Carry On

2006

The old saloon was just the way Frankie remembered it; large and worn. The wooden frame was splintered, paint was chipped, and the tin roof awning had long rusted into an orange brown. It was a wonder the place was still standing. It didn't make a ton of money, but it kept Ellen and Jo fed and a roof over Ash's head. Frankie'd called it home for nine years now, she wouldn't have the old saloon looking any other way.

She hadn't quite reached the parking lot when Frankie noticed the old van pulling in. She'd chosen to show up around noon, when she knew the roadhouse would be closed. The only people that would be showing up now were hunters coming to collect work, but Frankie didn't recognize either of the boys that stepped out of the van and in her line of work, familiarity meant the difference between a hug and a bullet between the eyes.

She'd made brief eye contact with the shorter of the two as she drove by, choosing not to stop where they could see her. Strangers didn't fair well with her, or the Harvelle's, so as soon as she was safely hidden behind the small cluster of trees that bordered the west side of the bar, she cut off her engine and grabbed her cell.

"Yeah?" Ellen's voice sounded.

"Head's up." Without waiting for a response, Frankie hung up the phone. She knew Ellen would understand, besides she wanted to give her time to get ready for their guests.

Reaching into the backseat, Frankie pulled her backpack into her lap and retrieved her pistol before hurrying out of the car. She'd decided to sneak through the bushes and watch the boys first before jumping to any conclusions. They were driving an old, soccer mom van and though Frankie didn't immediately find this threatening, being a hunter you learned to not judge a book by its cover.

"Hey! Did you bring the uh--" The shorter one began.

"Of course." The taller one answered, reaching into his front jacket pocket. Frankie crouched low, watching quietly from the bushes as the boys picked the lock and made their way into the saloon. She wasn't entirely sure what to think of them, but breaking and entering wasn't earning them brownie points in her book.

Switching off the safety on her pistol, she made her way quickly and quietly across the parking lot to the bar. Pausing for a moment as she'd reached the porch, Frankie peered in through one of the windows just in time to see the shorter man, snatching the rifle out of Jo's hands.

"Hey!" Frankie called from the doorway, aiming her pistol at the man's forehead.

"Hey, whoa!" He threw up his other hand, turning his attention away from Jo and allowing her to land a blow to his nose and retrieve her rifle. "Sam! I need some help in here." He called out, grabbing his nose and complaining about how he couldn't see. Frankie approached the man, her pistol still aimed.

"Shut up." She instructed, pressing her foot into the back of his left knee and forcing him to the ground. She wanted to check him for any other weapons before asking who the hell they were and why exactly they were breaking into the saloon.

"Sorry, Dean. I can't right now. I'm uh--" They all three turned to the sound of the other man's voice as Ellen walked him out of the kitchen with a pistol aimed at the back of his head. "I'm a little tied up."

"Sam? Dean?" Ellen paused a moment, looking back and forth between both boys. "Winchester?" At that, Frankie's gun wavered. There was only one Winchester she'd ever known of, and though she knew he had two boys she'd never met them personally.

"Yeah." The boys answered in unison, looking back at Ellen in confusion.

"Son of a bitch." Ellen gave Frankie a look, probably wondering if it had registered to her as well.

"You two know these guys?" Jo asked, noticing Ellen's look towards Frankie. She hadn't lowered her gun yet, but looked questioningly between the two women.

"Maybe." Frankie responded, eyeing the two boys closer. They did share certain features of John, though it still didn't make any sense that John hadn't called to say he was sending his boys in his place.

"I think these are John Winchester's boys." After a moment, Ellen just laughed, lowering her weapon. Jo lowered hers next, but Frankie lingered for a moment. After a beat, she reluctantly followed suit. If Ellen trusted them, she trusted them, or at the very least wouldn't shoot them.

"Hey, I'm Ellen. That's my daughter, Jo and that's Frankie." Frankie gave the boys a short wave with her weapon free hand. "She might as well be my daughter too." Ellen teasingly added.

It wasn't entirely untrue. Frankie had lived with the Harvelle's for nine years after John dropped her off. She'd known Jo since she was just twelve, trying her damnedest to be a good role model to the younger girl, though neither of the two really knew what that entitled exactly. Most of the time they'd both just end up in trouble for one reason or other.

"Hey." Jo awkwardly managed.

"You're not gonna hit me again are you?" Frankie scoffed, shaking her head before heading back towards the kitchen to get Dean some ice.

