(fic) Lead, Follow or Get Out of the Way - SPN
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write
Pairing or Characters Involved: Ash
Category: General
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Title: Lead, Follow or Get Out of the Way
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for the LiveJournal community, spnland_writing. Dr. Badass challenge.
Ash wasn’t blind. And he wasn’t deaf. He knew that the rough and tumble men and women that frequented Ellen’s bar weren’t your average 9 to 5 crowd. For one, they really knew how to dress. Nary a power suit or jacket in the joint. Blue jeans, tee-shirts and flannel all the way, baby.
Two, they smelled better. Blood, gunpowder and beer. Toss in the aroma of beer nuts and he was in heaven.
Three, he wasn’t no snoop, but you sit at a bar long enough and you begin to pick up a few things. Werewolves and skinwalkers and demons. Oh, my. There was definitely something different about this bar.
But different didn’t necessarily mean bad.
So, one day, when Ellen Harvelle was talking with a feller he’s seen around - John Winchester, like the gun, how awesome was that? - he’d felt pretty confident moseying over and taking an empty stool beside them.
They stopped talking immediately and just looked at him, a look that would surely kill if he had misjudged this.
“I hear you’re having problems with a pack of black dogs,” He drawled, setting his handy-dandy laptop on the bar. “Maybe I can help.”
THE END
Pairing or Characters Involved: Ash
Category: General
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Title: Lead, Follow or Get Out of the Way
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for the LiveJournal community, spnland_writing. Dr. Badass challenge.
Ash wasn’t blind. And he wasn’t deaf. He knew that the rough and tumble men and women that frequented Ellen’s bar weren’t your average 9 to 5 crowd. For one, they really knew how to dress. Nary a power suit or jacket in the joint. Blue jeans, tee-shirts and flannel all the way, baby.
Two, they smelled better. Blood, gunpowder and beer. Toss in the aroma of beer nuts and he was in heaven.
Three, he wasn’t no snoop, but you sit at a bar long enough and you begin to pick up a few things. Werewolves and skinwalkers and demons. Oh, my. There was definitely something different about this bar.
But different didn’t necessarily mean bad.
So, one day, when Ellen Harvelle was talking with a feller he’s seen around - John Winchester, like the gun, how awesome was that? - he’d felt pretty confident moseying over and taking an empty stool beside them.
They stopped talking immediately and just looked at him, a look that would surely kill if he had misjudged this.
“I hear you’re having problems with a pack of black dogs,” He drawled, setting his handy-dandy laptop on the bar. “Maybe I can help.”
THE END