Losing His Religion, Part 2
~*~SUMMER 1996~*~
“Sammy…”
Dean’s whisper trickled into Sam’s dream like early morning fog, slow and soft - enough that Sam thought it was part of the dream itself. He was wandering the shelves of an ornate library, breathing in the scents of leather-bound books and mustiness. His arm was curled around an especially long, thin volume - one that Dream Sam seemed to really be excited about. He turned to see if he could find Dean, to show him the book, but to no avail.
He felt himself smiling as his brother repeated the call to him, this time rousing him into the lightest form of slumber. The dream began to slip away, his body now responding to the stiff, flat pillow of the motel under his arm. He rolled onto his side, towards the sound, and hummed with pleasure. As much as he had been enjoying the library, the comfortable sound of Dean’s voice was luring him without much resistance. He recognized the leather scent now to be more familiar - leather jacket, home. He breathed in deeply and exhaled smoothly, happy. He was startled from the cozy feeling when Dean’s fingers curled in his hair and tugged sharply.
“Ow! What???”
“Shhhh,” Dean whispered, hand slipping away. He was squatting next to the double bed, eyes twinkling with mischief and one thick finger pressed up against full lips. “Don’t want to wake Dad, right?”
“What’s the matter?” Sam frowned, rubbing over the sore spot on his scalp, blinking grumpily into the darkness. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that it was near midnight. A hunter’s assessment of the hotel room told him that they weren’t in any danger and that John was passed out in what appeared to be a heavy sleep, aided with a bottle of whiskey.
“Nothin’s the matter, brat. Gotta surprise for you, though.”
“Huh?”
“Come on. Up. Find your sneakers and wear pants. Its chilly outside for it being July. Meet you outside in five.”
With that, Dean was gone, a brief rectangle of light and soft snick of the door opening and closing the only indication he wasn’t still sitting on the dingy carpet. Sam yawned, still massaging the tingly sensation away from his head where he was sure his brother had ripped a few strands of hair out. Quickly, he gathered the jeans and boots from yesterday off the floor and yanked them on. He wasn’t quite as stealthy as Dean, but the rumbling snores that didn’t falter told him that his father would be completely oblivious for hours.
His face split with a wide grin as he saw Dean stationed in front of the Impala, ready to push. “Get in and kick her to neutral. We’ll get her out to the road and start ‘er up.”
Sam slipped inside, careful not to let the door hinges squeak very loudly, then helped his brother steer the silent car down to the street. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.
Once Dean had jumped inside, pushing him to the passenger seat, he gestured to the back. “Got a surprise in the trunk for you, Sammy.”
“What is it?”
“What part of surprise don’t you understand, dweeb?” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair and laughed, turning the key in the ignition and gleefully rubbing his hands as Baby purred to life. “We gotta head out of town before I can let you see it, though.”
Sam smiled over at his brother. “Can I get a hint?”
“Nope. But in the spirit of twenty questions, which I’m not playing, it’s bigger than a breadbox.”
Dean maneuvered the car onto the highway, heading west. They rode along in comfortable silence for a while before Sam noticed the sprays of colorful lights in the sky. He watched them with wonder, unaware of this brother casting fond looks in his direction. “Can we stop somewhere and watch the fireworks for a bit, Dean? Please?”
“I’ll do you one better little brother…”
~*~
“Are we there yet?”
“Impatient much?”
Sam wiggled in his seat. “It’s not that….I just really need to pee.”
Dean laughed. “Almost. Just a few more minutes.” He scanned the dark road, happy that about ten miles back it had turned into a county dirt road. This meant it was less travelled and less likely to be populated by sheriff deputies. He coasted past thick trees, waiting to find the perfect spot. And then, up a hill and around a bend, he saw it.
A clearing.
Trees surrounded the area, but overall it was probably close to thirty acres of undisturbed property. “Here,” he said, pulling the car to the shoulder. “See? Told you we were close.”
Sammy flung himself out of the car and rushed towards the trees, hand holding his zipper tightly. Dean chuckled and he went around to the trunk to open it. Inside, tucked under a green army blanket, was a crate full of fireworks he’d snatched from a tent at the edge of town. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when he saw it.
