Thanks again to all you wonderful folks following this story. Really appreciate all of you, and my awesome editor! Thanks charis-kalos!!

Chapter 24 – Mother of a Day

Dean still bristled from the way Ella had harped on him to eat before going to bed, but he knew she meant well. He hated to admit it, but he did feel better with a full stomach.

"Better take these tonight," Sam said, dumping the large white oval pain pills in his hand. "And don't roll your eyes about it. Just humor me."

Dean nodded in resignation, taking the pills before dropping carefully to his bed. Though he would never own up to it, his whole body ached. Too much time in the truck coupled with all the physical activity over the past couple of days had really done a number on him. He wondered if he could find an excuse not to work on the car in the morning so he could just lie around and rest. Then again, knowing Sam, he might not need an excuse. There was a pretty high chance Sam wasn't planning on letting him out of the house tomorrow.

Relieved by the thought, Dean settled into the almost comfortable bed and allowed his eyes to close. Way too soon he heard voices arguing in the hall outside his room.

"No, you're going to let him sleep in." Sam's voice; Dean would recognize it anywhere.

"I brought him breakfast," a woman's voice argued. Breakfast in bed? From a woman? And Sam was arguing? Had little bro' lost his frigging mind? Then it hit him, the one woman Sam really didn't like was Ella.

"He needs to keep up his strength," her sharp voice continued. For some strange reason that argument sounded really familiar and it left a tight knot in his stomach.

"When he wakes up, I'll bring him downstairs," Sam said in his soft-but-dangerous voice, the one Dean had only heard a couple of times. "Until then, get your ass out of here."

Dean almost chuckled at the expression he imagined on Ella's face as he heard her light footsteps walk away. Sam's sneakers were harder to track by sound and Dean was not certain where he went before the door to their room opened. He cracked an eye open to see what his brother was up to.

"Damn," Sam breathed, looking at him. "I didn't want to wake you."

Dean stretched but did not sit up. "It's okay, Sammy. So are you ever going to tell me what's between you and Ella?"

A startled expression crossed Sam's face. "What do you mean? Between us?"

Dean reached back to double up his pillow, making it easier to watch Sam while still lying down. "Why you hate her guts."

Sam made a bitter face as he turned away. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Sure doesn't look like nothing," Dean argued. "Look, Sam, I'd really like you two to get along. But if you can't, I dunno, I guess we'll have to stick to Denny's or Bobby's chili for the next holiday dinner."

Sam spun back around, even more surprised now than he had been a few seconds ago. "Just like that?" he demanded. "You'd pick me over her, just like that?"

"Duh, Einstein," Dean replied with a snort. "What'd you expect?"

"Well," Sam said slowly as he sat facing Dean from the other bed, "I expected you to at least think it over. Weigh your choices, maybe suggest a compromise."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's your territory, Sam. Not mine. If you hate her, I'll send her back home. I know the only reason you invited her was because you're freaked over my memory thing."

"Amnesia," Sam corrected instantly.

"I know what it's called," he said with a grin.

Sam grabbed the pillow off his bed, threw it at Dean's head. "Big jerk."

Dean chuckled as he stuffed the second pillow behind his head. "Whiny bitch," he teased. "And thanks for the pillow." He fluffed it. "Gonna enjoy it."

"Want me to go get your breakfast?" Sam asked, voice bordering on demanding.

"In a minute," Dean replied (like he was going to turn down breakfast in bed!). "So? What's the verdict? Does Ella go or stay?"

Sam let out a groan as he ran a hand through the mop he called hair. "I don't know. Honestly, Dean, I really don't. I mean, I definitely don't like her, but sometimes I get the feeling it's good for you to have her around." He shrugged. "I want to do the right thing by you."

"Thanks. But Sam?" Dean waited for Sam to really look at him. "I don't think you can do the wrong thing. For me, I mean."

Sam stared intensely at him for what felt like minutes. "I know I can," he finally replied in the soft-yet-dangerous voice, "and I'm making sure I don't."

The room felt small and uncomfortable. "So," Dean said, wanting desperately to lighten the mood, "do I get my breakfast today or tomorrow?"

A weak smile replaced the intense expression on Sam's face. "Yeah, I'll go get it. You're staying in today, by the way. Bobby wants to take you to the doctor this afternoon, but you don't have to go."

"Bobby?" Dean asked, shocked. "Bobby wants me to see a doctor? What for?"

Sam glanced at the door before his eyes settled on Dean again. "I think he's worried about you, that the hunt was too much too soon." Sam shrugged. "He's right about that part. I never should have let you talk me into going early."

Dean laughed at that. "Dude, you were raring to go. I was afraid that halfway through Thanksgiving dinner you'd go get another beer and never come back."

Sam's face took on a pink hue. "Well," he said in a small voice, "it was a clown."

They shared a good laugh before Sam went to retrieve Dean's breakfast. Yeah, Dean thought, he had it pretty good these days.