She may not have personally known Dean or Sam Winchester, but she knew enough about men from her travels to know that Dean Winchester was a Casanova. It was smeared across his pretty boy face and burned into those jade eyes of his and she didn't like it. She knew Jo wasn't exactly a little kid anymore, but she had become like a little sister to her and Frankie couldn't help becoming overly protective of her new family. She'd been in more than a few fights with the local sleaze bags over Jo and though she may not have won every fight, she wasn't afraid to throw the first punch.

"Don't tempt me." She mumbled under her breath, as she made her way past Dean and through the double doors to the kitchen. She didn't make eye contact with Ellen, knowing she'd be giving her a look that warned her to try to be nicer.

Frankie wasn't entirely sure if she trusted the two boys yet. It had taken nearly three months for them to even contact Ellen and sure that may have been John's norm, but he hadn't even showed. She couldn't make any sense of it and when she did, she'd found the only logical conclusion too unbearable to even acknowledge.

The fact was, John wouldn't have sent his boys for this. Ellen had information that could help him track the yellow-eyed demon; he'd want in on it. So either those weren't John Winchester's boys, or they were and something had happened to John.

With a shake of her head, Frankie tossed the idea from her mind. It wasn't true, it couldn't have been and she wouldn't accept it.

Grabbing a towel, Frankie wrapped a few ice cubes in it and hurried back out to the bar where their company was waiting. Sam and Dean had already taken seats, Jo and Ellen leaned up against the bar eyeing the boys.

"Here." Frankie tossed the towel into Dean's lap a little roughly before crossing her arms and leaning back against the bar between the two women. They were frauds, they had to have been because there was no way in hell something had happened to John.

"Thanks." Dean managed, placing the towel on his nose. "Not exactly the friendly type, are ya?" Frankie didn't answer, but continued to glare at him with her arms crossed. Anyone could say they were John Winchester's boys, that didn't prove anything.

"It takes her some time to warm up to strangers." Jo answered when Frankie hadn't. Dean gave her a smile, gingerly pressing the ice to his nose.

"You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?" At this, Frankie's suspicions grew even more and she pushed herself off of the bar to stand up straight.

"What do you mean with what?" Dean jumped back a little as her sudden outburst had caught him off guard. "Do you two even really know John?" She pulled the hammer back on her pistol, pointing it again at Dean. Rolling his eyes, he didn't even flinch at the sight, but instead waived it away.

"Alright, Princess I'm getting tired of your attitude. How about you lower the weapon before somebody gets hurt." Dean warned, keeping his eyes focused on the floorboards.

"If you're feeling froggy, pretty boy, leap." Frankie challenged.

"Francesca," Ellen placed a hand on Frankie's weapon, "come on, cut 'em some slack." Frankie reluctantly lowered her weapon, leaning down so that she was eye level with Dean on his stool.

"You're lying." She managed through clenched teeth before straightening back up. Dean's glare was like ice and the tension between the two was making the rest of the company uncomfortable. "John would have come himself, he wouldn't have sent them." She added after a moment, breaking her gaze with Dean to look back at Ellen. At this, Dean's features softened as he looked back at Sam as if the two were sharing some unheard thought.

"Why did John send you two?" Ellen asked. After a beat, she went on, realizing what Frankie had said must have had some truth to it. "He didn't." Frankie was frozen as the realization from the boys' silence set in; John Winchester was dead.

"I guess the demon just got to him before he could get to it." Sam responded in a slow, deep breath.

An uncomfortable tightness settled in Frankie's chest. She hated crying and she sure as hell wasn't going to cry in front of two guys she didn't even know. She needed air, she needed to get away, to gather her thoughts. She could already feel Ellen's sympathetic eyes on her and she couldn't bear it. Ellen knew how Frankie felt about John, but Frankie didn't want any kind of sympathy; he wasn't her father.

"I'm gonna go move my car." She informed them dryly, just as Ellen had gone to give her condolences to Sam and Dean. She didn't want to hear it. Frankie could feel the four pairs of eyes burning into her back as she slammed the doors behind her.

She hadn't forgotten about her car being parked on the side of the road, she had just figured it could have waited to be moved. Regardless, she was thankful for the excuse to get out. The air had grown so thick she'd feared she might suffocate.

John Winchester was dead.

Quickly reaching her car, Frankie collapsed into the backseat. She refused to let a single tear fall, even though she was alone. People die everyday, especially hunters--only John was different. He'd given her a chance when it had felt as though the world had turned its back on her, he'd brought her to Ellen and Jo, given her a new life, taught her how to hunt, how to survive.

Frankie closed her eyes as she heard a set of footsteps approaching her car. She hadn't moved it and hadn't returned to the saloon, hell she hadn't even grabbed the case Ellen had scraped up for her.

