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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 18 days

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🧡 The Past and Pending 🐎

jo & young claire fic - 4.7k - rating: G - canon compliant - read on ao3

Jo watches the family hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen. Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

16th May, 2004. Nine years to the day since Jo's father's death, she is nineteen and working her usual shift in the Roadhouse bar. The Novak family stop by during a summer storm as they travel through the state, and Jo has the chance to bond with a seven year old Claire over horses, their love for their fathers, and leather jackets.

written for my 2024 jo's joyous birthday celebrations!! prompts were orange, horse girl, and leather jacket, which were fun to weave in. enjoy <3

read below the cut!

16th May 2004.

It’s been a slow day at the Roadhouse, the tepid May heat turning beers warm but the bouts of summer rain keeping Jo from her usual restless walks outside. The bar is gloomy and a little stifling and it’s nine years to the day since the death of her father.

By the evening Jo is working the bar, in view of the entrance. Every time the door scrapes open and the creaky floorboard goes, she is hit with one of two alternating images. The first is her father, home from his hunt, leather jacket fitted on his solid body with a smile on his face. His arms are spread wide waiting for her hug. Each time it is not him, she is forced to remember how his leather jacket is hanging emptily from a hook behind the bar and that every time she pictures his face she gets it a little more wrong.

The second image is of Uncle Bobby, hunched and sad, his grief silhouetted in the doorway light as he brings the sorry news. Her dad’s leather jacket in his hands, all that was left of him. What news does he bring this time? How many dead? The first image fills her with sorrow, the second with fear, both memories rising to the surface on the anniversary like crumbs in beer.

Jo mindlessly wipes down the bar, any tears that land on the countertop instantly disappearing beneath the cloth. It’s just one of those days. Ellen is in the back, unpacking the delivery that came in the morning, also quieter than usual. At least they’re not screaming at each other. That’s something.

The front door scrapes the floor as it swings open and Jo is called back to the present. She brushes her eyes once with the back of her hand, the one holding the rag, as if she’s only wiping sweat from her forehead. When she turns to face the new customers Jo knows no one will be able to tell she was crying. She’s good at things like that.

“Heya, what can I get for you?” she calls over the bar, and then instantly sighs as she sees the newcomers. Neither of the images in her head have materialized, but a third, more frustrating one has: civilians.

A man and a woman, married, but still fairly young, hover uncertainly in the doorway. The wife’s hair is that uninteresting midway between blonde and brunette, cut sensibly to her shoulders but clearly styled. The husband’s hair is much darker and would probably curl if not for his serious and slick side parting. The first thing Jo notices about them is their hair because this is the most immediately interesting thing about them; other than that, they look incredibly boring. Normal.

Then, from behind the man’s legs, peers a young girl. A child with a sweet tangerine gingham dress and curious eyes, maybe seven or so. Jo watches the girl take in the Roadhouse, with its burly, surly hunters hunched uninvitingly over tables marked with the questionable stains from fights and alcohol which make every surface slightly sticky.

The husband is shaking his head, gesturing round at the bar with a displeased hand. “We should go,” Jo catches him saying, “this isn’t our kind of establishment.”

Jo is too used to this happening to be offended. Besides, she always thinks why cater to civilians anyway, when they’re a hunter bar first and foremost?

But the wife stands her ground. “She needs to eat, Jimmy. We all need a break, we’ve been driving for so long. And the sooner we get home, the sooner we outrun that storm.”

Jimmy sighs, then nods. The trio shuffle awkwardly towards the bar, the child nervous at her father’s heels. She’s very blonde, as blonde as Jo.

“I know we look like it, but we don’t bite,” Jo says, mainly to the girl. She earns the trace of a smile for her troubles.

Jimmy has the decency to look a little regretful. “I’m sorry, it’s been a… long drive. We haven’t had to travel quite this far before.”

“Well, that’s what the Roadhouse is here for. What can I get you?”

The options are limited, so it doesn’t take long for the family to decide on burgers, fries, and juices all round. Jo manages to keep her face straight at the drinks order. Most of the Roadhouse clientele would drink the rainwater outside rather than order fruit juice. If it wasn’t obvious enough already, the glimmer of evening light making its way through the window catches on the cross pendant visible through the open top button of Jimmy’s collar, and confirms the family’s faith.

They go and find a table, choosing one by the window, to sit and drink their juices at. Jo sets about sorting the rest of their order, pottering about between the kitchen and the bar to serve it all up.

She’s halfway through plating the fries when movement catches the corner of her eye and she spins to see the young girl clambering up one of the high stools at the bar, the seat teetering a little under her weight.

“Hey,” Jo says, maybe a little meanly. Mostly caught by surprise. “What are you doing?”

The girl’s face falls into a round, guilty oh as she finally settles, kneeling, on the seat. “I just wanted to see what was behind.”

Jo nods, calming now that her initial panic at the girl’s movement has subsided. “That’s fine, just make sure you’re careful up there, alright? It’s a tall seat and you’re a—a small little body.”

“One day I’m going to be bigger and every seat in my house is going to be a tall seat,” the girl decides with a jut of her chin.

The comment hits Jo at such an angle it cracks her, and she barks out a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Claire,” she answers. Then, with the precision of a child who has had politeness strongly instilled in her, asks, “and what’s yours?”

“Jo.”

“I thought that was a boy’s name.”

“It is,” Jo says. She gets a familiar burst of pride with it, but it feels awkwardly shallow with Claire looking up at her, so she follows with, “but it’s a girl’s name too. My full name is Joanna-Beth.”

Claire breathes a little woah . “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Huh. Um, thanks,” Jo manages. She’s never liked it, the way her mom only uses it in anger, the way her dad never used it. Joanna-Beth is someone else. Joanna-Beth is a bad daughter. Claire, though, doesn’t know any of that.

As Jo’s cheeks tinge pink, Claire’s mom comes hastening over, ready to lift Claire down from the bar stool and back to the table.

“Is she distracting you? I’m so sorry. Claire, love, come on—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Jo placates earnestly. “I really don’t mind it. I was enjoying our chat.”

Claire beams at her. “So was I, mommy.”

Claire’s mom looks between the two of them—Jo wonders what goes on in her head as she does, two such naive-looking girls set against the backdrop of the Roadhouse—and then nods. “Well, you just give me or Jimmy a shout if you need a hand.”

“Thanks. I’m not great with kids, so I might need to,” Jo answers with a smile. It’s the truth; she’s never had much practice.

The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Well, you seem to be doing a good job so far.”

Jo nods, unsure what to do with the praise.

“I’m Amelia, if you need me,” supplies Amelia instead.

“I’m Jo.”

“It’s short for Joanna-Beth,” Claire pipes up, the awe still palpable in her voice.

Amelia laughs, nodding, and runs a hand through Claire’s sleek pigtails. “Pretty name,” she tells Jo, before heading back to her husband at the table.

It’s the complement of the hour, it seems. Jo nods again, head bobbing unassuredly like one of the lame figures in Ash’s room, as she gets back to plating up the meals under Claire’s careful surveillance.

“You’ve got horses on your butt,” Claire says after ten full seconds of silence.

“What? Oh,” Jo laughs, turning in vain to glance at the horses embroidered over the back pockets of her jeans. She found them in the thrift store in town. They weren’t cheap, the horses stitched in mid-gallop over the pockets boosting the price considerably. But it’d felt wrong to leave the horses trapped in the sterile light of the thrift store. They deserve some warm lighting, Jo’d thought, where they can complete their run for freedom when no one is looking. The jeans are just a tad too small, so the plushy middle of her stomach bulges over them slightly, but she tries not to mind it. Anything for the horses.

“Do you like them?” she asks, wiggling her butt a little, much to Claire’s delight.

Jo normally keeps her movements minimal, behind the bar, knowing how hunters’ eyes glue grossly to all the places she’d least like them look. She often feels like somewhat of a dancing monkey because of it, but here it’s an innocent movement with no repercussions other than Claire’s laughter.

“They’re so fun. I wish my dress had horses on like yours,” Claire says with a plaintive sigh which sounds amusingly beyond her years.

“You like horses?”

Claire nods eagerly. “For my next birthday mommy says I can have a riding lesson.”

“Woah! That’s so cool!” Jo says, and she’s genuinely quite excited at the idea. “I’m jealous, I wish I could ride. Then I could saddle up and go wherever I wanted all by myself.” California, she’d decided sometime long ago. Or maybe Arizona. Just somewhere west of this wasteland.

“I’ll come back and teach you once I know,” Claire answers, so earnestly Jo knows she fully believes it.

Somehow, she can see it: Claire with her little arms crossed staring up at Jo perched precariously on a horse, calling instructions up to her. “I’d like that,” she says with a grin. “Where will you ride to, once you can ride absolutely anywhere?”

Claire considers the question deeply, the cogs whirring away visibly behind her eyes. “Well, I’d have to teach daddy and mommy how to ride too. I don’t want to go anywhere without them. But then I don’t mind.”

Jo hums. It’s a cute image, the three of them as one family riding off into the sunset. Not lost, because they’re together. It feels distant, familiar in the way the memories of a dream are; foreign. Whenever she has those fantasies of riding away now, she’s alone. She supposes that wasn’t always the case.

“That sounds real lovely,” she finally gets out, staring down at the burger she has started stacking. She hadn’t really realized she was doing it, just running on automatic. Thinking of her father and running on automatic, the story of her life since she lost what Claire still has.

But Claire’s concentration has dwindled and she wriggles in her seat. “Are you going to be done soon? I’m starving .”

“Hey, you’re the one distracting me!” Jo rebuts, shaking her head clear with an exaggerated sigh for Claire’s benefit. “But tell you what, I have an idea to help you grow bigger so you can always sit on the tall seats.”

“What?” Claire asks, perking back up with excitement.

Jo hunkers down to Claire’s level on the bar, resting her chin on her arms so they’re completely eye to eye. “If you help me carry the food to your table it’ll be like lifting weights and then you’ll get big and strong,” she says, voice low like she’s letting Claire in on a secret.

“You mean it’s ready?”

Jo pulls away with a roll of her eyes and fishes the basket of burger and fries from the countertop to present them on the bar. Impatiently, Claire reaches out to grab one, but Jo bats gently her hands away.

“Hey, kiddo, gotta get down from the seat first.”

“I can do it myself!” Claire protests.

But still, she doesn’t struggle as Jo comes around from behind the bar and helps lift her to the floor, Claire steadying herself against Jo’s arms. Once her feet have touched the floor, she prods at Jo’s toned tricep again with a podgy finger.

“Your arm isn’t soft,” she points out, rather frankly.

