The night John Winchester returned
to the Roadhouse, he drank himself stupid. He expected her to
scream and curse, to punch him. He didn’t expect Ellen to shut
down, close off… freeze up cold.
So of course, that’s exactly what
she did.
During the day, the building looks
abandoned – dirt lot, building in disrepair, sign faded beneath
the muck – but after dark the place comes alive, busy, lit up,
alive. Those who come here are night owls by trade.
Underneath the liquor John knew he
could have picked a better time to come, but it was now or
never, before he lost his nerve and told Ellen over the phone
her husband had died saving him. Died because John
hadn’t moved fast enough, hadn’t seen it coming and she deserved
to hear this, at least, in person.