Sam was still tucking himself in as he came closer, squinting his eyes in the dark. Luckily the moon was bright enough that when Dean pulled back the blanket, Sam whooped in glee. “Fireworks?”
Yeah, his face was totally worth it….
~*~
They’d spent forty-five minutes shooting off Roman Candles, Black Cats, Fountains, and UFO shaped discs. They’d laughed and ran through the sparks together, playing an impromptu and probably dangerous game of Roman Candle war while the moon shone on. Sam’s face had never looked so happy, so free. Dean felt a stab of despair at that thought, but pushed it down when Sam had gripped him in a bear hug.
“Dad would never let us do anything like this. This is great. Thanks, Dean.”
Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, warmth filling his soul. “Sure, Sammy.” He squeezed him tighter and looked down into his eyes. “Ready for the finale?”
Sam grinned. “Yeah!” He took off, grabbing the lighter out of Dean’s hand as he ran towards the box of fireworks in the center of the field. He began pulling and twisting the fuses of the final group of fireworks together. Looking back at his brother, he called out, “Fire in the hole!” Then, he lit the giant tangle of strings.
Within seconds, the sky was lit up with dozens of fireworks. Sparks flew in every direction: red, blue, yellow, white, green, purple, pink, orange…. Dean watched as Sam ducked under the shower and danced around, laughing and carefree. He finally resembled a kid of twelve and Dean felt a pang of hurt at that. Not only were he and their father keeping Sam from being a normal kid, but they were making him shoulder a life he never signed up for. Tears sprang up in his eyes when he also thought about the fact that he also had never had a chance to be a true kid with the life they led - that it was rare moments like this that reminded him that he didn’t have to save the world as a child. He shouldn’t even have to avenge his mother’s murder. It wasn’t fair.
“Dean?”
He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he’d missed the fact that Sam was standing in front of him, eyes full of concern. Dean was furious with himself for taking away that brief moment of joy from his brother. He dashed a hand against his own eyes to wipe away the wetness, then forced a smile.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, kiddo.”
Sam’s mouth turned downward. “Don’t call me that.” He shoved his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie sullenly and turned away. “I’m not a baby.”
Dean put a hand on his shoulder, turning him back around. “I know. Sorry.” He curled his arms around Sam and tugged him in. He looked up at the sky, which was slowly starting to become dark again; the fireworks were dying down. He breathed in the smell of Sam’s shampoo, fruity and sweet. He smiled against his hair. “It’s just a habit, Sammy.”
“Sam.”
“Fine. Sam.” He chuckled. “I swear, though, you getting hormones makes you more like a girl every day.”
Sam stiffened in his arms, then he was being pushed roughly away. “You….you….dick,” he hissed, pout firmly in place. “Let’s just go back to the motel.” He began stomping back to the Impala.
Dean rushed to catch up. “No, wait! Sam…that’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re so moody lately. And prissy about your clothes and deodorant and music….I’m not ready for all this teenage drama. Can’t you just be a kid for a little bit longer? What’s wrong with that?”
Sam ignored him and wrenched the door open, flinging himself into the seat and slamming the door shut. He slid down into the seat so Dean could see just the top of his head and angry eyebrows from the window. Dean sighed and slid into the driver’s seat. They sat there for a few minutes in tense silence, light popping noises still coming from the box of fireworks in the field. Finally, Dean dug the keys out of his pocket and put them in the ignition, starting the car with a satisfying rumble.
“I’m not a girl.”
“I know.”
“And I hate it when you treat me like a kid. I’m almost thirteen, Dean.”
“Only a couple weeks. I know.”
Sam huffed a breath. “You’re not so much older than me, you know. You act like you’re this big, bad adult. You cuss. You smoke. You watch dirty movies when Dad’s gone and you think I’m asleep.”
Dean blanched. “Uh…”
“You go out with these girls….and I know what you’re doing when you’re seeing them. I’m not stupid.”
“Sam-“
“I’m almost a teenager, too, Dean. And you’re not that much older than me.”
