Chapter 55.

As they got out of the car, Sam tossed the keys to Dean and Dean easily caught them. Their familiar weight was comforting. "Thanks." he said, reluctantly letting go of them inside his pocket.

"Do you want me to make sure no-one bothers you?" said Sam.

Dean almost said no. It felt like cowardice. "I should talk to Mom." he said, "And Cas, if he's talking to me."

"Go to your room. I'll send Mom. Then I'll pick up some lunch for you."

"Okay." he said. "Thanks." he said again.

"No problem. Finally, I can be of some use."

Dean went to his room and dropped his shoes into the corner before flopping onto the bed. A candy bar was lying on the pillow, a kind little gesture from the thrice-accursed abomination ... from Jack.

The journey home had been quiet. He'd barely spoken and Sam, perhaps aware of how complicated it had been for him to admit that he needed him to take over, had not tried to make him.

All he really wanted to do was close his eyes and forget everything and to some degree, he could. With Sam running interference, he could forget there were other people in the bunker and just wallow for a while. Better, he could distract himself, watching movies and wasting time. His conscience reminded him that time was a limited resource, with Michael out there somewhere, but so was alcohol and he intended to use some of that for wallowing too.

His mother knocked on the door and came in. "Sam said you wanted to see me." she said.

"Did he say anything else?" he said.

"No."

"Have you seen Cas?"

"Cas has been locked in his room all morning."

"So he's avoiding me."

"I don't know." she said, "I don't read minds and his might as well be in Sanskrit."

"Bobby could read Sanskrit." he said, wondering, a moment later, why that seemed at all relevant.

She sat on the bed. "What did you want to talk about, Dean?"

"Sam's pretty amazing, you know, Mom? Last night seemed like a dumb idea to me, taking the loose screw out with two people he can't help but see as enemies. But it worked. Having him around made it easier to be around them."

"That's great." she said.

"So, I ... I did something that seemed like the right thing to do. I put Sam in charge."

"Of what?"

"Of everything. Of me. I'd hoped I could just come back and take up where I left off, just get right back into hunting ... into life ... But that didn't work out. So, I figure, I get Sammy to take command, make sure I don't screw up too badly and help me ... "

She looked sad and he knew she felt helpless, blaming herself for all the suffering they had endured from the day she died. He wished he had words to comfort or absolve her.

"Help you what?" she said, the tremor in her voice almost imperceptible.

"Help me get through this and find a way to make sense of it all. I'm needed in the fight against Michael, but for all I know, right now, I'm working for him."

"No, Dean, you're not."

"I know you believe that, but I also know you can't be sure. It doesn't matter what any of us believe. I put everyone in this bunker at risk and I need to know there is someone ready and able to protect them, even if the danger comes from me."

"If you're expecting Sam to kill you ... "

Dean smiled. "No. I'm almost sure he can't. Maybe that's why it has to be him. Suicide is not my thing. As long as it's Sam making the decisions, he'll find a non-fatal way to deal with the situation."

She seemed reassured by that. Just as he had when he was a little boy, he instinctively tried to comfort her more.

"Sam and I, we know what we're doing with this, with everything. We're a great team. The only reason I hesitated so long was that I didn't want this to be another thing Sam had to deal with, because he's got enough on his plate."

"I think you made the right decision." she said.

"I never lost my shirt, betting on Sam. He defeated the actual Devil, more than once. He can help me with my demons."

"I'd love to help too, in any way I can."

In his head, a sweet speech wrote itself, explaining how it was not her job and she should stay out of it, that she had no obligation to get into the stuff that hurt, when her life had held enough of pain. He thought of what Sam would say and went off-script, improvising from the heart to say, "Thanks, Mom. I'd like that."

It seemed he had said the right thing. Her eyes smiled at him. He fought back the old fears that were telling him not to let anyone know how bad things were.

He remembered finishing a successful hunt with his father when he was sixteen. Arriving at some drab motel in the middle of the night, his legs had almost given way as he got out of the car. His father had said, "Dean, you okay?" and he was a hunter and hunters didn't get freaked out by the fact they'd had to hack their way through monsters that looked too much like people. Sam had been with them. He could be an asset to his family or a liability, so he had grinned and said, "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I got some blood on my boot."

He had never forgotten the relief on his father's face. John had been happy and proud that his son was not traumatised and to Dean, it had felt like a victory over his weakness, proof that he was a Winchester and that he put his family before his own needs, just as his father did. The same thought was trying to take hold now. "Your family do not need to know this." It was why he hid so much and why Sam would spend hours in silence with his infernal pain. Even Jack was catching it, casting a cloak over his usually candid heart, playing the Winchester game that somehow ensured every Winchester lost.

"I'm scared." he said, "I don't know how I'm gonna get through this." Saying it to her felt better than he had expected. He had not noticed before how much of his energy was being wasted on trying to convince her that everything was fine.

Part of him was waiting for the look of disappointment to come into her eyes, but it didn't come. Deep down, he knew it wouldn't have been in his father's eyes either, if he had admitted to how scared he was. John had accepted his bravado as fact for the same time he sometimes decided to believe Sam's, because they both wanted it to be true. If Dean had given up the act, he suspected his father would have dropped his own and they could have talked about the stuff they were both carrying around in silence and shame.

John was not around, but he had this miraculous second chance with Mary. With her, he could be more honest, trusting her to understand, not just as his mother, but as a fellow hunter and one who had also made a lot of bad choices, because they seemed like the only choices she had.