Tears Before Bedtime
Fandom: Supernatural
Category/Rated: NC17 Het
Year/Length: 2006/~4165 words
Pairing: Dean/Ellen
Spoilers: For all of Season 2, but especially "No Exit" and "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things."
Disclaimer: We own nothing. We are doing this for love and not money.
Author's Notes: Takes place the night after the events of "No Exit."
They'd driven away from the Roadhouse, Dean morose and Sam introspective, and, for once, Dean didn't play his tapes even though the drive from Philadelphia had been long and silent and now they were free. There was a motel a few miles down the road from the Roadhouse, and they'd checked in without saying anything of consequence, cleaned their weapons in silence, salted the doors and windows, and then showered and headed to bed.
They were both exhausted. Sam had - unusually for him - taken a painkiller and a sleeping pill because his wrist was hurting him following the exertions of the previous day. Dean, who usually didn't need anything at all to help him sleep, and who had spent hours getting here from Philadelphia without any music to keep him going, had dropped off shortly after he heard Sam start to snore softly.
By midnight, the pair of them were sleeping so soundly that it would have taken a bomb at the foot of their beds to waken them.
Neither of them heard the scratch at the door as someone picked the lock, and neither of them stirred as it was pushed silently open.
The first thing that Dean knew was when a heavy weight suddenly sat on his back, and the cold muzzle of a gun was pressed to the back of his head.
Dean held his breath as his eyes shot open. His fingers curled around the hilt of the knife that he kept under his pillow when he slept. The weight didn't feel like a man's - too light, he wondered who, or more importantly what, had gotten into their room. "If you're looking for money, it's over there on the dresser," he whispered. "Other than that, if you're gonna sit on my back, mind scratching it just below the shoulder?"
"Shut up." Ellen's voice cracked like a whip. The barrel of a gun pressed momentarily harder against his neck and then began slowly to slide down his spine. "Keep silent until you've got something to say, and I'll tell you what that's gonna be." Her voice was low and harsh, and she slowly moved down his body. "Put your hands on the top of the pillow," she said, and when he didn't move, she jabbed her gun into his back and cursed. "Do it! Now."
"Ellen?" Dean furrowed his brow and was about to turn his head around when he felt the gun press harder. What the hell was she doing here? And in the middle of the night? He glanced over to Sam, worried about him. After all she'd been the wife of a hunter, and she knew their secret; she knew what Sam was. He knew they never should have told.
Releasing the knife, he slid his hands out slowly and laid them on top of the pillow. "Ellen, what the hell you doing here? If it's about Jo…?" The question in his voice went unanswered, and he felt the jab of the gun again, cutting his words off instantly.
"I told you to shut up," she said and hit him on the back with her pistol, raising an angry looking bruise. "I won't tell you again."
She was breathing harshly. There was a pause as she adjusted her position and then climbed off him, stepping back. "Sit up, slowly. Any sudden move, and I'll blow your balls to kingdom come. I'm counting on the fact that those are the only two things you really care about."
Dean winced and gave a little grunt at the hit. Now he was pissed, and his face turned hard. He'd been trying to be nice, be reasonable, but it seemed clear to him that Ellen wasn't here to reason. Dean turned over slowly so that his cold eyes could meet Ellen's in the dark. He only had his underwear on, and as he moved up to sitting, his bare feet touched the floor. He sat on the bed with his head slightly lowered. For a moment his eyes rested upon the gun, and then he lifted his gaze to her face. "If you're gonna shoot me, you better do it fast, because if you came here to hurt my brother, I swear to God..." he hissed.
"I'm not gonna touch your brother," she growled. "If he wakes up, he can leave. I've got no quarrel with him. It's you I want to teach the error of your ways, Dean Winchester, so shut up, like I said, or lose 'em." She pointed the pistol down low, aiming at his groin and watched him flinch. "Now that we're both comfy, let's have a nice little chat."
Dean tightened his jaw, looking up at Ellen. He drew a breath, trying to hold back his anger, but it was there, showing even in the dark. From the little light that reflected off Ellen, he could see it in her as well. Since she'd forbidden him to talk he used his expression to tell her to go on.
"You lied to me," growled Ellen. "First of all, you will give me your word that you won't lie to me again, and you can take it from me that, if I catch you out in a lie, I will blow a hole clean through you big enough that people will be able to shake hands through it." She motioned with the gun. "So let's hear it."
Dean's jaw twitched. He was fighting to either say words and mean them or say them and to hell with her. Who, in the name of every demon that walked the earth, was she to point a gun at him and make him say anything. "Thought you didn't take promises from Winchesters," he said at last, half expecting the gun to go off right then and there.
