spn/csi - The Way It Is
Title: The Way It Is
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Fandom: CSI/Supernatural
Characters: Jonathan Winchester, Ellen Sanders
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor CSI. However, any and all characters you do not recognize are mine and should not be used without my permission. Cheers.
Author’s Note: Violence, swearing, murder. Written for spawnfic-tues. Jonathan is Dean’s and Sofia Curtis’ (CSI), whereas Ellen is Jo’s and Greg Sanders’ (CSI). You don’t need to know CSI to read, but it‘s a bonus. A bit of backstory on Jonathan, when he was 13 he and Dean were hunting a Wendigo, Jon was attacked and sustained gashes down his face and chest.
“I’m going with you.”
“Why the hell would you want to do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to get yourself killed.”
“You should be more worried that I’ll kill you.”
“You wont do that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re not that guy.”
“Yes. Yes, I am that guy, Ellie.”
“We’ll see.”
The scars on his face stood out under the dim bar lights. They were both huddled in leather jackets because it was too fucking cold not to. The bar owner must have forgotten to pay the heating bill, or else he didn’t care enough. It was snowing outside, which meant it was just as cold inside. Ellen could see her breath in the air, and was passing time by acting like a dragon, blowing air out her nose and watching it billow against the wooden table she and Jonathan were sitting at. He was nursing a scotch. 17 years old and practically an alcoholic, just because whenever a bartender saw his face they nearly wet themselves. If Jon’s scars were good for anything, it was keeping people quite and far away from them. Ellen moved her chair closer to Jonathan, pressing her shoulder into his to generate some sort of body heat. He offered her a sip of his drink silently and Ellen shook her head, pillowing her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather, blood and his aftershave. He let her press against him, but didn’t do anything more than tolerate it.
That’s just the way he was.
Someone playing pool started yelling, ranting about the government and women and cylons. Ellen half listened, her thoughts mostly focused on why the hell a bar go-er would watch Battlestar Galactica, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, heavy, jerking her out of her thoughts and almost out of her chair. She was spun around, her ponytail whipping her in the side of the face with the momentum. Jonathan, glanced over at her, swirling the alcohol around in his glass, but didn’t make a move to interfere. He knew she could take care of herself, knew how she felt about him getting into bar fights. Especially when he was usually the only one walking out in the end. Ellen could smell the liquor on her assailants breath as he leaned into her personal space, staring at her breasts because, really, that was all she was. A pair of breasts that walked around kicking ass and taking names.
The drunk man may have said something to her, but Ellen wasn’t really paying attention, to busy trying not to be sick every time the guy opened his mouth. She stood up after catching something that sounded like ‘cunt’, slamming her elbow upwards and connecting solidly with the man’s face. He went down like a rock and she made a mental note to leave her mom and Auntie Sofia a message, knowing how proud they’d be.
The guys he was playing pool with were howling with laughter, oblivious that their friend was just taken out by a 90 pound blonde girl with a .38 revolver strapped to her ankle. Jonathan must have had enough public for the day, pushing his chair out of the table with the heels of his boots and climbing out. He drained his glass and dropped it onto the table, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t raise attention to himself.
Unfortunately the pool players must have been just as drunk as their friend, because they started catcalling and whistling at Ellen when Jon snagged her coat sleeve in order to get her to leave. One of them threw the cue chalk at them, and Ellen watched it soar through the air before hitting the toe of her boot. She could feel Jon’s ire rise and briefly panicked, thinking he would- hoping he wouldn’t turn around. She turned sharply, grabbing Jonathan’s arm before he could straighten up, giving him a warning look, asking him not to bother.
“Hey, babe!” Ellen wanted to close her eyes and brain herself on the wall. “Why don’t you ditch the boy toy and come hang out with some real men.”
She wanted to groan, because that was the wrong thing to say about Jonathan. She felt him stiffen at the comment and turn slowly, the light from the bar catching the planes of his face in all the right, scary ways. The bar fell completely silent, and someone dropped their pool cue.
“What a fucking freak.”