Jo gives her arm a squeeze in the same place Claire just did, to feel for herself. She always thinks she is too soft, too willowy; china doll in a bull farm. So although she trains as much as she can, shooting with her bow and arrow in the yard and sparring with the other hunters when they pass through, it never feels like enough. At least Claire thinks differently.

“It’s because it’s all muscles,” she explains. She give the smooth, plushy skin of Claire’s arm a gentle poke in return. “See, you just haven’t got any yet.”

Claire frowns as she squints down at the difference between them. “I didn’t think girls could have muscles.”

Sometimes Jo looks at herself in the mirror and wishes she’d never trained at all. That she looked like all the other girls her age. Even like Claire. Here she is, jealous of a seven year old, yet knowing that this world of comparison is what Claire will inevitably grow into. Distantly and regrettably, she reminds herself of her mother.

“All girls can have muscle if they want to, and train enough,” she says, trying to keep her words on an even keel. It feels important. But she attempts to imagine little Claire in her gingham dress with muscly arms and fails.

Claire giggles, gorgeously oblivious as she jabs at Jo’s arm again. “None of the girls at school or Sunday school are like you, Jo.”

Her throat gets a little dry. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Just a thing,” Claire notes absently, before taking the basket of greasy food from Jo’s distracted hand and sauntering over to her family with it clutched tightly in her fists. She hands it straight to her dad, who runs an affectionate hand over his daughter’s head.

“Thank you, sweetheart, this looks very lovely,” he says patiently, as she scrambles over him and onto her own seat. “Have you been kind to the nice lady?”

Jo doesn’t like that word but doesn’t have time to deal with that, recovering as she is from Claire’s rapid-fire insights. She follows the kid to the table and slides Amelia and Claire their portions, receiving grateful smiles from both Amelia and Jimmy.

“Thank you,” the family chorus, their voices naturally falling in a pleasant harmony.

Jo’s voice is lonely in comparison as she asks if she can get them more drinks. They turn down the offer and thank her again, Claire’s eyes glued to her food now that it’s properly in front of her. Slowly, Jo returns to her spot behind the bar, unabashedly gazing at the family from across the room.

She watches them hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry, when Claire has confessed dramatically to starvation, they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Jo doesn’t think any food prepared by her hands is really worth it, but the prayer comes out in a low and sincere murmur from Jimmy’s mouth. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen . Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

The next half hour passes with little incident, aside from a repeat round of whiskey for Shawn, Jake and Caleb in the far corner. Jo mainly watches Claire and her family eat their blessed dinner and chat, the flow easy between them. They don’t talk like most people in the Roadhouse do. They sound posher, somehow, their sentences free from apostrophes and curses. Jimmy eats his burger with a knife and fork.

Another shower of summer rain falls, the noise heavy on the Roadhouse roof. Jo expects it to pass, but instead the weather settles like that, a consistent rumble over the bar. The storm she heard Amelia mention earlier must have caught up with them, despite their desire to outrun it.

Jimmy and Amela must notice this too. They peer out of the window by their table into the ever-murkier evening, resignation growing on their faces.

“We need to make a move,” Jimmy says. “Get ahead of this before we get stuck.”

As if to emphasize the point, a crack of thunder echoes out around the Roadhouse. The sound travels potently over the flat Nebraska plains and the din of the first clap gives even the hunters in the corner a start. Claire lets out a small yelp and buries herself into her father’s side.

“It’s just thunder, sweetie,” Jimmy pacifies.

Claire mumbles something into his middle in return, but Jo can’t make it out.

“You guys finishing up?” she asks, walking over and clearing the baskets. “I’d head out before it gets worse.”

“Yes, we’d like to,” Amelia agrees, “but someone here is a little bit scared of the thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” Claire grouches, lifting a protesting head from her dad’s chest. Jo knows a liar when she sees one, knows it as she knows herself. “I just don’t want to get wet.”

Jo choses bravado and Claire choses nonchalance, but it looks like they both bury their fear. She remembers the performances she used to put on for her father to show she was capable enough to keep up with him, how loved it made her feel when he believed in her. An idea, easily shattered, starts growing in her mind, and she surges forward with it before it can break.

“So we gotta get you out to the car without getting wet, hmm?” Jo poses quizzically. Claire looks at her suspiciously, but nods along. “I have an idea,” Jo draws out, hands on hips. “We’ll have to go behind the bar to make it work…”

Claire leaps up from her seat, curiosity winning out over anything else. Jo hasn’t even got to ask Amelia and Jimmy’s permission, their looks of gratitude are already enough. They start gathering their jackets as Jo leads Claire around, to the tantalizing world behind the bar.

“Cool,” Claire whispers. It’s the closest thing to slang she’s said all day.

Jo smiles despite herself, then readies to go through with her idea. She’s sharing the one thing of her father’s which is truly hers. If it were anyone but Claire, she wouldn’t be doing it, but something about Claire makes it feel different—makes sharing feel more like a gift which grows rather than diminishes.

“This,” Jo says, gently lifting the supple material from where it hangs dutifully on its hook, “is my daddy’s leather jacket.”

She takes a deep breath and kneels beside Claire, offering the leather up to her for her little hands to touch. Despite the warmth of the day, the leather is still cool, and Claire’s smile grows as she slides her chestnut-sized palms along the smooth material.

The leather is brown and worn, but still in pretty pristine condition for a jacket now going on thirty years old. Jo doubts Claire even notices the small set of hand stitches around the collar from when she stupidly tore it and needed to fix it up. It had taken her a whole afternoon tucked away in her bedroom to stitch it back together, but she’d played her dad’s vinyls the whole while and the time had spun away quickly. Even her mom was impressed by Jo’s handiwork, in the end. This jacket is the one thing of her dad that Ellen lets Jo keep, and Jo keeps it well.

Claire’s blue eyes are wide and wondrous in her head. “It’s very nice,” she says shyly.

Jo smiles. “I know. And it’s really special to me, because my daddy isn’t around any more, so we’re going to take good care of it together.”

“Why isn’t your daddy around?” Claire asks, her forehead wrinkling with the question. She’s a kid clearly trained in courtesy, but the constant frankness to her questions give her a harder edge. If the questions didn’t sting so much, Jo would love it about her. Claire continues, “my daddy loves me so much I think he’ll be around forever.”

“Well,” Jo says carefully, slowly, stringing her words along the tightrope of her taut throat. “Sometimes it’s not a choice. My daddy died nine years ago.” She swallows the ‘today’ she could add onto the end of that sentence, feeling that detail might be a little too much for both of them in this conversation. “Here’s something I find very important to remember: just because someone leaves, doesn’t mean they stop loving you. And it doesn’t mean you stop loving them.”

Claire looks as if she might start chuckling, but then catches onto the sincerity in Jo’s tone. Her mouth falls open slightly and her plump fingers squeeze tighter at the leather jacket. “I don’t want my daddy to leave me.”

“I bet he won’t,” Jo says, placing her hands over Claire’s. They’re so small beneath her own. Warm too, like holding a little heart between her hands.

Jo looks up at Claire, at her sandy blonde hair tied neatly into pigtails and the pretty orange gingham of her summer dress. Seven years old and so sure her daddy will never leave her. It is only the crystal blue of Claire’s irises that differ from the umber of her own, but even then, Jo supposes that they both have their father’s eyes.

“I think we’ve got the best daddys in the world,” Jo whispers. “They love us all the time. When they’re out at the shops, when they’re away with work, when they’re up in heaven. They love us right now.”

She swallows, hard, blinking away the tears that are refracting rainbows in her eyes. There’s a burning in her throat but she’s glad she managed to say those words, to finally get them out into the precious ears of a young girl. She smiles. Her vision is still slightly watery but clearing when she realizes Claire is giggling, a sweet blush on her cheeks. Her laughter is light and bubbly, like a stream tumbling over rocks in the sun. Like if Jo bathed in it, she would feel clean.

“Come on, we can use my daddy’s leather jacket as an umbrella to run out to the car,” she says, the idea finally coming to fruition as she stands back up again and dusts the Roadhouse floor muck from her knees. “I’ll hold it over your head so you don’t get wet.”

Claire rolls her eyes, something Jo wasn’t sure seven year olds knew enough to do, but apparently so. “But then you’re going to get wet!”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m big and strong! I can take some rain.” Jo makes a performance of flexing her arms, the odd proportions of her wide-muscled shoulders and lean frame suddenly a cause for celebration rather than insecurity when looked at through Claire’s eyes.

“Hmm.” Claire ponders hard at Jo’s words, those cogs visibly turning again in her brain. “Okay. But you’ll have to be fast to keep up with me!”

The kid makes a dash for the door and is surprisingly speedy on her little legs, her gingham dress swishing behind her. Jo starts after her, pitching both arms upwards so the jacket hangs from them like a tent over Claire’s head. They dash out the front door and into the delicious rain, giggling all the way until it turns into full belly laughter. The lights of the car flash when Jimmy unlocks it, and Claire kicks up water as she runs to fling open the backseat door. Jo’s jeans are splattered with it, but the rain is coming down in sheets so her whole body is soon soaked through anyway.

Another roar of thunder booms across the open space but Claire doesn’t even notice, too busy sheltering under Jo’s jacket as she scrambles up into the car. Jo slides the leather jacket on to free up her hands and help Claire wriggle into the backseat. The girl is a step ahead of her, and clicks her seatbelt into place with a smug little grin at Jo.

“See, I am faster than you!”

Jo laughs, feeling rainwater pool in the corners of her mouth as she does so. “Okay, you win. But I did help keep you safe from all the horrible rain and thunder.”

“Yes, you did,” Claire concedes graciously. She clearly has a self-righteous streak. Smiling, she opens her arms wide for Jo to hug her, but Jo backs away.

“I’m very wet still, I don’t want to make you damp after all this.”

“Oh, okay,” Claire says, looking crestfallen. “But I want to hug you anyway.”

Jo pauses. “You sure?”

“Of course!” Claire says, the words come on, silly, evident in her tone.

Jo grins, and wraps her drenched, leathery arms around Claire. Squeezes her tight. With her face buried in Claire’s hair, she inhales the strong and familiar scent of strawberry shampoo, the kind she used to use when she was small. She’s got a young girl’s warm body in her arms, and the scent of her dad’s leather and her childhood shampoo mix in the May evening air.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Claire’s voice whispers in her ear.

Jo wants to sob, but doesn’t. She instead gives Claire one last, big, humongous squeeze and untangles herself, her arms leaving damp patches across Claire’s dress. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, she’s only seven.