“No, but-“
Sam whirled around, frown still firmly in place. “When you were thirteen, Dean, what was it like? Do you even remember?”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, staring out at the smoldering crate of fireworks and hanging onto the steering wheel for support. “Everything was weird. My body was doing weird stuff and Dad wouldn’t talk to me about it. Girls at school were weird. Hell, guys at school were weird. The locker room was insane - I always wondered if people thought I was gay, even if I was just changing and looking at the floor. And it was like I always felt like I smelled funny or wasn’t wearing the right thing or had more pimples than other kids.” He swallowed, thinking it all over. “Thank God we didn’t stay anywhere too long…dealing with cliques was hard enough as the new kid. But I could usually just stay to myself and hope that we’d leave soon.” He sighed, looking back over at Sam. “And I took care of you.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, well Dad sucks.”
Dean laughed. “Yeah, he does.”
After a moment, Sam turned to him, straightening up in his seat more. “Did you ever think you were?”
“What?”
“Gay.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Puberty screws with your brain, Sam. Makes you think everyone and everything is on the earth for the sole purpose of destroying you through your dick.” He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, uncomfortable. “But I don’t think I’m gay. Definitely into girls.”
“Oh.” Sam looked out his window.
“It’s okay if you are.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sam. Look at me.”
“Let’s just go.”
“Sam.”
“Is it okay….to maybe like both?” His voice was small and quiet - Dean almost didn’t hear him at all. His breath fogged the window momentarily. His body was curling in on itself.
Dean reached a hand out and touched the small of his brother’s back, tenderly. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay, Sammy.”
“Can you not tell Dad?”
“Dude. He doesn’t need to know shit.”
“Okay.”
Dean saw a lone tear slide down Sam’s cheek and his heart broke. “Come ‘ere.” He took the boy into his arms as best he could inside the car and hummed into his hair. “Don’t cry, Sammy. Shhhhhh….” He rubbed circles on his back. “You don’t have to worry about it right now anyway. Unless….unless there’s a guy you’re interested in in particular?” When Sam’s body went rigid, he forced his face up so he could see his eyes. “That it?”
Sam let out a shaky breath. “Not….not really. I mean…I’m just…it’s so confusing…”
Dean smiled softly down at him. The moonlight was dancing over Sam’s face, casting shadows and highlighting his cheekbones, his lips, his eyelashes…. “Sometimes I like guys,” he whispered, glad that the darkness hid his blush.
“Yeah?” Sam’s eyes were full of trust and hope.
“Yeah. So it’s okay.”
Sam smiled, dimples flashing briefly. Then, he pressed closer to Dean. “Thanks, Dean.” He snuggled down into the hollow of Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply.
Dean felt his heart swell and he pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “No problem, Sammy. Sorry I treat you like a kid. I just want you to have the chance to be one. I didn’t get the opportunity.”
Suddenly, a bright flash and loud boom filled the field. Sparks exploded across the grass and trees. Both boys scrambled up and gaped at the fire. It caught quickly, sending smoke and flames in both directions. A glowing ball of fire struck the Impala and it sent Dean into action.
“Shit!” He slammed the car into gear and backed up hastily. “SHIT!”
“Was that a firework?”
“Must’ve been a crappy one.”
“Look…”
Dean looked where Sam was pointing at the field. Low hanging limbs of trees were catching on fire. Smoke was curling up from the box of fireworks they’d left. The grass was aflame - large patches burned brightly with fire. “Shit,” he said again. He put the car into gear and peeled out, sending gravel in all directions. “We get to a rest stop, we call it in. Okay?”
Sam nodded. “There weren’t any houses nearby, were there?”
“Don’t think so. We’re about 40 minutes west of the hotel.”
“Think we’re even still in Missouri?”
“We passed the state line…so no. I think we’re in Oklahoma.” Dean pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. “We get to a gas station, rest stop, fuck…a farm house, we stop and call it in.”
“Yeah.” Sam looked back down the road behind them, but all he could see was a faint glowing light in the darkness.
Later that evening, as he lay in bed next to Dean, thinking about his brother’s panicked voice on the pay phone as he called in the fire, Sam thought about the last time they were in Oklahoma. Last fall. The nymph. Mr. Novak.
He remembered feeling relief when they’d left the state for a new hunt. Remembered talking with Pastor Jim in the spring. Remembered the feeling of rightness once he’d been assured that not all people were ready to see the whole world - especially those who had a strong faith in something else. Remembered Dean telling him that he’d visited Mr. Novak before they’d left Sallisaw in the dust.