“Ellie, go outside,” said Jonathan in a low voice, but she hesitated. Leaving him meant that people might die. Figures he wouldn’t act this way if someone insulted her, but the moment someone question his alpha status he had to go pound his chest. “Now, Ellen.”
She hated when he talked like that. All authoritative and my word is law. Ellen pulled her hand away from his arm slowly and finally sighed in defeat. Jonathan took that as a ‘yes, I’m leaving, hold your horses’ and relaxed just a little bit, his hands sliding into his pockets, leaning back on his heels. He was going to tear their heads off.
“Bring it on, freak show!”
Ellen blinked and Jonathan was gone from his spot beside her, hoping over one of the bar tables and slamming a pool cue through the tallest mans torso. Ellen spun on her heel, facing away so she wouldn’t have to see the blood and tried to block out the sounds of screaming. She was huddled into herself, counting backwards from one hundred in Latin until she felt someone touch her shoulder. She jerked away and spun around, pulling her granddad’s dagger out of the back of her pants before she realized it was Jon and he was covered in blood and looking at her like he actually cared. She felt a wave of relief crash over her, because at least he wasn’t so far gone that he’d forgotten he cared just a little bit about her.
“You okay?” he asked, wiping blood spatter off his cheek with the back of his hand like it was no big deal because he always had blood on his face. Ellen nodded, but Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into the grin he so got from his dad. “Doesn’t mean anything unless you say it out loud.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” and she meant it. He could tell that and seemed satisfied because he jerked his head in the direction of the door.
“We should probably go before the cops show up.”
Ellen laughed out loud because they always left before the cops showed up. He held the door open for her, cracking a joke about how it was warmer outside than it was inside.
The first person he killed was a 32 year old man who held a gun to her head and told her to get on her knees. Technically it was what Dean called a ‘Bender’ and she justified that if he didn’t die it would have been someone else’s life he would have taken. Jonathan had left her with the car keys and walked away, down the highway and out of town. She had panicked, couldn’t stop calling him, couldn’t stop pacing, worrying if he wasn’t out killing someone else, because she knew that it was only a matter of time. The Bender was just the breaking of the dam, she knew, she knew he would kill someone. She wanted to be there to stop him from taking his own life as well. She couldn’t loose Jon.
When he finally did show up at their motel room he was cold and sweaty and covered in dirt. He was angry, too. His knuckles were split open from a bar fight, at least he said it was a bar fight. She knew he was lying because he always smelled like blood and he always drank if he went into a bar, looking to pick a fight or not. She went into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to keep the cuts from getting infected, but when she exited the bathroom and looked up he was standing on the other side of the room, his back dropped against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set. She dropped the washcloth in shock because she knew whatever it was he was thinking it wasn’t good.
“Did you miss me?”
Ellen didn’t respond. He was being sarcastic and scathing and mean. He wanted her to feel as worthless as he did and it was going to work if he kept it up. He smirked at her from across the room, but it quickly twisted into something else.
“HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT ME!” he roared, flinging himself from the wall, stalking across the room and grabbing her roughly. Ellen felt herself being walked backwards against the door she’d just come from, nearly winded when he slammed her against the now closed door. She could feel the wood splintering at her shoulder blades and all she could think was ‘how the hell is he this strong?’. He pressed his body into her when she didn’t answer, his breath hot on her face and one of his legs pressed between hers. Her heart was pounding with fear and lust because god she was so in love with him it hurt. It hurt like he hurt. He asked her the same question again, this time in a low growl, borderline pleading with her.
Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, feeling her arms start to tingle from the loss of blood, the spot where his leg pressed against her throbbing when she watched his eyes dart down to watch the movement of her tongue.
“Because I love you.”
Jonathan jerked away from her, his face darkening. She watched his hands clench at his sides like she had so many times before. He was angry. He thought she was lying. He thought she was making fun of him. Ellen wanted to be sick because that’s exactly the kind of self-loathing, self-conscious, irrational kind of thing he would think. He picked up his women at bars and fucked them in the alley way. He couldn’t have a relationship because he thought he was too damaged and thinking that, he really became damaged. The sharp tang of blood filled the room and Ellen started at the taste of blood in her mouth. She’d bitten almost clean through her bottom lip trying not to cry.
