Ellen Harvelle knew that there was evil in this world. She had seen enough of it and heard even more. She knew what could happen to good people in a bad world and sometimes she found herself sick of it all. But Ellen had long ago stopped letting those worries affect her the way they once had. She was a strong woman, determined in her goals and stubborn in her own right and she knew it. Her daughter often rolled her eyes over a mother who owned a bar that was frequented only by armed men and women but did not want her child to take up weapons training. But could you blame her? What mother would be overjoyed by her teenage daughter having her own knife collection?

Of course, keeping her away from all it was impossible and Ellen was aware of that, but then she could always wish differently right? The Roadhouse that was their home and workplace at once was old and a little worn down but her customers didn't mind. They were a special kind of people. The kind that slept with their eyes open and with a .44 under the pillow. The kind of people that spoke little and listened carefully. The kind that drank a little too much and always itched for a good fight. The kind that sat with their back to the walls and their faces to the door. The careful and lonely kind. The hunting kind. They were predators and Ellen knew that too well. But they were of no danger to her. Maybe, just maybe, their presence made the Roadhouse a little safer for its inhabitants. They were not the loveliest people when it came to attitude, cleanliness or friendliness, and they didn't tip as well as they ought to, but most of them kept to themselves and were thankful enough for the safe haven they were provided.

Harvelle's Roadhouse was a place where they didn't have to act the harmless nice citizens but could polish their weapons on the tables and read books one couldn't find in the usual city library.

**2002**

It was warm and sunny outside when Ellen unloaded the truck and brought an arm full of supplies through the swinging door that was the front entrance of her pub. Looking over the rim of her brown paper bags she saw the blond-headed teenager that was her little girl sitting on the counter with a couple of books strewn about her workplace and a notebook under her right hand scribbling on it with a blue pen. She looked up smiling at her mother with a boisterous "Hi mom!" on her lips. Ellen let the bags flop down behind the bar, pulling a lock of brown hair behind her ear.

"Jo, did you manage to coax Sam into helping you with your homework again?" Ellen raised an eyebrow at the young man who had occupied the seat next to her daughter but had jumped up at seeing Ellen enter the room and already made his way through the door to fetch more of her shopping from the truck.

Jo flashed her mother a bright smile. "He offered, mom…."

The door swung open again and the tall young man came in balancing double the amount of bags Ellen had taken in her first run in his long arms. "Sam, you don't have to carry like a mule… you could always make two trips." Sam had brought everything that she had left in the truck . He always did it that way and Ellen expected that one day the pile in his arms would slide and bury him beneath it.

He sat the assortment of bags and boxes down and started sorting them into the cupboards unasked. "Why fix it if it ain't broken?" He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes at the boy. He had offered to do the supply run for her or at least tag along to help her with the carrying but Ellen wouldn't hear any of it. He had schoolwork to do and she would be damned if he would fall behind because he helped her with things she could handle perfectly on her own. Not that Sam was anywhere close to falling behind in school. He was an excellent student and always finished his tasks early. He also rose to the challenge of making sure that Jo's homework was not just done but done properly. Ellen loved him for that. Sam always brushed off her thanks, saying that it kept him tuned on the basics and saved him repeating things for himself.
Together they shelved the supplies in no time and Ellen started setting up everything in the pub for the usual business that would begin in a few hours when the evening would roll about and the customers would crawl out of their dens to go on the nightly hunt.

Ellen was filling little bowls with pretzels and peanuts as she heard the well-known growl of a car's engine outside. She smiled to herself, knowing that homework would be forgotten for the next hour. The muffled bang of a car door being opened and closed was followed by the crunching of boots on gravel. She wouldn't admit it but she had missed that sound. It had been a few weeks.

