last self-indulgent snippet from this thing before it's finished, promise!
Another scene, still rough and definitely gonna get revised, but I'M STILL WRITING AGAIN OMG. \o/ I'll give too much else away about it if I post any more of this while it's in progress but, man, I just couldn't resist slamming this up.
If you haven't read the first couple of pages, you can find it here. Again, despite what Dean's got going on here, the story's going in a different direction. (Because, dammit, I AM IN CONTROL. I AM.)
Also, don't forget there are spoilers for the season finale within.
****
The next thing Ellen had known, both she and Dean had been laughing against each other's mouths. Laughing at themselves, laughing at each other, laughing just because, sweet Jesus, they were all still here and still alive and they'd proven themselves to literally be tougher than hell.
And when Bobby had helped her up, still laughing, she had surprised him with a kiss, too. He'd been about to say her name when she did and the first syllable had accidentally slipped into her mouth along with the tip of his tongue. Still giddy with relief, she'd reflexively flicked her own tongue against his, too damned glad right then not to share a breath with one of her oldest, dearest friends, before she'd let him go.
Blushing under the brim of his gimme cap, Bobby had given her an incredulous look then had muttered "...women" to the filthy night sky with a shake of his head.
Ellen would have kissed Sam, too, but when she'd turned to him, he'd ducked his head and moved away, ostensibly to grab a pickaxe and shovel from the back of Bobby's truck. Her laughter had quieted into a sigh. Dean wasn't the only one who'd need some tending, she'd remembered then, all too aware of the distance Sam had kept from her before they'd hit the road and why.
She'd decided to take care of Dean first but she'd hoped Sam realized they'd be talking soon. At gunpoint, if necessary, just the way she'd had to do with their daddy those years ago so she could tell John that she'd forgiven him for what had happened to Bill.
Winchesters, Ellen now thought, kneeling over Dean in the sparse, flattened grass. Every last one of them had been a pain in her ass at some point, had broken her heart just a little, and every last one of them had become as dear to her as family. Hell, if her own stubborn and blessedly safe kid was any indication, being a pain in her ass and breaking her heart was what had made them family.
Ellen shifted, trying to improve her angle as she neared Dean's hairline. She was working as quickly as she could with the needle and thread by the light of a battery-operated lantern. She absently noted that, as yet, not a single bug had been drawn by its light and not a sound stirred beyond the graveyard. She frowned faintly at that.
As safe as they were within the giant devil's trap from anything getting back in at them, there was definitely no doubt that the sooner they were out of this place, the better.
Behind her, the shovels chuffed steadily through the dirt as Bobby and Sam worked. Her thoughts turned back to John and his boys and Ellen felt her long-standing mix of love, compassion, and raging desire to throttle some sense into them. Bobby had told her awhile back about his suspicions about what John had done in the hospital. If he was right, then Ellen had every reason to believe that there were plenty of demons still stuck in hell who were mighty relieved that John Winchester had escaped that night. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if they'd outright kicked his ass out of the place as soon as they'd realized that yellow-eyed bastard was too distracted to stop 'em.
"What are you smiling about?" Dean asked in a strained voice as she tied off the last stitch the gash in his head needed. Ellen guessed she was about as glad as Dean was that she was finished with those damned stitches, especially since she wasn't the one taking nips out of the one flask Bobby carried that didn't have holy water in it.
Ellen moved the lantern out of the way and helped Dean sit up. Taking the flask from him and setting it aside, she steadied him when he swayed briefly. Ellen decided she might as well answer him honestly.
"Just thinking about your dad, hon," she said gently. "Hell's probably gonna be downright boring now that he's moved on." Ellen touched Dean's cheek then reached for the first aid kit.
Dean caught her hand first and held it tightly. Probably more tightly than he knew, Ellen realized when she looked up at him in surprise. She watched his eyes widen as he studied her face.
"You saw him? You saw Dad, too?" Dean looked so young as he spoke, so much like the little boy in the faded pictures that John had always had on him.
