Dean stepped out of the tent, cursing under his breath as his foot caught on the mesh netting and he stumbled. Trying to be as quiet as one could while stepping on crunchy leaves and forest floor, he zipped the flap behind him, ensuring it was tightly shut to prevent insects from preying on his sleeping brother.
"Hey dude." The soft voice caused Dean to jump. He pivoted to face his father. John was seated on the outskirts of the smoke around the fire, his face illuminated by the dancing light. Dean froze as he quickly racked his brain for an excuse on why he was leaving the tent alone. Right before bed, John had given the two boys a detailed lecture on how the woods were especially dangerous at night. He made it clear that no matter what circumstances (either it be a snakebite or bathroom break) the boys were not to step outside the tent (and circle of salt) without alerting John in the tent beside them. Despite Dean's protests of being older (he was going to be twelve for crying out loud!) John warned him that age didn't matter in this case. They had been summoned to a case in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Georgia and John had yet any idea of what they were dealing with. He wouldn't have even taken this hunt if for Bobby and a few other close hunters would be joining them in the morning. Dean's opened his mouth ready to apologize but John waved him off.
"Couldn't sleep either?" A lazy smile played across his father's face. Dean nodded, wrapping his flimsy jacket tighter around him. Honestly, he was a bit surprised at his father's sudden relaxed nature. Normally, not obeying a direct order meant Dean was in trouble. Big trouble.
"Your brother still passed out?" John glanced over Dean's shoulder at the still silent tent.
"Yes Sir." Dean said kneeling in front of the fire. He held his hands out to the orange flames, letting the warmth stroke his palms. The two Winchester's said nothing, letting the noises of the woods drown out their thoughts. It was awhile before John spoke.
"You know, when I was real young. My father took me camping up by Mount Everest." Dean raised his head. Hearing stories about his father's childhood was rare.
"He showed me how to hunt, fish, bow drill. Everything I taught you boys…Of course, the circumstance was a bit different." John chuckled. "I don't think he so much as actually blew an ember into flames." It seemed as if John was reminiscing as he reached to put another log on the fire. He paused and the fire cracked.
"Dean?" There was a pause. "I'd give anything to take you boys camping."
"We are camping Dad." Dean protested, but John smiled weakly.
"No son. Not on a hunt. Just some real time up in the woods. You think Sammy would like that?"
Dean thought about his brother's encounter with the "great outdoors" earlier that evening. While Dean had been collecting wood for the fire, a stubborn Sam had dragged his sleeping bag out next to the fire pit and plopped on top of it with his schoolbooks. His dweeby brother had actually brought along his schoolwork. Go figure. As it got darker, Sam had burrowed inside the sleeping bag, a content lump of fabric, the light of his flashlight visible dimly as he read his book protected from the cold wind and smoke. Then, Sam yelled, beginning to thrash, the end of the sleeping bag inching closer to the flames as he moved. John had panicked, almost ripping a flailing Sam out of the sleeping bag, nearly breaking the zipper in the process. Dean had jumped to his feet, ready to obey John's orders if he needed assistance with whatever danger Sam had gotten himself into. But Sam didn't appear to be hurt. In fact, he was giving John a sheepish smile.
"There was a moth." Sure enough, a small white moth flew out of Sam's sleeping bag attracted to the beam of John's flashlight. John's mouth had dropped open in utter surprise as Dean did the best that he could to not bust out laughing.
"Sam's not really the camping type Dad." Dean concluded. John grinned eyeing the empty bug spray cans on the ground that Sam had previously emptied all over the exterior of the tent.
"I suppose your right."
Without meaning to, Dean yawned. He tried to cover it up with the back of his hand, but John's raised eyebrow told him that he had seen it all.
"It's late. We have a big day tomorrow. Bobby will be here early."
Not wanting to go to bed but also not wanting to push his luck, Dean nodded. He rose, brushing the dirt off of his jeans. Climbing back into the tent, he narrowly made his way over his brother's sprawled form, especially careful to not step on any of Sam's long limbs. Sam snored deeply; drool escaping the side of his mouth, sleeping hard the way only a kid could, and was oblivious that Dean had even left. Dean slid into his sleeping bag, listening as John tended to the fire. Sam rolled over so his back was pressed firmly against his brothers, leaning into the extra warmth that was now Dean.
Dean closed his eyes, pretending just for a moment that he was camping with his dad and baby brother, no hunt ever existing.