Jonathan stared at her, his chest rising and falling quickly before he jerked around, grabbing his jacket off the table, sending an empty pizza box flying to the floor at Ellen’s feet. She wouldn’t let herself follow him, she stayed perfectly still, staring at the spot where he’d been a moment before, waiting until the door slammed shut before she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
At that moment she knew why Jon always said he hated his life.
And she hated his life right back.
She was asleep when the motel door creaked open. Years of living with a younger brother in the midst of prank wars had caused her to be a light sleeper, and before the door was even open Ellen was awake, her eyes focused on the entrance. She felt herself sigh because it was just Jonathan, and he wasn’t as angry as he was when he left. He didn’t smell like blood, or sex so she didn’t let herself go completely off guard as he moved into the room, shutting the door behind him and letting the moonlight streaming in through the window guide him over to her bed. He sat down on the end of her bed, his head bent forward and his feet propped up on the metal bed frame. Ellen sat up slowly, her eyes trained on his back.
“Jon?”
“How, Ellie?” his voice was soft and low and it sounded like he’d been trying to come up with something different all night and had finally settled on that. She swallowed, feeling the emotion from early catch up with her. “How could you possibly say something like that to me?”
“You think I was lying,” her voice was just as soft, breathy, disbelieving, crushed. She wanted to burry her face back into her pillow and cry herself to sleep. She wanted to go home and crawl into her mom’s lap and listen to her rant about like father like son. Jonathan braced his hands against the bed, because he heard it in her voice too and he didn’t want to hear it.
“You’re either lying or you’re an idiot,” he said harshly, his words cutting her. She managed to choke back the sob in her throat, but the tears were another story. Jonathan stood up from her bed and crossed the room to his own, dropping into it and curling around a pillow, his hand gripping the handle of his favorite knife. He pretended he couldn’t hear her biting down on her lip to keep from screaming and she pretended he wasn’t really there.
Six am rolled around and they acted and pretended and believed everything was the way it was supposed to be.
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Fandom: CSI/Supernatural
Characters: Jonathan Winchester, Ellen Sanders
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor CSI. However, any and all characters you do not recognize are mine and should not be used without my permission. Cheers.
Author’s Note: Violence, swearing, murder. Written for spawnfic-tues. Jonathan is Dean’s and Sofia Curtis’ (CSI), whereas Ellen is Jo’s and Greg Sanders’ (CSI). You don’t need to know CSI to read, but it‘s a bonus. A bit of backstory on Jonathan, when he was 13 he and Dean were hunting a Wendigo, Jon was attacked and sustained gashes down his face and chest.
“I’m going with you.”
“Why the hell would you want to do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to get yourself killed.”
“You should be more worried that I’ll kill you.”
“You wont do that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re not that guy.”
“Yes. Yes, I am that guy, Ellie.”
“We’ll see.”
The scars on his face stood out under the dim bar lights. They were both huddled in leather jackets because it was too fucking cold not to. The bar owner must have forgotten to pay the heating bill, or else he didn’t care enough. It was snowing outside, which meant it was just as cold inside. Ellen could see her breath in the air, and was passing time by acting like a dragon, blowing air out her nose and watching it billow against the wooden table she and Jonathan were sitting at. He was nursing a scotch. 17 years old and practically an alcoholic, just because whenever a bartender saw his face they nearly wet themselves. If Jon’s scars were good for anything, it was keeping people quite and far away from them. Ellen moved her chair closer to Jonathan, pressing her shoulder into his to generate some sort of body heat. He offered her a sip of his drink silently and Ellen shook her head, pillowing her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather, blood and his aftershave. He let her press against him, but didn’t do anything more than tolerate it.
That’s just the way he was.
