: Still not making any money off this, won’t be in the future either.
***
Ellen’s too good for him. Bill remembers that whenever he thinks about their marriage, which is admittedly less frequent these days. Between the Roadhouse, little Joanna and hunting, it’s easy to have his nose down in the day-to-day and forget to really look at his wife. Today, though, she’s washing out a few tumblers at the bar and the way the water casts golden flickers of the afternoon light on her arms and face, he could almost burst with all the things he doesn’t have words for.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “Come here often?” Ellen flicks soapy water over her shoulder with an amused huff, and he smiles into her hair. He loves her tough, no-nonsense attitude and easy smile, how she welcomes all kinds to her bar, helps him research hunts even though she swears half-joking that the worry is giving her winkles and grey hair before her time.
Ellen sets the glass she was washing down before she turns to wipe her hands on her husband’s flannel shirt. One advantage of getting a little older, she supposes, your passion’s on a slower burn. Not everything has to be hot and sloppy and now. She can take her time rubbing her hands on his chest after they’re dry, enjoying the muscles there, and he’ll just run his thumbs over hips and smile down at her. When they first met, they were both too impatient. They’d’ve been going at it on the counter, door unlocked and everything.
It isn’t quite the life she’d imagined, him gone one week out of three risking his skin for a job that doesn’t provide a salary, much less dental. Her working a bar and raising a daughter more comfortable with knives than toys. Hunters are heroes, she knows that, but it’s a rough lifestyle that mostly draws in paranoid good-old-boys. Nice enough patrons, just not people she particularly trusts. But Bill is a good man, a family man unlike the loners he hangs out with. It isn’t the life she imagined, but it ‘s one she’s proud of, one she loves- no matter how much she grumbles about it to Bill.
The phone rings, and Ellen steps past her husband to pick it up with an informal “Roadhouse, this is Ellen.” She makes a sour face. “Yeah.”
Bill takes the receiver and she mouths ‘Winchester.” He frowns at her as he puts the phone to his ear. John’s no worse than any of his other hunter buddies- a good sight better, in his opinion. But he has kids only a bit older than Jo that he’s already training to hunt with him, and Bill doesn’t think Ellen’s ever going to forgive that. Won’t even let the man bring his boys to the bar, as if her disapproval will make him reconsider.
“Yeah,” he sighs into the mouthpiece. “Sure, I can do that. Where did you say it was?” He turns his back on Ellen’s glare to take down the address, but that hardly muffles the knock of glass on wood as she puts the tumblers back into the cabinet with a certain excess of force. He hangs up and puts a hand between her tense shoulder-blades. Out of state jobs, the ones she hasn’t helped him research, are always the ones they fight about. But John’s a good hunter, driven as he is, and though there’s danger on every job, he’ll be safer with a partner looking out for him. “Ellen…”
“I know,you gotta do it,” she interrupts. She understands what hunting means to him- hell, what it means to the people he saves. Doesn’t mean she has to like it. She lets herself be drawn into a comfortable embrace, hides the way her lips tremble against his shoulder. He’s only been home safe for six days and now…but enough is enough, no point wallowing about something that hasn’t even happened yet. Wont happen. She pushes away, running her hand down his arm, catching his hand at the end. “Now, where were we?” Bill grins and she draws him back to her in a different type of embrace.
***
He leaves two days later in John’s big, ugly car, and eight days after that Ellen hears the familiar rumble coming up her driveway again. “C’mon baby,” she says, scooping Jo up in her arms. “Lets go say ‘hi’ to Daddy.” John’s headlights cut through the windows, flicking harsh patterns across the dimly-lit walls of the bar. Parking-lot gravel crunches dryly as he pulls to a stop, and one car door opens and slams.
She never quite believes Bill’s coming back to her unharmed until she sees him with her own eyes, so it’s a relief when he walks through the door. Jo squeals with delight and pitches herself forward out of Ellen’s arms, sure Bill will be there to catch her. He always is. “Hey babe,” Bill says once Jo’s settled on his hip, freeing one arm to hug his wife and give her a peck on the cheek. Ellen runs her hand down his back, reassuring herself of his warm presence. Jo snuggles into her father’s jacket, dexterous fingers seeking and finding that little monogrammed blade he keeps in his inside pocket.
“John coming in?” Ellen asks, feeling magnanimous now that Bill’s back where he belongs.
“Naw, he’s got to get back to his kids,” Bill explains, gently retrieving his knife. Jo pouts and kicks listlessly- it's past her bedtime. “Hunt went pretty good, we cleared out the whole nest. Might help him out on another job this summer, in California.” Bill wraps both arms a bit tighter around his daughter, who’s starting to drowse a bit without her toy, despite the excitement.
“You wanna go tuck her in?” Ellen asks.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing Jo’s hair behind her ear with the tips of his fingers.
Ellen stays behind for a few minutes after they go, wiping the bar down, straightening the pool cues and emptying the register. She knows her family lives on luck in a way most normal folks don’t, but Bill’s home safe tonight, reading to Jo like anyone. All the minutia of running a bar seems more concerning: if it’s time to replace the bar-stools yet, whether she still wants to serve the local brew now that the price is going up. Ellen’s not naïve, she understands the risk Bill takes every time he walks out the door. But she also knows, in her bones, that this unexpectedly ideal life is too sacred to end in tragedy. She flips out the lights and follows her husband upstairs, the throaty growl of John’s car indistinct with distance, headlights already long lost to the night.
Summary: Ellen and Bill are enjoying a quiet moment at the Roadhouse when they get a call from John Winchester.
