Dean wasn't gone long, just long enough to make everyone worry, including a long lost sister who was starting to look up to the big brother she was hoping could make everything better. Everyone took Dean's absence differently, even if he was only gone for a few hours. Cas had volunteered to go looking for him, but Sam had forbidden it, agreeing with Ellen that his older brother just needed a little time alone. If anyone understood Dean, it was Sam. Sam knew how much Dean was hurting, or thought he did. He remembered what it felt like when Jessica had been killed. He also knew that Dean would find a way to get through it, just like he had, and he knew that way was family.

It was late when the Impala finally pulled back into B&E Salvage Yard, the Yardbirds blaring on the stereo. Sick at heart and lonely, deep in dark despair, Thinking one thought only: "Where is she, tell me where?" And if she says to you she don't love me, tell her of my plea... If the song was any hint at Dean's mood, he wasn't feeling much better now than when he'd spun out of the gravel drive hours ago after talking to Sam. Where he'd gone, only he knew. To drive and think, park and drink, and at long last, turn around and come back.

He pulled into the Yard in time to see Ellen push open a window, calling out for Sam to bring his sister back inside before she had to send Bobby out for them. A minute or two later, Sam and Ayden came into sight, each holding a shotgun, laughing at something that had been said before they'd made their appearance. It was Ayden who saw Dean first, her smile brightening even further as she recognized her other brother sat behind the wheel of his car, raising her hand to wave without intruding as Sam nodded over the top of her head. It was the sort of welcome he needed; not effusive or over the top, his younger siblings acknowledging his presence with the understanding that he'd be with them when he was ready.

He shut the engine off, mid-song. He'd listened to it multiple times that night, along with other songs, blaring as loudly as he dared. He'd watched as the stars came out, one by one, wondering if what they said was true - that everytime someone died, a new star appeared in the sky. If that was true, then there were at least two new ones out there somewhere shining brightly, as bright as they'd shone in his heart. He'd privately promised Andrea he'd be with her soon. "Soon, baby," he'd told her. Half a six-pack later, and it was time to go, before Ellen sent out a search party. His heart felt heavy at the sound of Ayden and Sam's laughter, almost as if it was mocking his pain. Life went on, with or without him. He knew he was being morose, but he didn't really care.

As they crossed the beam of the Impala's headlights, Ayden's smile faded uncertainly, worry crossing her face as she looked up at Sam, obviously asking whether there was anything she could do for their brother. Sam's response was just as inaudible, but the shake of his head was enough, even without the protective wrap of his arm around their little sister. He led her inside, and for a long time, the yard and house seemed quiet, with little sign of life. Then the porch door opened, the screen door pushed back with a clatter, and Ellen rolled into view, a hot cup of coffee held on her lap. She met Dean's eyes, gesturing to the cup. She didn't want him sat out there all alone any longer.

He might have ignored Sam and Ayden, unable or unwilling to talk to them just yet, not wanting to see the worry or even worse the pity in their eyes, but Ellen was different. He couldn't deny Ellen even if he wanted to. Though Mary might have given him life, Ellen was the one who had raised him into the man he'd become. He rubbed his face, almost wishing the tears would come. They'd be a welcome release, but he chose to hang onto the anger, the hatred. That was what was going to get him through this, not the grief, not the sorrow. He drew a deep breath and climbed out of the car, the heavy door creaking as he pushed it closed. If the whole house didn't know he was home by now, they soon would.

He made his way across the yard to the porch, grateful for the cup of coffee, and though he wouldn't say so, for the companionship. "Sorry I made you worry," he said as he reached for the cup. Sorry for everything, he told her in his head.

"Damn right you are," she informed him in her usual fond, acerbic manner, handing him the steaming cup as she looked him over for any sign of physical damage. "That's twice you've taken off without a word now." Chocolate brown eyes studied him thoughtfully, concern showing dominant in the mix of anger and love that were foremost in her gaze. She loved him like a son, and like a son, he drove her right up the wall sometimes. "Did it help?"

"Went for a drive. I told Sam," he explained without really explaining as he reached for the cup of coffee and took a sip. It tasted good, warm, invigorating even. It was a welcome change from beer. He shrugged in reply, not really sure what to say. The drive had helped and yet, it hadn't helped. It had helped him think, but maybe he was thinking too much. "Didn't change anything," he replied as he sank onto the porch swing, remembering hot summer days when he used to sit there, reading comic books, and sipping Ellen's homemade lemonade.

The boards creaked under her wheels as Ellen turned herself about to park near the swing, settling her brakes into place as she leaned forward. Dean was difficult to gauge when he was caught in a loop of guilt and self-recrimination, but she knew she couldn't leave him like this. Her hand reached out, cupping fondly to the back of his neck in silent support. "Might help if you spoke a bit," she suggested, her head tilting to one side as she studied him. "Or I could make a few guesses, see where I got it right."

