((Author's Note: The following takes place after the phone calls comes in from Ayden Milligan, Sam and Dean's half-sister.))
The door slammed shut as Dean stepped out onto the porch, pacing like a caged animal across the wooden planks, the sun slanting across the yard brightly, as if to mock his pain. Ellen had somehow managed to talk Bobby into letting her put a swing on the porch, marigolds lining the walkway, lace curtains in the windows " small, feminine touches Bobby would never have bothered with that made the house a home.
"Dean!" Sam called after his brother, covering the phone with a hand, so that Ayden didn't hear what was going on there, how much confusion she'd caused with one little phone call. He took a step forward, as if to follow, torn between the sister who needed to hear a voice on the phone and the brother who was clearly distressed.
"Leave him be, Sam," Ellen said from behind him, sounding as concerned as Sam felt. "He needs to work this out on his own."
Sam shook his head woefully, frowning at the front door his older brother had just slammed in anger and confusion, knowing Dean better than anyone " better than Ellen, better than Bobby, maybe even better than Dean. "He's not gonna work it out, Ellen. He's just gonna bottle it up and get angry, like always."
"Sam' Sam"!"
The panic in Ayden's voice drew him back out of his thoughts and worries about his older brother, to that of a younger sister he never knew existed. "Yeah, I'm here. Sorry about that. A little confusion here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you "til Bobby gets there," Sam reassured her in that calm, even tone of voice he'd learned from years of dealing with an overwrought older brother. The voice of reason, Ellen had once called it, at least where Dean was concerned.
Sam darted a worried look at Ellen, and she smiled reassuringly. "Stay on the phone with your sister. I'll go talk to Dean," she assured him, wheeling her chair past Sam, toward the front door. Even without the use of her legs, it never seemed to slow her down or stop her. She was still Ellen, and she cared about the boys, as though they were her own.
Wheeling her way toward the door was easy. Getting past the screen door was the hard part, but she stubbornly managed. The first thing she'd done after she'd lost the use of her legs was have Bobby make the house handicap-accessible. As stubborn as the rest of them, she refused to be treated with kid gloves, even if she was wheelchair-bound. By the time she got to the porch, Dean had stopped his pacing and was sitting quietly on the stoop, staring out at nothing. She could only guess at the turmoil he must be feeling, but she knew him well enough to be able to guess the cause of his distress.
Dean heard the screen door slap closed behind him, the sound of wheels, rather than boots, making the old wooden boards creak in protest and knew Ellen was about to try and talk some sense into him. Better her than Sammy, anyway. Sam would only go on about family and how they should welcome Ayden with open arms. Blah, blah, blah. What the hell did Sam know" He wasn't the one who'd tried to hold everything together after Mom died. He wasn't the one Dad had died for. He wasn't the one who'd said no to being Michael's condom and been responsible for that dick Zachariah's treachery. How was Dean supposed to face that girl knowing he was responsible for her mother's death"
"You gonna try and talk some sense into me?" he asked, without turning back, knowing instinctively that it was Ellen behind him and not Sam.
"No," she replied, sensing the turmoil in him. He'd always been an angry kid, angry at the world for taking his mother away. He'd used that anger as a shield, but it seemed to Ellen that in the wake of everything that had happened, Dean's defense mechanisms were failing him. The pain was bleeding through the anger, a wound that never quite healed, and it made him vulnerable. It had started with his mother's death, and every death afterwards had only added more fuel to the fire. Where Sam seemed to accept the grief and deal with it, Dean fought against it every step of the way, taking the blame for things he couldn't have predicted or prevented, if he'd tried. "I'm just gonna sit here and listen while you do the talking."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but there's nothing to talk about," Dean replied, the muscles in his back tensing defiantly. What was there to say' They had a sister. John hadn't been able to keep it in his pants and had left Dean to deal with the mess he'd made. Again. It was getting kind of old, in Dean's opinion. If there was anyone to blame for this, it should be John. He should have known better than to bring another Winchester into the world. What the hell was he thinking"
Though none of this was said, Ellen could almost read Dean's thoughts, just by the tense curve of his back and the hard set of his shoulders, defiant to the end. He'd never say yes to Michael. The world could burn, and Dean wouldn't say yes. Ellen was sure of it. "I think there's plenty to talk about, plenty you ain't saying. I know this is hard for you, honey, but what?s done is done. Blaming John ain't gonna change things. It's only gonna make it harder in the end."
"Harder for who?" Dean countered, turning to face her finally, unable to hide the depth of his pain from one who knew him so well. "Harder for me" You worry too much, Ellen. I'll be fine. It's that girl you need to worry about. She doesn't know dick about our world. I'm sure Dad was trying to protect her, just like he tried to protect Sam, but it doesn't work that way. You're better off knowing than not knowing, "cause this sh*t finds you sooner or later."
"I am worried about her, but that don't mean I ain't worried about you, too. You take too much on your shoulders, Dean. Too much blame for things that ain't your fault."
"Oh, I know whose fault this is," Dean broke in, bitterly. "It's Dad's."
"Do you really blame him for wanting to find a little slice of normal amidst all the crazy?? she asked, her heart bleeding for him, feeling his pain, but trying to make him understand.
