Ellen/Dean, PG
Title: Currently untitled
Rating: PG
Characters: Ellen, Dean
Word count: 610
Spoilers: Season 2 finale? Heh.
Summary: Dean seeks comfort from the bottle, and Ellen.
Back at Bobby's, Ellen and Dean were the only ones still awake. After a few hours of something that was part celebration, part memorial, part business meeting, Sam and Bobby eventually drifted to their respective corners.
Ellen was quiet, deep in thought, as she shuffled a deck of cards. Next to her was a barely-sipped-on tumbler of whiskey.
Dean was on the old beat up sofa staring at the devil's trap on the ceiling. He drank nearly half the bottle of Jack that he was 'sharing' with Ellen. He was out of it, with jumbled thoughts of Yellow Eyes, and the appearance of his father, his deal, Sam's survival. To him, the only thing that mattered was the latter, especially now, his dad had moved on, Yellow Eyes was gone. No one mattered but Sam, not even himself.
Dean knew it was selfish and foolish underneath the selflessness of it all, but... He couldn't have it the other way around. Alive without Sam, without his Dad, without his mother, or anyone that truly made him feel alive.
He'd have other hunters, maybe. He'd have demons to kill, he'd have a darkness he could delve into, but it would just make him empty, he'd end up like something akin to Gordon Walker. He saw it as he thought of it; constantly making decisions that weren't thought out, decisions fueled by hate, decisions that wouldn't be approved of by the ones that gave his life meaning now.
It did occur to him; Sam's grief, he'd be alone too. But eventually he would move on, and there would be endless possibilities, he could go back to Stanford with that big brain of his and use it on something normal. He could get his Apple Pie Life.
Ellen's shuffling stopped, causing Dean to snap out of it. "Gonna look at that thing til sun up?" She asked.
Dean almost forgot she was in the room, shuffling and all. "I don't know," he said, sitting up from his inclined position. Dizziness overtook him for a moment, before his mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "Got something better I can look at?"
Ellen pointed at him in warning. "Don't get coarse with me, boy."
Dean was only a little scared. He took a long swig from the bottle, breathing in deep when he put it down. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harvelle," he said, widening his smile.
"You think you're charming. But you aren't."
"Not even a little?" Dean asked. He started to rise from the couch only to fall back down.
Dean watched as Ellen's expression turned soft, her gaze almost nurturing. Dean looked at her, he found it too appealing, appealing in a way that would make him spill his guts, burst into tears and possibly beg for something, anything to redeem him.
"Don't do that," he said, looking away.
"Don't do what, exactly?"
"Look at me like that, like some wounded and abandoned child in need of a surrogate mother."
"You have no idea what I'm thinking."
"Yeah, well, I got an idea."
Ellen didn't say anything, she just grabbed the unfinished whiskey next to her and downed it to the last drop. When she looked over at Dean her cheeks were ruddy. She started to move from her spot, "Well, I'm gonna get some shut-eye. You oughtta try it," she told him.
Dean nodded halfheartedly. But just as she walked past him, he grabbed her wrist. "Wait..."
She looked at his hand on her wrist, then met his eyes. "What, Dean?"
His voice cracked. "Can you just sit here with me?"
Ellen sighed, and gave him a small smile. "Yeah. Sure."
END
Rating: PG
Characters: Ellen, Dean
Word count: 610
Spoilers: Season 2 finale? Heh.
Summary: Dean seeks comfort from the bottle, and Ellen.
Back at Bobby's, Ellen and Dean were the only ones still awake. After a few hours of something that was part celebration, part memorial, part business meeting, Sam and Bobby eventually drifted to their respective corners.
Ellen was quiet, deep in thought, as she shuffled a deck of cards. Next to her was a barely-sipped-on tumbler of whiskey.
Dean was on the old beat up sofa staring at the devil's trap on the ceiling. He drank nearly half the bottle of Jack that he was 'sharing' with Ellen. He was out of it, with jumbled thoughts of Yellow Eyes, and the appearance of his father, his deal, Sam's survival. To him, the only thing that mattered was the latter, especially now, his dad had moved on, Yellow Eyes was gone. No one mattered but Sam, not even himself.
Dean knew it was selfish and foolish underneath the selflessness of it all, but... He couldn't have it the other way around. Alive without Sam, without his Dad, without his mother, or anyone that truly made him feel alive.
He'd have other hunters, maybe. He'd have demons to kill, he'd have a darkness he could delve into, but it would just make him empty, he'd end up like something akin to Gordon Walker. He saw it as he thought of it; constantly making decisions that weren't thought out, decisions fueled by hate, decisions that wouldn't be approved of by the ones that gave his life meaning now.
It did occur to him; Sam's grief, he'd be alone too. But eventually he would move on, and there would be endless possibilities, he could go back to Stanford with that big brain of his and use it on something normal. He could get his Apple Pie Life.
Ellen's shuffling stopped, causing Dean to snap out of it. "Gonna look at that thing til sun up?" She asked.
Dean almost forgot she was in the room, shuffling and all. "I don't know," he said, sitting up from his inclined position. Dizziness overtook him for a moment, before his mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "Got something better I can look at?"
Ellen pointed at him in warning. "Don't get coarse with me, boy."
Dean was only a little scared. He took a long swig from the bottle, breathing in deep when he put it down. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harvelle," he said, widening his smile.
"You think you're charming. But you aren't."
"Not even a little?" Dean asked. He started to rise from the couch only to fall back down.
Dean watched as Ellen's expression turned soft, her gaze almost nurturing. Dean looked at her, he found it too appealing, appealing in a way that would make him spill his guts, burst into tears and possibly beg for something, anything to redeem him.
"Don't do that," he said, looking away.
"Don't do what, exactly?"
"Look at me like that, like some wounded and abandoned child in need of a surrogate mother."
"You have no idea what I'm thinking."
"Yeah, well, I got an idea."
Ellen didn't say anything, she just grabbed the unfinished whiskey next to her and downed it to the last drop. When she looked over at Dean her cheeks were ruddy. She started to move from her spot, "Well, I'm gonna get some shut-eye. You oughtta try it," she told him.
Dean nodded halfheartedly. But just as she walked past him, he grabbed her wrist. "Wait..."
She looked at his hand on her wrist, then met his eyes. "What, Dean?"
His voice cracked. "Can you just sit here with me?"
Ellen sighed, and gave him a small smile. "Yeah. Sure."
END