Ben Springfield (gun_that_won) wrote in blood_red_sky, @ 2011-10-12 23:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester, ellen winchester |
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There was a very long list of things that pissed El off. Pretty high on that list - and sadly a regular annoyance - was being woken up. She was a light sleeper by neccessity, used to grabbing catnaps. Her parent's house was one of the few places that she felt able to relax, to let herself sleep solidly. Of course, that still involved salt across the threshold and windows, a bowie knife under her pillow, and an almost obsessive re-checking of the sigils carved into doorframes and walls. Vigilance was a hunter's friend. Especially if that hunter had the history her family did.
But that done, she should have been able to relax. Should have been able to fall asleep, listening to her sister walking about next door, chatting on the phone. Her parents across the hall, quiet murmur of voices as they swapped places in the bathroom. Something kept her alert, kept her from sleeping soundly. A sixth sense, maybe. A knowledge that everything wasn't as it should be.
She didn't know what it was that actually woke her; didn't know what made her pull on pants, shove unlaced boots on her feet. Slender fingers wrapped around the Bowie knife, Ellen in two minds whether to go for a gun or her bag. It was bright; too bright for what couldn't be much later than 2am. Too bright, and as her eyes adjusted, not her room.
"What the-" Practically snarling, Ellen yanked open the drapes, only slightly reassured by the unbroken line of salt on her windowsill. She was in a motel. A sleazy motel somewhere that really wasn't Mom and Dad's place. Looking up at the ceiling, she arched an eyebrow. Great. Looked like the winged dicks weren't done fucking with her family. Either that, or she'd gotten really drunk the night before...and the lack of hangover or drymouth suggested it wasn't the latter.
Ten minutes later, and El was walking out the motel, bag slung over her shoulder. She'd been more than relieved to find all her belongings in the room, half-unpacked duffel lying at the foot of the bed. When she got out to the parking lot, however, there was one thing missing.
"...Son of a bitch." Furious now, she flung her bag to the ground, kicking the rear spoiler of the nearest car. Her goddamn car wasn't there. Looking around, she noticed something even wierder. A car she knew for a fact was nothing more than scrap sat pride of place near the front entrance, shining in the morning sunlight. Bag forgotten, she walked over, running her hand slowly across the roof of the car. She really was a thing of beauty.