In truth, she felt sorry for him. She knew where he was coming from, had known John all those years ago, back when the brothers were young. Too young to be on their own.
She had asked John about it, told him to go home to those boys, but he'd refused. He'd said he needed answers, and she had dropped it. Now, Ellen Harvelle was seriously regretting that decision.
She could hear the pain in his voice, the way it cracked as he tried to keep himself composed, the long pauses when he couldn't. If she had made John go back, if she had only told him that he couldn't rely so much on that boy to raise his brother, that parenting wasn't a child's job, maybe things would have been different.
But she hadn't, and they weren't.
"He's not here," she said softly for the fifth time that day. The fifth time he'd called in an hour. "I'll tell you if I see him, though."
He thanked her and hung up. She sighed, glancing around the roadhouse, thinking back to the day that John Winchester had sat at the bar, looking up at her with fierce determination in his face.
She remembered him talking about his sons, about how the younger was a little genius, how the elder was a natural with weapons. He'd seemed proud, and just a little sad.
"He'll protect his brother," John had told her, "he'll make sure nothing bad happens."
She had told him that wasn't Dean's job. He had left.
The next time she'd seen John Winchester, he had looked older somehow. "He didn't do his job," the hunter had said, "he wasn't good enough. He almost got Sam killed."
She had tried to defend the little boy, but it hadn't worked. John had never been the same after that. He came in and told her and Bill about how Sammy was doing in school, about different awards he was winning, and about how proud he was of the boy. He never mentioned Dean again, not a word of him.
A chill ran up her spine as the phone rang again, pulling her from her thoughts. Of course, it was Dean.
No, Sam still hadn't been there, but she would be sure to call if he came.
Ellen looked back across the building. It was funny how the emptiness got to her now. Ash was still asleep, Jo was gone. And Dean wouldn't stop calling.
He'd been so broken when she first met him, though you wouldn't know it looking at him. She could see it in his eyes, though. Fear and betrayal. He'd discovered his father's mortality, and, on top of that, had heard the terrible things he'd always kept hidden away come running out of the older man's mouth.
Dean, of course, had never told her what the demon had said in that cabin in Missouri, but Sam had.
Sam had told her a lot of things. He'd told her he was different, told her he wasn't human. And all the while, Dean had been glaring at her, almost daring her to say the wrong thing or make the wrong move. Telling her silently that if she betrayed their trust, or made a move to treat Sam like something less than human, she would have to answer to him.
There was no doubt in Ellen's mind that Dean Winchester was capable of murder. After all, Sam had told her about the demon at Bobby's. He'd told her about the demon in the alley. She'd heard about the people in Oregon through the grapevine.
The phone started to ring again.