"Yeah, I did," Ellen said quietly, "and I'm pretty sure Bobby did, too." She thought about adding something more, maybe about how proud John had been of him and Sam, but fell quiet. She'd tended bar too long not to recognize when she needed to listen. Ellen just brushed her thumb over his fingers, waiting for him to speak again.
"He--" Dean stopped, swallowed hard. The lamp, too low to light his face, caught the way his adam's apple bobbed. Dean glanced past her, probably to make sure Sam was still out of earshot. His voice low, Dean said, "He looked okay before he went. I mean, like things were okay for him now. Like he wasn't going back to hell or somewhere that sucked. You know?"
He finally met her eyes again. Even in the unclean darkness, Ellen could see the fragile hope in his face.
"I know, Dean. He made it out, free and clear," she said, her voice coming out almost as quietly as a whisper. Suddenly fighting back tears, Ellen squeezed his hand hard. "And, sweetie, I want you to listen to me. There wasn't a single damned thing for him to regret about you and Sam, not anything about who you are or what you've done, which is why he didn't wind up stuck here, either."
Dean turned his head away from the lamplight, from her, but he didn't let go of her hand. Her legs were getting tired and she wanted to check her phone now to see if Jo had returned any of her messages, but she stayed put because she knew what Dean had been through in the past few days.
Ellen listened to the way Bobby and Sam's soft voices carried in the unnaturally quiet night and the steady chuff, thunk of shovels turning earth. The conversation Dean and Sam had had by the car had carried just as clearly, enough so that she had finally made sense of what little she'd heard Bobby and Dean saying out in Bobby's junkyard.
Dean blotted his jacket cuff against his eyes with his free hand. He looked back up at her and gave her a crooked smile. He was too good of a poker player not to read her face but she wasn't exactly trying to bluff him right then, either.
"So you know." He made a soft sound that was probably meant to pass as a laugh. "And you're not going to yell at me about it? Wow."
"Oh, lord god, like yelling at a Winchester ever does any good," Ellen told him. "Even braining you stubborn jackasses isn't guaranteed to get a point across."
Dean suddenly smiled up at her for real. Ellen took the opportunity to shift, moving so that she still faced him but with her aching legs stretched out under the back of the Impala and her hip against Dean's thigh. She sighed.
"Look, what I think about what you did for Sam, that doesn't matter. I know why you did it, Dean. I know what it's like to be the one who's left behind. Bill, Jo, everyone back at my place--" Ellen had to stop for a moment, unable to trust herself not to break down completely. She bit her lip and took a slow breath. When she blinked, a couple of heavy tears fell and new ones filled her eyes. "Some days, it seems like I've been the one who's been left behind my whole life. So, no, Dean. I'm not gonna yell at you. Not for what you did."
A couple of tears slid down Dean's cheeks while she spoke. Ellen pulled him toward her now, catching him at an awkward angle in a careful hug. Dean managed to rest his wet cheek against her shoulder, crying silently. Ellen pressed a kiss into his dirty hair, crying just as silently with him and for him -- for everyone she'd lost and was afraid she'd lose -- and rocked him in a slow sway. All the while, Ellen thought about how glad she was to hold him since her own baby was still so far away. She wondered if she'd ever stopped being thankful that Jo had run off after their last big fight.
After a while, she heard the sound of both corpses dropped into the grave Bobby and Sam had dug for them. Dean sat up at the sound, pulling up the collar of his shirt to wipe at his face.
"Man, I've been hanging out with Sammy too much. I'm starting to turn into a total wuss," Dean said.
Ellen bit back a smile while she dried her own tears and said, "Well, I guess maybe you are. You didn't even try to cop a feel. You sure that knock to your head didn't leave you completely addled?" She peered at him with feigned concern.
Dean cut a hot-eyed look at her, one that was no less smoldering despite his wet lashes and bruised skin.
"I could fix that," he said in a husky voice. "The not-copping-a-feel part."