Dean's speech was a red rag to a bull. Ellen frowned, her jaw setting, and her eyes flashing. She stalked forward, raised the gun to hit him, and then gave a growl, put it back in her pocket and gave him a roundhouse punch to the jaw. "How dare you? I told Jo, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Winchester apples are rotten. All of them rotten."
Dean's head jerked from the hit, but at least she'd put the gun away. Ellen might be petite and slender, but there was no way in hell she hit like a girl. Dean could already feel his jaw throbbing, and he decided that he needed to end this now. With the gun safely put away, Dean surged up. He wouldn't hit a woman unless she deserved it or was the manifestation of something evil, but Ellen was pushing the limit on that first one.
Quickly, Dean grabbed her, grasping her upper arms and pushing her quickly back into the bathroom so that they wouldn't wake Sam, who was still apparently dead to the world. He kicked the door closed even as he was pushing her up against the sink. "One, Jo is old enough to make her own decisions. Two, I told her to go home. I told her I was gonna tell you, but she didn't want me to. You know why she went out there? Because of her father. Because she feels it's the only way she can honor him, feel close to him. I didn't want her there any more than you did. And I brought her back to you, like I said I would, dammit."
"You put her in danger, you bastard, instead of sending her home, and she could have been killed. She could have been worse than killed, all because you lied." Ellen jerked her knee up, trying to catch him between the legs and succeeded in wrestling one of her arms free to claw at his cheek before he re-captured her hand. "Your family cost me my husband, and now you want my daughter too. Let me go, you piece of shit."
"Your daughter didn't fall too far from the family tree either," he pointed out to her, pinning her arms behind her as he fought to keep her from hurting him. Damn but she was strong - not only that but she squirmed a lot. "I'm sorry, I don't know what went down, I may never know. Neither will you but... I know my dad. Knew him." Dean was beginning to question whether he'd really known his father at all, but that wasn't something he would say to Ellen. "He might have screwed up but..."
"He deliberately left him to bleed out, so he could chase after that... that thing." Ellen spat the words out, struggling valiantly, her face contorted with anger as she writhed in his grip. "And you... it's no thanks to you that Jo's still alive. You used her. She's all I've got, and you used her." Tears started in her eyes, and she shook her head angrily, attempting to dislodge them. "I want you to leave her alone and never bother her again."
"Your husband probably would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed," Dean released her as he stepped back. "I said I was sorry. It was her idea in the first place to be the bait. I told her to go home, but I guess she takes after you, because she's pigheaded and won't listen. Thing is, whatever Jo does now, it's her choice." Damn but he was starting to sound like Sam, and Jo had even said he sounded like her mother. "You want to hit me, go ahead," he opened his arms. "Hit me for what I did. Hit me for what my father did, if it will make any difference."
She stared at him, her chest heaving. He was slippery, his arguments sounding so reasonable, and yet he'd lied to her, put her daughter into danger without any care for that willful child's safety, and now he was refusing to accept any responsibility. She was still furious, but now almost inclined to burst into a frenzy of angry tears, and she didn't want that, because it would merely convince Dean that she was female and therefore weak and not worth bothering about.
"I should tan your ass for you," she growled. "Turn around."
Dean raised his eyebrow as his arms dropped. "Excuse me?" Dean shook his head, "You sure you wouldn't rather just punch me?"
"I'd punch a man, but you're just an annoying little boy who needs to be taught a lesson." She was still shaking with rage, aware that he outweighed her and knowing that she'd lost her advantage when she'd put away her gun. She wasn't sure what she could do to him, and she knew she wanted to do something that would wipe away the scorn for her that she thought he was feeling.
Dean rolled his eyes and looked to the side. "You know, whatever," he waved his hand to her. "I'm tired. I drove all the way back here with NO tunes. I just want to lay flat on a bed and not be snarled at. Between you and Jo..." He turned and started reaching for the door, "Go home, Ellen. We'll try not to darken your doorway too often."
She did hit him then, laid into him with punches and kicks, wildly flailing as she called him names. Somewhere in her frenzy he grabbed hold of her, held her arms and pressed himself against her to stop her from hurting him. Impotent, she could only growl and look up at his mocking face, so close to her own. She suddenly pictured herself sinking her teeth into him, maybe tearing off his beautiful lower lip, and she leaned forward to bite.
Dean did all he could to prevent the woman from harming him. He understood she was angry, and he was trying very hard to understand the reasons behind that anger. He thought she wanted to take her anger at their father out on him. She had already scratched him, and now she was trying to bite him. At first he pulled back, trying to avoid her attack, but when he realized that his strategy was just not working he surged in, locking his lips to hers in a kiss.
