Superstition ain't the way.
Author: kansas
Title: Superstition ain't the way
Rating: R
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Ellen/Dean
Notes: Title from "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder. No S3 spoilers. For meredevachon, for spn_holidays.
Ellen grew up with the idea that if you could think of all the permutations of what could go wrong, none of those things could actually happen. What no one told her was that of course the one thing that isn't thought of will be the one that happened.
She had all kinds of ideas for the way she'd lose Bill, from car accidents to cancer to so many different kinds of bad guys. But the one way she didn't think of... that's the way she lost him.
Still, she's superstitious. The hunters are superstitious. She's raised Jo to be superstitious, to believe in the things they can't understand or see -- but Jo blows her off more often than not, the way kids do with their parents. Jo will learn, one day, and Ellen just hopes... She hopes Jo doesn't pay the price in blood the way Ellen's done.
Ellen takes it seriously. She doesn't change the beds on Fridays so that no one's bad dreams will be encouraged, and she doesn't start trips on Fridays either, if she can help it. Nobody puts their hats on beds in her house, and nobody sleeps north-south. She doesn't kill spiders, and she carries a blue bead in her pocket to protect against witches.
The blue bead thing actually works. She doesn't know why she was surprised. After that, she planted rosemary by every single door.
**
Ellen knew Dean Winchester would be trouble when she dreamed about him eating almonds the night they met.
She's always met trouble head-on, though, and with a rifle, and this time wasn't gonna be the exception.
**
Dean, Ellen learns, carves a cross into bread loaves before he cutting them. She doesn't know where that's from or what it means, but it's got all the hallmarks of a hunter superstition, especially since she knows that Dean's not a particularly religious man. She's seen him walk right by coins that are tails up, and burn his fingernail cuttings, and throw a pinch of salt over his shoulder.
Hunter superstitions. Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean Winchester... he takes it serious, and Ellen... Ellen's inclined to take him serious, too, even though sometimes she'd like to wring his neck.
**
Dean's tender where she expects him to be rough, and bites when she expects a kiss. He knows what she wants before she does, shoving two fingers into her, or licking her for an hour. Sometimes he's fast, bending her over and splitting her in two, but once, twice, he's been slow, smooth movements in and out for what felt like hours. He whispers dirty into her ears, and makes her feel like a teenager again, making out in the back of her boyfriend's daddy's truck, before she knew of all the things that went bump in the night.
**
If Ellen had a son instead of a daughter -- or in addition to, maybe. If Ellen had a son with John, which she almost did, they stopped a breath away from each other's mouths. If, if, if. If Dean were Ellen's son, what they do would be illegal.
**
Once, after sex, late at night, he cried into her neck, and she woke up an hour later itchy, with salt tracks on her collarbone. She never said anything to him about it, and he never said anything to her, but he was jauntier that day, whistling as he and Sam left the roadhouse.
That night they swung back around, and while Sam drank beer and ate peanuts and listened to old timey stories about how it used to be when demons were demons and there was none of the bullshit, yadda yadda, what the fuck ever, Dean snuck up on her in the back room.
He swung her around and kissed her until her knees were weak. Lord, the boy could kiss. His lips were always soft, slightly chapped; his mouth always tasted faintly of parsley and mint, like he chewed on herbs before coming to her.
Dean sucked on her neck and then on her breasts, and took his time sucking on her clit, making her hold back a scream by biting on her hand until she bled. Then he licked up the blood -- so dirty -- and let her go down on him, one of the only times.
She's not gonna psychoanalyze what his problem is with her on her knees. She's not gonna think about how much she looks like his dead mama, and she's not gonna think about how much he looks like his dead daddy. She just sinks to her knees, unbuttons his fly, and takes his cock into her mouth.
Dean is thick and heavy on her tongue, smells like boy and iron and fighting, smells like living. He's careful not to pull her hair too much, and she wishes he would, thinks about what it would be like if he'd just let go, let his hips snap forward, let his fingers tangle in her hair, let his teeth sink into her lips, her skin.
When he comes, he bangs his fist on the wall, and Jo calls out, "You okay in there?" and Ellen, around her bruised throat, manages to reply, "I'm good, honey." Dean winks at her when she says this, back to being Dean.
**
Ellen never thought. She just never thought. Dean had his eye on Jo, for a while; Ellen didn't realize it was as a kid sister, not as a love interest. Maybe she's getting old. Maybe she's losing it. She's definitely old enough to be Dean's mama, but when he's in her bed, it doesn't seem to matter.
He doesn't seem to care.
It started before he sold his soul, or she'd be suspicious. He's a little empty now; she can see it in his eyes. Something's missing, a little part of him. But it keeps him coming back to her, more and more often, sometimes smelling of other women. Once of a man. She's not stupid, she can tell.
"I've got to," he said, and ripped the button off her jeans. "I've -- I need --"
"I got you," she said into his neck, and let him take her on the glossy new bar of her glossy new place. "I got you."
He gets her off, always, before he comes, and that's a superstition too. If she comes first, she won't leave him. She can tell, because she's got her own.
They're less, she thinks, superstitions, and more talismans.
She'll be his talisman, especially now. Ellen's used to being an object for the hunters, used to sacrificing for the worthiest causes, and she can't think of a better thing to sacrifice for than Dean Winchester's last days before he's taken into hell.
**
Sure, Sam might be able to stop it, but Ellen's not laying bets on that. She learned her lesson before, and, talismans or not, she's got her superstitions.