He scooted closer to his brother, beautiful in sleep, and tugged him closer. Maybe he’d grow out of this. Needing this closeness. Craving Dean’s touch and attention. But for now, he’d take it as it came. He snuggled into the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder and fell into slumber.
All in all, it had been a pretty decent Fourth of July.
~*~
It wasn't the smoke that awoke him. It was the heat.
Jimmy had been organizing files in the small office of the church, leafing through pages and pages of financial sludge and making no headway. Father Halloway had insisted that he begin to take over some of the billing, as experience for his own parish someday. He'd worked for hours, double checking the elderly priest’s ledgers and finding nothing but meticulous bookkeeping.
And yet, the bills for the past two months had become increasingly large, prompting the hunt for anything amiss. The income of the church was dwindling as well. He needed to make a list of church families who were tithing regularly and send letters of encouragement and a plea for help.
He must've fallen asleep somewhere after midnight, head pillowed by a short stack of paper. And even though it was the fourth of July, Jimmy was pleased to be away from the loud, booming explosions of fireworks in the town. Out in the woods, it was peaceful - albeit unpleasantly humid with summer.
This heat, however, was stifling. It poked at his consciousness and begged him to awaken to investigate. He blinked and shifted, sending a few papers to the ground. When he realized that the air was painfully hot and nearly unbearable, he sat up and finally noticed the haze of smoke inside the office. He jerked to full alertness and without thinking, he flung open the door.
Flames danced along the walls of the short hallway to the sanctuary, threatening to climb to the ceiling. The smoke was almost too thick to see through. Jimmy choked and flew backwards. His eyes watered and his throat stung. He shoved the door shut, then turned to the tiny window behind him, fingers scrabbling against the lock but failing to open it.
I’ll break it and get free, he thought, looking around the room wildly for something to throw into the window. His eyes landed on the phone first. Without a second thought, he picked up the receiver and dialed 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“This is James Novak. There’s a fire at St. Michael’s Catholic Church. I’m….I’m inside the office, but the hallway is full of flames and smoke. My alternate method of escape is locked, but I have a plan for breaking the glass. I can’t stay inside much longer.” His body became wracked with a coughing fit. Around him, the smoke was getting thicker, the air hotter. Sweat began dripping down his forehead.
“Okay, sir. There’s a rural fire department already dispatched to that area, but we’ll send more units. You’re close enough to Sallisaw that we’ll send a city unit as well. I urge you to get out of the building immediately.”
“Thank you.” Jimmy disconnected with the dispatcher and picked up the chair he’d been sitting in. Heaving it as high as he could, he swung it at the window. Part of the glass shattered. He rushed forward, sucking in lungfuls of clean air. Distantly, he heard the sirens of a fire truck. He backed up and struck with the chair again, this time knocking nearly every piece of glass out of the frame.
When he started to ready himself to climb through, however, he realized that it was much too small for his body to fit through. “Oh, no….oh, God,” he whined, panic setting in. He cast a glance at the door behind him, seeing how thick the smoke had become. “God, please….”
Trembling, he made to turn the knob and hissed when his hand was met with heat. There was no other choice. He had to go through the flames. Dear God, if you’re listening, please. I’m scared.
Almost instantly, a Bible verse came into his mind, as if in response to his plea. He cried out at the unfamiliar miracle and his eyes pricked with fresh tears. In these past years of study, he’d not once felt the presence of God, nor any sort of reflective response to his prayers. It caused his heart to soar and his faith strengthen ten-fold. He turned his face upwards and wept.
Should you walk through fire, you will not suffer, and the flame will not burn you.
Courage renewed, he bit down on the inside of his cheek, reached forward, and grabbed open the door. The pain was sharp, biting. He gasped at it, clutching his hand to his chest protectively. In front of him, the flames were on the walls and teasing at his feet.
Jimmy could see a small area of space where the fire wasn’t as high, so he ducked down and began moving forward. He tried to run quickly, to avoid the stabbing pricks of pain with each lick of flame as he stepped, but the inability to see was hindering him. Luckily, the building was small enough that he had only the small sacristy to get through, and then the sanctuary.
