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Dean was twelve. He was twelve and he was scared. At this point in life very little scared the far too jaded boy. John had made sure that he could take down monsters twice his size in minutes, and he’d made no small decision to take Dean along on hunts. Dean did not scare easily, had not since he was four years old and his old world had burned down in flames and his new world was placed in his arms. But right now, running through the pitch-black woods of a Montana forest, he was fucking terrified.
It wasn’t the dark that did it, nor the moonless sky that offered no light to illuminate the narrow and almost nonexistent paths carved out by wildlife, hell it wasn’t even the creature they were hunting. No, those things were normal to the boy by now. What had damn near petrified and chilled him down to his bones was Sam.
His little brother had been separated from him, and Dean had heard him scream. He’d taken off blindly, running through the brush towards that sound without a thought, fear and protective instincts pushing his muscles to their breaking point to be just a little bit faster. He paid no mind to the branches that scratched him and made him bleed, nor the frozen air burning his lung, his mind was focused only on the deafening silence from where Sam’s voice had sounded.
In a few moments that felt like an eternity, he burst into a small batch of forest clear of trees and dense brush, little more than a small space between a few towering trees and not large enough to be called a clearing. There he found his little brother on the ground with some thing standing over him. He didn’t hesitate to raise the sawed-off shotgun loaded with hybrid bullets of rock salt, silver, iron, and herbs. He ran as close as he dared, firing the gun into the thing’s chest at point-blank range so the scattershot didn’t hit his brother. The thing ran off howling in pain, but Dean knew it would be dead in a few minutes so he paid it no more mind as he dropped the weapon and fell to his knees next to Sam.
The eight-year-old was sobbing and had a set of four claw marks on one forearm, but was otherwise unharmed. Dean swore under his breath, both at the injury and their father's decision to drag them out here to camp for survival training while he hunted. He quickly pulled his small and light backpack off his shoulder and retrieving the medical kit with only the bare necessities from it. He talked while he got the supplies out, trying to get his brother’s attention on him and not his injury or the creature that had just come seconds from killing or mauling him. “Hey. Hey Sammy. It’s alright, I got the son of a bitch, it’s gone. Whatever the hell those are, they don’t live long after they’ve been shot with that stuff Dad made. It’s gonna be alright.”
While he babbled he gently pulled Sam’s injured arms towards him and began cleaning the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t too deep and had avoided the major veins. He was sure it hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t need more than a few stitches when they got back to the hotel room. He sure as hell wasn't keeping Sam out in the forest, he was taking him back to town, consequences be damned! Despite his inner panic and thoughts, both his hands and voice were steady. “Hey now, it’s not that bad. Probably only gonna need a little bit of work back at the room, okay Sam?”
Thankfully, by the time he was wrapping the bandages around the limb, Sam’s sobs had quieted down to near-silent tears and a few sniffles. Once the task was done Dean let Sam’s arm go and sat back, leaning on his hands with a huff, suddenly aware of how out of breath he was as the adrenaline began to fade. “There ya go squirt.”
Sam didn’t respond, simply cradled his arm loosely to his stomach with his other hand and continued to stare at the ground, tears still making tracks down his face. Dean sighed quietly and nudged Sam’s leg with his foot. “What’s this about, huh? You’re never this bad about getting hurt. That thing scare you that bad?”
Tear filled orbs of hazel that betrayed fear turned to him and a quiet murmur reached his ears. “No. Not that.”
Dean’s brows furrowed as he cocked his head to the side. “What then?”
Sam’s lower lip quivered. “I couldn’t find you.” Dean blanched and began to ask ‘what’, but now that Sam had spoken it was like a dam was released and he continued, his words gaining speed. “I don’t know how we got separated, but I couldn’t find you. I was running and there was no moon and I couldn’t find you and I couldn’t see. I got lost, I couldn't find my way back to the camp or the car and there was no moon and no light and I couldn’t find you and –!” “Whoah!”
Dean cut him off, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture. “Whoah Sammy, slow down!” The boy’s voice had been steadily growing more frantic, betraying the panic he had been through in his search for the elder. Softly, Dean tried to calm him. “It’s okay. I found you.”
Sam’s heard shook violently, the words practically exploding from him. “But I couldn’t find you!”
They sat in silence then. In the stillness Dean found himself looking up through the twisting branches to the inky blackness of the moonless sky. ‘No light’, he mused, ‘no Moon.’ His eyes caught on a pinprick of light and they traced it to another, and then another. An idea began to bloom in his head.
Looking down from the sky, his gaze fell on Sam, once again staring at the ground and crying quietly, hugging himself. He sat forward and grabbed onto Sam’s uninjured arm, pulling him over to him. “Com’ere squirt.” Falling back to the ground, he pulled Sam with him, holding him close as he pointed upward. “Ya see that bright star, bigger than the rest?”
Sam sniffled, following where Dean was pointing to the pinprick a bit brighter than the rest. He nodded and quietly whispered, “Yeah.”
“That’s Polaris – The North Star. It’s close to the northern celestial pole, so it points the way North.” His finger trailed off to the side a bit. “And those other seven? Together they make a kind of box with a tail? That’s the Ursa Minor – Little Bear.” His hand trailed farther down. “Those fourteen, that curve around and then make a small diamond? That’s Draco, the Dragon.”
Sam’s crying had quieted down now, reduced to a few silent tears and the occasional sniffle. Dean’s finger angled off to the left. “Then there’s a triangle and a pentagon connected by a ‘V’ – That’s the fish, Pisces. A little farther down, there are the three stars all in a row. That’s Orion’s belt.”
They continued that way for nearly half an hour, as Dean told Sam about all the constellations and stars he could see that moonless night. When his words came to an end, he dropped his hand down to his stomach and looked down at Sam. The younger’s tears had stopped now, but Dean could still see the vestiges of the fear and sorrow embedded in his features.
“You’re right.” He said softly. “There’s no moon, and there’s no light.” Sam’s eyes turned to Dean’s, the odd mixture of sorrow and anxiety reflecting the stars above them. “But when there’s no moon, there will be the stars. Sailors and travelers used them as their only map for centuries Sammy. I’ll teach them all to you, they’ll guide you, and you’ll always be able to find me, and I you.
Sam sniffled again, but he did not begin to cry. He considered his brother for a moment, then laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, nodding. “Okay, Dean.” He murmured.
Dean smiled a little, glad Sam had calmed down and his anxieties were reassured. He figured, with the singular creature gone and the imminent danger passed, they could stay there a bit longer. Sam was content curled into his brother’s side, and Dean could always tell him more about the stars.