Jo slapped her books shut and jumped from her stool expectantly. The door was pushed open and Ellen smiled at the young man entered. He only had time to let his duffel bag fall to the floor before he was jumped by a hundred pounds of excited little blond girl. Jo squealed and hugged him fiercely. "Dean!" Her feet were off the ground and he hugged her back, carrying her towards the counter where Sam had come out from behind the bar to clap a large hand on his back and hug him as well – never minding that Jo was still hanging from Dean's left side.
The new arrival plunked the girl down on the counter and grinned at them. "Looks like you missed me." He flung an arm over the taller boy's shoulders, stretching himself to his full height.

Sam looked at him with a sly grin on his face.

"You were gone for a whole month, bro." His look was slightly accusing but far from harsh.

"You counted? I'm flattered." Dean grinned, shrugging off his jacket with a slight grunt and throwing it over a chair.

Ellen frowned. She put down the bag of pretzels she was holding and walked towards the newest occupant of the Roadhouse. Slapping his back in greeting, she asked "How are you, Dean?"

The man flinched a little under the harsh touch and Ellen saw a purple and green bruise shining on his temple, half hidden under the line of short brown hair.

"Better if you would stop hitting me like a race horse." He shot her a stern look and she nodded. Jo's expression had gone from excited to worried and she combed back his hair with her fingers, looking at the bruise. Ellen knew that she felt guilty for jumping him unceremoniously before.

"Do you want ice for that?" Not waiting for an answer, the girl hopped off the counter and quickly made her way behind the bar, opening the freezer and rolling ice cubes into a bar towel. She came back trying to push the improvised cold pack against Dean's face but he snatched it from her grip, mumbling his thanks.

Sam was silent and just watched Dean holding the cold pack against his temple probably more to appease Jo than to lessen any swelling or pain because Ellen knew that it was a little late for that. The taller boy had a slight frown on his face and followed Dean with his gaze as he walked back to the door to pick up his bag.

"Everything alright?" He finally asked with a neutral look his eyes never leaving Dean's back.

The other turned around again with a slight smirk. "I'm fine, Sam. It's just a bruise."

Sam nodded. "D'you get them?"

"Every last one of them." The smirk grew into a satisfied grin and Ellen saw the glint in Dean's green eyes. She knew that look. She had seen it in his face before as well as in her husband's and the boys' father's. It was the excitement of a good hunt and she admired him for being such a natural at the same time as her heart grew heavy. She knew he was lost to the normal world. There was no turning back after reaching this level. He would always be a hunter in his heart. He would live and die as one… and Ellen knew that they died easily. It had happened to her husband last year and to many others before: one of them John Winchester, the boys' father. It was how their story had begun. Their life together, so many years ago.

** 1991 **

William Anthony Harvelle hadn't been a hunter for just a day… or a year. He was good at what he did and he was good at doing it alone. That's why his wife was not happy with him deciding to team up with a "colleague." Not that Ellen didn't like the man. John Winchester was a good hunter, his reputation was flawless and his skills were well known. He had been hunting for years himself, maybe not decades, but what time didn't teach John he learned by stubbornness. Ellen thought he was a good hunter. But that was the problem: good hunters were bad team players and she didn't want her husband to be in more danger than he usually managed to land himself in by having a partner. One man made mistakes. Two men made double as many mistakes. It was dangerous to rely on someone to have your back when a lapse would get you dead in no time. No second chances, no do-overs. Death was final and it was what Ellen feared most for her little family. She could live with pain, and being apart, and injuries but how was she supposed to cope with a dead husband? There was no healing death.

She watched wearily as her husband packed his weapons into a bag and stood silently as he walked to his little daughter to say goodbye to her where she sat on the floor playing with a doll he had given her a while back. Ellen used the moment she had to cross the space between her and John. She looked at him for a long while, eyes hard. The man stopped his own preparations, looking up. He met her gaze straight on.

"You don't want him to go with me." It wasn't a question and Ellen didn't see the need of answering. He nodded slowly. "I will look after him, Ellen. I'll do anything so he can come back to you."

Ellen shook her head slowly. "Most of you hunters don't have anything to lose." Then she looked at her husband talking softly to the little blond girl that giggled at his words, a broad smile showing the missing teeth in her child's mouth. "He has. She has. We have." She gave John another stern glance and he nodded his face solemn.