The sacristy was burning brighter, the vestments smoldering on their racks. Pages of song books and boxes of decorations for Advent sent up thick, dark columns of smoke and ash with their flames. Jimmy passed them with only a secondary glance, worried instead about the fire that threatened his pant legs. The soles of his shoes were melting; he felt the tacky slide with each step. The bottoms of his feet were hot.
Breaking through the ornate folding door to the sanctuary, he gasped and coughed as he took in the sight. A gaping hole in the roof was getting larger, the edges glowing red through the smoke. The pews were engulfed. The small sectioned seating area for the confessional was ablaze and unrecognizable. From his vantage point, Jimmy couldn’t even make out the holy water font. A creak and a groan came from above, before a long beam crashed down on top of the nave, breaking two pews in front into two.
Casting a glance at the altar, his heart ached. The wall behind it, where the handmade crucifix hung, was shimmering with heat. Small embers clung to Jesus’s face. The altar was crushed underneath a beam from above as well. Pops and crackles overpowered Jimmy’s ears. He wondered how soon the fire truck would come - how much of this they could save.
He was jostled from his despair when a tongue of fire gripped his left pant leg, ripping into it and sending a flash of pain with it. Jimmy doubled over and swatted at it, trying to get it to go out. Beating with all his might with an open palm, he let adrenaline fuel him and eventually he felt the fire give way. The leg of his pants was gone, a scorched hole left up to his knee. Survival was strong, though. So, he panted and started again towards the door.
As he stepped forward, he thought he heard a voice from behind him. The words were unintelligible; the voice male. But he turned instinctively towards it. There, he finally noticed the tabernacle - shiny against the dark of night and ash. Inside was where they kept the Holy Eucharist. All of the Blessed Host that the church had. He surged forward without more thought, intent to save it from the fire.
He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that what he was doing was dangerous and perhaps life-threatening. But this compulsion, this duty, to save the Body of Christ was so ingrained that he doubted if he could have stopped himself even knowing that it was a mortal mistake. He ran across the flames underneath him, paying no mind to the holes being burned through the bottoms of his shoes, nor to the way did the flames caress his unprotected leg, leaving blisters in their wake.
He reached the tabernacle more quickly than he imagined he could. Reaching out, he grasped it and pulled it up, off the table. Then, turning, he ran for the doors. He realized about ten steps in that the metal object in his hands was hot, burning into his flesh. He grit his teeth against the pain and ran faster.
He could hear sirens; see faint flashes of lights ahead of him through the windows. He felt as if he were running through molasses in winter as time slowed down, pain searing through parts of his body with vengeance. He cried out, “Help!” hoping someone was close enough to hear him; close enough to save him.
He reached the doors and flung his body against them, dropping out onto the grassy yard with a flop, screaming. His ears were ringing and voices seemed far away; flashing lights and shadows of figures coming his direction were hazy. He croaked for help one last time, hands still cradling the tabernacle, despite the pain - and then he passed out.
~*~
“Jimmy.”
Father Halloway’s voice called to him softly and Jimmy fought against the heaviness of sleep to focus on the sound. He strained to open his eyes. Blotches of bright white light swam in and out of his vision as he blinked. Nothing was clear, however, and so he made to swipe at his eyes with a hand. Getting his hand to move, though? Far more difficult than opening his eyes.
“Don’t try to move a lot, son,” the priest told him, still calm. “Doctor says you should worry about resting up before you start thrashing around.”
“Whaaaa….” His eyes opened again, water stained ceiling tiles finally becoming clearer.
“The church caught on fire, Jimmy. Do you remember the fire?”
Flames. Smoke. Shattered window. Beams crashing to the floor. Running through sticky syrup. Holding onto a fireball. Crying out. An answer….
He tried to speak, but his voice wasn’t cooperating. He rolled his head towards the sound of the priest’s voice. The elderly man came into view; white wisps of hair atop his head, black shirt and stark white collar, deep frown etched on his face. In his hand was the battered copy of his bible. It was closed, but a bright purple ribbon marked his spot. Jimmy could almost identify which book and chapter he’d been reading from; the familiarity of seeing the book constantly with the man gave Jimmy a sense of home and peace. Around him, the sterile, bleached interior of a hospital room. Jimmy realized he was cold. He began to shiver.