Blood sang in her ears, made her shiver, roared through her as his mouth came down on hers, forcing her lips apart so that he could push his tongue inside, crude and uncaring. Her hands curled into claws, and she scratched at him again, raking her nails down his bare arms as he held her still.
She tried to speak, tried to tear her head away, but he was winning despite her, his superior size and strength all that mattered.
Dean had to be forceful. A woman like this, with so much rage and energy to burn, demanded his careful attention. A hand went up into the thick blonde locks, twisting as he gripped it to pull her head back, breaking the kiss. He didn't let go of her bottom lip as he bit it, breathing hard as he looked down at her. "You want to punish me for what I did, don't you?" he whispered against her lips. "And you want to punish me mostly because you can't get at my father."
"God damn you, let me go!" Ellen was still angry, still fighting, and the fact that she knew how Dean felt when he was buried deep inside her, knew what he looked like when he was coming wasn't doing anything at all to make her less furious. She could feel him pressed against her, and despite herself, she wanted him. Her hips pushed forward and she felt the tug deep inside her, the warmth as her juices started to flow. "You and your father are the same. You don't care about anyone but yourself."
"That's a bunch of bull, and you know it." Dean answered back, "I do care! You know that; you've seen it. So don't give me that crap." He had kept his hand in her hair while the other held her about her waist. He gazed down at her, but he had no answer to her accusation that he was the same as his father. Dean wasn't even sure if that was a good thing or a bad. "Ellen, I'm sorry; how many times do I have to say it? But this just isn't about Jo, or about me lying to you. It's about my dad. Admit it." He leaned down to her ear, "You go ahead, take out your anger with him on me," he murmured, voice rich and dark as fine chocolate.
"Your father promised to take care of him," she said, her voice dead now, expressionless. "He promised, and then..." She growled somewhere deep in the back of her throat and shook him, then grabbed his T-shirt and slammed him against the wall, so hard that she surprised herself with her own strength. "He promised..." she said again, and stood, looking at him, eyes wide and shocky.
She was never sure who moved first, whether it had been Dean, or if it was her, but a moment later they were kissing, mouths feeding on each other as if they could never get enough.
Dean pulled at Ellen's clothing, trying to get her shirt off. The outer shirt was pushed from her body to fall to the floor then her tank top was ripped up over her head as the tension of want and need hung heavy in the air. He pulled her close to kiss her again, his breath laboring, and his brow creased in surprise. He could only remember doing this with one other woman – Cassie - and he had no idea why he was doing it now.
He unhooked her bra and then pulled it off, tossing it to lie discarded on the floor with the rest of her clothes. Now they were skin to skin, and he could feel her chest heaving, rising and falling against his before he crushed them together once again. Next he attacked her pants. Damn but the woman was hot. She was forceful too, demanding, and he gave in to the silent need between them that clamored to be satisfied.
She dug her hands into his buttocks, fingers deliberately bruising as she yanked at his boxers and heard them rip. Her breathing was rapid, desperate, and she pushed at the ripped fabric as if she was possessed. As he bent to kiss her again, she put her arms around his neck and lifted herself so that she could wrap her legs around his waist, her mouth devouring him, making him groan as her sharp teeth grazed.
Dean wrapped his arms around Ellen, holding her as he stumbled forward so that her butt hit the sink. He lifted her up so she was seated on the porcelain and caressed down her back, pulling her against him so that her hips were pressed to his groin. His eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror behind her, and he could see the look on Ellen's face, equally desperate, equally determined, in the full length mirror on the back of the door.
He started kissing her once again, fingers again tangled in her hair. He moaned deeply, his other hand cupping her breast. With a wiggle of his hips, the torn underwear fell to the ground, and his cock bobbed free, pressing to her bare wetness. He began kissing down the length of Ellen's neck, teeth scraping and nipping at her smooth skin, and he moaned softly, bending her backwards so that he could suck at her nipple.
She leaned back as far as she could with his fingers tangled in her hair. She could feel his cock battering at her, slipping in her wetness, and with a twist of her hips she seated it, moaning as his body jerked forward to plunge inside her. She let her head droop, closing her eyes against the dual onslaught and pressed his face against her, wanting to feel his teeth on her.
He grunted, fighting loose, and she opened her eyes to watch his reflection in the mirror, the strong, broad shoulders, shapely back and buttocks pumping against her. Digging in her heels, she pressed him harder into her, her voice a snarl as she told him to, ‘fuck harder, fuck faster, damn it, just get the fucking job done.'