Word count: 1,100
Rated: pg (Language)
Notes:Set preseries; implied spoilers for "No Exit"
Genre: Het
Characters: Ellen/Bill, brief wee!Jo and mention of John
Disclaimer: Still not making any money off this, won’t be in the future either.
***
Ellen’s too good for him. Bill remembers that whenever he thinks about their marriage, which is admittedly less frequent these days. Between the Roadhouse, little Joanna and hunting, it’s easy to have his nose down in the day-to-day and forget to really look at his wife. Today, though, she’s washing out a few tumblers at the bar and the way the water casts golden flickers of the afternoon light on her arms and face, he could almost burst with all the things he doesn’t have words for.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “Come here often?” Ellen flicks soapy water over her shoulder with an amused huff, and he smiles into her hair. He loves her tough, no-nonsense attitude and easy smile, how she welcomes all kinds to her bar, helps him research hunts even though she swears half-joking that the worry is giving her winkles and grey hair before her time.
Ellen sets the glass she was washing down before she turns to wipe her hands on her husband’s flannel shirt. One advantage of getting a little older, she supposes, your passion’s on a slower burn. Not everything has to be hot and sloppy and now. She can take her time rubbing her hands on his chest after they’re dry, enjoying the muscles there, and he’ll just run his thumbs over hips and smile down at her. When they first met, they were both too impatient. They’d’ve been going at it on the counter, door unlocked and everything.
It isn’t quite the life she’d imagined, him gone one week out of three risking his skin for a job that doesn’t provide a salary, much less dental. Her working a bar and raising a daughter more comfortable with knives than toys. Hunters are heroes, she knows that, but it’s a rough lifestyle that mostly draws in paranoid good-old-boys. Nice enough patrons, just not people she particularly trusts. But Bill is a good man, a family man unlike the loners he hangs out with. It isn’t the life she imagined, but it ‘s one she’s proud of, one she loves- no matter how much she grumbles about it to Bill.
The phone rings, and Ellen steps past her husband to pick it up with an informal “Roadhouse, this is Ellen.” She makes a sour face. “Yeah.”
Bill takes the receiver and she mouths ‘Winchester.” He frowns at her as he puts the phone to his ear. John’s no worse than any of his other hunter buddies- a good sight better, in his opinion. But he has kids only a bit older than Jo that he’s already training to hunt with him, and Bill doesn’t think Ellen’s ever going to forgive that. Won’t even let the man bring his boys to the bar, as if her disapproval will make him reconsider.
“Yeah,” he sighs into the mouthpiece. “Sure, I can do that. Where did you say it was?” He turns his back on Ellen’s glare to take down the address, but that hardly muffles the knock of glass on wood as she puts the tumblers back into the cabinet with a certain excess of force. He hangs up and puts a hand between her tense shoulder-blades. Out of state jobs, the ones she hasn’t helped him research, are always the ones they fight about. But John’s a good hunter, driven as he is, and though there’s danger on every job, he’ll be safer with a partner looking out for him. “Ellen…”
“I know,you gotta do it,” she interrupts. She understands what hunting means to him- hell, what it means to the people he saves. Doesn’t mean she has to like it. She lets herself be drawn into a comfortable embrace, hides the way her lips tremble against his shoulder. He’s only been home safe for six days and now…but enough is enough, no point wallowing about something that hasn’t even happened yet. Wont happen. She pushes away, running her hand down his arm, catching his hand at the end. “Now, where were we?” Bill grins and she draws him back to her in a different type of embrace.
***
He leaves two days later in John’s big, ugly car, and eight days after that Ellen hears the familiar rumble coming up her driveway again. “C’mon baby,” she says, scooping Jo up in her arms. “Lets go say ‘hi’ to Daddy.” John’s headlights cut through the windows, flicking harsh patterns across the dimly-lit walls of the bar. Parking-lot gravel crunches dryly as he pulls to a stop, and one car door opens and slams.
She never quite believes Bill’s coming back to her unharmed until she sees him with her own eyes, so it’s a relief when he walks through the door. Jo squeals with delight and pitches herself forward out of Ellen’s arms, sure Bill will be there to catch her. He always is. “Hey babe,” Bill says once Jo’s settled on his hip, freeing one arm to hug his wife and give her a peck on the cheek. Ellen runs her hand down his back, reassuring herself of his warm presence. Jo snuggles into her father’s jacket, dexterous fingers seeking and finding that little monogrammed blade he keeps in his inside pocket.
“John coming in?” Ellen asks, feeling magnanimous now that Bill’s back where he belongs.
“Naw, he’s got to get back to his kids,” Bill explains, gently retrieving his knife. Jo pouts and kicks listlessly- it's past her bedtime. “Hunt went pretty good, we cleared out the whole nest. Might help him out on another job this summer, in California.” Bill wraps both arms a bit tighter around his daughter, who’s starting to drowse a bit without her toy, despite the excitement.
“You wanna go tuck her in?” Ellen asks.
“Yeah,” he says, brushing Jo’s hair behind her ear with the tips of his fingers.
Ellen stays behind for a few minutes after they go, wiping the bar down, straightening the pool cues and emptying the register. She knows her family lives on luck in a way most normal folks don’t, but Bill’s home safe tonight, reading to Jo like anyone. All the minutia of running a bar seems more concerning: if it’s time to replace the bar-stools yet, whether she still wants to serve the local brew now that the price is going up. Ellen’s not naïve, she understands the risk Bill takes every time he walks out the door. But she also knows, in her bones, that this unexpectedly ideal life is too sacred to end in tragedy. She flips out the lights and follows her husband upstairs, the throaty growl of John’s car indistinct with distance, headlights already long lost to the night.