The instruction sheet had been through a few wars since it left the factory. There had been an argument in the shop where it had been sold. The last in the shop. A silent tug of war. Two mums to be had seen it on sale. A hand on either side of the box. Only just been swayed by the small boy asking, "Is that so we can hear the baby?" She took her hand from the other side of the box. "Not this one, Honey. This lady's baby will be needing it"
"Okay"

It had made it's way to the car stuck to the bottom of the box that now smelled of smoke and whiskey and broken dreams. It slid under the seat. Stayed there long after the box was gone.

This was the first time and last time it was ever read.

Sammy stared through the closed door. He daren't look out to see if they were back yet. He was hiding in the car. Not waiting, like he had on other hunts. Hiding. Scared. He didn't want anything to see his eyes shining black in the dark. He didn't want to see their eyes, caught in moonlight, shining back.

Dad had thundered away into the thickest part of the forest, with a shotgun.
Dean had been gone for longer before he screamed.
Sammy's heart had stopped as he saw the anger build up on his Dad's face. Pure fury.

He watched as the, glow in the dark, second hand went past on the dot three times.

Then he heard it. On the front door. The night was silent once more. Then another tap. He held on to a breath.
A whisper. A plea. "Sammy"
Not sure he hadn't wished the noise, he grabbed for the baseball bat behind Dad's seat. His fingers brushed a paper before the curled round the wood. He drew it out and put it on the seat. Both hands on the bat, he looked out above the door.

It had blood on it. The shirt had a lot of blood on it. Ripped and discarded. Hung in a tree. A message. I went this way. John turned and jogged in the other direction. Back towards where the car was parked. From his left a flash of fur and fangs caught his eye. Instinctively he raised his gun and fired. A short yelp let him know he had hit his target. He ejected the spent cartridge.

Kill the damn thing first and find Dean.
He reloaded and stalked toward the beast. It was wounded badly. Black blood bubbled over it's stretched jaw. A dark hole in the right flank, near it's heart. It tried to lash out, as he got closer. He raised the gun and shot it in the head.

It had blood on it. It had a lot of blood on it. Sparkling black in the moonlight. Dripping off his fingers. Dean pushed his t-shirt further into his wound. Trying to stop the flow.

Sam stood a few steps away. His brother was half propped up against the car. Breathing shallow, barely awake. In pain. "Dean" he whispered. Looking out into the trees, hoping Dad would be here to fix everything.

Dean grabbed for the door handle behind him, above his head. He held back a cry of pain. He breathed in and dragged himself into the back seat.

Sam stood for a second. Dean was rolled into a ball on the back seat before Sammy realised what he had to do.
Pain his only thought for a split second. "It's okay kiddo. Just a scratch. Bandage and four hours sleep. It'll be…" he passed out.

Sammy was gone. Dean was hurt.

John's anger turned to fear. He had left Sammy alone and let Dean go off on his own. That was never going to happen again.
Where the car had been, there was a small box. It was the first aid box they had taken from a motel in the city, an hour away from where they had gone to hunt. John pocketed the small box. Emptied the shotgun of bullets and threw it into the trees. It was hard to think beyond finding his boys. It would be easier to get a lift if he wasn't armed.

"Dean. Talk to me Dean."

"What?"

"You need to talk. Don't go away anywhere again"
"Where did I go?"

Sam had built up a pile of jackets on the driver's seat. He could just about reach the pedals and see the road coming towards him. He had been bugging Dean to teach him how to drive for months. He had expected to have Dean in the passenger seat. Complaining about the gear changing. Not bleeding to death in the back seat. Was this how it was going to be? He glanced in the rear view mirror. Dean's eyes closed again.

"I wish you hadn't told me" Sammy pushed his foot down a little more. He couldn't go much faster, cops. He shook himself. "Wake up Dean." Sammy begged. "Read something"

Dean looked around. His fingers searched the back seat. Maybe a takeaway menu. Or something. Glancing at the folded paper. "Instructions for something"

"What Dean? Read it to me."

"Model 11-84 "Little Star" Baby monitor……." Dean started and coughed.
The car entered the outside of the city.

A sign, St George's Hospital: 5KM

"Swedish?"
"Blinka, blinka lilla Stjärna"
"Dutch?"
"Altijd is kortjakje ziek"
"And in latin?"
"Dude! Stop it!"
"Latin Dean"
"I don't think they had baby monitors in the ancient world."

Sammy pulled the car up to the doors of A&E.
Dean opened the door, gave his brother a smile and fell out backwards.

The Impala moved slowly away and then picked up speed.
"Mica, mica, parva stella" Sammy put his foot down.

It had blood on it. Bloody fingerprints. Crumpled and burned in one corner. Damp, it stuck to his shoe. John stopped and picked it up. Shook off the dirt from the ground and put it in his back pocket.

Not knowing why, just that he should have it.
He walked quickly through the door of the hospital.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.