“I was just like you when I was small,” Jo manages to reply. She doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore, or if it’s just—as Claire said—a thing. Some small part of her feels like she’s damning Claire as she says this, to a life like her’s. But then again—maybe it’s just a thing, and her life is neutral. There does not have to be a curse to pass on. She smiles. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Claire.”

“And it was nice to meet you too, Jo!”

They do a final high-five (Claire’s hands only spanning Jo’s palm) before Jo steps back into the rain proper, closing the car door in front of her with a wet thunk.

The driver’s door opens and shuts beside her, Jimmy having climbed behind the wheel. Amelia’s footsteps splash around to the far side of the concrete and then the whole family is sheltered in the car, safely stowed together behind the windows.

In the low lighting of the Roadhouse sign, for a moment Jo looks into Claire’s window and only sees herself, rain pouring down her face and shoulders wide enough to fill her father’s jacket. Then the driver’s window rolls down and Jo steps to meet it.

“Thank you,” Jimmy says. He has dark hair and a face she will meet again. “You were very good with her. Your parents should be proud.”

Jo goes to shake her head but then allows herself the nod, to tentatively agree. Her wet hair is plastered to her scalp, but the rain isn’t cold; it’s just right.

“Have a safe journey,” she calls. Then repeats herself as the man revs the engine so Claire, winding the window down too, can still hear her. “Have a safe journey!”

To where, Jo realizes she isn’t quite sure.

Both her and Claire wave like wild things as the car turns back out onto the road, Jo chasing the car for a few meters, to Claire’s growing grin. As the car pulls away Claire’s blonde pigtails are the last thing Jo can make out of her.

She stands there, in the parking lot outside the Roadhouse where the dust is being beaten into the road by the summer rain. The taillights of the car rumble out of view and Jo still stands, waving, unsure if she’s just met the past or future, until her mother comes and beckons her inside.

#i started writing this yesterday and so it's slightly rough BUT i stand by it all !!#this concept is so precious to me. my author's notes on ao3 go into that with more detail #this most defintely exists in the same universe as jo daily btw <3 fun to write her a little younger than i have before!#and write jo interacting with children... my heart #anyway i hope you enjoy reading another roadhouse jo fic from your roadhouse jo girlie #jo harvelle #claire novak #jimmy novak #jo & claire #spn fic #spn women #josjoyousbday #ola writes

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jensensitive · 1 year

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And John had another big secret. There is a place where hunters gather, and it's run by an old friend of his. Kripke reveals how that storyline came about. "Very frankly, we had a note come down from the mysterious and unnamed powers that be, that they wanted the boys to have a way-station. They wanted to develop a place where we could see familiar faces, where they could go and maybe pick up a case, or pick up information, etc. So we took the note and we considered it, as we always do And Bob Singer had this notion that I really liked, which was, 'What if it's like the cantina in Star Wars? What if it's a place where dangerous things happen and dangerous people cross paths? That's a really intriguing idea. And from there came the roadhouse. Then we had to populate it…

"We felt we'd spent so much time with the father son relationship, we wanted to see what a mother-daughter relationship looks like in this world, because we always try to make the story about family. So this idea came about for Ellen and Jo," Kripke continues, explaining the genesis of the Harvelle women. "Everyone would have expected that Ellen had some fling going on with John, so we didn't want to go there We wanted them to have a true and honest platonic friendship, but we also had to explain why John never told the boys about the roadhouse. And hence this terrible backstory of how John got Ellen's husband killed.

"Ellen brought a maternal energy for our world, which the boys have never had before, which I found was really interesting. Like a lioness, which is tough and badass and You touch my children, I will kill you.' Samantha Ferris really brought that character to life. She was everything you wanted the character to be - she was nuanced and complex and tough, yet beautiful and feminine.

"Jo was originally introduced to be a love interest for Dean," says Kripke, confirming fan speculation. "And there was supposed to be this growth of this character who rebelled against her mother and went off to be a hunter, and you could see this person harden and toughen as the season went on, which we actually ended up executing, but not the way we'd expected. I thought Alona Tal did an amazing job. She was likable and charming-everything she was supposed to be and more. I think we did her a disservice by misconceiving the character. We wrote her as an innocent girl who wanted to be a hunter, and that gave her this energy of leaping before she looked and doing all these things that Dean wouldn't necessarily spark to. She was just so enthusiastic and so girl-next-door about her approach to hunting. In hindsight, Dean wouldn't be attracted to that character- he'd be attracted to Jennifer Garner's character from Alias. He'd be attracted to someone who walked in the door, slaughtered everybody and walked out, and then he would say, 'Who's that? Alona played it beautifully, but the character wasn't playing as the love interest, she was playing as the little sister. And because that wasn't what we set out to do, and because we don't necessarily need a little sister character in our cast, unfortunately we phased out the character."

If the show's vocal Internet fans are representative of its general viewership, then it's safe to say the "little sister" character will not be missed. But Jo is not the only roadhouse denizen that didn't work out quite as planned. "Then we had the character [Ash.]"

[spn s2 companion, p. 14, 15]

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Jo's level of hunting experience wasn't the only element up in the air for Alona's first few episodes. "Eric Kripke had mentioned in the beginning that there was a possibility of making her a love interest [for Dean]," Alona confirms. "I adore Jensen Ackles. It would have been an honor and a pleasure…" But the direction the characters took produced a different chemistry onscreen. "We felt that there was tension between the characters. They made us very snappy toward each other, and that tends to come off as a brotherly-sisterly kind of relationship."

[spn s2 companion, p. 138]

Rob: So, at the end of this episode, we find out that your dad was killed doing battle with Jensen’s dad, right? With Sam and Dean’s dad. You remember that? (Alona: Yeah) Like on a hunting trip. And at first, I felt like we were gonna find out that you were like Sam and Dean’s, like Sam and Dean’s half sister or something. Cause, yknow, she was like– it’s something with John Winchester that I had this history with. So you’re thinking that maybe, yknow, your mom and their father had a relationship. Did you read– did you think that when you first read the script?

Alona: Honestly, I think that– If I remember correctly– again, because it was so long ago, I’m– there were a lot of life changes to this living thing called The Roadhouse crew, right? But when I first talked to Eric– to Kripke about it, he did say that I was… like a little– that that was a potential. That they were my– that I was like a little sister. (Richard: Oh!) Like a half-sister, and that we were gonna find out– that was something that could have happened. But they weren’t sure if it was gonna go there or potential love interest. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. I don’t remember if it was the network– somebody wanted it to be a love interest. But then, it would have been– He was amused by the thought of it being really [laughs] creepy– that they were going towards love interest and then finding out [laughs] that she’s a half-sister. I think it was a little too much for the network back then.

Rob: Yeah [laughs]

Richard: Shame on them.

Alona: Although, I thought it was a really– I mean, playing with a potential love interest, but never fully going there, and then finding out she was a half sister would have been a lot, would have been fun. Cause it would have led to this like “eughh” moment between them.

Rob: [laughs] It woulda been funny. Yeah, it woulda been funny

Alona: It would have been– it would have been really funny. (Rob: Yeah) A little ahead of it’s time perhaps, but um, but that never ended up happening, and neither did the love interest thing, so, yknow there’s that.

Richard: I kinda thought– I took the bait as a viewer, I thought you were gonna come out as a half sister. And I mean I know I probably would have known that, going to so many conventions, I would have heard that already, but nonetheless, watching the episode, I’m like, “Ohhh, they did– they did it, and they had a daughter, oh man.” [Rob laughs]

Alona: Yeah! Yeah! (Richard: So, fooled me) And it would have– that would have made perfect sense.

Richard: Yeah, yknow, Rob and I kind of bemuse– yknow, we think out loud a lot about what drives the decision making of writers, and lord knows we don’t know. But your character is one of the prime examples of “they could have gone so many different directions.” I mean like, and, and they could have been– there’s a parallel universe where you ended up being a regular on that show for fifteen seasons. Yknow what I mean? Like, your character, really is, uh, attached– and [the] Roadhouse could have become more of a home base set. Like, yknow, when you watch this season up now– yknow, later on they had [the] Men of Letters [bunker]– [the] Roadhouse, it definitely seemed like the one standing set the show had for a while.

Alona: It– I think that’s what it was supposed to be. I remember Eric mentioning that– I mean that, the character was supposed to go one for much longer– Jo and Ellen. It was– it was supposed to be that. And back then in what now it seems like the stone ages, there were the fan forums. [...] They had the cw forums, and fans would go on and they– I mean let’s not sugarcoat it– they hated my character.

[...]

Richard: And you were an obvious partner for Dean. Yknow what I mean– that rapport?

Alona: Yeah, especially like season two, that was– that was where it was going. And that– that was– she was brought in there, and I remember Eric telling me like, “You are the female version of him. So act, yknow, how cocky he walks around, and he has all this like, the bravado of the Dean character.” I tried to have a little bit of that in Jo without making it too obnoxious, and it just was– it backfired. [...] The response of the viewers was not what was intended, right? It wasn’t what was expected. It wasn’t what the writers, and the brilliant creator of the show were wanting, so they had to pivot. And that’s only me assuming. I wasn’t in the rooms, right, but the way it pivoted was so parallel to what they were writing that I can only assume that it was influenced by-- a show that really does listen to its fanbase– which is a good thing! For the show and for the fans. Not so much for me.

[spn then and now, 2x06, 16:30 - 24:00]

#long post #s2 companion #jo harvelle #the roadhouse #ellen harvelle #eric kripke #alona tal #spn then and now #this doesn't all necessarily gel together perfectly so i wanted it all in one post

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thebeautyofspn · 1 year

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2x02 Everybody Loves A Clown

#2x02 #everybody loves a clown #thebeautyofspn #supernatural #spn #supernatural aesthetic #spn aesthetic #dean winchester #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #winchesters #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #season 2 #harvelle’s roadhouse

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blondie20000 · 11 months

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Saturday Night- Dean Winchester x Jo Harvelle

It was Saturday night at the Roadhouse. The place was packed with customers. Hunters from all over America came to the Roadhouse to enjoy the uplifting atmosphere and to share their stories regarding the hunts they have been on. The hunters are competitive when it comes to the stories they all determined to be the one who has the best story.

Jo rolls her eyes when she sees one hunter raise his shirt to reveal a scar that went across his left breast.

"Fucker that one was." The hunter scoffed.

"Ah yeah well one son of a bitch caught me right here." The other hunter replied as he goes to remove his belt. Before he could remove it Jo comes over and raises her hand at them.

"Hey Ryan no one wants to see your ass." She shakes her head. "This place is not a strip club."

Ryan cracked a grin.

"Yet."

Jo again rolls her eyes.

"Just keep it from the waist upwards okay?"