He wondered how much the others had told her already. Sam and Bobby and Ayden and Cas. They knew what was eating at him, and he assumed she did, too, but it wasn't just Andrea and Lucas' deaths. It was the whole damned ball of wax. "She'd still be alive if I would have just stayed away," he told Ellen grimly, just as he'd told Sam. He'd heard everything Sam had told him, but Sam was wrong. It wasn't Andrea who made the choice to keep seeing Dean; it was Dean who made the choice to keep going back there, knowing he was putting both her life and her son's life in danger.

Unlike Sam, Ellen wasn't going to soften the blow for the eldest of John Winchester's boys. She'd had a lifetime to learn them both, and though Sam needed gentler handling, there were times when Dean had to feel the full shock and know the blame before he could move on. "That's true," she agreed with him, just as grim. "Don't mean you were wrong to keep goin' back, though. It ain't so much what you got out of it I'm thinkin' of; it's what you gave her. From what I hear - which ain't much - she wouldn't've let you back in if she hadn't wanted you there."

"Doesn't matter, Ellen," he replied, appreciating her candor. She was the one person he could always count on to be painfully honest with him. Even more so than Bobby, who often got too frustrated with him to talk any sense into him. Ellen seemed to be the only one who really knew how to get through. "She's gone, and I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch for hurting her."

She didn't answer right away, sensing a dark inevitability to the conversation that had never been there before when talk had turned to Lucifer and the Apocalypse. Her throat tightened, hearing the resolve in Dean's voice, even if he had yet to say the words out loud. "Seems like it's time we started making that end then, don't it?" she said quietly, forcing aside the premature grief to give him the support he would need to convince Sam and Bobby and Castiel that this was the only way. But at least she had some insight she could give. "Hardest thing I ever did, takin' back my own body just for a split second. You're gonna need somethin' to fight for, right there in front of you."

Dean didn't need Ellen to connect the dots. He knew her well enough to know where she was going with that thought. The fact was that of all of them, she knew him best and he knew her. They connected on a deeper level than he did with Bobby or even Sam. Maybe it was a mother-son connection; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that as much as he didn't like what she was suggesting without saying so in so many words, he had already been considering the same thing. "I don't want her there. I don't want any of you there." And yet, them being there was the key to the whole thing. He faltered, his expression changing, a hint of fear or anguish in his gray-green eyes. "You know we aren't gonna survive this. How am I supposed to tell her that?" Her, being Ayden. It seemed to be all about her now.

Her mouth opened to automatically deliver a caustic put down, a don't do me any favors that rose out of her pain, but she clamped down on it, meeting his eyes with her own pain soulful in her gaze. "Could be a waste of a wish," was all she managed to say against the offer, knowing that part of him must want to ask for his Andrea and her son back again. "Kid, your heart's bigger'n I ever gave you credit for. Save some of that for the fight."

"I got plenty left for the fight, believe me. I'm more than ready to put an end to this. Hard part is..." Dean faltered again, a frown twitching at his lips. He'd asked Gabriel why he couldn't just take Lucifer down before Sam said yes, before he became Lucifer's bitch, but Michael was calling the shots, and it seemed Michael would never agree to it. "I don't know if I can do it, Ellen. I don't know if I can kill my own brother." Dean's voice hitched on the word brother, and he glanced away so she couldn't see the look of anguish in his eyes. He wasn't worried about dying. He was ready for death. Andrea and Lucas were waiting for him in the afterlife. If they couldn't be together in life, maybe they could be together in death. But he'd promised he'd always protect Sam, and now it seemed he was going to have to go against that promise.

Her throat tightened hard, forcing her to stop, to swallow, to clear her throat before she could even begin to reassure him against what he thought was going to happen. She had a little experience of being trapped in her own body, of fighting for control. She knew better than most that when it came down to the wire, he wouldn't have time to have even the slightest doubt. "Sweetie, I know it's hard," she managed, trying to find the right words to console him against what he thought he was planning to do. "But that ain't what you're going to do. Lucifer's your target, not Sam. If Sam was dying, really dying, in so much pain and you couldn't do anything to help but make an end for him, could you do it?"

"I don't know," he replied, sounding weary and at odds with himself. As determined as he was to finish this once and for all, Sam was his only stumbling block. He'd never had to face such a decision before. Even when his father had warned him that he might have to kill Sam someday, he'd never believed it, refused to believe, choosing to find another way, but now it seemed, there was no other way. This was the only way. "I'm not gonna have any choice. If I don't kill him, Lucifer wins."

"You stop looking at it like that." Her voice was firm, and the grip she curled to his shoulder promised that he was not too old to get turned over her knee if she had to. "You are going to kill Lucifer. Only Lucifer. And you're goin' to do it before he kills your baby sister to make a point. And when that's done, you're goin' to hold Michael back and let Sam do his work so's your little sister doesn't get burned up in the celebration. Nothin' more, nothin' less. Don't you get maudlin on me. Now is not the time."

To everyone else, Dean seemed like a rock of determination and certainty. It was only Ellen who he allowed to see the doubts and the fears and the uncertainty. Somehow, Dean knew Sam would have less trouble carrying out his part of the bargain than Dean would. "And go down in history a hero. The Gospel of Winchester," he replied dryly, obviously not impressed with such a possibility. "Well, if someone's gotta do it, it might as well be us."