Sam brought Dean's empty breakfast dishes back down to the kitchen. He didn't bother speaking to Ella when he deposited the mess in the kitchen sink. If she didn't want to clean them, fine, he'd do it later. Sam went outside in search of his father.

The morning air was cool when it struck his bare face and neck. Cold morning sunlight, making up for its lack of warmth in brightness, made him squint as he walked through the salvage yard. He heard Dad and Bobby arguing before he reached them.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. I'm handling it."

"Like hell you are," Bobby snapped. Sam didn't like the sound of this. "There's no telling how much brain damage that kid has, and you're taking him hunting? That's just plain irresponsible."

Sam paused in his trek across the yard. Bobby had a good point, one Sam hadn't really considered. Was this the reason Bobby had insisted on coming along?

"It doesn't matter," Dad shot back. "He's good, Bobby. You saw for yourself. Would you have thought to turn on the steam for the organ like that so we could see it? Would you?"

He heard a crash. One of them must have kicked something or thrown a tool. "Not the point, John."

"It is the point, Bobby," Dad sounded so quiet now, almost as if he were pleading. "Listen to me, he loves it. And he's good. Really good. I can't take it away from him; I won't. It would destroy him."

Sam forced his feet to take him closer, until he could peer into the area where they were restoring the Impala. Bobby walked right up to Dad and stood in his personal space. Sam was a little surprised Dad did not react.

"That's a load of crap and you know it, Winchester. The only thing that could destroy that boy would be losing you and Sam." Bobby shoved his stained trucker hat back. "Just promise me that won't happen, John. Look me in the eye and promise."

That did make Dad react. "Since when did you care about Dean?" Dad shoved Bobby a step back. "Who chased us off with a loaded shotgun?" he roared in Bobby's face.

Sam suddenly felt like a little kid sneaking up on fighting parents. A hard lump formed in his stomach and his breath caught in his chest.

Bobby's face hardened as he glared back at Dad. "Who warned me about how the kid gets past your defenses, and before you know it, you give a damn?"

Dad looked away. He let out a long breath before facing Bobby again. "So you give a damn, that it?" Dad sighed and shook his head. "You could've given a little warning, Bobby. Hell, I thought a loaded shotgun figured prominently in my future."

"Still might," Bobby shot back. "You haven't answered my question, Winchester."

Dad stared at Bobby for a long minute. "Sam won't disappear, Bobby. He's not like that."

"But you are. Is that right?" Bobby demanded.

Dad cleared his throat as he reached for the crumpled passenger door. "You gonna help with this door or what?"

"We're replacing the interior panel," Bobby replied, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "And I'm stocking up on rock salt cartridges for my shotgun." He sat on Dean's stool, motioning to Dad as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Go ahead. Get to work."

Sam cleared his throat as he reluctantly interrupted, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were shaking.

"About time," Dad stated in his normal voice. "Where's Dean? Plenty to do out here."

Sam locked his gaze on his father. "He's in bed, resting. Like he should be." He glanced over at Bobby. "If you really want him to go in and get checked out, I'll help you talk him into it." He cleared his throat again. "Anything I can help with out here?"

"You can help me pound out this door," Dad said as he dragged it near the workbench.

"Or you can go keep your brother occupied, so he doesn't do anything stupid," Bobby cut in with a harsh glare at Dad.

The hostility in the air made Sam's skin crawl. He backed up a few steps, hands deeper in his pockets. "Yeah, I can do that. I'll, uh, let you know when lunch is ready."

Sam beat a hasty retreat back to the house, where Ella shot him a dirty look over her shoulder from washing dishes in the kitchen sink. He paused, reconsidering his decision to come inside. Then Bobby's words came back to him, 'keep your brother occupied.' It was the first time Sam had heard Bobby refer to Dean as a Winchester.

"Ella!" Dean's voice bellowed.

She wiped her hands off on a towel, giving Sam a triumphant glower. "Coming," she called out lightly. Ella paused as she passed Sam. "He needs me," she said in a superior voice, though the fact she did it well outside of his reach was not lost on Sam. Her feet clomped up the stairs in her hurry.

Sam followed slowly, trying to convince himself the only reason Dean called for her was because he knew Sam was outside. Yeah, that had to be it.

Sam eyed the top of the stairs apprehensively, unsure what he expected to find at the top. The way Dean had been talking last night, it was an almost word-for-word replay of one of their arguments. Was he remembering? Did Dean know about all the crap that happened to him as a kid? Sam paused at the top of the stairs. Why did Dean remembering disturb him this much? Wasn't this the reason he invited Ella here?

"I just think you should probably go home," Dean's voice reached Sam in the upstairs hall. "I mean, you don't want to lose your job."

"No, honey, it's fine. They understand," Ella argued in the sickly sweet voice which made Sam want to gag. "I told them I'm looking after my son who was in a car wreck."

Sam's stomach was in agreement with his throat now. In a moment his breakfast would be making a reappearance.

"Your son? Damn, Ella, I didn't know you could lie like that," Dean laughed.