“Rest, James,” the priest soothed. “You had a bit of a scare, but God has seen it fit for you to survive. Prayers have been answered.” He gestured at Jimmy’s body. “The doctors say that it will be a long road of recovery. Your strength and your faith will be tested, Jimmy. But you have the bravery to see it through.” He raised a small paper cup of water to Jimmy’s lips, pressing the straw through them. “Here. Drink. You must be parched, what with it being three days since you last drank anything.”
Jimmy took a pull of the water, then began coughing.
“Easy...don’t overdo it. Your body isn’t ready for much yet.”
Jimmy started to raise his head, drunkenly and somewhat painfully. He assumed he was on pain medication that was causing his issues, but didn’t understand what Father Halloway was saying. He remembered the fire, but not much after reaching the outside of the building. Looking down at his body, his eyes widened.
Both hands were bandaged thickly, so much that they barely resembled hands at all. Cords and wires zigzagged across his body and hooked into machines and monitors. The bedding that covered his lower half was tented near the end, where his feet were. He instinctively tried to move them off so he could see what was underneath, and then yelped at the pain trying to move his arm caused.
“What….what’s wrong with my legs?” he rasped, eyes darting at the priest in panic.
“The paramedics told us that since you were so far from the entrance of the church, that when you tried to run out of the building the fire burned through your shoes. Your pant legs were on fire when you collapsed in the yard, but you were unconscious and couldn’t put out the flames on your own. The fire fighters rushed to hose you off, but most of the damage wasn’t even caused by those flames.”
“My leg was on fire earlier,” Jimmy croaked. “I remember…”
Father Halloway nodded. “Yes. You’ve had some surgeries already, but I’m sure there will be more. Skin grafts. Reconstruction. They say you’ll heal, but probably with many scars. You were in ICU the first couple of nights. We thought you’d die. It’s a miracle that you’re even awake right now.”
“My hands?”
“The biggest miracle of all, Jimmy. What do you remember from the fire?”
“Not much. Something hot in my hands….pain….light….”
“The Eucharist, Jimmy. You pulled the tabernacle out of the fire right before the church collapsed.” Father Halloway gave him a small smile. “What a testament to your faith, to take that pain and agony to save the Blessed Host. God has favored you with your life, since you saved His precious Son’s body from the flames. You are truly doing God’s work here on earth.”
~*~
Should you walk through fire, you will not suffer, and the flame will not burn you.
This would be the beginning of Jimmy’s separation from faith. This was the first time when he had a concrete doubt about God. It wouldn’t be the last doubt, but it was certainly the most vivid. His soul didn’t feel the elation that Father Halloway felt at his courageous feat. Of course, Father Halloway’s hands weren’t charbroiled and his legs were completely intact and unscarred.
It would be months before Jimmy truly saw the effects of his martyrdom. He’d watched the bandages be stripped from him - blood, pain, agony every time - and reapplied with careful fingers. Fingers unmarked by fire. They’d tried to prepare him for what his scars would be like. They told him they’d be tender; the skin would be baby pink and sometimes feel stretched thin. They told him that through rehabilitation exercises, he’d regain full use of his hands in time.
All of those things had stayed true.
But Father Halloway urged him to continue praying, to continue studying for the priesthood. He was sure that this amount of faith was not to be taken lightly. That lesser priests would not have had the courage to take the Eucharist out of the fire at such a cost. That Jimmy was bound for greatness for sure. Jimmy had pressed on with his studies, needing something to cling to keep his mind occupied during the late hours at the hospital. But his prayers felt hollower, less genuine. He didn’t feel the pull towards the profession as he once had. In fact, he felt less like a human in all aspects - let alone a devout man. Father Halloway had faith that God was healing him in preparation to become one of the best priests in the land.
But looking down at the shiny scar tissue on the palms of both hands now? One cross. One chalice and host. Each hand marred by the act of duty he’d charged into with such conviction. All Jimmy could see was an ugly reminder of his own blind trust in the Lord.
God hadn’t saved him from the fire. He’d saved Himself.