"And I could fix you if you try," Ellen told him. She backhanded the side of his leg and he grinned, unrepentant. "Now, tip your head this way so I can finish patching you up."
If you haven't read the first couple of pages, you can find it here. Again, despite what Dean's got going on here, the story's going in a different direction. (Because, dammit, I AM IN CONTROL. I AM.)
Also, don't forget there are spoilers for the season finale within.
****
The next thing Ellen had known, both she and Dean had been laughing against each other's mouths. Laughing at themselves, laughing at each other, laughing just because, sweet Jesus, they were all still here and still alive and they'd proven themselves to literally be tougher than hell.
And when Bobby had helped her up, still laughing, she had surprised him with a kiss, too. He'd been about to say her name when she did and the first syllable had accidentally slipped into her mouth along with the tip of his tongue. Still giddy with relief, she'd reflexively flicked her own tongue against his, too damned glad right then not to share a breath with one of her oldest, dearest friends, before she'd let him go.
Blushing under the brim of his gimme cap, Bobby had given her an incredulous look then had muttered "...women" to the filthy night sky with a shake of his head.
Ellen would have kissed Sam, too, but when she'd turned to him, he'd ducked his head and moved away, ostensibly to grab a pickaxe and shovel from the back of Bobby's truck. Her laughter had quieted into a sigh. Dean wasn't the only one who'd need some tending, she'd remembered then, all too aware of the distance Sam had kept from her before they'd hit the road and why.
She'd decided to take care of Dean first but she'd hoped Sam realized they'd be talking soon. At gunpoint, if necessary, just the way she'd had to do with their daddy those years ago so she could tell John that she'd forgiven him for what had happened to Bill.
Winchesters, Ellen now thought, kneeling over Dean in the sparse, flattened grass. Every last one of them had been a pain in her ass at some point, had broken her heart just a little, and every last one of them had become as dear to her as family. Hell, if her own stubborn and blessedly safe kid was any indication, being a pain in her ass and breaking her heart was what had made them family.
Ellen shifted, trying to improve her angle as she neared Dean's hairline. She was working as quickly as she could with the needle and thread by the light of a battery-operated lantern. She absently noted that, as yet, not a single bug had been drawn by its light and not a sound stirred beyond the graveyard. She frowned faintly at that.
As safe as they were within the giant devil's trap from anything getting back in at them, there was definitely no doubt that the sooner they were out of this place, the better.
Behind her, the shovels chuffed steadily through the dirt as Bobby and Sam worked. Her thoughts turned back to John and his boys and Ellen felt her long-standing mix of love, compassion, and raging desire to throttle some sense into them. Bobby had told her awhile back about his suspicions about what John had done in the hospital. If he was right, then Ellen had every reason to believe that there were plenty of demons still stuck in hell who were mighty relieved that John Winchester had escaped that night. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if they'd outright kicked his ass out of the place as soon as they'd realized that yellow-eyed bastard was too distracted to stop 'em.
"What are you smiling about?" Dean asked in a strained voice as she tied off the last stitch the gash in his head needed. Ellen guessed she was about as glad as Dean was that she was finished with those damned stitches, especially since she wasn't the one taking nips out of the one flask Bobby carried that didn't have holy water in it.
Ellen moved the lantern out of the way and helped Dean sit up. Taking the flask from him and setting it aside, she steadied him when he swayed briefly. Ellen decided she might as well answer him honestly.
"Just thinking about your dad, hon," she said gently. "Hell's probably gonna be downright boring now that he's moved on." Ellen touched Dean's cheek then reached for the first aid kit.
Dean caught her hand first and held it tightly. Probably more tightly than he knew, Ellen realized when she looked up at him in surprise. She watched his eyes widen as he studied her face.
"You saw him? You saw Dad, too?" Dean looked so young as he spoke, so much like the little boy in the faded pictures that John had always had on him.
