A/N: Ok, so this has been sitting on my laptop for like 4 years. I finally decided to edit/finish it and post it. Hope you enjoy!
Tag to 2x14, Born Under a Bad Sign
Sammy's finally fallen asleep. By the looks of the grimace forming on his face and the restless muscle twitching, he's likely having the start of a bad dream. Dean considers waking him, then decides his little brother needs his sleep. He'll likely wake up later, anyway. Might as well let him sleep while he can. Besides, Dean's got a phonecall he has to make. He glances down at his phone, flipping through his contacts. Ellen Harvelle. He might as well put her on speed dial, for the amount of times he's called her in the past week. For the amount of times he's called over the past couple months. Somewhere along the way, he's come to rely on her. Sam goes missing and he picks up the phone and calls her, just like that. It's weird to have someone to call, other than Dad, anyway—he swallows hard—and he's not sure he likes it. But with the trouble Sam's been getting himself into recently, he's not sure he has a choice. Anyway, he just thinks he should tell her that Sammy's ok. He feels like he owes her that, after all the panicked phonecalls she's received from him over the past several days. That, and a thank-you.
It only rings twice. He can hear the hum of the Roadhouse in the background.
"Ellen."
"Dean! Did you find Sam?"
"Yeah, I did."
She must hear it in his voice. "He ok?"
He's all ready with some cheeky retort, but it dies on his lips. This week's worn him out more than he wants to admit. More than anything, he just wants someone to tell him it's ok. Wants someone to share this burden with him.
"Some sick-o demon freak was using him as a meatsuit." And it's my fault...
Ellen's quiet for a minute, seeming to mull it over. She knows it's personal, but she won't push.
"How's he coping?"
"You know Sam; he's taking it all personally." Dean's taken by surprise by the lump that suddenly forms in his throat. "Thinks it's all his fault."
"'Course it ain't." She says it automatically, years of raising a daughter and being around hunters, and being married to one, bringing the words easily to her lips.
"I know that." Dean glanced over at his brother, shaking his head slightly as he notices the deepening worry lines on Sam's face. "Might take him a little longer to figure that out."
"He'll come 'round. He's tough. Like you. Like John was."
"Yeah." Dean massages his temples. He knows Sam will; he's going to make sure of it.
Ellen sighs softly on the other end and for a minute Dean thinks she's going to say how hard this life is or how they can quit anytime or even acknowledge how naively optimistic it is to think Sam will get over this, but all she says is: "You guys can come back to the Roadhouse any time, you know that, right?"
He doesn't answer that—unsure of what to say. She's about to hang up, but he has something else to tell her. He's not the only one who's been left behind, constantly searching for the face that means the world to them.
"Say, Ellen?"
"Yeah, Dean?"
"While I was looking for Sam, I ran into Jo."
For a second he thinks she's hung up. Then, quietly: "Where?"
"Working a bar in Duluth."
He leaves out the part where Meg tried to kill Jo and the part where he nearly let her. He doesn't want Ellen to get the wrong idea. Nor does he want to think about what would have happened had Meg tried to push it; what he would have done if she had come any closer to killing Jo.
Ellen's tone is suddenly all business and her reply is clipped: "Thank you."
There's a click and then the phone disconnects. The surge of loneliness Dean feels as the phone buzzes surprises him.
He stretches out on the bed across from Sam, under the pretense of getting a few winks before his brother wakes them both up, but he knows he won't sleep.
"May I help you?" The man behind the counter has kindly eyes and a worldly-weary face.
"I'm looking for Jo Harvelle. Might be going by something else, but I was told she works here."
"She's gone. Left after closin' yesterday and never came back. Didn't give her notice or anything."
Of course she's gone.
Ellen sighs, massaging her forehead with her left hand. She feels years older than she is. She starts toward the door when the bar owner stops her.
"Ma'am, you look like you could use a drink. On the house." He pushes a glass toward her.
She sits down at the bar and wonders if she'll ever stop chasing her daughter's tail. Wonders if she'll ever be able to shake the nagging worry that's been her constant companion since Joanna left.
She tilts her head back, feeling the burn of whiskey on her throat.
Of course she won't.
-finis-