Chapter 21.

Dean tried to sleep, but sleep did not come easily. At first, he kept thinking about Sam and wondering if he would get any sleep in the bunker, tormented by the burden he couldn't talk about. That was all shot through with worry about Cas and Jules and whether Cas was sitting in the corner of the library, choosing not to talk to Jules in case he said the wrong thing.

His own fears were paralysing him the same way, he knew. He was afraid to face the things he needed to face. He was afraid to give up his firm control over his feelings, which ironically meant his feelings had complete control over him. For as long as he could remember, he had feared madness, feared losing himself in the maelstrom of pain and guilt in his head. Other people had been driven bad by less. How could he protect Sam and Cas and Jack if he had no control over his own mind?

Sarah could help him, but just staying around was a struggle. The bunker felt so much safer. There, he could burrow into the darkness and pretend he wasn't haunted, he was dealing.

At the farmhouse, with Sarah, he felt like a child, transparent in his fears and helpless to overcome them. It still felt wrong to need the strength and support of an old lady, a lady who had come through her pain and loss alone, with no loss of sanity. The victor of a battle like that should not have to drag his sorry ass out of trouble. His needs were as selfish as his wounds were self-inflicted and he should go home and just accept that he was experiencing the results of his bad decisions.

But he had lived with Dean Winchester's sorry excuses all his life and despite Dean's acknowledged talent for lying to himself and others, he could see the truth when he chose to look for it. He wanted a reason to give up and go home. With the anger towards himself that he would never aim at anyone else, Dean was determined not to let the snivelling coward get away with it.

He called his mother. "Are you alright, Dean?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm fine." he said, the words as automatic as breathing, "Is Sam okay? Has he said anything?"

"I talked to Sam earlier." she said, "We had a good, long chat. He was struggling with some stuff, but he knows now that he doesn't have to deal with it alone. I'll take care of him, Dean. You just think about you."

"That feels wrong." he said, "It always has."

"I know. Even as a little boy, you always wanted to make things okay for everyone else. You need to put yourself first now."

"I'll try." he said, "How's Cas? If he's lurking in the library, try to get him to talk to Jules."

"Jules and Cas have been together all day." she said.

"They have? That's great!"

"They're cute together." she said, "And before you ask, Jack is wonderful. He told me I needed to talk to Sam. He's decided he's Sam's protector while you're away. Sometimes, Jack is so like you."

"That's a mean thing to say about the kid." he said, "He's a lot more like Sam and Cas."

"I'd say he's like all three of you and I don't consider comparing anyone to any of you to be an insult. Now, go to sleep, my little angel."

"Yeah, I'll try." he said.

He put the phone on the nightstand and turned out the light. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the constant chatter of thoughts in his head. He was doing well and was drifting off to sleep when fire poured through his head, painless, but bright and impossible to ignore. He sat up. It felt like the mind curse and that was the second time he had seen fire in connection with the thing that couldn't be the mind curse, but seemed so like it.

He forced himself to calm down. He knew the bunker was not under attack. He had just spoken to his mother and she would surely have mentioned any form of assault going on at the time. It had, in any case, seemed more like lava than any magical or celestial attack and the prevalence of active volcanoes in Lebanon, Kansas had to be minimal.

He turned on the light. On a small desk by the window, there was some paper and he had a pen on the nightstand. He sat on the bed and scribbled some notes. The fire was not real and was not from Cas, therefore it was a memory or it was symbolic. It could be a memory of Hell, but it had felt wrong for that. Hellish stuff brought pain and shame and fear. The fireballs had seemed to be confusing to Cas, the lava was strange, but neither had filled him with fear. It didn't smell of Hell or sound like it.

So what did fire symbolise? Destruction, consumption, loss of control, danger, purification, refining. The last two surprised him. The lack of fear, no burning pain, no stench of Hell, was it possible that the meaning of the fiery vision was positive?

Maybe his own mind was telling him to trust the process of change, to move past the fears and just let the flames refine him, burning away the dross he had acquired over the years.

He looked across to the empty bed that Sam had occupied on their last visit. He needed his brother. He needed Cas. He needed not to be alone and afraid. He knew either would come if he asked and he knew that Sarah would welcome any extra guest he summoned to her home, but they had their own concerns to deal with and what could he really say? "I need you to come and support me as I try and probably fail to face stuff I've been running from all my life." was the best he could come up with and it sounded weak and stupid and selfish.

He put his notes down and lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, wishing he had Sam's strength or Cas's capacity for thought. "I'm John Winchester's son!" he said aloud. There were oceans of meaning in that sentence. There was pride and there was shame at his own cowardice - a fault his father had never had. Sleep was unlikely after that. He knew he would be thinking of his father, his failures and his fears long into the night. It was probably best that way. Awake, he could reason his way through it all. Asleep, it would just be nightmare fuel.