Sam's labored breathing punctuated the night.
Dean reached across the space, ready to rouse him from his nightmare, because in between Sam's rough, unsettled gulps of air there was the litany of,
'Jess…' and that could only mean there was fire behind his brother's twitching lids.
Dean dreamed of fire. Not so much now, but there were long stretches of nights when he was young, and no one to wake him.
He acclimated to the heat, let the fire burn through him, purify his fear, and deaden him to the pain.
He retracted his hand, and let his brother dream.
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