Even Ellen rolled her eyes at the mention of Chuck's so-called gospel. "If I didn't know better, I'd turn that man over my knee for those dumb*ss tales of his," she remarked in a dry tone. "Standin' up's what makes a hero, Dean. You've stood up so many times, you're a hero ten times over. I'm not tellin' you what you gotta do, that ain't my place. I'm here to make it easier for you, if I can. So tell me what you need from me."

He wasn't going to argue with her about that, even if he didn't really consider himself to be a hero. He was just a guy trying to do the right thing. If he had his choice, he'd much rather live a normal life - whatever that was - but it seemed that wasn't to be. Maybe if there was a reward in heaven, he could live a normal life there with Andrea and Lucas. It was something to hold onto anyway. "I need you to help me get Sam on board, and..." He knew it was up to him to tell Ayden himself. He figured Bobby probably already knew, and if he didn't, he would soon enough. Cas, he'd handle himself because no one else would be able to get through. "Just..." Dean frowned, faltering again. He knew he didn't have to ask Ellen to take care of Ayden. That went without saying. And he knew they'd give them a hunter's funeral when the time came, but there was one thing he needed to know for sure, one thing he wanted more than anything else. "Just....don't forget me, Ellen. I don't wanna be forgotten."

For the first time in a long time, the tears welling in Ellen's eyes fell, dripping down her cheeks as she took in the real finality of the decision that had been made. "No matter what comes out of this," she promised him. "You've been in my heart since you were a kid. You're not goin' anywhere from there, honey. Ever." She didn't need to mention that her help with Sam was a given, or that she didn't think he'd take much persuading. He'd been close to saying yes to Lucifer for weeks; now he had a good reason to do just that.

Dean noticed the tears on Ellen's face, and he knew they were for him and for Sam, but he needed her to understand one thing more. It hurt to have to cause her any pain. He'd often wondered if he'd brought any joy to her life through the years, or just sorrow, but in his heart, he already knew the answer to that. All he had to do was look at the tears on her face to know that she loved him, even if it went without saying. "Ellen, once Sam says yes, you gotta stay the hell away from him. Lucifer is a nasty son of a bitch. I don't know why he killed Andrea and Lucas. Just to piss me off maybe, to make me say yes. He's as itching for this fight as Michael. I need you to promise me you'll stay the hell away from Sam."

Oh, how she wished he hadn't said that. In that instant, Ellen knew she was going to have to break the promise she was about to make to a man who needed to trust her word more than anything. If he and Sam were to have any chance at all of breaking through when Michael and Lucifer met, she would have to be there. She would have to bring Bobby and Ayden and Castiel with her, all their family in one place, ground zero. That was the only way they'd have the strength, if they had no choice but to break through to protect the people who loved them. And to do that, she couldn't stay too far away from Sam, no matter the reasons behind Dean's asking. "I'll try," she told him, refusing to promise one way or the other. "I'll keep out of his way."

"We're gonna have to time it perfectly. Once I say yes, I don't know what?s gonna happen. I won't be calling the shots anymore." It galled the hell out of him that he was going to have to let Michael walk around in his body while he looked helplessly on, but he didn't think he had much choice. Dean paused, having said most of what he'd wanted to say, all but one thing, and he wasn't sure how she would take it. "You know..." he started, reaching over to brush the tears from her face. He'd only seen Ellen cry a few times in his own life, and for some reason, it always seemed to be over one of them. "I know you're not my real mom, but it doesn't matter. Bobby was more of a father to me than my own dad, and you..." Dean shrugged, at a loss for words, not very good at expressing himself when it came to matters of the heart, or so he thought.

She swallowed against her tears, not wanting him to see the sadness. She wanted him to remember the silly days, the happy days, the days in his childhood when he'd been able to be a child, his nervous confession of his first love, the ridiculous arguments he and Sam still had over sandwich fillings and movies. She was in all of those memories; that was what she wanted him to remember. "I couldn't love you better if you were my own son," she told him, her voice fervent with the need for him to understand just what that meant. "Don't you let me down now."

Dean's heart twisted in his chest at her words, and he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. He didn't want her to see him cry, but if there was anyone who could break down the wall he had built around his heart, it was her. How many times had she seen him cry and wiped away his tears, whether it was over a scraped knee or a broken heart, no blame, no recrimination, no judgement, only an outpouring of love and understanding and acceptance. In all the ways that mattered, she was the closest thing he had for a mother, and he couldn't have loved her more if she'd been his own flesh and blood. The wheelchair might have kept her from taking him in her arms and hugging him, but he had no wheelchair to hold him back, and in that moment, he needed her to know, once and for all, what she meant to him. He set the coffee cup aside and leaned close, wrapping her in his embrace, their roles temporarily reversed, him, for once, comforting her. "I'm not gonna let you down. I love you, Mom."