Title: Superstition ain't the way
Rating: R
Fandom: SPN
Pairing: Ellen/Dean
Notes: Title from "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder. No S3 spoilers. For meredevachon, for spn_holidays.
Ellen grew up with the idea that if you could think of all the permutations of what could go wrong, none of those things could actually happen. What no one told her was that of course the one thing that isn't thought of will be the one that happened.
She had all kinds of ideas for the way she'd lose Bill, from car accidents to cancer to so many different kinds of bad guys. But the one way she didn't think of... that's the way she lost him.
Still, she's superstitious. The hunters are superstitious. She's raised Jo to be superstitious, to believe in the things they can't understand or see -- but Jo blows her off more often than not, the way kids do with their parents. Jo will learn, one day, and Ellen just hopes... She hopes Jo doesn't pay the price in blood the way Ellen's done.
Ellen takes it seriously. She doesn't change the beds on Fridays so that no one's bad dreams will be encouraged, and she doesn't start trips on Fridays either, if she can help it. Nobody puts their hats on beds in her house, and nobody sleeps north-south. She doesn't kill spiders, and she carries a blue bead in her pocket to protect against witches.
The blue bead thing actually works. She doesn't know why she was surprised. After that, she planted rosemary by every single door.
**
Ellen knew Dean Winchester would be trouble when she dreamed about him eating almonds the night they met.
She's always met trouble head-on, though, and with a rifle, and this time wasn't gonna be the exception.
**
Dean, Ellen learns, carves a cross into bread loaves before he cutting them. She doesn't know where that's from or what it means, but it's got all the hallmarks of a hunter superstition, especially since she knows that Dean's not a particularly religious man. She's seen him walk right by coins that are tails up, and burn his fingernail cuttings, and throw a pinch of salt over his shoulder.
Hunter superstitions. Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean Winchester... he takes it serious, and Ellen... Ellen's inclined to take him serious, too, even though sometimes she'd like to wring his neck.
**
Dean's tender where she expects him to be rough, and bites when she expects a kiss. He knows what she wants before she does, shoving two fingers into her, or licking her for an hour. Sometimes he's fast, bending her over and splitting her in two, but once, twice, he's been slow, smooth movements in and out for what felt like hours. He whispers dirty into her ears, and makes her feel like a teenager again, making out in the back of her boyfriend's daddy's truck, before she knew of all the things that went bump in the night.
**
If Ellen had a son instead of a daughter -- or in addition to, maybe. If Ellen had a son with John, which she almost did, they stopped a breath away from each other's mouths. If, if, if. If Dean were Ellen's son, what they do would be illegal.
**
Once, after sex, late at night, he cried into her neck, and she woke up an hour later itchy, with salt tracks on her collarbone. She never said anything to him about it, and he never said anything to her, but he was jauntier that day, whistling as he and Sam left the roadhouse.
That night they swung back around, and while Sam drank beer and ate peanuts and listened to old timey stories about how it used to be when demons were demons and there was none of the bullshit, yadda yadda, what the fuck ever, Dean snuck up on her in the back room.
He swung her around and kissed her until her knees were weak. Lord, the boy could kiss. His lips were always soft, slightly chapped; his mouth always tasted faintly of parsley and mint, like he chewed on herbs before coming to her.
Dean sucked on her neck and then on her breasts, and took his time sucking on her clit, making her hold back a scream by biting on her hand until she bled. Then he licked up the blood -- so dirty -- and let her go down on him, one of the only times.
She's not gonna psychoanalyze what his problem is with her on her knees. She's not gonna think about how much she looks like his dead mama, and she's not gonna think about how much he looks like his dead daddy. She just sinks to her knees, unbuttons his fly, and takes his cock into her mouth.
Dean is thick and heavy on her tongue, smells like boy and iron and fighting, smells like living. He's careful not to pull her hair too much, and she wishes he would, thinks about what it would be like if he'd just let go, let his hips snap forward, let his fingers tangle in her hair, let his teeth sink into her lips, her skin.
When he comes, he bangs his fist on the wall, and Jo calls out, "You okay in there?" and Ellen, around her bruised throat, manages to reply, "I'm good, honey." Dean winks at her when she says this, back to being Dean.
**
Ellen never thought. She just never thought. Dean had his eye on Jo, for a while; Ellen didn't realize it was as a kid sister, not as a love interest. Maybe she's getting old. Maybe she's losing it. She's definitely old enough to be Dean's mama, but when he's in her bed, it doesn't seem to matter.
He doesn't seem to care.
It started before he sold his soul, or she'd be suspicious. He's a little empty now; she can see it in his eyes. Something's missing, a little part of him. But it keeps him coming back to her, more and more often, sometimes smelling of other women. Once of a man. She's not stupid, she can tell.
"I've got to," he said, and ripped the button off her jeans. "I've -- I need --"
"I got you," she said into his neck, and let him take her on the glossy new bar of her glossy new place. "I got you."
He gets her off, always, before he comes, and that's a superstition too. If she comes first, she won't leave him. She can tell, because she's got her own.
They're less, she thinks, superstitions, and more talismans.
She'll be his talisman, especially now. Ellen's used to being an object for the hunters, used to sacrificing for the worthiest causes, and she can't think of a better thing to sacrifice for than Dean Winchester's last days before he's taken into hell.
**
Sure, Sam might be able to stop it, but Ellen's not laying bets on that. She learned her lesson before, and, talismans or not, she's got her superstitions.