This is why.

This is why Ellen had never wanted Jo to hunt, hadn't raised her daughter to be a hunter despite bringing her up around it. She'd taught Jo to defend herself, taught her how to survive and how to handle herself, but she'd never wanted this for her baby.

This is how a hunter's life ends.

Or- it would be, if Jo were alone. But there's no way in hell Ellen Harvelle is leaving her girl. There's no point in her leaving.

Ellen would rather be dead.

-

"Your call." The demon conveyed a small, ambivalent shrug. "You can make this easy or you can make it really, really hard." False sympathy lined the puppet's face.

Dean darted a slight glance back to Ellen, who nodded.

-

She'd known what she was doing, known what could happen with that one terse nod.

-

"Dean!"

He was on the ground, but that didn't stop him from yelling at her. "Jo, stay back!"

Of course, the Harvelle women only listen to men when they see fit. Jo advanced, shooting as she went. Got one.

But there was more than one. As soon as she saw Jo go down, she knew. "NO!"

She heard her daughter scream.

There's barking and gunshots, but Dean had Jo in his arms. Ellen opened the door, was the first one in, looking around at her resources while she tried to ignore the stifled sounds of pain behind her.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," she said it over and over, like that would make it true. But this was too big for her to fix by herself. "Boys, need some help here!"

But they're busy laying down salt, and Ellen has never made a practice of lying to herself.

This is too big for her to fix.

Organs that spent the past couple of decades safely inside her child are trying to come out, and Ellen can't make them stay where they're supposed to be. She looked up at Dean; a man resurrected, the man whose life has been bought with her daughter's.

Dean looks to Sam, the brother he traded his own life for.

Jo's getting quieter. She knows.

-

"I will always love you, baby."

"I..." Jo's exhalation is the barest breath, but Ellen's never needed to hear it to know it's true.

The hellhounds sound irritated.

When Ellen looks down, Jo's gone. "Honey-?"

Her daughter is silent and still.

"Jo," she chokes. She'd known it was coming, but there's no way to be ready and it threatens to drown her for a moment.

But Ellen Harvelle is a practical woman. "That's okay, that's okay," she presses a kiss to the crown of Jo's head, puts her hand on the wavy hair. "'s my good girl-"

The hellhounds barrel in the door. She's almost grateful.

They're getting closer, stalking her.

Ellen waits.

Giving the boys as much time as she can, waiting until she feels fetid breath on her hair.

She greets them with a feral, mad, trembling grin. "You can go straight back to hell, you ugly bitch!"

Her mouth may be trembling, but her hand is steady.

-

She'd loved her husband, but from the moment she'd known about the baby, Ellen's life has belonged to Jo. She'd fought with her daughter because she raised an intelligent, independent young woman as feisty as her mother. She'd protected Jo as long as she could, then let her forge her own way, because of all the things Ellen is and has been

Woman, no lady

Bartender

Wife

Waitress

Bar owner

Lover

Fighter

Hunter

Badass

when it comes down to it, Ellen is a mother.

She'd never wanted this for Jo. But there is no regret in her, not even grief in that final moment. If this is the price of loving Bill, of being Jo's mother, it's worth it. Jo is worth this.

"You can go straight back to hell, you ugly bitch!"