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Sam looks to the stars sometimes. Gazing at things light years away, complex galaxies and constellations.
Back when they were both kids, far too young for the weight on their shoulders, Dean would take him out to a meadow or a parking lot. They'd look up, a million stars beaming down. Occasionally, if they were lucky, one would flash across the sky. Shooting star, Dean would say. Make a wish, Sammy. Sam would look up, eyes following the trail of the shimmering ball. Starlight, starbright… a whisper he could barely hear.
When he was in high school, dragged unwilling to another city, another cheap motel, Sam would find his mind restless and worried. He'd sneak outside in those moments, slipping through the door and gazing up. On some nights, he'd creep further from his sleeping family, walking down the street until he found a back road deficient of dull yellow street lamps, the only light coming from a million galaxies shining brighter than ever. He was too old for shooting stars, yet still he seeked them out, casting wishes to the worlds above.
They made star charts at school one day, Sam didn't take long to try it out, matching time and date, lining it up to the sky. He found himself pulling out the crumpled paper on nights filled with doubt and fear, naming every constellation, every planet, circling them in pen, a dumb game to pass the time. Before he knew it, the sun would edge up the horizon and he'd walk back, collapsing on the bed to sleep the morning away.
Sam began hiking in college, and there, on the high cliffs of a mountain, that was where the stars looked the most beautiful. Shimmering down, he could see the patches of color, nebulas, the Milky Way, a galaxy he belonged to. He'd tread up those mountains to witness meteor showers, merely admiring the beauty of those golden streaks across the night sky. Smiling, content, he'd lie on cold cliffside stone, gazing up until his eyes drooped and his mind drifted away, dreaming of that infinite world.
Then, suddenly, he was back on the road with Dean. Driving down asphalt or dirt, they'd stop, grabbing beers and propping themselves up on the impala hood, gazing through endless skies above. Those nights were mostly silent, moments to clear their heads until they returned to the shelter of the car, each curled on a seat, waiting for sleep to claim them.
On some nights, Sam would sneak away from his resting brother, walking down the road until the shine of the moonlit car disappeared, and there he'd look up, remembering those nights as a kid, star charts and asteroids.
(starlight, starbright)
He was still too old for shooting stars,
(first star I see tonight)
older now,
(I wish I may)
they were childish hopes that never once came true,
(I wish I might)
and yet,
(have this wish)
he found his eyes tracing that fallen meteor,
(I wish tonight.)
hoping against all odds.