A/N: Written for the horror comment meme on sharp_teeth, in answer to the prompt: "Dean, Sam, John (not wee!chesters) - Good old-fashioned horror situation: pitch dark,i n the middle of the woods, they are hunting some kind of entity, Dean suddenly can't see anymore and loses his bearings..."

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.

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"Dad!"

It was supposed to be a fucking Wendigo.

Dean had been so excited. He'd hunted a Wendigo only once, two years ago, when Sam was still too young to be hunting – or too young for this kind of hunt, at least. Dean had tried to get his brother excited for it.

"The Wendigo is an amazing hunter, so quick, you can't imagine. You blink, and he's on you."

"And how is that supposed to make me look forward to hunting it?"

"Well, it's a challenge! The bastard will be hard to kill, and it'll be… I don't know, fun."

Sam had looked very unimpressed. Dean had shrugged. Sometimes, he didn't know what the hell was wrong with his brother.

Now he regretted convincing Sammy to participate in this hunt. He regretted agreeing when his father asked him to come – well, not that his father had really iasked/i anything. This hunt wasn't a one-man job, period. But Dean had been more than willing, as usual.

They'd tracked the Wendigo for a long and frustrating time, but they hadn't managed to find out where his lair was. Dad had started to doubt that it was even a Wendigo, and had decided that they should call it a day and go back to the car, but night had fallen, sudden and quick. Somehow, they'd gotten separated.

"Dad!" Dean tried again. "Sammy! Dad! Where the fuck are you?!"

His throat hurt from screaming and he paused to swallow. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't. His father and brother weren't too far away, but they couldn't hear him right now because of… those fucking trees blocking the sound. And there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation why Dean couldn't see a goddamn thing.

It had happened suddenly. One minute, Dean was trying to peer through the darkness, to make out the difference between the shadowed shapes of trees the figures of Sam and Dad. Then he'd blinked, and there was nothing. No ghostly, barely distinguishable trees and bushes, no moonbeam dimmed by the tree leaves. Just thick, uniform black, like a curtain had fallen before his eyes.

He hadn't moved since this unexpected blackness, but he couldn't stay standing there like one of those stupid trees, he had to do something. He fell on his knees and searched the ground blindly with his hands until he found a branch long enough to use as a cane. A white cane. The thought sent sharp pain through his chest, but he couldn't think about that right now.

He stood up carefully, one hand gripping his flare gun, tentatively exploring the air, the other holding the branch in front of him. He took a step, and another, clumsily drawing arcs in front of him like he'd seen blind people do.

"Dad! Sam!"

He got an answer, this time.

"Dean!"

It sounded far away and echoing, but it was unmistakably his dad's voice. Dean stilled, trying to pinpoint where it came from, then turned in the estimated direction. He breathed in deeply to shout at the top of his voice:

"Dad! I'm here!"

"Dean!"

What the… It was Sam, this time, but it was coming from behind Dean. Had his father and brother been separated too? God, he hoped that they weren't as blind as he was, or it was going to be hell to find each other in the woods.

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

Dad again, but the voice sounded much closer. Dean frowned. This was impossible. Unless… Dean's heart started to pound louder, until the noise filled the space and he couldn't hear anything else. It was impossible unless this wasn't his father, or his brother he was hearing calling him. Unless they had it completely wrong, and it wasn't a Wendigo at all they were hunting. Or that was hunting them.

"Dean!"

He didn't call back this time. Wendigos could mimic human voice, but not that perfectly. Whatever it was, Dean didn't want to lead it to him. Of course, it was maybe already too late. He started walking again. Move, he had to move.

"Dean!"

To his left.

"Dean!"

To his right.

"Dean! Dean!"

Farther, closer. Dean tried to walk faster, but his foot caught something and he fell headfirst in the dirt.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath.

His knees were hurting and he'd bitten his tongue, tasted blood in his mouth. He'd lost his branch, so on all four he fumbled around to find it. He felt a warm breath on his neck, stopped moving.

"Lost something, boy?"

Dean gasped, swirled around and pointed his flare gun in front of him. Before he could shoot, though, an inhuman shriek pierced the air, and there were hands on his shoulder.

"Dean!"

Dean struggled against the grasp, throwing uncontrolled punches with a strength born from panic. He met solid flesh, and there was a yelp of pain that sounded very much like Sammy.

"Sam?" he breathed.

"Yeah, that's me. Are you… Don't you see me?"

"I can't see anything," Dean said, trying not to sound frightened and failing.

"Oh. Uh, that's probably the spirit…"

"A spirit?"

"Yeah. Dad torched his bones, so you should… be back to normal in a minute."

It would have been reassuring if Sam hadn't sounded so damn anxious.

"Okay," Sam said. "I'm gonna touch you, so… don't hit me, alright?"

"Alright."

A hand gripped his forearm; Dean forced himself to relax. This was Sammy, he wasn't going to hurt him.

"Can you stand up?"

"Of course I can!" Dean snapped.

Sam huffed but didn't say anything. Instead, he helped him get to his feet.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled.

Sam's grip on his arm tightened. He placed his hand between Dean's shoulder blades, warm and comforting, and Dean felt tension melt away from him. Then heavy, hurried footsteps came from behind him, and Dean couldn't help but tense again.

"Dean! You alright?"

It was his father. Dean let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"He can't see anything, Dad," Sam explained.

Dean felt his father manhandle him to make Dean face him, take his chin with rough fingers.

"You're gonna be okay," Dad finally said.

Dean closed his eyes, relieved by the mere presence of his father in front of him, and his brother at his back. When he opened them seconds later, Dad was looking back at him.