One shot
As a rule, Ellen was an early riser. Coffee in hand, she was up, showered and on her way to the Roadhouse just as dawn was breaking over the horizon. She was mentally running through inventory and what orders needed to be made before Thursday when she pulled into the drive and frowned. The door to the front of the bar had been jimmied open. She swore under her breath and reached for the sawed-off shotgun she kept in the cab of her truck. Goddamn hunters. Some days she wondered if it wouldn't just be easier to leave the place completely unlocked; she had to get the lock replaced almost twice a month.
Her steps were light and careful as she cleared the doorway. Ellen knew her bar; she knew every floorboard that creaked and every squeaky step. Hunters had offered to repair them for her, but she always declined. The familiar noises made the place more comfortable for all of them and it also provided a handy early warning system should a newcomer arrive unexpectedly. The door swung slowly open beneath her hand and she saw a dark shape hunched over the side of the bar.
"Gonna shoot me with that, Ellen?"
Well, well. That wasn't a voice she expected to hear again. Annoyed, she didn't lower the shotgun immediately. "After what you did to my door? I oughta fill your hide fulla rock salt just on principle." Ellen hadn't missed the pain in his voice, or the odd way he was standing. He was injured, and while things had been strained between them after Bill's death, she had long since forgiven him. John Winchester, deeply flawed as he might be, was still a good man. She crossed the room and set the shotgun on the bar between them. The building had sufficent demonic wards surrounding it that she was confident it was truly the hunter and not some sort of demonic impersonator.
"There's a room set up in the back. Go get cleaned up and stop bleeding all over my damned bar," she said briskly. John wouldn't have come this far or risked breaking in unless he was in serious trouble. He was a fellow hunter and a friend and history be damned, she wasn't going to turn him away.
"Ellen--"
What was it with the man and wanting to rehash past mistakes? She grasped his shoulder and turned him to face her. "Me and you, we've been over this John. Bill shouldn't have gone on that hunt and you and I both know that he shouldn't have died out there. But I've had to let that go and I forgive you for what happened. You're here because you need help and I ain't gonna turn you out. Get into the back and see to yourself. There are medical supplies in the back, when Ash gets here, I'll have him bring you something to eat."
She moved past him and back behind the bar. There was coffee that needed to be started before she could even consider inventory. Coffee started, Ellen bent to survey the half-empty cooler, noting that she hadn't heard John move. "If I turn around and you're still giving me that hangdog look of yours, I will shoot you in the ass with rocksalt."
There was a brief, pained chuckle as he moved away. "Yes ma'am."
Her steps were light and careful as she cleared the doorway. Ellen knew her bar; she knew every floorboard that creaked and every squeaky step. Hunters had offered to repair them for her, but she always declined. The familiar noises made the place more comfortable for all of them and it also provided a handy early warning system should a newcomer arrive unexpectedly. The door swung slowly open beneath her hand and she saw a dark shape hunched over the side of the bar.
"Gonna shoot me with that, Ellen?"
Well, well. That wasn't a voice she expected to hear again. Annoyed, she didn't lower the shotgun immediately. "After what you did to my door? I oughta fill your hide fulla rock salt just on principle." Ellen hadn't missed the pain in his voice, or the odd way he was standing. He was injured, and while things had been strained between them after Bill's death, she had long since forgiven him. John Winchester, deeply flawed as he might be, was still a good man. She crossed the room and set the shotgun on the bar between them. The building had sufficent demonic wards surrounding it that she was confident it was truly the hunter and not some sort of demonic impersonator.
"There's a room set up in the back. Go get cleaned up and stop bleeding all over my damned bar," she said briskly. John wouldn't have come this far or risked breaking in unless he was in serious trouble. He was a fellow hunter and a friend and history be damned, she wasn't going to turn him away.
"Ellen--"
What was it with the man and wanting to rehash past mistakes? She grasped his shoulder and turned him to face her. "Me and you, we've been over this John. Bill shouldn't have gone on that hunt and you and I both know that he shouldn't have died out there. But I've had to let that go and I forgive you for what happened. You're here because you need help and I ain't gonna turn you out. Get into the back and see to yourself. There are medical supplies in the back, when Ash gets here, I'll have him bring you something to eat."
She moved past him and back behind the bar. There was coffee that needed to be started before she could even consider inventory. Coffee started, Ellen bent to survey the half-empty cooler, noting that she hadn't heard John move. "If I turn around and you're still giving me that hangdog look of yours, I will shoot you in the ass with rocksalt."
There was a brief, pained chuckle as he moved away. "Yes ma'am."