"Yeah, I did," Ellen said quietly, "and I'm pretty sure Bobby did, too." She thought about adding something more, maybe about how proud John had been of him and Sam, but fell quiet. She'd tended bar too long not to recognize when she needed to listen. Ellen just brushed her thumb over his fingers, waiting for him to speak again.
"He--" Dean stopped, swallowed hard. The lamp, too low to light his face, caught the way his adam's apple bobbed. Dean glanced past her, probably to make sure Sam was still out of earshot. His voice low, Dean said, "He looked okay before he went. I mean, like things were okay for him now. Like he wasn't going back to hell or somewhere that sucked. You know?"
He finally met her eyes again. Even in the unclean darkness, Ellen could see the fragile hope in his face.
"I know, Dean. He made it out, free and clear," she said, her voice coming out almost as quietly as a whisper. Suddenly fighting back tears, Ellen squeezed his hand hard. "And, sweetie, I want you to listen to me. There wasn't a single damned thing for him to regret about you and Sam, not anything about who you are or what you've done, which is why he didn't wind up stuck here, either."
Dean turned his head away from the lamplight, from her, but he didn't let go of her hand. Her legs were getting tired and she wanted to check her phone now to see if Jo had returned any of her messages, but she stayed put because she knew what Dean had been through in the past few days.
Ellen listened to the way Bobby and Sam's soft voices carried in the unnaturally quiet night and the steady chuff, thunk of shovels turning earth. The conversation Dean and Sam had had by the car had carried just as clearly, enough so that she had finally made sense of what little she'd heard Bobby and Dean saying out in Bobby's junkyard.
Dean blotted his jacket cuff against his eyes with his free hand. He looked back up at her and gave her a crooked smile. He was too good of a poker player not to read her face but she wasn't exactly trying to bluff him right then, either.
"So you know." He made a soft sound that was probably meant to pass as a laugh. "And you're not going to yell at me about it? Wow."
"Oh, lord god, like yelling at a Winchester ever does any good," Ellen told him. "Even braining you stubborn jackasses isn't guaranteed to get a point across."
Dean suddenly smiled up at her for real. Ellen took the opportunity to shift, moving so that she still faced him but with her aching legs stretched out under the back of the Impala and her hip against Dean's thigh. She sighed.
"Look, what I think about what you did for Sam, that doesn't matter. I know why you did it, Dean. I know what it's like to be the one who's left behind. Bill, Jo, everyone back at my place--" Ellen had to stop for a moment, unable to trust herself not to break down completely. She bit her lip and took a slow breath. When she blinked, a couple of heavy tears fell and new ones filled her eyes. "Some days, it seems like I've been the one who's been left behind my whole life. So, no, Dean. I'm not gonna yell at you. Not for what you did."
A couple of tears slid down Dean's cheeks while she spoke. Ellen pulled him toward her now, catching him at an awkward angle in a careful hug. Dean managed to rest his wet cheek against her shoulder, crying silently. Ellen pressed a kiss into his dirty hair, crying just as silently with him and for him -- for everyone she'd lost and was afraid she'd lose -- and rocked him in a slow sway. All the while, Ellen thought about how glad she was to hold him since her own baby was still so far away. She wondered if she'd ever stopped being thankful that Jo had run off after their last big fight.
After a while, she heard the sound of both corpses dropped into the grave Bobby and Sam had dug for them. Dean sat up at the sound, pulling up the collar of his shirt to wipe at his face.
"Man, I've been hanging out with Sammy too much. I'm starting to turn into a total wuss," Dean said.
Ellen bit back a smile while she dried her own tears and said, "Well, I guess maybe you are. You didn't even try to cop a feel. You sure that knock to your head didn't leave you completely addled?" She peered at him with feigned concern.
Dean cut a hot-eyed look at her, one that was no less smoldering despite his wet lashes and bruised skin.
"I could fix that," he said in a husky voice. "The not-copping-a-feel part."
"And I could fix you if you try," Ellen told him. She backhanded the side of his leg and he grinned, unrepentant. "Now, tip your head this way so I can finish patching you up."