Someone playing pool started yelling, ranting about the government and women and cylons. Ellen half listened, her thoughts mostly focused on why the hell a bar go-er would watch Battlestar Galactica, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, heavy, jerking her out of her thoughts and almost out of her chair. She was spun around, her ponytail whipping her in the side of the face with the momentum. Jonathan, glanced over at her, swirling the alcohol around in his glass, but didn’t make a move to interfere. He knew she could take care of herself, knew how she felt about him getting into bar fights. Especially when he was usually the only one walking out in the end. Ellen could smell the liquor on her assailants breath as he leaned into her personal space, staring at her breasts because, really, that was all she was. A pair of breasts that walked around kicking ass and taking names.
The drunk man may have said something to her, but Ellen wasn’t really paying attention, to busy trying not to be sick every time the guy opened his mouth. She stood up after catching something that sounded like ‘cunt’, slamming her elbow upwards and connecting solidly with the man’s face. He went down like a rock and she made a mental note to leave her mom and Auntie Sofia a message, knowing how proud they’d be.
The guys he was playing pool with were howling with laughter, oblivious that their friend was just taken out by a 90 pound blonde girl with a .38 revolver strapped to her ankle. Jonathan must have had enough public for the day, pushing his chair out of the table with the heels of his boots and climbing out. He drained his glass and dropped it onto the table, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t raise attention to himself.
Unfortunately the pool players must have been just as drunk as their friend, because they started catcalling and whistling at Ellen when Jon snagged her coat sleeve in order to get her to leave. One of them threw the cue chalk at them, and Ellen watched it soar through the air before hitting the toe of her boot. She could feel Jon’s ire rise and briefly panicked, thinking he would- hoping he wouldn’t turn around. She turned sharply, grabbing Jonathan’s arm before he could straighten up, giving him a warning look, asking him not to bother.
“Hey, babe!” Ellen wanted to close her eyes and brain herself on the wall. “Why don’t you ditch the boy toy and come hang out with some real men.”
She wanted to groan, because that was the wrong thing to say about Jonathan. She felt him stiffen at the comment and turn slowly, the light from the bar catching the planes of his face in all the right, scary ways. The bar fell completely silent, and someone dropped their pool cue.
“What a fucking freak.”
“Ellie, go outside,” said Jonathan in a low voice, but she hesitated. Leaving him meant that people might die. Figures he wouldn’t act this way if someone insulted her, but the moment someone question his alpha status he had to go pound his chest. “Now, Ellen.”
She hated when he talked like that. All authoritative and my word is law. Ellen pulled her hand away from his arm slowly and finally sighed in defeat. Jonathan took that as a ‘yes, I’m leaving, hold your horses’ and relaxed just a little bit, his hands sliding into his pockets, leaning back on his heels. He was going to tear their heads off.
“Bring it on, freak show!”
Ellen blinked and Jonathan was gone from his spot beside her, hoping over one of the bar tables and slamming a pool cue through the tallest mans torso. Ellen spun on her heel, facing away so she wouldn’t have to see the blood and tried to block out the sounds of screaming. She was huddled into herself, counting backwards from one hundred in Latin until she felt someone touch her shoulder. She jerked away and spun around, pulling her granddad’s dagger out of the back of her pants before she realized it was Jon and he was covered in blood and looking at her like he actually cared. She felt a wave of relief crash over her, because at least he wasn’t so far gone that he’d forgotten he cared just a little bit about her.
“You okay?” he asked, wiping blood spatter off his cheek with the back of his hand like it was no big deal because he always had blood on his face. Ellen nodded, but Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into the grin he so got from his dad. “Doesn’t mean anything unless you say it out loud.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” and she meant it. He could tell that and seemed satisfied because he jerked his head in the direction of the door.
“We should probably go before the cops show up.”
Ellen laughed out loud because they always left before the cops showed up. He held the door open for her, cracking a joke about how it was warmer outside than it was inside.
The first person he killed was a 32 year old man who held a gun to her head and told her to get on her knees. Technically it was what Dean called a ‘Bender’ and she justified that if he didn’t die it would have been someone else’s life he would have taken. Jonathan had left her with the car keys and walked away, down the highway and out of town. She had panicked, couldn’t stop calling him, couldn’t stop pacing, worrying if he wasn’t out killing someone else, because she knew that it was only a matter of time. The Bender was just the breaking of the dam, she knew, she knew he would kill someone. She wanted to be there to stop him from taking his own life as well. She couldn’t loose Jon.
