Chapter 22.

Dean spent a few hours in his room, trying to sleep. When that failed, he spent some time searching his mind for stupid, trivial little memories and worrying when something proved to have slipped his mind.

It was normal to lose some trivia down the cracks, he knew. He forgot things all the time before Michael came along, but any failure of his memory seemed like a failure of his mind and his identity and perhaps a defeat by Michael.

He tried to think of the things that hurt most, Charlie, Bobby, Kevin and was relieved to find that they still hurt. That meant he was human. He had begun to doubt.

He started moving around the room, checking on his stuff. There were no insulting little notes from Sam, none of his things moved to weird places to show him he couldn't keep his brother out of his room, no dumb pranks. Sam had not believed he would come back.

Holding the cool metal of a bottle opener from the Roadhouse in his hand, he came to his senses a little. Sam had been too busy to mess with his stuff, too busy being the leader of the bunker's hunters. He had shouldered some hefty responsibilities, but of course he had never given up hope that Dean would return.

A gentle knocking interrupted his thoughts.

"Jack?" he said. He didn't want the nephilim in his room, but if Jack were seeking him out so late, it must be important.

Jack opened the door and came in. A shiver went down Dean's spine at the thought of a celestial within arm's reach, but the kid looked so unhappy that such thoughts faded quickly. "What is it, Jack?" he said.

"I know it's late, but I heard movement, so knew you were still awake."

"You also know I'm here anytime you need me." said Dean.

"You may change your mind about that." said Jack.

"Won't happen." said Dean, sitting on the bed and gesturing to the chair by the desk. Jack sat in it. "What's the problem?"

"When you were ... When you ... "

"When I was away." said Dean.

"Yes." said Jack gratefully, "When you were away, I said some things."

Dean couldn't conceal a smirk. Worlds were hanging in the balance and Jack was feeling bad about something he had said. "It's okay, Jack. We all say dumb things sometimes."

Jack stared fixedly at the corner of the bed. He would not meet Dean's eyes. "I said we should do what it took to kill Michael, even if it also ended you."

"Well done." said Dean.

"What?" said Jack. It was clearly not the response he had expected.

"At least one of you was thinking clearly. You were right. Stopping Michael means far more than saving any individual life, especially this one. I knew what I was doing when I consented to be his vessel and I accepted all risks, including that one. We're fine, kid. I'm proud of you for keeping your head."

"I never wanted you dead."

"I know you didn't." said Dean, "You wanted Michael stopped and so do I. For all the dumb things I've done and all the stupid mistakes I have yet to make, I'm sorry. Maybe, if I'd planned things better, you'd still have your grace and Michael would never have taken me over."

Jack nodded wordlessly, but seemed uncertain.

"I failed you. I failed everyone. You all deserved better." said Dean.

"No." said Jack.

Dean felt a flash of annoyance at the angelic refusal to accept anyone else's point of view. Before he could get angry, he reminded himself that he should have no faith in his prejudiced feelings.

"It's late." he said, "You should sleep. You need to do that a lot more now."

"Thanks for understanding about what I said."

"Thanks for saying it. Cas and Sam, they're too sentimental sometimes."

"You mean they care about you." said Jack.

"So do you, but not to the point where you ignore all sense and reason."

"The killing you thing ... if I could have prevented it by anything up to and including my own death, I would have."

"You wanna know about dumb, stupid sentimental things to say? That one's near the top of the list." said Dean.

"Everyone in this bunker would have died for you." said Jack.

"I'm not worth dying for. Pick another dumb reason to throw your life away. I am not it."

When Jack had gone, Dean lay back on his bed and let the recriminations tag-team in his head. He'd screwed up and everyone had suffered; Jack most of all. The boy felt bad because of a sound strategic opinion spoken where Dean would never have heard of it, had he not confessed it himself. The kid was still ready to die for him. That felt like another failure. A flawed, stupid loser was bad enough, but one charismatic enough to drag brighter minds into self-destruction was a disaster.

He remembered Jules saying that nobody blamed him. Maybe they did and maybe they didn't. He was the only one being objective and he blamed himself. He had no choice. He got up from the bed, put on some sneakers and went to his mother's door. His knock, not intended to wake her if she happened to be asleep, was quiet enough to make Jack's seem intrusive and demanding.

The door opened. The room was well lit and Mary's desk was covered with books. Despite the late hour, she was still wearing the jeans and flannel she had worn all day.

"Hey, Mom." he said, "Could we talk?"

She sat on the bed and he shut the door and sat beside her. "We can always talk." she said.

He suddenly felt very unsure of what he wanted to say and her smile told him she knew how hard it was just to ask for a moment of her time. He was a grown man. He had no right to disturb his mother so late with stupid, vague and weak matters that could certainly keep until morning.

"I shouldn't be bothering you so late." he said.

"You seem pretty bothered yourself. Come on, Dean. Let me be a mom to you just this once. What's on your mind?"

"Everything and nothing." he said.

"Okay." she said.

When she had first returned, she might have pushed for more. When she had discovered Chuck's books, there had been a full-on battle of Winchester wills and now she just acknowledged what he had said and awaited whatever else he might be able to say. He appreciated the change.

"I don't know what happened to me, Mom. I don't know if something broke that I can't get back or if I'm just bloodied and beat down from the fight or if he has some lasting hold over me that makes me a danger to everyone here." He looked at her and added, "I need to work it out, because if I guess wrong, everyone could die ... and I mean the whole planet." He put his head in his hands. "Trojan horse or pathetic wreck ... what's your money on?"

"Wounded hero." she said, "Dean, what happened got you all tied up in knots and this is recent trauma piled high on the old stuff, which goes back to when you were four years old. You're not pathetic. You never have been."

"How do I snap out of this? We can't afford any lame ducks."

"Like a nephilim without his powers? A hunter who's carrying around his own personal Hell and pretends he isn't? An angel who thinks everything in the world is his fault? Or were you referring to the dumb hunter who let her son become Azazel's pawn to save her boyfriend?"

"Don't talk like that." He said, looking up.

"About them, or me?"

"Winchester guilt is toxic and dangerous and stupid."

"Yes, Mr Winchester." she said.

"Michael could be here tomorrow. We don't have the luxury of time to wallow in any of it."

"Then maybe sleep would be a good idea. I could ask Cas ... "

"You bring that thing near me and I'll ... " He stopped as he heard what he was saying. "He's in my head. He's in my damn head." Another possibility occurred to him, "Or, worse, he isn't and this is just me ... the new me ...being an ass."

"Or it's late and you're running on fear and you're confused." She smiled. "Know what always used to help? Warm milk. Go to your room. I'll bring some down to you."

"I don't think it'll help." he said.

"Can it hurt?" she asked.

"I guess not."