"Sure darling although I will say you are missing quite a treat."

Jo eyes him up and down.

"Says the person who is wearing size small jeans." She raises her eyebrow. "Not much there to see then I guess."

Another hunter chokes on his drink. Ryan blushed pink as Jo laughs and returns to the counter.

"Not much of a view even from here." She again laughed.

The short stocky hunter looks down at his little, thin legs and goes from pink to red with embarrassment.

"Must be a little scar then." The hunter next to him laughed.

Ryan shoots him a glare as he sits down and accepts defeat. Jo chuckles as she turns round and serves another customer. While she filled the glasses she glances over her shoulder and spots the older Winchester Dean picking up the empty glasses. She looks him over and smiles.

Now that is a view.

When Dean turned round Jo quickly returns her attention to the drinks.

"Here you go." She says as she hands two beers over.

What Jo didn't know was that Dean also has been eyeing her up whenever she had her back to him. His eyes lingered on her ass as she bends over and picks up a grate.

She wore tight jeans tonight revealing her perfectly fine petite figure. She also wore a dark green crop top showing off her belly button. Jo reminded Dean of one of those girls from Coyote Ugly he can imagine her standing on the counter and singing and dancing to the music.

An image of Jo swaying her hips to the music appears in Dean's mind.

Slow, sexy, hot.

Damm

Dean shakes the image out of his mind and carries on working.

When the time came to lock up Jo went behind the counter and rang the bell.

"ALRIGHT GUYS YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO!" She yelled over the noise.

The hunters gulp back their drinks and start to make their way out of the bar. Dean had to escort some of the drunk hunters out. Jo stands by the door and waves at the hunters.

"Thanks for coming! Stay safe don't get into any trouble yeah I'm talking to you Morris you don't want Mom on your back...Yeah you better stay on your best behavior hmm..." She laughs. "Alright see you soon bye bye." Jo closes the door and locks it. "Ah." She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. "What a night."

"I can't believe you do this every night." Dean shakes his head with disbelief. "My first shift and I'm already tired."

"Don't fall asleep yet Dean we still got to tidy up." Jo tosses a broom over to the hunter. "Sooner this is done sooner we can call it a night."

Dean catches the broom and nods.

"On it."

The tidying up took a while. The hunters are messy they never clean up after them. Food, spilled drinks and cigarettes are scattered everywhere. At one point Jo pulled a face when she found vomit in the sink.

Just great.

When Jo looked away Dean stared at her. When Dean looked away Jo stared at him. They continue to eye each other up both of them admiring what they saw. Jo then blushed when Dean caught her staring she ducks her head behind the table and pretends to focus on cleaning the chewing gum. Dean smirks to himself but decided to not comment on it.

Dean walks over to the pool table and finds Ash passed out on it. He goes to wake Ash up but Jo stops him.

"I wouldn't bother that pool table has become his second bed spends more time there then his own room. We just leave him to it."

"Seriously?"

"When Ash is out he is out you won't hear from him until the morning."

Dean shrugs.

"Alright then."

"Wanna help me with these crates?" Jo asks.

"Sure."

Dean picks up the crates and follows Jo. They go into the storage room and put the empty crates down. Jo jumped slightly when she nearly collides into Dean's chest.

"Sorry." She says. Jo looks up at his board chest. She swallows and laughs nervously. "This is a small space."

"It is."

"No idea why Mom chose this for the storage."

Jo tried to move but Dean was in her way. His form blocked most of the entrance.

"Its quite tight." Dean replied sounding awkward.

"Yeah." Jo nods. "You're right." She clears her throat. "If I can just..."

She moves but Dean also moves with her. She moves to the other side but Dean also goes to the other side. Jo huffs an annoyed sigh. Dean gives her an apologetic look.

"Sorry."

"Its okay just umm...Step back please."

Dean did the opposite. Instead he came forward.

"You look a little flushed?" He said pretending to sound concerned.

"Its quite warm in here."

"And you are sweating too."

"Like I said its warm in here."

"I wonder why?"

Jo saw the smirk form on his face. She had to stop herself from smiling back at him.

Damm Winchester.

"This place is not gonna clean itself up come on!"

She gestures to the door.

Dean finally stepped out of the room. Once everything was tidied up and ready for the next day Jo turned off the lights and went upstairs.

She took a sneak peak into the guest room and saw Dean removing his shirt. Jo held her breath as Dean flexed his muscles. Just then Dean turns round. Jo quickly goes away from the door.

Shit shit shit!

As Jo was about to walk off Dean pokes his head out and smiles.

"Enjoying the show?"

"I didn't see anything." Jo quickly replied.

He grins.

"I was just about to get to the good part."

"I don't care." Jo folds her arms. "Maybe next time close the door."

Dean looks at her pink cheeks and smirks.

"You liked what you saw."

"Goodnight Dean."

Dean's face suddenly turned serious.

"Jo."

Jo turns her head and frowns at him.

Yes?"

Dean steps forward.

"You don't have to do this." He says.

"Do what?"

He closed the space between them. He tucks a stray of hair behind her ear. Jo sighs.

"Dean."

"I know you can feel it too."

His hand moves to her cheek. Jo steps away from her.

"I can't...We can't."

"So you are not denying it?"

Jo looks up at him. She looks into his green eyes that stared right into her soul. She bites her lip then few seconds later she shakes her head.

"I bet you say this to all the women you hook up with."

"You are not like the other women Jo." Dean said his voice sincere. "You are much more than that."

Jo's heart rate picked up as Dean's hand returns to her cheek.

"You are amazing." He nods. "You are a freaking badass and I...I can't stop thinking about you...you are always on my mind."

You are always on my mind. Jo thought.

Her heart flutters as Dean leans towards her. His lips inches away from hers.

"It is your choice." He whispered. "And I will respect your decision."

Jo raises her hand and places it on his cheek. They stared at each other for several moments. Then Jo leans forward and brushes her lips against his. Dean immediately responds and kisses her back.

The kiss started of slow and tender then it become more heated and passionate. Dean presses Jo up against the wall and hungrily kisses her. She moans and pushes her tongue in and rolls it along with his. Jo then bit down on his lip. That sent a shudder through the older Winchester. Eventually they both break away from each other needing to catch their breath.

Shortly after Jo takes Dean's hand and leads him into her bedroom. Dean paused at her bedroom door.

"Are you sure?" He asked his voice quiet.

Jo nods.

"I'm sure."

"What about your Mom?"

"She's not here right?" A smirk forms on Jo's lips. "We got the whole place to ourselves." She raises her eyebrow. "You are not gonna chicken out now are ya?"

Dean grins.

"Never."

Within a few strides Dean wraps his arms around Jo and lifts her up from the floor. Jo wraps her legs around Dean's waist as he carries her to the bed. He then gently lies her down.

He kisses her belly button and rolls his tongue along her exposed flesh. Jo shivered at the touch. Dean then tugs at the top demanding for it to come off. Jo smiles and removes the top. Dean climbs on to the bed and continues to kiss her body.

"This needs to go." He mumbled against her.

Dean swiftly removes the bra and discards it to the side.

"That's better." He smiled.

Jo turns her head to give him better access. Dean sends a trail of kisses along her neck all the way down to her breasts. He latched on to one of her nipples and sucks hard at it. Jo moans. Dean then bites down on her other nipple causing her to cry out.

"Fuck!" She hissed.

He gives her a smirk followed by several kisses along her stomach.

His hands then go on her belt. He removes the belt and quickly pushes down her jeans. Jo kicks the jeans away.

Dean grasps the hem of her panties. He then looks up at her.

"Are you sure?"

Jo nods.

"Yes." She said her voice trembling slightly.

This is one of the things Jo liked about Dean. Other men would be eager to get inside her but Dean however made sure that she was okay with this he wanted them both to be on the same page with this. Dean respected her, treated her as a equal.

He is not like any other man. Jo smiled to herself.

Dean Winchester is a sweetheart.

Jo loved him for that.

This time Dean slowly pulls down her panties. He held his breath as he takes in the view.

Jo laid on her back exposed and naked. She has removed her layers for him she has opened the door and let him in. Dean felt honored to have this opportunity with her. He meant it when he said she wasn't like the other women. Jo is a strong, independent woman who Dean loved and respected. She made him laugh and they are a good team whenever they work together. He wouldn't change her in anyway. To Dean, Jo Harvelle is perfect.

That is why Dean planned to make this a special night for her.

Dean gently strokes her thighs. He breathed in her scent as he again kisses her and shows her how much she means to him.

"So beautiful." He whispered in her ear.

Jo blushed at the compliment. Dean smiles at her reaction.

She can be so cute.

Dean then lowers himself until he is facing her vagina. He runs his finger around her folds and teases her entrance. Jo grits her teeth.

"God damm it Dean!"

"I aim to please." Dean smirked at her.

Jo suddenly gasps as Dean sticks his finger inside her. Another gasp escapes her lips as Dean sticks another finger inside her. The hunter started to thrust her with his fingers. He pumps her harshly and enjoys the sweet sounds that came spilling from her lips.

Jo arched her back and began panting his name. She squealed as Dean picked up the pace. Sweat poured down Jo's face and her legs shook uncontrollably. She kept calling out his name with both happiness and pleasure.

"Dean...Dean oh God yes...YES!"

Dean enjoyed her reaction. The way she said his name was like music to his ears.

Eventually Dean removes his fingers. Jo whimpered at the loss of contact. Dean slowly licks his fingers in a seductive manner. He then smirks at Jo's tormented expression. He can see this is killing her.

"Don't worry I shared some for you."

He puts two of his fingers up against her lips. Jo opens her mouth and welcomes him inside her. She then sucks on his fingers. She can taste the saltiness from the cum and feel his rough skin rubbing against her tongue.

"Hmm."

Jo takes the fingers out of her mouth. She rests his wet hand against her warm cheek. Jo narrows her eyes at him and her lips form into a wicked grin. She then turns and kisses his hand followed by a series of kisses along his jaw down towards his chest.

"Someone has been working out." She grinned at his abs.

"The monsters like to keep you on your feet." Dean replied.

She chuckled at that.

"Which one wears you out the most?"

"I don't know every hunt I've been on is pretty much fucking exhausting."

"I have some serious competition then."

Jo gently pushes Dean down on the bed. She climbs on top of him and smiles down at him. Dean looked surprised by the sudden change of position.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

Jo kisses his cheek.

"I'm all in. You?"

Dean smiles.

"Always babe always."

Jo brightened at that.

Jo moves her hands to his waist and begins to remove his jeans. Dean's breathing picked up as Jo slides her hand down his boxers. She brushes her fingers against his manhood. Her touch caused him to tense up. Jo pulls his boxers down and marvels at the sight of his dick.

