Sleepless Night

He remembered it. Every goddamn second. He still felt the panic rushing through his blood and could hear the crackling of the fire in this ears.

Dean Winchester hated it.

He tossed around in the small motel bed and tried to find a more comfortable sleep position. How often did he already change his position this night? Some might say nightmares were the worst thing ever, but Dean would rather have a dream about one of the demons he'd hunted down in his life than lying in his bed and being haunted by his thought.

Haunted by that one memory.

He still remembered how he'd woken up in that night. He had rubbed his eyes and winced when another scream rolled through the house. What was happening? He sat up and swung his legs around, before he stood up. Another scream, this time a male scream. Daddy?

As silently as possible, Dean walked out of his room and along the dark hallway. For a quick moment, he regretted not bringing his teddy bear with him. He'd stolen it from his little brother Sammy, who wasn't old enough to even notice the little theft. Since then, the teddy was hidden under Dean's bed and was an amazing protector against the monsters of the night.

Dean reached the origin of the weird noises – they came out of Sammy's room. The door was opened ajar and bright light and smothery heat rushed into the hallway.

With a deep breath, Dean opened the door completely and his heart beat so fast, he was sure, it would jump out of his chest any second. Was the ceiling really burning? Did he only imagine the woman in the middle of the flames locking exactly like mommy?

"Dean!" His father walked toward him, blocking the view. Fear flashed in his eyes. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can!" Daddy pushed little Sammy, who was silently crying, into Dean's arms. Dean looked again at the ceiling. Was this some kind of magic trick? It was fascinating, but the face of his mother was twisted in pain and he felt, deep inside his stomach, that this was real.

This was mommy. She was burning.

And dying.

"Go!" His father yelled and Dean turned around quickly – sure he had only imagined the glittering of tears in daddy's eyes. His father never cried.

Dean ran downstairs and tried to calm his little brother. It was hard to breathe, felt almost like swallowing burning liquid. He finally left the house and thanked god for the cold clean air rushing into his lungs and against his skin, letting little shivers climb up his spine.

He turned around and gasped. The house – his home – was one big flame shining and fighting against the darkness of the night. Some neighbors walked outside, clutching their morning robes, and he heard someone calling the ambulance.

"Hush, Sammy", Dean whispered to his brother who was now a tiny sobbing mess in his arms. "Dad will come out of the house any moment." But as the words passed his lips, he couldn't believe them himself. Where was his daddy?

Where was his mommy?

Dean counted the seconds. 39 seconds - an eternity - later, the door flew open and his father rushed outside, dark ash smutted his face and pure horror glistened in his eyes, as if he'd seen a ghost.

Daddy jumped at the two boys and yanked them onto the ground, just a second before the house blew up and the ground underneath them rattled vehemently. Dean closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself being in the bed again, sleeping and dreaming of an ideal world.

After awhile, when the ambulance had finally arrived and put out the fire, Dean asked: "Where is mommy?" He tucked at his father's sleeve wanting to get his attention, which was focused on the dark sky. Daddy only shook his head, not looking down at him.

"I don't know."

"I don't know", Dean sighed, leaving the memory behind and being back in the present, and pressed his face into the too-hot pillows. Now, over 20 years ago later, they still didn't know what had happened to his mother in that night – and Dean wasn't sure they would ever find out.

But, at least, he was sure of one thing. He would never forget his mother's face full of empty panic and surrounded by dancing flames. It would always haunt him in the nights in which he couldn't sleep.

Dean turned his head to his side where Sammy – or Sam as everyone except Dean called him – was lying in another bed and snored quietly.

At least, he still had his brother.

His idiotic, awkward and good brother.

With this thought, Dean finally fell asleep.