Ellen Harvelle was closing up the Roadhouse for the night, the usual crowd of hunters having long since departed. She was looking forward to a quiet evening when her phone rang, the sound piercing the silence. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw it was Dean Winchester. A sense of unease settled in her stomach as she answered.

Dean? What’s going on?” Ellen asked, her voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her.

“Ellen, it’s Y/N,” Dean’s voice was frantic, barely holding it together. “She… she got hurt on a hunt. Badly.”

Ellen’s heart stopped. “What do you mean, hurt? How bad is it?”

In the background, she could hear Y/N’s screams of pain, and her blood ran cold. “Dean, where are you? I’m coming right now.”

“We’re about an hour out from the Roadhouse,” Sam’s voice came on the line, calmer but equally strained. “We tried to patch her up, but she needs more help than we can give.”

Ellen’s hands shook as she grabbed her keys. “Keep her talking, Sam. Don’t let her pass out. I’m on my way.”

The drive felt like an eternity, every second filled with the sound of Y/N’s cries echoing in her mind. When she finally arrived, she found the Impala parked haphazardly on the side of the road. Dean and Sam were both outside, their faces pale and drawn

Ellen rushed to the backseat, where Y/N lay, her face contorted in pain. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandages, and Ellen’s heart ached at the sight of her daughter in such agony

“Mom,” Y/N whimpered, reaching out a trembling hand.

Ellen took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m here, sweetheart. We’re going to get you fixed up, okay? Just hang on.”

Dean and Sam helped Ellen carefully lift Y/N into her truck, and they sped back to the Roadhouse. Ellen’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but she forced herself to stay focused. Y/N needed her to be strong.

Back at the Roadhouse, Ellen worked quickly, using the first aid supplies she kept for emergencies. Dean and Sam hovered nearby, their guilt and worry palpable