"I understand that, Ellen…."

"No. I don't think you do." How could he understand how she felt about this?
"I got two kids myself, you know?" He gave her a wry smile and her glance softened slightly. She hadn't known. She had met John only a few times and he wasn't the talkative type. "Two boys. Sam's just two years older than Jo. Dean takes care of him a lot while I'm away but he's just a kid himself. Not big enough to reach the top shelf."

Ellen frowned. She knew that John's wife was dead, William had told her that much. She wondered where those children were when John was on his endless hunts. "Who looks after them?"

"I do as often as I can. When I'm away on short trips the older one, Dean, can take care of them. Right now they are with a friend. A priest. Good man." She looked in his face for a long time trying to see what kind of a man John Winchester was. He had children too young to be left alone by the standards of normal society but he spent his time hunting what goes bump in the dark and left them to care for themselves. She couldn't do that. But then she didn't have to. He did. "I don't want my kids to become orphans and I certainly don't want your kid to become one. We'll be careful." His smile was tired but solemn and she nodded slowly.

William came over carrying Jo in his arms. He passed her to Ellen with one last kiss on the forehead and grabbed his back. He kissed his wife goodbye before nodding to John. The two men left the Roadhouse carrying bags of guns and ammunition, knives and salt.

Ellen hoped John Winchester was a man of his word. She hoped this for him and for herself.

It was the middle of the night when Ellen heard the engine of a car outside her bar. It was late and there were only a handful of patrons left scattered around the tables in the dim light. It wasn't unusual for her guests to come at the most unholy hours. Hunting was a night-time activity whether you were an animalistic predator or a human one.

As the door swung open Ellen couldn't help the smile that spread over her face. Her husband stood in the door, face grim but very much alive and she hurried over to him, hugging him close as soon as he was in reach. She had been worried sick as every time he left although she'd never admit to it.

After a few long seconds she pulled away. William's shoulders were hard as rock from tension and she looked at him with suspicion in her eyes. Something was wrong. He had a black eye, nothing unusual in his line of work, but combined with the grim set of his jaw and the darkened look in his eyes it didn't tell of happy things. "What's wrong? Did anything go badly?"

She was afraid of the answer, but apart of her mind told her that whatever it was, it didn't matter because her husband was home and he was alive. William looked at the floor and pulled his wife out the door again, away from the small crowd of customers and into the night's cool night air. It was chilly outside, but the shudder that went down Ellen's spine was not caused by the cold.

"It didn't go as planned." William sat down on the steps and put his head in his hands. "John's dead."

For a moment everything was silent. Ellen didn't even dare breathe. Then she swallowed, trying to gather her voice again. She couldn't let this paralyze her. She had lost friends before. The only thing that was different now was that William had been there. He might have died as well. "What happened?"

"We changed places. The plan was that I would be bait and John would be backup. But I didn't feel comfortable with it. I… I don't know why. The plan was flawless but I…. John said he'd trust me to have his back but I… I think I fucked up. Got anxious and exposed him. He died before I could do anything." William ran his hands through his hair before rubbing his palms over his face.

For a moment Ellen thought she was a terrible person when the only thought she could find in herself was that she was glad John was dead and not William. Her husband was alive and she was happy about that but her head screamed at her how she could be such a heartless bitch. How could she be so selfish? John Winchester was dead. She looked at her husband and took a deep breath. No, she wasn't glad that John was dead but nobody could hold it against her that she was relieved her husband was back home safely, thanks to John Winchester. He had kept his promise…. Her breath hitched as she remembered their goodbyes. He had kept his promise to her but not to himself.

She sunk down next to her husband and put her arm around his broad back. "My god… what about his kids?"

He raised his head eyes looking at her slightly confused. "What?"