Wow. He's huge.

"Damm Winchester how do you keep that hidden?"

Dean shrugs and gives her a smug smile. Jo scoffs and shakes her head with amusement.

She then wraps her hands around him and starts to stroke his length. Each stroke sent a jolt of electricity through him. Dean felt so alive right now.

"Jo." He moaned her name.

With the cock still in her hand Jo positions herself on top of him. She then slowly leads him inside her. Both of them gasp as he goes inside her.

Jo starts to rock on him. She picks up the pace as her confidence grew. Dean picks up his hips and meets her with each thrust. He holds on to her waist and supports her all the way.

"That's it that's it babe you got it." Dean praised her.

Jo soaked up the praises he gave her. In exchange she gave him tons of kisses. Each kiss showed how happy and grateful she was to do this with him. Jo trusted Dean. Right now Dean made her feel safe and secure. She also felt empowered she cherished the strength that he transferred on to her.

Jo felt the fire reach the bottom of her belly. She knew she is close with Dean's tight expression she guessed he is close as well.

"Dean I need to..."

"Same." Dean said reading her mind. He reaches out ans grasps her shaking hand. "We'll do it together."

The warmth in his green apple eyes made Jo weak to her knees. Seconds later she lets out a cry and lets it all out. Dean follows shortly afterwards. He abruptly turns over and spills all over the sheets. Dean then groans and flops his head back on the pillow.

"Fuck." He cursed.

Jo takes several deep breaths. She wipes the sweat from her brow and shakes her head.

"Damm." She said to herself.

Dean opens his arms towards her. Jo accepts the invitation and snuggles into his chest. He wraps his arms around her.

"I'm beat." Dean laughs a little. "Got me good there Jo."

She gives him a goofy grin.

"I did tell you before I am excellent shooter."

Dean again laughs. He leans forward and kisses her hair.

"This is nice." Jo said quietly.

"It is." Dean agreed.

She turns her head towards him.

"So what now?"

Dean strokes her chin.

"Its up to you." He answered softly. "Like I said before I will respect your decision."

She kisses him.

"Such a gentleman." She teased him.

He kisses her back.

"I know." He said with a cocky grin.

The humor vanishes from Jo's face. She sighs heavily.

"Give me time to think it over okay?"

Dean nods.

"Take all the time you need."

.......

"ASH!"

Ash abruptly wakes up and nearly hits his head on his table.

"Wha..." He glances at the clock. "Oh." He coughs and scratches his armpit. "Morning already?"

"Ash." Jo waves at him from the counter. "Breakfast."

"Okay just give me a sec."

Ash quickly checks himself in the mirror before joining the others at the table. Dean is cooking while Jo is sat at the table.

"Morning Ash." Dean greets him.

"Morning Dean." Ash nods to him. "Jo."

"Dean is making pancakes."

"Oh great." Ash sits next to Jo. "Love me some pancakes."

He rubs his hands and waits for his plate.

"Here you are."

Dean puts the plate in front of Ash. Ash thanks him and begins to pick up his knife and fork. He then noticed something when Dean went to give Jo her plate. Jo immediately turns pink in the face when Dean's hand accidentally brushes against her arm. She smiles awkwardly at him. Dean gives her a small nervous smile before going off to make more pancakes.

What the Hell was that about? Ash frowned.

Jo happily cuts into her pancake and starts eating it. She hums with delight.

"Someone is in a good mood." Ash says.

Jo shrugs.

"Pancakes are good."

"Jo nobody is ever in a good mood in the morning."

"And nobody ever sleeps on the pool table every day." Jo replied.

"I'm just having fun." Ash raises his eyebrow. "Did you have some fun last night with Dean?"

Jo chokes on her orange juice.

"Uh." She wipes her mouth with a tissue. "What...um...What do you mean?"

"Oh God." Ash's eyes widen with realization. "You didn't."

Jo looked confused.

"Did what?"

"Oh boy." Ash waves his arms around. "In here you did it in here!"

"Ash."

"Your Mom is gonna kill you..Hell she's gonna kill all of us!"

"Ash!" Jo hissed at him.

Ash went silent.

"Nothing happened." Jo glares at him. "Understand?"

Ash laughs.

"You think she won't find out?"

"She won't."

"Oh she will. Your Mom has like this sixth sense when it comes to things like this trust me she will find out. I don't wanna be here when that happens Hell no."

Jo sighs heavily. Ash looks at her with curiosity.

"So are you and Dean like a thing now?"

"I don't know." She admitted her voice quiet.

"Oh well umm I don't know if this will help but I think you guys would make quite a cute couple." He smiles sheepishly. "You always had something there between the both of you it was only a matter of time before you umm did the deed." He shakes his head. "You could have done it in the motel down the road not here God..."

"Ash seriously?"

"And my pancakes are gonna get cold." He stabs his fork into the pancake and bites into it. "Perfection Dean perfection." He said with his mouth full.

"Thanks Ash."

Jo pinched the bridge of her nose.

Dean sits down opposite and frowns at her.

"You okay?"

Jo smiles.

"I'm good."

Ash snorted. Jo glares at him. Ash mouths "She will find out." Before returning to his food.

Ellen and Sam arrived later in the afternoon. They all hugged each other.

"How was he?" Dean asks.

Ellen smiles and nods at the younger Winchester.

"Good as gold."

"Just made some burgers." Dean says.

"Great I'm starving."

"Sammy I made you your rabbit food as well." Dean calls over his shoulder as he goes into the kitchen.

Sam rolls his eyes and follows his brother.

Everyone talked about general stuff as they ate. Jo told Ellen about Ryan last night. Ellen laughs and shakes her head.

"Crazy son of a bitch."

"They like to show off." Jo agreed.

Once everyone has finished their food Dean takes the plates and begins to wash them in the sink. Ellen joins him with two bottles of beer in her hands.

"Have to say Dean you outdid yourself with this food. Nice job."

Dean accepts the bottle and smiles at her.

"Thanks Ellen."

Ellen takes a swig from her bottle. She then leans on the counter.

"If you ever break my daughter's heart I will kill you."

Dean's eyes widen by her sudden change in tone. Ellen gives him a stern look. The look she gave him made Dean gulp.

Shit she knows.

Dean puts the bottle down.

"I would never hurt her." He says.

Ellen slowly nods.

"I know."

Dean saw a ghost of a smile go across Ellen's lips. She then places her hand on his arm.

"I got my eye on you Winchester."

Dean wasn't sure if the older Harvelle was joking or not. Ellen does a salute with her bottle before joining the others for a game of darts.

"She knows." Dean whispered to Jo.

"Shit." Jo glares at Ash. "Was it you?"

Ash raises his hands.

"Didn't come from me I told you...you can't keep nothing from her."

"What did she say?" Jo asks.

"I think she's okay about um us." Dean nods and smiles nervously. "Well she also threatened to kill me but umm..."

He laughs. Jo curses to herself.

Damm it Mom.

"I'm sorry Dean."

"Its okay your Mom is just looking out for you."

"Dean." Ellen raises a dart. "Me vs you?"

Dean swallows.

"Umm..."

"Go on Dean." Sam grinned.

Ash nudges Dean with his elbow.

"Good luck." He says.

Dean laughs.

"I think I am gonna need it."

Dean again swallows as Ellen hands him the darts.

"May the best one win." Ellen smirked.

Dean looked scared. It amused Jo how much her Mom scared him.

As Dean takes his place in front of the board Ash leans towards Jo and asks.

"So now your Mom knows...Have you made a decision yet?"

Jo snorted as Dean cautiously moves past the older Harvelle.

"Depends if he survives."

Ash chuckles.

"Good point."

"On a serious note..." Jo smiles. "I think I will consider it."

Ash smiles at her.

"That's good to hear. I'm happy for you guys."

Jo beamed at him.

"Thanks Ash."

She nudges him in the arm in an affectionate manner. Ash returns the gesture.

Later Dean returns to his seat. Jo smirks at him.

"You look like you seen a ghost."

"Your Mom is more terrifying than a ghost."

Jo laughs.

"So..." Jo gives the hunter a shy smile. "Fancy umm going out tonight? Mom is giving me the night off."

Dean brightened at that.

"Sure."

"Has to be local otherwise Mom will hunt us down."

"Oh trust me I do not plan to get on her bad side. Hell no."

"There's this nice Mexican restaurant." Jo suggests.

Dean nods.

"I'll pick you up at 8?"

Jo grins.

"Deal."

"Hey Dean." Ellen calls out. "Fancy another round?"

Dean forced a smile.

"Sure Ellen."

But in his head Dean mentally groans.

Crap.

The End

#fanfiction #one shot #supernatural fanfiction #smut #supernatural #fanfic #dean/jo #dean winchester #jo harvelle #ash supernatural #ellen harvelle #dean winchester x jo harvelle #chestervelle #harvelle roadhouse

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benbraeden-a · 11 months

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thinkin about ben's arc where he occasionally works at the rebuilt harvelle roadhouse as a busboy.

#wishlist.#and he tries to lead a somewhat normal life.#hunts still but not as much as before.#sometimes bartends.#just!!!!!!!!!!#(this is based off of an old harvelle sibling oc that i had where the oldest brother of jo rebuilt the roadhouse after her passing)#and ben just uwu working there occasionally to get a buck or two.

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bleakfated · 11 months

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Introducing: Harvelle's Roadhouse

Bar Owner Ellen Harvelle hands out cases to the good hunters that know about the place. All hunters are welcome but know better than to pull any funny business. There's a long list of hunters that come in that she tells her daughter Jo not to associate with, but she believes all hunters should have a safe place to garner resources and aid as well as share their stories. There is a spare bedroom upstairs that she only offers to those that she really trusts.

Ash resides in the bedroom downstairs. He's a tech genius that has never shown any interest in going out on jobs himself, but he loves finding ways to help out. He has a computer program that alerts him of potential cases in all 48 of the contiguous states and can hack into most corners of the internet. If there's something that can be done to aid a hunter with something, he finds a way to do it. Don't bat an eye if you walk in and he's asleep on one of the pool tables.

