Safe
Blue Mountains, Oregon
February 1993
The air was frigid and biting; a monster of icy teeth and fingers that crept inside the gaps in the tent to claw and grasp at the two figures huddled inside. Outside the frail canvas shelter, the wind whipped itself into a frenzy among the treetops, howling across the mountain like a predator's call. Both boys inside the tent knew that the true predators were far less noisy. If the monsters came, the first warning they'd have would be when it was too late to run.
In the darkness, green eyes cracked open to stare fixedly towards the narrow line of the tent's entrance, straining to keep watch. Dean's fingers were numb where he'd left them outside his sleeping bag, curling around the cold handle of a shotgun in preparation for danger. His ears strained to make out any sounds of a threat among the background rumbling of the weather. Above him, rain thrummed heavily on the tent's canopy and the wind continued to wail, but he could hear nothing else save for his own breathing and Sam's teeth chattering.
God, it was freezing. Despite being fully clothed and wrapped in layers of blankets inside his sleeping bag, the bitter February chill had still managed to creep in. Dean would do anything to light a fire up right now for some warmth, but Dad had said no campfires: don't draw attention to yourselves, just stay here and wait for me to get back. Take care of Sammy, Dean, and Dean had nodded obediently and said "Yes, sir," before John took off to hunt whatever monster was roaming the forest.
That had been two hours ago. In the meantime, both boys had tried to sleep, but the frosty temperatures were making it difficult for either of them to get comfortable. Dean didn't mind that, but he'd hoped that Sam would eventually settle down and get some rest. His nerves were growing increasingly frayed as he tried to keep watch, clenching his jaw while his body grew cold and stiff and he fought to overcome the tiredness seeping into his bones. This wasn't the first time John had left them camping alone while he'd gone off to hunt a monster, but it was the first time they'd done it in February, and the temperatures were unrelenting.
Worse than that, though, was the fear. An all too familiar coldness that had nothing to do with the climate had settled in Dean's gut. Whenever John left them alone like this, no matter how well hidden or well-armed they were, Dean couldn't stop the anxiety taking hold. He was acutely aware of just how vulnerable they were, lying here in the middle of nowhere in a forest they knew was inhabited by a monster, and with no way of making contact with John or knowing when he would be back. Not that Dean would ever let it show, but that scared him. Usually, in a situation like this he'd start quietly humming AC/DC or Metallica to calm himself down, but tonight, he was so cold he couldn't manage much more than a series of shivering, disconnected hums.
On the opposite side of the tent, the sound of Sam's trembling breath told him his brother was suffering just as much as he was. "S-Sammy?" Dean mumbled. "You okay?"
"Y-yeah…" The reply was made in a breathy, shaking voice. "'m fine."
Obviously, Sam wasn't fine any more than Dean was. After a moment, the quiet sound of a zipper unfastening made itself heard above the background noise of the wind. Dean hissed as he felt a sudden fresh chill strike his body upon opening the sleeping bag. "C'mon. Get in here," he grunted, stretching out an arm towards Sam. "No point us just staying cold."
Sam didn't argue. Immediately, there was the sound of a second zipper being unfastened as Sam quickly scrambled out of his own sleeping bag, and then an instant later Dean felt the heat of Sam's small body pressing against him. He hurriedly worked to zip the sleeping bag up again and trap the heat in. It was more of a squeeze for both of them, but it was an adult sized sleeping bag and they were both small enough to fit. In any case, it was warmer.
"There…" Dean murmured as he felt the smaller boy's body curling into him, seeking out the heat Dean offered as Sam tucked his head under his Dean's chin and pressed himself against his brother's chest. Comforted, Dean wrapped an arm around him to hold him close, breathing in the scent of Sam's mussed hair. Even that smelt of cold. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, welcoming the bundle of warmth clinging onto him. "Everything's gonna be fine."
"I'm not scared, Dean," Sam mumbled into his chest, somewhat indignant. "Just cold."
That caused something to pang horribly inside Dean's chest. Of course Sam wasn't scared. It never even occurred to Sam that something could go wrong when Dean was here. Dean, on the other hand, knew better. "Well, we'll warm up soon enough," the older boy whispered in reply, his arm creeping further across Sam's shoulders to again grip onto the shotgun lying on the ground beside him. His hand stung from the cold, but it was a small price to pay for reassurance.
A short while later, Dean felt the trembling of Sam's muscles still and his breathing became deep and even as he at last sank into sleep. Dean smiled slightly, his own shivering ceasing as they became wrapped up in each other's warmth. He thought he'd be able to sleep now, if he tried, but that wasn't something he could afford to do. He had to keep watch.
Morning was still several hours away, but as Dean waited for the time to tick by, he found his nerves were wound less taut than before. With the shotgun in his hand and Sammy sleeping close beside him, he found he was just about able to convince himself of what he needed to pass the night: he could keep his brother safe. That brought all the warmth he needed to keep him going until sunrise.