Dean finally raised his head, his cock thrusting deep inside her. He knew that she was an experienced woman, filled with anger, pain, and emptiness, and in that last she was just like him. He did his best to look into her eyes, but she had closed them, so he leaned in, kissing her deeply, drinking in the emotion he could feel her releasing into him. Dean's cock pushed home deep in her slippery wetness, trying to hit that spot he'd found before that would make her cry out, but his knees started to buckle. He lifted her and suddenly carried them both backwards onto the floor.
Ellen was now on top of him, and Dean rose up to meet her kiss. Hips thrust up into her, hands bruised her hips as he drove her down onto his cock. He fell back, moaning as she rode him, his chest heaving, and his legs bent, adding to the rocking motion. The cool floor felt wonderful against the heat of his skin as he looked up at her.
His fingers dug into her hips, forcing her down on him, and he was huge inside her, filling her, battering against the deepest part of her as if demanding that she give in to him. She wanted to scream, but she was conscious of Sam in the other room, and instead raised her hand and pressed her knuckles against her lips, biting at them to stop herself from making the sounds that were welling up in her.
She was gone now, hips rolling so that she could grind her clit against him on each thrust of his cock and rocking her head from side to side in her rapidly increasing arousal. Her spare hand fumbled down behind her to feel for Dean's balls, finding them and caressing them as she tried to gauge how close he was to coming. His face was a mask of concentration, the snarl on his features complemented by the glazed eyes, the heave of his chest as he tried to draw in more breath, and his stuttering hips.
Dean gasped, because that touch to his balls had him bucking even more wildly than before. He surged up to her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close so he could feel her chest sliding over his. He latched his lips to hers, using his tight grasp on her to help her ride him. Dean was close, just as close as he knew Ellen was, and he could feel her walls tightening around him. Both battled for their release, and with another surge of movement, he placed a hand down to turn them both over so that now he was on top of her, driving into her hard and fast.
Ellen was moving across the floor propelled by the force of Dean's onslaught. He buried his grunts in her neck and mouth ‘til he felt his balls drawing up and his release finally slammed into him. Closing his eyes tightly, Dean bit his lower lip as he came, huffing out the breath which he seemed to have been holding forever as his release allowed him at last to breathe and calm down once again.
God, had he made another mistake? What was going on between him and Ellen?
She was fighting for orgasm, still not quite there as he tried to recover. She bucked up against him, cursed and thrust her hand down between them to bring herself off. She could feel his dick inside her still, not as hard and solid as it had been, but enough. Her fingers found the spot she needed and she pressed against him, rocking her hips so that his pubic hair rubbed her too.
When she'd finally come, cunt clenching around him, squeezing his cock until at last it fell out of her, making her moan, she let her legs fall apart so that she was lying beneath him, fully exposed, if he would care to look.
Dean lifted his head from Ellen's neck, rolling a little over onto his side to rest his weight upon his arm. He gazed down at her, fingers playing with her hair. "I'm sorry, Ellen," he whispered, "Sorry on behalf of my father. Sorry on behalf of myself." Looking down at their bodies, he half wondered how they'd got onto the floor, but he was sure his body would remind him come the morning. He slowly ran his hand down her side, leaning to kiss her, just below her ear.
"Me too." Her eyes had filled with tears, and she winced a little as she adjusted her position so she could look at him. He wasn't hers - could never be hers, she knew that, but suddenly she felt awash with an affection for him that was shockingly intense. She wanted to ask him if he had lain like this with Jo; knew that it wasn't something she ever ought to know, and wondered what would happen between he and Sam, if he did suddenly take a girlfriend. "I wish you hadn't lied. Don't ever lie to me again."
Dean gave a nod to Ellen, "I'll try not to," he could only give her that, because if it was to protect Sam, Dean knew that he would even lie to God to save his brother's life. Leaning in, Dean kissed Ellen once again, a slow and tender caress as he held her to him, giving her what cuddling and comfort he could, before they had to dress, or at least before Ellen had to, so she could leave. Dean knew he was going to have to sleep bare, since she'd ripped his underwear.
"Oh, you gonna take me out to buy new underwear?" He smiled a little.
"I don't know. I kinda like the way you look at the moment," she said, with an almost smile turning up the corners of her mouth in response. "How come that brother of yours isn't banging on the door, anyway? What's wrong with him?"
"Zombie broke his wrist. He took a sleeping pill and his medication." Dean pushed away, drawing himself up and helping Ellen up as well, reaching for her clothing to help her dress. "I have to take him back to the doctor tomorrow to get it looked at again and re-evaluated." He studied her, smiling, her body still mostly naked, then he pushed up to stand straight and wagged his finger at her as she pulled on her shirt.
"Next time, knock, okay?"
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