The passengers side door opened and a pair of brown, doe eyes gazed down at her as Jo leaned over the seat so that she could face Frankie.

"You been racing again?" Jo's voice broke the silence. For a moment she'd wondered if Frankie'd fallen asleep as she had yet to open her eyes as she lay horizontally in the backseat, her feet propped up against the window.

Frankie opened her eyes to look over at Jo. The question was a little too random and Frankie could tell how uncomfortable Jo was. Their roles were normally reveresed and it was Frankie trying to cheer Jo up after her mother had shot her down about hunting again or she'd dumped some loser.

"I promise not to hate you if you just walk away." It was what Frankie wanted, but it wasn't how Jo felt. For nine years the two had been best friends, the closest thing to sisters either had ever known. In that time, Frankie had always been there for Jo and as much as she wanted to resist it, Jo couldn't help feeling a sort of obligation to be there for Frankie--even if she refused to admit how she was feeling.

"I think that's the closest I've ever seen you come to crying." She meant it in a sympathetic way, even if it hadn't exactly come out as such. Frankie wasn't the kind of girl to share her feelings and no one knew that better than Jo, so she was at a loss for where to even start to get Frankie talking.

Turning her eyes back to the roof of her car, Frankie took a breath before replying bitterly, "don't talk about things you don't know anything about."

"Sorry." Jo slouched down in her seat, deciding that maybe just her company would be best if Frankie didn't want to talk.

"No, I'm sorry." Frankie let out a defeated sigh, sitting up. She knew Jo was only trying to help, she knew this wasn't normally her job; Jo might not have known what to say, but she didn't deserve Frankie's attitude. "I just... don't wanna talk about it." She finished, unable to keep herself from cracking a smile at how pathetic she sounded.

"Fair enough." Jo agreed, deciding it would probably be best to just change the subject. "Well, mom gave your case to the Winchester boys."

Frankie's face fell into a grimace. Something had been telling her she should have grabbed it before storming off, but her emotions had gotten the better of her. She could have gone and protested, but the boys were probably long gone by now and besides, this left her with some free time to spend with Jo and Ellen. It had been months since she'd actually stayed put for a while and now with John's death, it made Frankie realize just because she was off fighting monsters and saving people, Ellen, Jo, and Ash were still here. Sure they all knew how to take care of themselves, but regardless they were just humans and God only knew how much longer Frankie would have with them.

Giving a shrug, Frankie leaned back in her seat before replying with a simple, "so."

This response had taken Jo off guard. It wasn't like Frankie to just give up one of her cases without even a fight.

"Who are you and what have you done with Francesca?" Jo's face was dead serious, but Frankie just rolled her eyes, playfully pushing the blond so that she fell back against the glove box.

"Shut up." Frankie mumbled, pushing the driver's seat forward so that she could crawl out. "I could use a break." Stretching as she stood up straight in the Nebraskan, summer sun, she waited for Jo to crawl out from the passenger's side.

A part of Frankie had always envied Jo, even though she was younger. Frankie had never considered herself ugly per se but she'd always preferred Jo's long, blonde hair over her own unruly brown curls. Not to mention, she was a bit more voluptuous in the hip area than she'd liked and though most men didn't mind, she wouldn't have minded being evened out on the top where as Jo was slender from head to toe.

"Well, you've come to the wrong place for a break."

Frankie smiled at Jo's words, looking up at the sign on the saloon that read Harvelle's Roadhouse. The closest thing she'd known to home was behind those worn letters and she knew just as well as Jo that they never truly got 'breaks' they just took a few days off from hunting.

Shoving her hands into her back pockets, Frankie's right hand wrapped around the wad of cash she'd nearly forgotten about. Forcing a weak smile, Frankie tossed the cash to Jo as she'd began heading towards the saloon.

"Jesus, this is the most you've ever come back with." Jo said surprised as she counted the money.

"Tell me about it. Hey, I'll be in in a minute." She hadn't moved her car yet, though she wasn't entirely certain if that was the reason she wasn't following Jo or because she wanted to be alone a little while longer. Jo must have understood because she just gave her a small smile and a nod before shoving the cash into the front of her apron and reluctantly turning back for the saloon.

Crawling back into her Chevelle, Frankie took a moment as she gripped the steering wheel. One way or another, this feeling would pass and things would be fine. Letting out a slow breath, she reached for the ignition, feeling the muscle car roar to life.

She would carry on, she always did--she kept going because Frankie was a survivor, she was a hunter, and that's what they did.