#╰––– » 「 ⛦ 」 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀. ┊ harvelle's roadhouse

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freakwiththeknifecollection · 1 year

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How deranged of a Jogirl am I? Earlier I was trying to figure out where (approximately) the Roadhouse would be canonically and this is how I went about it (the objectively funniest way)

#in 2x06 the family that comes in asking if they're open but Ellen and Jo say no the dad's like ''we'll try the arby's down the road''#anyway according to the wiki and the road so far road map the roadhouse is in central Nebraska there's only 1 arby's in central Nebraska #and that's in Ord Nebraska so the roadhouse is somewhere around there. if you even care #yes I know it was a throwaway line that was just a joke but regardless it is canon that the roadhouse is near an arby's I rest my case #why do I care? well I have a disease called I Need to Know Every Single Thing About My Blorbos Derangement Syndrome #I am the iasip Charlie conspiracy theory meme. I just am I cannot change this #harvelle's roadhouse #Ellen Harvelle #Jo harvelle #ash supernatural #em rambles

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magdaclaire · 2 years

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the thing is that ellenmissouri makes me feel insane

#because like ellen is (to me) trapped in the roadhouse by the expectations she put on herself at a young age and a legacy and her daddy's #ghost and mary and missouri are the first girls in the life she knows very well and they're friends on the phone #always on that damn phone [talking about a landline with a rotary]#ellenmissouri #i might be the only person in that tag but i've never checked so don't quote me #but anyway it's all about being a young seer (talking about miz now) and no one ever believed you off face and then you meet mary campbell #and you tell her you're a psychic and she says okay wanna meet my friend #and the friend is the most important person in the world (ellen harvelle)#and ellen is autistic (i have autism and this is my supernatural) and has my Terribly Earnest autism trait #so everyone is very subterfugial around miz bc she reads minds and ellen is just. wow girls are pretty. need to do my job. chronic pain.#daddy issues. she's very simple in that way #and when your mind is always busy with other people i imagine that a person as quiet as ellen (like in vibes) would be very refreshing #and also just ellen's directness...#ellenmissouri makes me crazy

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spnepisodemasterlist · 8 months

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Season 2, Episode 5: Simon Said

GSam and Dean meet Andy Gallagher, a slacker with psychic powers of persuasion. Once the brothers learn that Andy's family was visited by the Demon, Sam wonders if he could be one of the special children. (Directly from IMDB)

Director: Tim Iacofano

Writers: Eric Kripke, Ben Edlund, Sera Gamble

Set in: Guthrie, Oklahoma/ Nebraska

Holy shit, this episode is dark: starting with a vision of a murder-suicide

Wow I had forgotten that Sam and Dean used to go to the Roadhouse with every little problem, they’re literally there all the tiem.

“Hey Ash, we need your help” / “Well, then I guess I need pants”

I had also forgotten about the budding romance between Jo and Dean

“You’re afraid of my mother?” / Dean nods, “I think so” Damn right, Ellen Harvelle is appropriately scary

“Hey, can I have it?” (referring to the Impala) / “Sure man” Dean gets out of the car, and gives it to him, thus an immediate realization that something is super super wrong

“He full on Obi-waned me! It’s mind control man!”

I love how most of these psychics know how to use their powers so much more than Sam does

Is this the episode that is, “Too soon?” / “yeah, Dean, three seconds is too soon.”

“You know, one day I’d like to just sit down and eat something that I don’t need to microwave.” Aww I can’t wait for the bunker where Dean’ll actually be able to do that.

The evil guy in this episode looks vaguely like Elijah Wood, to the point where I thought for a while about whether or not he was actually Elijah Wood.

Long lost twins??????

We’re getting deep psychological questions in these early season two episodes: “bottom line, if they’re pushed enough, everyone’s capable of murder.”

#pyschic sam #sam's a pyschic #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #ash supernatural #The Roadhouse #mind control #on screen death #long lost twins #mentions of yellow eyed demon #yellow eyed demon #good episode #dark episode

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zepskies · 6 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 10

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,300 Tags/Warnings: **Sexual harassment, angst, perilous situations, hurt/comfort

Part 10: “Toil and Trouble”

After visiting his father, Dean spent the rest of his day unsettled. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but he had a gut feeling that John knew more than he was saying.

He understood that his dad was looking out for him, trying to protect him, but Dean had a problem.

He didn’t like being left in the dark.

You were working later than usual that afternoon, so he had more than one reason to invite Sam and Cas out for a drink. They met at the Roadhouse and sat in their usual corner. Unfortunately, they were getting drinks and a show.

Jo stormed out of the back room behind the bar with her mother hot on her heels.

“You stop right there, Joanna Beth—”

“Mom, you’re not going to talk me out of it! I’m taking the damn test and I’m going to get in and I’m going to the Police Academy!”

“And all the money I shelled out for you to go to college, to get your degree, something I never got, by the way.”

“I know. And I’m grateful for that, but I did the college thing for you and Dad,” Jo said.“I don’t want to go into business. I never did.”

“No, because owning your own business ain’t respectable,” Ellen said, with all due sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Never mind that I thought I could leave this place to you someday. Never mind that you’d rather be walking these streets with a gun than take care of the last thing your father left us.”

Jo finally stopped at that. She turned on her heel and withered slightly.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said. “I just don’t want to serve at a bar my whole life, Mom. I want to help people.”

Ellen’s brows shot up at that. She leaned back on her heels, as if she’d been delt a blow. Dean looked over and saw the guilt that set over Jo’s features, but neither Harvelle woman backed down.

“So you don’t want to end up like me,” said Ellen, clicking her tongue. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Mom, that’s not what I meant,” Jo tried, but her mother waved her off.

“No,” Ellen’s voice came out sharp as she went for a hand towel. “You do what you want, Jo. You’re grown, I suppose.”

She wiped down a few droplets by Cas’s hand before whipping the damp towel over her shoulder. And she walked down the line to continue serving her customers, leaving Jo standing at the other end, disheartened.

Sam and Dean shared a glance with each other, then with Cas, though they tried to keep their heads down and their noses out of the family business. Frankly, they were relieved when Jo left the bar.

Still, Dean couldn’t help but glance up at Ellen when she came back their way. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“Don’t you ask me if I’m okay, Dean Winchester,” she said. Her voice was quieter, tired, but it still cut like a whip.

He bobbed his head and looked down at his beer. “Yes, ma’am.”

But after a moment, his eyes raised to find Ellen’s face.

“You want another?” she asked, pointing to his drink. It was still half full, but Dean nodded with a smile, just to help her out. She seemed to want to distract herself with work. He was liable to do the same thing when he was stressed.

She nodded with a slight smile. After she left to go grab it for him, he raised his brows and looked over at his brother and his friend, whistling lowly.

“And we thought our family had issues,” Sam remarked. Dean huffed at that.

“Speaking of.” Dean turned to Cas on his left. “Dad told me you guys are making headway on this crime boss-turned-arsonist.”

Cas met him with a shrewd brow raise. “What did John tell you?”

Dean frowned, his brows knitting together. “I hate it when you do that.”

“What?”

“Cover his ass,” Dean replied. He lowered his voice to ask, “Have you figured out what’s connecting all the vics? What ties them to Azazel, besides the brand marks?”

Cas sighed, running a hand over his face. Meanwhile, Sam watched the exchange with tight lips.

“Dean, you know I can’t tell you that,” said Cas.

“Hey, this guy’s starting fires in my neck of the woods. I can help,” Dean said.

“We’re already working with Arson—”

“Oh yeah. Sounds like Dad’s party line.”

“Dean,” Sam interjected, but Dean shook his head stubbornly.

“No, Sam. This isn’t just about fires, or some random nut job offing people,” Dean said. He tried his best to keep his voice quiet, despite the frustration coursing through his blood. “This is about Mom, no matter how much you wish it wasn’t.”

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, their silence charged with unspoken confrontation.

Eventually, Sam relented with a shallow breath through his nose. He turned to Cas, as did Dean. With the weight of both Winchesters on him, Cas finally had to sigh as well. He set down his whiskey on the countertop.

“Jerry Stillwell, the CPA,” he began. “We traced a secondary bank account in his name. It showed several ‘consultant invoices,’ for tens of thousands of dollars. The payments were wired from a company called Edlund Emporium.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. “What does it lead back to?”

“By all accounts, it’s just a wholesaler of antiques,” Cas explained. “But we believe it might be a shadow company for a larger enterprise. Drug runners are known to hide their product within secret compartments in furniture, in the frames behind paintings, etcetera.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Narcos,” Dean quipped.

“Who owns the Emporium?” Sam asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Cas admitted. “Its records are proving difficult to trace. However, the one relevant thing we were able to retrieve from Stillwell’s home files was an old audit of Edlund Emporium from 1996. It showed some old statements of the company using a storage facility downtown: Stull Storage.”

Stull Storage. Dean’s head tilted in thought. Why did that name sound familiar?

Cas noted his recognition with another nod.

“That particular storage facility was also linked to a money laundering scheme. You’re thinking of Paul Richardson, the father of two, who was killed in last month’s fire,” said Cas. “Well, as it turns out, he was a defense attorney who failed to get his client acquitted for that case. His client was a known drug runner, decades ago. And he actually pushed product for Azazel.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked.

Cas sighed. “Your father remembered him from his time in Narcotics.”

Shit, Dean thought. He looked over at his brother, and by now, Sam’s gears were turning at Mach speed.

“Who owns Stull Storage then?” Sam asked.

“A company called Savage & Co.,” Cas said. He looked over more pointedly at Dean, whose eyes widened in realization.

“My girlfriend’s company?”

You hated having to work late. Not because of the working, but because the office was much quieter after 5:00 p.m. Too quiet.

Your desk phone rang, making you jolt in your seat. Once you saw the extension calling, you exhaled loudly and resigned yourself to answering the phone.

“Yes?”

“Come up to my office for a sec. I wanna discuss something with you,” said Nick.

And that. You really hated that.

Your eyes closed as you took in a breath.

“I’m working on an upsell for the Greenway account. Can we meet in the morning?” you asked.

“This is important,” he insisted.

You held in a sigh, but you agreed and hung up. You steeled yourself and took your phone with you as you decided to take the elevator up to the 30th floor. At least if it got stuck, it would get you out of this impromptu meeting with your boss.

Unfortunately for you, Betsy ran like clockwork. You were at Nick’s office within minutes—the penthouse suite of the building. Lavishly furnished, complete with a full leather couch set and coffee table for entertaining corporate big wigs, a large desk for Nick to pretend to work, and a fully stocked bar, where he did most of his “actual” work.

An expensive looking set of gold clubs were leaned against the wall, next to the bar. You knew it was his pride and joy, and he often brought it up in conversation when he was “networking.”

Just now, the sun was setting through the large windows overlooking his desk. The view was quite picturesque; the only thing that marred it was Nick Savage himself. He smiled and beckoned you into the room when he noticed you. You left the door open when you entered.

He got up from his desk and gestured over to the lounge area. He hinted at you taking a seat beside him on the same couch, but you sat on the opposite one, leaving the coffee table between you. His smile lessened a pinch. But he got up, as if he was just remembering something. He made his way to the bar.

