Flames.

Heat.

Smoke.

Shouts.

Smell.

God, the smell.

All his life he'd been plagued with the non-memories of what it looked like when Mom – when she burned to death on the ceiling.

Now he knew.

Dad'd never talked much about it to his sons, but there'd been plenty of overheard conversations with other hunters, with Pastor Jim, Bobby, Caleb. Mom was alive on the ceiling, she was conscious, she burned alive without even being able to scream.

All his life he'd unwillingly wondered what that was like for Dad, seeing that and not being able to do a single thing to save her.

To save the woman he loved.

Now he knew.

Now he'd actually put eyes on it.

On Jess.

Alive and burning on the ceiling.

Flames.

Heat.

And God, the smell.

She didn't even scream.

"Dean?"

"Sammy? It's okay, go back to sleep. It's still late. Go back to sleep."

"Why're you awake?"

"Because you're awake."

But Sam wasn't buying it.

"You were awake first. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Of course I am."

There was a pause, but it wasn't Sam falling back into the semi-drugged sleep Dean had arranged for him.

"Just – I know – I know this has to be hard on you, too, Dean."

And Dean pushed the memories and non-memories down and away, the flames and the heat and the smell. God, the smell. He pushed all of that and more away.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

But Dean was still awake long after Sam had fallen back asleep.

The End.