Sam's back straightened, his stomach settled and a smile lit his face.

"But seriously, I'm fine here. Oh, and don't call me that other name again. It freaks Sam and Dad out," he said.

"You mean your name?" Ella demanded in a haughty voice. "Jerry?"

"The name is Dean," he replied in a hard voice. "I suggest you remember it. And unless you can figure out how to get along with Sam, you won't be seeing either of us any time soon. I'll ask Bobby to drive you to the airport."

"Fine!" she screamed.

Sam pressed his back against the wall, willing himself to be invisible. Ella came running out of Dean's room, tears trickling down her face. He doubted she noticed him as she made for the stairs. He waited until she was nearly downstairs before going into Dean's room.

Dean sat propped up against the headboard, both hands rubbing over his face.

"Dean?"

His hands dropped away. Damn, Dean looked tired. "You hear any of that?"

Sam sat on the end of Dean's bed. "Just the last part. So why are you sending her home?"

Dean leaned his head back until it rested against the headboard. "She doesn't belong here. Besides, I don't want her losing her job because of me." He chuckled. "It's not like I have a paying job so I could support her." The expressive eyerolls had Sam chuckling too.

"Want me to fill out some credit applications for her? She could be Lindsey Lohan," Sam offered with a grin.

Dean's laugh pierced the air. "You're reaching, dude. She wouldn't even be Cindy Crawford."

Ella's tear-streaked face made Dean feel guilty each time he glanced at her as they drove to the airport in Bobby's clunker, so he tried not to look. Bobby dropped them off and promised to drive back around to pick Dean up in a few minutes.

"I don't understand," Ella said in a near-hysterical voice as Dean guided her to the ticket counter. "Why are you taking their side? Jerry, honey, they aren't good for you! They're getting you hurt!"

He turned a hard glare on her. "It was a car accident, Ella. It wasn't like they beat me up."

She flinched at that. Hard. Dean watched curiously.

"When, Ella? When did I get beat up this bad?" Dean gestured to his still bruised face. She looked away, shaking her head. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her closer. "So I was beat up? When? When I lived with you?"

Fresh tears leaked from her eyes, which were already red-rimmed.

"Did..." his voice faltered. Dean cleared his throat, hoping it wouldn't betray him again. "Did you...?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "No!" She glanced around to see if her shout drew any attention. One shaking hand grasped his arm. "No, honey. It wasn't me," Ella said in a softer voice. "I'd better go. I'll, uh, I'll call you."

Dean watched her hurry away like she was being chased. "Might not have been you," he said to himself, "but you were there." He sighed as she disappeared around a corner. "No wonder Sam hates your guts."

Heavy feet took him back outside. Bobby's embarrassing clunker pulled up to the curb. Dean dropped into the passenger seat with a wince.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked, pulling back into airport traffic.

"I hate this car," he told the older man.

Bobby laughed at him. "Boy, you are the master of deflection. You know what I meant."

"Yeah, I know." Dean leaned back in the seat, resting his head against torn fabric. "You have a cool Chevelle under that tarp in the back. Need some help fixing it up?"

Bobby was quiet for a few moments. He broke it by clearing his throat. "Tell you what, let's get your beast up and runnin' first and then we'll talk."

Dean stared at Bobby's profile for a few seconds before asking, "So I can stay even after Dad takes off?"

Bobby shot him a guilty look which told him all he needed to know: Dad was planning on taking off.

"He's not plannin' on going anyplace while you're laid up," Bobby replied.

"Translation: Dad doesn't know where the demon is right now," Dean stated as all his hopes of them being a family, traveling and hunting together, flew right out the window. "But when he does..." he made a whistling noise as his hand shot out the open window.

"I never said that!" Bobby protested.

The ensuing silence was more than Dean could bear. "I'll go," he mumbled as they turned on the road toward Bobby's.

"What? You'll go where?" Bobby asked as the clunker slowed down to match the lower speed limit.

Dean forced his eyes to look to his left. "The doctor. Sam's been going on about it all morning. I'll go." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "If you want."

Bobby checked his watch as he drove. "We oughtta have just enough time to pick up Sam first."

Dean grinned at him. "Great. So I trade-in a mother-wanna-be for a mother-hen. Just my luck."

"Better than havin' Sam mad at me," Bobby said with a chuckle. "He ever tell you about the time he rearranged all the books in my house? I think he was about five."

Dean laughed, the action shifting his abused ribs. He wrapped an arm around his chest, noticing they were pulling up Bobby's drive. "How did you piss off a five year old Sam?"

Bobby grinned, his whiskered cheeks flaring out. "I think it had something to do with not buying the kind of cereal he liked."

Another laugh shot out of Dean. "Please," he hissed, "you gotta tell me what kind. C'mon, Bobby. Tell me."

Bobby's grin flashed on him. "Why? What're you plannin', boy?"

"You'll love it," Dean promised.

"Lucky Charms." Bobby shot him another grin. "And it better be good."