The door slammed shut as Dean stepped out onto the porch, pacing like a caged animal across the wooden planks, the sun slanting across the yard brightly, as if to mock his pain. Ellen had somehow managed to talk Bobby into letting her put a swing on the porch, marigolds lining the walkway, lace curtains in the windows " small, feminine touches Bobby would never have bothered with that made the house a home.
"Dean!" Sam called after his brother, covering the phone with a hand, so that Ayden didn't hear what was going on there, how much confusion she'd caused with one little phone call. He took a step forward, as if to follow, torn between the sister who needed to hear a voice on the phone and the brother who was clearly distressed.
"Leave him be, Sam," Ellen said from behind him, sounding as concerned as Sam felt. "He needs to work this out on his own."
Sam shook his head woefully, frowning at the front door his older brother had just slammed in anger and confusion, knowing Dean better than anyone " better than Ellen, better than Bobby, maybe even better than Dean. "He's not gonna work it out, Ellen. He's just gonna bottle it up and get angry, like always."
"Sam' Sam"!"
The panic in Ayden's voice drew him back out of his thoughts and worries about his older brother, to that of a younger sister he never knew existed. "Yeah, I'm here. Sorry about that. A little confusion here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you "til Bobby gets there," Sam reassured her in that calm, even tone of voice he'd learned from years of dealing with an overwrought older brother. The voice of reason, Ellen had once called it, at least where Dean was concerned.
Sam darted a worried look at Ellen, and she smiled reassuringly. "Stay on the phone with your sister. I'll go talk to Dean," she assured him, wheeling her chair past Sam, toward the front door. Even without the use of her legs, it never seemed to slow her down or stop her. She was still Ellen, and she cared about the boys, as though they were her own.
Wheeling her way toward the door was easy. Getting past the screen door was the hard part, but she stubbornly managed. The first thing she'd done after she'd lost the use of her legs was have Bobby make the house handicap-accessible. As stubborn as the rest of them, she refused to be treated with kid gloves, even if she was wheelchair-bound. By the time she got to the porch, Dean had stopped his pacing and was sitting quietly on the stoop, staring out at nothing. She could only guess at the turmoil he must be feeling, but she knew him well enough to be able to guess the cause of his distress.
Dean heard the screen door slap closed behind him, the sound of wheels, rather than boots, making the old wooden boards creak in protest and knew Ellen was about to try and talk some sense into him. Better her than Sammy, anyway. Sam would only go on about family and how they should welcome Ayden with open arms. Blah, blah, blah. What the hell did Sam know" He wasn't the one who'd tried to hold everything together after Mom died. He wasn't the one Dad had died for. He wasn't the one who'd said no to being Michael's condom and been responsible for that dick Zachariah's treachery. How was Dean supposed to face that girl knowing he was responsible for her mother's death"
"You gonna try and talk some sense into me?" he asked, without turning back, knowing instinctively that it was Ellen behind him and not Sam.
"No," she replied, sensing the turmoil in him. He'd always been an angry kid, angry at the world for taking his mother away. He'd used that anger as a shield, but it seemed to Ellen that in the wake of everything that had happened, Dean's defense mechanisms were failing him. The pain was bleeding through the anger, a wound that never quite healed, and it made him vulnerable. It had started with his mother's death, and every death afterwards had only added more fuel to the fire. Where Sam seemed to accept the grief and deal with it, Dean fought against it every step of the way, taking the blame for things he couldn't have predicted or prevented, if he'd tried. "I'm just gonna sit here and listen while you do the talking."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but there's nothing to talk about," Dean replied, the muscles in his back tensing defiantly. What was there to say' They had a sister. John hadn't been able to keep it in his pants and had left Dean to deal with the mess he'd made. Again. It was getting kind of old, in Dean's opinion. If there was anyone to blame for this, it should be John. He should have known better than to bring another Winchester into the world. What the hell was he thinking"
Though none of this was said, Ellen could almost read Dean's thoughts, just by the tense curve of his back and the hard set of his shoulders, defiant to the end. He'd never say yes to Michael. The world could burn, and Dean wouldn't say yes. Ellen was sure of it. "I think there's plenty to talk about, plenty you ain't saying. I know this is hard for you, honey, but what?s done is done. Blaming John ain't gonna change things. It's only gonna make it harder in the end."
"Harder for who?" Dean countered, turning to face her finally, unable to hide the depth of his pain from one who knew him so well. "Harder for me" You worry too much, Ellen. I'll be fine. It's that girl you need to worry about. She doesn't know dick about our world. I'm sure Dad was trying to protect her, just like he tried to protect Sam, but it doesn't work that way. You're better off knowing than not knowing, "cause this sh*t finds you sooner or later."
"I am worried about her, but that don't mean I ain't worried about you, too. You take too much on your shoulders, Dean. Too much blame for things that ain't your fault."
"Oh, I know whose fault this is," Dean broke in, bitterly. "It's Dad's."
"Do you really blame him for wanting to find a little slice of normal amidst all the crazy?? she asked, her heart bleeding for him, feeling his pain, but trying to make him understand.