The car door made its customary squeak as Dean opened it. The driver's side dipped down with his weight. He tossed Sam a brown paper bag of diner food without preamble.
Sam half caught it and winced as it bounced into his bandaged wrist. "Come on, man."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "That still hurt?"
"It's a freaking burn, Dean. Yeah, it still hurts."
Sam opened the bag and gingerly reached inside to snag a few fries.
Fire had shaped their whole lives, he thought idly. Winchesters dealt in a business constructed of fire. Salt and Burn. Salt and Burn.
The last burn just happened to singe Sam along with those skeletal remains.
His injury had burned for days. Phantom fire that engulfed his wrist, bubbled his skin in patches. Made it look like an angry wax candle. It would heal. The area was small.
He popped a fry into his mouth. "You ever think about how much mom must have suffered in the end?"
Dean paused mid burger and swallowed hard. "You mean like when she died?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "When she was on fire on that ceiling."
His older brother winced. "I try not to." He set his burger down. "Thanks for the appetite control."
"I think of it sometimes. What it must feel like to catch fire…how Jess must have felt." His voice caught a little.
"Sam! Stop!" Dean's voice was loud in the confines of the car. It took him a space to calm down. "It happened pretty fast, man. They probably didn't even feel anything."
The muscle in Sam's jaw jumped as he tamped down the urge to argue. Dean hadn't seen her face.
Sam had.
He had been staring right up at that ceiling when it ignited like dry tinder. She'd felt it, all right. And so had their mother.
"It happened pretty fast, man." Dean repeated again.
Suddenly Sam understood that sometimes there were lies you had to tell yourself just to live. Just to survive and stay sane.
Even so, his fries suddenly held no more appeal. He closed the bag and tossed it aside.