Chapter 23.
Dean left the bed and went to look out of the window. Sarah's farm had seen better days and the family she had shared it with were gone, but it still felt like a home. He had always wanted to find a place like that, in the mythical "after" time when he and Sam could stop moving around the country, staying in motels and waiting for their father to turn up. He had wanted a home for Sammy.
He knew what Sarah would say to that. "Why not for yourself?" and if she pressed him for an answer, after he had tried to pretend he hadn't heard the question, he would have explained, as her eyes grew sad and worried, that he had known, even then, that he would never be able to remake the feeling of safety and love that had been home to him in the brief, happy time when his family were alive and together.
He had a kind of home now. The bunker gave him a feeling of physical security. His mother's return had given him some emotional stability, interspersed with moments when he was overcome with the thought that he would lose her again. Above all, the bunker gave him a chance to keep those he loved safe and that was as close to the feeling of home as he could get without erasing the past 35 years.
He thought of Carl Kranz, growing up in ignorance of the monsters in the world, feeling safe in his home, going to college and living his life, like Sam should have. Then one idiot's stupid mistake had ended his life, destroying the life of his mother.
Dean had lost both of the children he thought of as his, Emma, who had tried to kill him and Ben, who wasn't his kid, but felt like his. Both losses had hurt. In both cases, the tangled mess of conflicting emotions made it hard for him to even think of them. Neither child had been his for long. He had really had no history at all with them and Sarah had nurtured her beloved son from the beginning of his life to the end.
He could understand how she had crumbled. So often, the weight of his own losses had reduced him to nothing and he had come back from that because Sam needed him to. He had no idea how she had made herself come back to life when she had no-one. Her friendship with Castiel had come about after she had rebuilt her life.
He checked the time. It was 2:23. He felt cold and tired and alone. He knew he should try to sleep, but the thought of nightmares or another imagined connection with Cas convinced him not to. He could cope very well without sleep. In fact, the exhaustion of his mind could be a positive advantage, shutting down some of the endless noise in his head, leaving him acting on instinct and ingrained habit. It was less complicated. It was, he admitted to himself, precisely why he did dumb things in the short term that made it harder for him to change.
Something felt different. As his mind ran around in circles, chasing its own confused ideas, there was something missing. It had been with him so long that he felt the change as an odd absence, but as he homed in on the difference, he had to admit, he was glad to be rid of it.
He was not worrying about Cas.
It made no sense, because Cas was as vulnerable as ever and as threatened, by Heaven, Hell, any passing monster with a grudge and the guilt he carried and the deep fears of repeating his mistakes. Dean should have had the usual background anxiety, the usual urge to check that all was well. Instead, he just felt peace and a certainty that Cas was safe from harm.
The peace lasted only briefly before anxiety took over. Was the loss of worry itself a worrying sign? Was his peace just the free gift that came with his brand of insanity? As he lost his mind, was he losing the ability to care about the people he loved? It was strangely reassuring that he still found himself worrying over Sam, but the Cas thing was troubling. He had no reason to believe Cas was fine, so why was his mind telling him that was the case? It couldn't be the mind curse, because the one thing that was absolutely certain was that Cas's mind would be in chaos, not peace, because of the whole Jules thing.
"I am not cracking up." he whispered to himself. He remembered his father saying, "Crazy people never know how crazy they are." That was not a reassuring idea to entertain after 2 am when he had no possible excuse to call any of the people who would make him feel better with a few words of sanity or just sympathy.
Any of the people. The words hung around in his mind, offering a kind of comfort. As a kid, a teenager, even later, he had often felt alone with his burdens. Sammy needed to be protected, not made to support him. John Winchester had always made it clear, confiding in others was a mistake and could only cause trouble. Cass Robinson had confirmed that for him, by responding to his honesty with mockery and rejection. So he had sucked it up and done his job and resigned himself to a lonely life.
Now, his chosen family was large and their loyalty unquestionable. There were people he could call right now, with no explanation and they would listen to whatever he had to say. Donna, Jody, Garth, even Claire, although he felt too protective of her to bother her with his crap. At the other end of the house, he knew, there was Sarah, who loved him as if he were her son and who would not mind at all if he woke her and asked to talk. In the past, there had been no-one to turn to except Sam, who was the baby brother he had to protect, whatever the cost. Now, his isolation was a choice. Now, he was dealing with things alone because he chose not to open up, not because there was nobody to whom he could.