“Want a drink?” he asked you over his shoulder.

“No, thank you,” you flatly replied. “Nick, I told Mr. Greenway that I would have that paperwork into processing by end-of-day today.”

“Yep, you are working hard,” Nick nodded. “Miss Busy Bee.”

He filled a tumbler three quarters of the way with bourbon and took it back with him to the couch where you sat. You crossed your legs and subtly shifted backwards. It left a foot or so of distance in between.

“That’s what I like about you,” he continued. “You do what it takes to get the job done.”

“I take my work seriously,” you said, in a pointed tone.

Nick inclined his head.

“You sure do. And you’re doing very well. In just a few years, you’ve racked up more accounts and upsells under your belt than anyone else on the team right now. Even Josh,” he said. “In fact, I’m considering you two as my top candidates for the Senior Sales Manager position. Adam’s leaving us for another company next month.”

That compliment surprised you, as well as the potential promotion. You’d heard that Adam Milligan was interviewing with other companies, but you hadn’t known that he was leaving. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the consideration…and I would look forward to the opportunity to grow in the company.”

Nick smiled. “Good! And while I believe in you, I just need to know that you’d be willing to do what it takes in this new role.”

That had a subtle alarm trembling up your spine.

“How so?” you asked. “Like you said, I think my margins speak for themselves, along with my ability to manage projects. I think that’ll translate well with managing the team.”

“But you’ve never managed people,” Nick pointed out. He leaned an arm on the back of the couch, his fingers drawing near to your arm. “Tell you what. I want to keep chatting about this, but I’m getting hungry. Why don’t I order some dinner, and we’ll keep pow-wowing.”

“Actually,” you said, leaning away from his hand. “I have plans this evening.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’re you up to?”

You didn’t feel you had to give him any details about your personal life, let alone that you didn’t actually have plans tonight (except for watching The Princess Bride with George. It was your favorite movie to watch together).

“I’m having dinner with my boyfriend,” you answered with a tight smile.

Your womanly pride hated that you had to use Dean as an excuse, but maybe then your boss would get the hint.

Nick’s lips thinned a bit as he leaned back in his seat. “Hmm, didn’t know you had one of those.”

“You met him,” you replied, arching a brow. “He’s a firefighter, remember?”

Nick nodded, though he made a non-committal sound.

“All right, well, I should go actually. He’s picking me up,” you said.

Though when you moved to stand, Nick’s hand wrapped around your wrist. His eyes met yours meaningfully, edged with interest as he eyed you.

“You sure you can’t stick around?” he asked.

His hold was firm enough to scare you, a subtle gasp catching in your throat when your eyes flicked up to his in warning. You instinctively jerked your hand back.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, even as you hated the slight tremor in your voice. “I’m warning you, Nick. I will go to HR. I don’t care how many lawyers you threaten me with. I’m not interested.”

Nick’s head tilted as he watched you with a frown.

“I hope you think hard, sweetheart.” He relaxed against the couch with arrogance, and it was beginning to make you sick. He crossed his arms as you stood and began to storm out of the office. All the while, his words followed you.

“Think about where you want to end up in this company, and who’s gonna get you there.”

You still had work to do, but you weren’t taking any chances. After you made it back to your office, you grabbed your work laptop and left for home. You had to take several calming breaths as you got into your car and turned the key into the ignition, but your hands still shook.

Then the car spluttered, refusing to start. You blinked, tried it again.

Still, the engine struggled and the dashboard shook.

Damn it, damn it! Don’t do this to me, you silently begged. You knew you should’ve had Dean look the old car over weeks ago. He’d offered more than once, but you kept forgetting. You bit your lip.

“Please,” you whispered. You just wanted to get the hell out of here. You glanced up and around the parking lot to make sure it was still empty, that no one was approaching.

After another painfully long moment of puttering, the car finally grumbled to life. A relieved breath rushed out of your body, and you began to peel out of the parking lot.

I can’t take much more of this, you thought as you drove home.

You also thought about calling Andréa. She still didn’t know all the details about what you were dealing with at the office. In fact, she knew little more than Dean.

And you really wanted to tell Dean. He had a way of calming your nerves and reassuring you when you felt out of sorts…and making you feel safe.

But you also knew how both your best friend and your boyfriend would react. Andréa would force you to go to HR, and then it would undoubtedly get messy. She could even get fired, if Nick was petty about it (and he usually was). You couldn’t afford to lose your job either.

Whereas Dean…

God, he’ll be so pissed, you thought. You had seen just a flash of his jealous side before, with Gordon. And that was one of his friends.

This would be infinitely worse.

Dean was protective. It was literally in his job description, but it was also just who he was as a person, you’d come to find. While you loved that about him, you also couldn’t have him storming your office building to wring Nick’s neck.

You needed your job. And even though you had updated your resume, with how hard you’d been working, you hadn’t had time to start scouring the online job boards…

You blew out a long breath. Your eyes were beginning to burn with frustrated tears. You sniffed and wiped under your eyes in vain.

Damn it, what the hell am I gonna do?

The question burned through your mind over and over, even when you got home. Your grandfather looked up from the show he was watching in the living room when you came in.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said. “Workin’ late?”

“Yeah,” you replied dully. You dumped your purse and workbag on the dining table and continued into the kitchen, not seeing how George frowned.

He slowly got up, wincing and at his aching joints and stifling a wet cough. He paused for a moment as a bout of nausea threatened to bowl him over.

When it passed, after a moment, he straightened. And he followed you into the kitchen, where you were peering into a near empty fridge.

“We barely have anything here,” you said with a sigh. “Okay, guess I’m going to the store. I can pick up something for dinner on the way home.”

“I’ll go with you,” George said. “I’ve been cooped up here all day.”

You shook your head without looking back at him, still making a mental note of everything you needed to buy.

“I heard you coughing. It doesn’t sound like your asthma,” you said, letting out a breath. Add a dash of worry for your grandfather’s health to spruce up your evening.

George sighed.

“Honey,” he tried. You were already shaking your head as you closed the fridge and turned to him with a frown.

“That primary doctor’s an idiot,” you said. “I’m calling your oncologist tomorrow morning.”

You went to grab your phone to set a reminder for yourself, but George stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Would you stop?” he barked. “Just stop it!”

You blinked wide, and both literally and figurately, you took a step back. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, even when you were a child. But your earlier frustrations already had you on edge, and frankly, this was the last thing you needed.

“What?” you snapped back. “Clearly you need to see the doctor, and I’m not going to let you dismiss whatever it is you’re hiding and don’t want to tell me about! I’m sick of it.”

“Let me?” he said. “That right there is our problem. I’m not a goddamn kid. Damn well ain’t your kid or your responsibility. And I’m sick of you treating me like I already got one foot in the grave!”

You flinched as if he’d physically hurt you. Your eyes inevitably flooded with tears.

George relented when he saw it. He leaned a hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself.

“Look, hun. I’m 82. Every day, I take a stack of pills that sometimes make me feel worse than the damn cancer did. I got no illusions, and I do appreciate everything you do for me,” he said. “But you’re not my caretaker. You’re not my nurse. You’re my granddaughter.”

He grasped your hand with a warm squeeze. You sniffed and shook your head.

“I understand what you’re saying. And maybe…okay, I know I can be overbearing sometimes. But there’s a reality here that you don’t want to face,” you began. Though it was hard, you met his eyes.

“I’m not just your granddaughter,” you said. “I haven’t been since Grandma died. Because I’ve had to be more. Because you’re the only family I have, and I’ll make that choice every time.”

You let go of his hand and took up your purse, wiping at your eyes.

“But if you really want to come to the store, let’s go,” you said.

George stared back at you at a loss. Deep down, he knew there was a good deal of truth in your words, but he still felt like you weren’t quite hearing him.

Still, he followed you to the car.

You got into the driver’s seat of your Camry and briefly closed your eyes in a silent prayer. Then you turned the key in the ignition. The car turned on, to your surprise and relief.

You started the short drive out of your suburban neighborhood and down to the nearest grocery store. It was only 20 minutes away, and traffic wasn’t bad, but somehow the drive seemed to take an eternity on the two-way street. There was grass and forest on the passenger side, and the rest of the city approaching on the other.

Unbidden, your mind kept drifting back to this afternoon in Nick’s office. His words were like tendrils of black, oily ink coiling through your mind.

“I hope you think hard, sweetheart.”

Your hand tightened on the steering wheel, your teeth clenching. You could picture his lazy, arrogant smirk as he leaned back into the couch.

“Think about where you want to end up in this company, and who’s gonna get you there.”

You wanted to take one of his precious golf clubs and take a few swings at the man’s head.

“Something wrong with the car?” George asked.

“What?” you asked, flinching in your seat. But you realized then what he was saying. Your car was shaking, like it was about to stall. What the hell?

None of the service lights on the car were on, but this was a warning sign you couldn’t ignore.

George looked up as you approached a curve. “Slow down!”

Your gaze lifted just in time to see how an SUV from the opposite lane of oncoming traffic was drifting too far into your lane, on the curve. You corrected quickly with a jerk of the steering wheel, but your car jolted and stuck on the wheels’ position, and you couldn’t force it straight again.

It sent the car veering off the road and onto the grass, then tumbling down the hill into a sharp decline. You didn’t see the tree until you were feeling the impact of it hitting the front of the car, and nothing more.

You blinked awake, slowly. The side of your face felt numb as you manage to raise it from the airbag. Blood dripped down your nose over your lips, which you only realized after tasting copper on your tongue. You raised a trembling hand to your mouth and wiped some of it away.

Sucking in a breath, you turned your head. Fuck, that hurt.

“Grandpa? …Grandpa!”

George was still unconscious, though he didn’t look like he was bleeding. His airbag thankfully deployed as well. You looked around for your phone…if you remembered right, it had been in your purse. You looked over, and you saw it by his feet.

Though you were held back by your seatbelt and the airbag, and your whole body felt stiff and aching, you reached over and grabbed the purse’s strap. From there you pulled it towards you, with pained grunts, and whimpers, and shallow breaths.

When you were able to fish out your cell, your blood-stained thumb shook while swiping through your contacts.

You knew you should call 911 first, but your instincts took hold. There was only one person you could call. Your eyes began to burn the longer the line rang. By the time it finally connected, the first tears welled up.

“Hey, baby. Good timing,” Dean answered. He sounded tired. “Was just thinking about calling you.”

Your heart had traveled up into your throat to hear his voice. But now, it was hard to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth.

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

Dean had already been home from the bar when you called. But when he heard your voice, full of pain, your plea for help—it was like a stone dropping into his stomach.