"His sons… John said he had two sons, that his youngest is only a bit older than Jo. They are alone now." She didn't dare look at her husband. She didn't dare look at herself. The thought of those two boys she had never met not even knowing what had happened to their father cut deep in her soul. "They are with a priest… we need to tell them." She stood, not sure what to do with herself. The only thing she knew for sure was that she find the priest and the sons of John Winchester. She wouldn't leave the kids wondering where their dad was. There had to be a way she could help. She had to try. William stood as well and crossed the small gravel path to his car, opening the trunk and looking through the bags. She followed him and saw him pull out a brown leather book that looked well-used and worn. He opened it and started leafing through it for a moment.

William stabbed a page with his index finger few minutes later. "Pastor Jim. There's a phone number there."

When Ellen walked into the church a shudder ran down her spine. She was not a religious person but the debt she owed John Winchester and his sons made her conscience weigh a ton that morning. She knew that it wasn't really her fault that John was dead. But the fact that she had made him look after her husband more than he did after himself made her feel obliged to the man in more ways than she could was part of the reason she was here. But not all of it. They had called Pastor Jim the same night and he had taken the message with a shock that was soon swept aside by sad but realistic stoicism. He was worried about what would happen to the boys; he didn't have the capacity to look after them on a permanent basis and there was no blood relative left to give them to. The last one, an uncle from the mother's side, seemed to have passed away only months ago. He would try his utmost to have them put with a nice foster family, but he worried about the boys being able to fit into a new family, especially the older one, Dean. Ellen knew what a life of hunting, of traveling like a fugitive on the run could make of a grown man. She could only imagine what it did to a child.

Ellen ended the call feeling heartsick. She knew that Jim would do his best but she couldn't bear the thought of those kids being thrown into the foster system. She couldn't even imagine what she'd think if her daughter were to end up there. It was impossible. So she talked to William and he agreed. She knew he felt as indebted to John Winchester as she did, maybe even more so, and they agreed on taking the kids in. They had the room and Jo wouldn't be as isolated anymore.

Jim had been slightly baffled by their offer but he was delighted to tell the boys. There was only one more obstacle to overcome. Getting the Winchester boys to agree to their stay with the Harvelles.

Ellen walked the middle aisle of the church towards the altar looking around for a man who she might identify as the priest. "Hello?"

A squeak made her jump a little and as she turned to the noise she saw a man with short hair and the dark robes of a priest leave the confessional. He walked over with a friendly smile that seamed slightly strained on the edges. "Hello."

"Are you Pastor Jim?" As the man nodded she held out her hand on greeting. "My name is Ellen Harvelle. We spoke on the phone."

The priest's face lightened up with recognition and he shook her hand firmly. "I am glad you came. Your offer nearly seemed too good to be true, to be honest."

She gave him a tired smile of her own. "It still stands." She saw his shoulders lose some of their tension as he showed her the way through a door at the side of the altar-space that led into the rooms of the church not opened for the usual visitors.

"I hope you don't expect too much of the boys. They are good kids and they don't make a lot of extra work. They keep pretty much to themselves. Sam is pretty curious about everything… well, what should one expect from an eight year old? Dean is a little harder to crack but he can take care of himself and doesn't need to be babysat." Ellen smiled. This sounded like an advertisement for the puppies of the dog shelter: 'likes other dogs, good with children, clean, lively but not loud.'

"Did you tell them I was coming?"

"Yes. Sam is still trying to understand the situation but Dean knows what you are offering. He's the one you have to get through to." Ellen nodded. As far as she knew Dean was twelve, a difficult age for any normal teenager… but she knew him to be anything but normal.
They entered a room that looked like a small living room. Ellen saw a boy – judging by the age it would be Sam – sitting on the floor in front of a small coffee table, drawing on a piece of yellow paper. The boy looked up and Ellen saw brown eyes looking at her expectantly. "Hi," the boy said and looked at her a little longer before he let his gaze fall onto the paper again.

