A.n.: Hi again guys! Firstly thank you so, SO much for all the reviews for "In distress." I am glad it was so well liked. Secondly as you can tell this is a bobby/ellen story, because the plot bunny that was hatching during 6x17 My heart will go on, waited, biding it's time and then suddenly it sprang on me and demanded I write this. So...I am. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but the more I wrote it the more it morphed into this. So this is the first chapter in a three (four? Five?) part telling of Ellen and Bobbys relationship and how they met/fell in love/ and got married in the 6 x 17 alternate universe, hopefully you like. Ellens' POV is in italics, Bobbys' is just normal. Because Ellen and Bobby needs to be shipped much harder than it is now. Just my opinion...any who off of my soap box and onto the story! Also this is dedicated in it's entirety to my friend smalld1171 :D
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
He puffed a hushed breath into his hands to try and generate some warmth, shuffling back and forth from one foot to the next. And damn he was tired. The kinda bone deep weariness that he was afraid would never go away. He just finished exorcising a handful of teenagers trying to do a blood sacrifice in the middle of the Nebraska woods and now…he needed a drink.
Bobby had jostled the frightened and freezing kids into consciousness, slipping his own jacket off to place on the shoulders of a slender, terrified blonde and then he had waited while they all began to remember. He wished with everything in him he didn't have to tell these kids the truth, but wide eyes stared up at him, waiting for something to make sense. It was always routine after that, if they survived the exorcism (all but two had) you had to tell them about demons and what to do so they couldn't get back up in ya. Bobby distributed the charms he carried with him and sent the kids back to their cars and back home. He dug two graves, frigid wind biting into his fingers and face and then trudged back to his car. He always had a regretful twinge that he had not had all of this knowledge early on in his life. Would have saved him a lot of trouble…
The dull light the sign marked Roadhouse cast was a welcome sight. The vision of older, burly males stumbling out drunkenly into the night was even more welcome. Bobby could practically hear the beer calling his name. He plopped down onto a bar stool, holding his hand up to wave the bartender over. He hadn't been there more than thirty seconds when he realized it was a bar full of mostly hunters, dozens of eyes darting over to track his entrance into the building. The bartender moved in front of him as he raised his head to request his drink of choice. He was momentarily frozen as he stared into dazzling green eyes and a soft upturned mouth.
"What'll it be?" her voice asked and Bobby had to mentally slap himself to keep from muttered a "what?" having completely forgotten what the question was.
"You get your marbles knocked around in there?" she chuckled, a low rumble.
"What? Uh, no sorry. Just a beer." He answers, wondering what it was about this girl that affected him. Hell he hadn't even so much as looked at another woman since…
"Here you go." She placed the drink in front of him.
"Thanks."
Ellen Harvelle was about to swing the shotgun she had under the bar to her hip and aim it at the sleazy hunter who was panting alcohol laden breathe into her face. Complete with terribly crude pickup lines. Oh yeah, her trigger finger was downright itchy.
"Thinkin you, me and the back seat of my truck ought to get acquainted…" he broke off, swaying where he stood.
"Thinking you should go sit down Tex before you hurt yourself," she gave a sharp nod at his hunter buddies who approached the inebriated man before he face planted into a bar stool.
Damn, she really could have used the laugh.
She was cleaning up the beer nuts off the bar, completely absorbed in her thoughts when the door blows open and a draft of cold air shakes her back into reality. The man that is silhouetted in the doorway has little to no winter wear on and Ellen thinks he's got to be green as the grass to being a hunter if he isn't toting around a parka in the harsh winter months. He sags into his seat and then meets her eyes. His lips are chapped and his hair is dusted white with snow, but his eyes are the color of the ocean during a storm and she can see a sea of sadness in them.
He asks for a beer and she drops one in front of him wondering idly what type of deep, dark, terrible secrets this man carried.
He shot a tired smile in her direction, lifting the bottle in a cheers motion.
She reached under the bar and snagged the portable heater that was currently keeping her calves toasty and set it in front of the shivering male.
He looked confused at the object, red hands already inching towards the heat.
"So I don't have to pick up your fingers after they've fallen off. Clean up after enough damn hunters." She joked and to her surprise the harsh line that seemed to be the permanent state of most hunters' mouths quirked up.
"Thanks uh…" he scratched at the back off his head.
"Ellen. Ellen Harvelle." She thrust her hand out in front of him with a grin.
"Bobby Singer."