“What happened? Where are you?” he asked. Already he was off the couch and looking for his wallet and keys. Sam was crashing at Eileen’s tonight. Dean would have to call him later. He locked the apartment and hastened down the stairs.

You were eventually able to tell him that your car had swerved after locking up on you. That you’d crashed into a ditch, against a tree.

“Grandpa’s with me. He still hasn’t woken up,” you said through tears. “I can’t move—”

“Don’t!” Dean interrupted, another lance of panic running through him. But he gentled, hearing your soft crying. “Don’t move. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m comin’ to get you. Did you call 911?”

“No…not yet,” you admitted with a sniff.

He nodded to himself. “All right. I’m gonna call this in, make sure they’re on the way.”

“Don’t hang up, please,” you begged.

Dean was torn. He wanted to comfort you, but he knew he needed to get the fire department there as soon as possible.

“I won’t, I promise. Just hold on while I make the call,” he said as he climbed into his car. “I’m going to get the team out to you, okay?”

You sniffled again, but you finally agreed. Dean put you on hold while he called 911. All the while he was driving out of his neighborhood and onto the main road. He gave them his badge number to make sure they knew who he was, and that his girlfriend and her grandfather needed help on 32nd Street and Parker.

After he hung up with the operator, he got back on the line with you and kept you company while he drove. He gave you reassuring words, tried to keep you calm with a few wise cracks to lighten you up. Some of them you seemed to appreciate (others you didn’t).

When he pulled up to the right location, he didn’t see your car at first. That is, until he pulled over to the side of the road. He saw the edge of your bumper just over the slope, and then the rest of your Camry in the ditch. The hood was crumpled like an accordion into a tree, but at least it wasn’t smoking too bad (or on fire).

His heart clenched, but he forced himself to act—with the same fight or flight response he had to overpower with every call he responded to on the job.

Dean climbed out of his car and quickly grabbed the steel Halligan he kept in the trunk. It was essentially a more professional crowbar.

Then he jogged down into the ditch.

He went to the driver’s side first. He saw your tear-streaked face through the window, could hear your muffled voice call his name. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Can you unlock it?” he asked.

“I tried earlier,” you said. “It won’t open.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, no problem. Lean back.”

You obliged him, and once he was sure you were ready, Dean used the Halligan to pry the door open. He could’ve busted open the window, but this was safer.

Once the door was cracked open enough, he pushed it the rest of the way so he could get to you. He punctured through the air bag with the sharp end of the Halligan and pushed it down to deflate it a bit. It allowed you to grab onto his arm, and he reached for you, cupping your cheek and wiping at your tears with his thumb.

“Dean…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said, when you tearfully squeezed his arm. He noticed the drying blood around your nose and stained down your blouse. You were still dressed for work.

“Dean-o, hey,” said George from the passenger side. He was awake, but his eyes were half-lidded.

“Hey, George,” Dean nodded with a smile, to hide his concern. “How’re you doin’ over there?”

“Okay,” George tried, but it ended on a wet cough.

“Check on him. Please,” you asked. Dean nodded, but first, he leaned in a pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting out a subtle breath of relief. You closed your eyes, and a couple more tears slipped down. You squeezed his hand gratefully.

“Stay put for me,” he said. You hummed in agreement. And by now he could hear the sirens of an ambulance nearby.

Good, he thought, especially when he went over to the passenger side and wrenched the door open. He leaned George back in his seat, away from the airbag, and measured his pulse at his clammy wrist. It was a bit too fast for Dean’s liking.

“I’m good, right?” George asked. He was pale and sweating.

“That’s right. You’re gonna be hittin’ the roller disco in no time,” Dean said. George smiled in amusement, letting out a huff.

Dean smirked, then gave you a reassuring look. “The paramedic’s coming now. Just keep taking even breaths for me.”

A couple of minutes later, two paramedics came with a board and a neck brace to carry someone out. Dean recognized them from the shift opposite to his: Ed and Harry. They were a couple of chuckle brothers, but they did their job well. Dean instructed them to get George out first, and he helped them do it.

“We’re going to get to you next, ma’am,” Ed told you.

“Is he okay?” you asked. Worry for your grandfather was steeped in your watery eyes.

“They’re taking him up to the ambulance now. Another one’s coming for you,” Dean said. He was on his way back over to your side of the car, but he hurried when he saw you trying to get out. Apparently you’d managed to unclip your seatbelt when he wasn’t looking.

“Whoa, hey! What’re you doing?” Dean said. You gave him a small heart attack when you nearly fell out of the car on your shaky legs. He guided you back to sit, but you were adamant about getting out.

“I don’t want to wait,” you said sternly, though the effect was hampered by the way your voice also trembled.

“Okay, okay. I gotcha,” Dean nodded, but he urged you to let him help. He was careful in how he slipped his arms behind your back and under your knees. “Any sharp pain? In your neck, anywhere else?”

Truthfully, your neck did hurt. But it wasn’t that bad, you reasoned. The rest was just aches and bruises you were sure you would have later. You rested against his chest.

“I’m okay,” you said. Your arm curled around his shoulder while your free hand laid against his chest. “Thank you.”

Dean sighed and pressed another kiss to your hair, and then your forehead before he made his way up the slope with you in his arms. Once he got back onto the road, he spoke to Donna Hanscum, the police officer who’d arrived at the scene. She worked in the same precinct as his father and Jody.

You briefly explained what happened to cause the crash—the SUV drifting and your car locking up out of your control. Donna took notes all the while. Dean then let her know that he was taking you to the hospital.

“She really should wait for the ambulance,” Donna said, though her eyes were kind, taking in your tear-streaked face and the way you clung to Dean. She might have to visit you later for a more detailed statement, but she knew an honest mistake when she saw one.

“Eh, I’m saving them a trip,” Dean said. “That’s gas and labor cuttin’ costs right there.”

Donna shook her head, despite a smile.

“All right, Dean. Just go.” She gave you one last look of sympathy. “Feel better, hun. Looks like you’re in good hands.”

You nodded with a small smile. Letting out a breath, you closed your eyes and relaxed against Dean.

Dean stayed with you in the Emergency Department while a nurse cleaned the blood from your face, took your vitals, and tested your vision and hearing.

Your blood pressure was high, but that was to be expected. All else fell into the realm of normal, considering. Though when the nurse checked your neck, you grimaced a little when she slowly turned your head from side to side.

“Hmm. Scale of 1 to 10 on the pain?” she asked.

You glanced at Dean, who raised his brows at you expectantly. That look said, Tell the truth.

“I don’t know…4,” you replied.

The nurse gave you a knowing glance. “You can be honest. Is it a 4, or more like a 6?”

You bit your lip. “Okay, a 5.”

“All right. That’s understandable,” she said. The nurse then grabbed a brace to set around your neck. “The doctor will be in shortly to check you out, but likely she’ll prescribe you something short-term for the pain.”

You sighed in annoyance. “How long will that take? I need to see my grandfather.”

“Want me to check on him again?” Dean asked. Now that the nurse was done, he came over to where you were sitting on the edge of the examining bed to rest a hand on your back.

He’d made sure George was stable and comfortable in his own room. The ED doctor had ordered blood tests, among other things, since he was a former cancer patient. But also because he had a fever and an elevated blood pressure that didn’t seem to just be related to the crash. He was now sleeping while the hospital ran the rest of their tests.

You turned to Dean with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes. “I want to see him.”

Dean slipped an arm around you and tucked you against him more securely.

“You will, sweetheart. You just need to get checked out first,” he said. He was worried about you. You seemed all right, but he didn’t like your tendency to forget about yourself. Sometimes, you were a bit too much like him.

You sighed in defeat (for now). But after a moment, your small voice broke through the quiet.

“I should’ve let you look at the car,” you said.

Dean glanced down at you and caught the guilt written across your face. His brows knit together as his heart clenched again.

“Don’t do that,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not your fault.”

“My car, my goddamn fault,” you said through tears.

“Stop, baby,” Dean said. He held you closer, laying a kiss on the top of your head while you tried to stifle your tears.

He waited with you until the doctor finally arrived to examine you. She spotted the same things as the nurse, and prescribed you an anti-inflammatory pain killer, as well as rest. And of course, if your pain worsened, you were to come back to the ED.

After the doctor left, Dean agreed to walk you down to your grandfather’s hospital room. George was awake, though he seemed groggy with the pain medication they had him on through the IV. He greeted you and Dean with an attempt at a smile.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. His hand turned over to welcome yours, and he squeezed, seeing the tears in your eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sniffling. “I’m good. How’re you feeling?”

Your gaze drifted to his chart, to the medications and fluids they had him on, what tests were listed…

George’s hand tugged on yours, pulling your attention back to him.

“They’ve got it in hand. Don’t you worry about me,” he said.

You flickered at a smile, as you both knew that wasn’t in the cards. In fact, you’d barely been sitting down on the edge of his bed for a couple of minutes before you were asking if the recline of his bed was comfortable. If he needed more water, or another blanket.

George responded negatively to most of your questions, though he shot Dean an imploring look over your head. The other man nodded and gently grasped your shoulders.

Dean could see why you were blustering around—so you wouldn’t crack from anxiety and exhaustion. But he needed to stop you before you hurt yourself. (Not to mention, before you drove George crazy.)

“Hey, come ‘ere a sec,” said Dean. He guided you into a nearby chair and soothed a hand over your hair. He kneeled down next to you and grabbed your hand. You let out a breath and held onto him back.

“You need to take it easy, okay? Need to,” Dean said, in a quiet but firm tone he didn’t often use with you. He reached for the slip of paper the doctor gave you, now stuffed in your purse. “Everything’s gonna get taken care of. You just relax here, and I’m going to go fill out your prescription.”

Dean waited for you to meet his eyes; he was only satisfied when you nodded in acceptance. He gave you a smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It was comfort and relief, for both of you.

You held him there for a moment with a hand on his cheek. Your fingers traced across his brow, and down his jawline. If it were even possible, after everything he’d done today, you were never more grateful for him than in this moment.

George watched the little scene from his bed with a soft smile.

Finally, he thought. And it meant many things.

After Dean reluctantly pulled away, he promised he’d be back soon. He then left to take your prescription to the closest pharmacy, also fishing out his phone to call Sam and let him know what was going on at the hospital.

Dean had a feeling you all were going to be here for a while.

AN: *exhales* Okay. 😅 A lot going on in this chapter. Another piece of the puzzle, more of why Nick needs his ass handed to him, and a dramatic save. Let me know what you thought!

And please forgive me for where we're going next...

Next Time:

Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

Keep Reading: PART 11

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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