"Hi." Ellen walked over to him and sat down on the couch behind him. "What are you drawing?" She looked at the paper. The upper half of the page was still yellow and he had drawn a sun and stars. The lower half showed two stick figures standing next to a church. It would have looked normal if the church and the stick figures hadn't been surrounded by black crayon coloring that spread over the lower half of the page. There was a taller figure standing in the church's doorway and another one at the far left end of the page. "Who are the people?"

The boy put down the pen he had held and looked at her for a moment. The he pointed to the two small figures. "That's me and that's Dean."

"Your brother?" The boy nodded and Ellen pointed to the person at the church. "Who's that?"

In answer the kid pointed at the priest standing silently next to the doorway. "And who's that?" She asked as she pointed at the last person on the picture.

"My dad." The boy picked up a dark crayon and started drawing dark shadows around the dad-stick-person.

Before Ellen couldn't ask more, a door at the side of the room opened and an older boy with short light brown hair walked in carrying a plate and a glass of what looked like orange juice. He hesitated for a second upon seeing Ellen on the couch, but then walked to the coffee table and put down the plate and glass.

"C'mon Sam, it's lunch time." As the younger boy scooted over to the plate and glass and picked up the sandwich that was offered to him, the older boy – presumably Dean – started cleaning away the crayons and paper.

"Don't you have lunch as well?" Sam asked, in the same child-like manner Ellen heard from her daughter.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not hungry. Now eat your lunch." Ellen let him clean away Sam's things, set his own pace of the conversation. After he had everything tucked away in a bag next to the couch, he stood next to his munching brother and looked at Ellen for a long time. "You're Ellen, right? Jim said you were coming to get us."

Ellen was slightly surprised by the bluntness of the kid but nodded with a friendly smile offering him her hand. "Yes, I am Ellen. You must be Dean?" He eyed her hand suspiciously for a moment but shook it all the same.

"Why?" His gaze was as intimidating as any twelve year old's could ever get and Ellen felt like she was facing a child inquisitor.

"Why what, Dean?"

"Why do you want us?" Dean's hand landed on his brother's shoulder and Ellen knew what the priest had meant. He was more then just a big brother to the younger boy. He was the responsible one. The one who decided what was to be done because he knew that no one else could take that responsibility from him.

"Because we - that's me and my husband - we were friends of your father's."

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Jim was friends with my dad, too, and so was Caleb. They don't want us and I don't know you."

Ellen felt a deep sadness grip her at Dean's clinical analysis of their loneliness. "Well, Jim and Caleb are not used to having children around and they are alone. Me and William, we are two people and we already have a daughter, Jo, so we are used to taking care of children. We don't think your dad would have wanted you to have to go into the foster system."

Sam had finished his sandwich by then and looked up excitedly. "You know my dad? Can you tell him to come back? Because I don't want him to stay away…." Big brown eyes looked at Ellen and nearly broke her heart.

She saw Dean take a deep breath his eyes half closed as though to gather his strength. "She can't, Sam. Dad won't come back."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead. People don't come back when they are dead. He's with mom now." Dean's voice was calm and silent, but strained. It seemed to take all of Dean's strength not to yell at his little brother for his stupidity.

"Why would he want to be with mom instead of us? Why can't we be with mom?" Ellen saw tears at the edge of Sam's eyes as Dean turned and bent down to his little brother.

He put his hands on the boys shoulder and squeezed. "Because we are alive, Sam. Dad would want us to go on, you know that."

"But I don't wanna be alone."

"You're not alone. I'm here. I'm always here, you know that. I'll take care of you."

Sam nodded and wiped at his eyes with his child's hands. Ellen was surprised to see Dean turn again. "Are you a hunter? Like my dad?"

She looked at him for a moment not knowing what to say. She had expected them to know some of it. But Dean seemed to know exactly what John had been doing, what he had fought. "No I'm not, but my husband is."

Dean nodded and his eyes fell to the table while he seemed to think things over.

"Alright." He swallowed once, his voice sounding unbelievably rough for a child.

"We don't wanna be in foster care." His eyes met hers again. They looked more weary than any kid's eyes ever should. "We're coming with you."