When he finally did show up at their motel room he was cold and sweaty and covered in dirt. He was angry, too. His knuckles were split open from a bar fight, at least he said it was a bar fight. She knew he was lying because he always smelled like blood and he always drank if he went into a bar, looking to pick a fight or not. She went into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to keep the cuts from getting infected, but when she exited the bathroom and looked up he was standing on the other side of the room, his back dropped against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set. She dropped the washcloth in shock because she knew whatever it was he was thinking it wasn’t good.
“Did you miss me?”
Ellen didn’t respond. He was being sarcastic and scathing and mean. He wanted her to feel as worthless as he did and it was going to work if he kept it up. He smirked at her from across the room, but it quickly twisted into something else.
“HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT ME!” he roared, flinging himself from the wall, stalking across the room and grabbing her roughly. Ellen felt herself being walked backwards against the door she’d just come from, nearly winded when he slammed her against the now closed door. She could feel the wood splintering at her shoulder blades and all she could think was ‘how the hell is he this strong?’. He pressed his body into her when she didn’t answer, his breath hot on her face and one of his legs pressed between hers. Her heart was pounding with fear and lust because god she was so in love with him it hurt. It hurt like he hurt. He asked her the same question again, this time in a low growl, borderline pleading with her.
Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, feeling her arms start to tingle from the loss of blood, the spot where his leg pressed against her throbbing when she watched his eyes dart down to watch the movement of her tongue.
“Because I love you.”
Jonathan jerked away from her, his face darkening. She watched his hands clench at his sides like she had so many times before. He was angry. He thought she was lying. He thought she was making fun of him. Ellen wanted to be sick because that’s exactly the kind of self-loathing, self-conscious, irrational kind of thing he would think. He picked up his women at bars and fucked them in the alley way. He couldn’t have a relationship because he thought he was too damaged and thinking that, he really became damaged. The sharp tang of blood filled the room and Ellen started at the taste of blood in her mouth. She’d bitten almost clean through her bottom lip trying not to cry.
Jonathan stared at her, his chest rising and falling quickly before he jerked around, grabbing his jacket off the table, sending an empty pizza box flying to the floor at Ellen’s feet. She wouldn’t let herself follow him, she stayed perfectly still, staring at the spot where he’d been a moment before, waiting until the door slammed shut before she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
At that moment she knew why Jon always said he hated his life.
And she hated his life right back.
She was asleep when the motel door creaked open. Years of living with a younger brother in the midst of prank wars had caused her to be a light sleeper, and before the door was even open Ellen was awake, her eyes focused on the entrance. She felt herself sigh because it was just Jonathan, and he wasn’t as angry as he was when he left. He didn’t smell like blood, or sex so she didn’t let herself go completely off guard as he moved into the room, shutting the door behind him and letting the moonlight streaming in through the window guide him over to her bed. He sat down on the end of her bed, his head bent forward and his feet propped up on the metal bed frame. Ellen sat up slowly, her eyes trained on his back.
“Jon?”
“How, Ellie?” his voice was soft and low and it sounded like he’d been trying to come up with something different all night and had finally settled on that. She swallowed, feeling the emotion from early catch up with her. “How could you possibly say something like that to me?”
“You think I was lying,” her voice was just as soft, breathy, disbelieving, crushed. She wanted to burry her face back into her pillow and cry herself to sleep. She wanted to go home and crawl into her mom’s lap and listen to her rant about like father like son. Jonathan braced his hands against the bed, because he heard it in her voice too and he didn’t want to hear it.
“You’re either lying or you’re an idiot,” he said harshly, his words cutting her. She managed to choke back the sob in her throat, but the tears were another story. Jonathan stood up from her bed and crossed the room to his own, dropping into it and curling around a pillow, his hand gripping the handle of his favorite knife. He pretended he couldn’t hear her biting down on her lip to keep from screaming and she pretended he wasn’t really there.
Six am rolled around and they acted and pretended and believed everything was the way it was supposed to be.